Among Thieves

The Irish guy didn’t laugh. He just looked at Devon. Finally he said, “Okay.”

“I expect you to do good work for me,” Bulger said to Devon. “You think you can do that? Keep doin’ good work? ’Cause if not…” Bulger’s voice trailed off.

“I can do good work, Mr. Bulger,” Devon said. “What place we talkin’ about?”

“We’ll come to that, don’t worry,” Bulger said.

“Okay.” Devon looked at the Irish guy, his new partner. “You got a name?”

“No names,” the man replied.

Devon looked at Murphy. “What am I supposed to call him, he doesn’t got a name?”

“Who the fuck cares,” Bulger said. “Call him ‘Irish’ for all it fuckin’ matters.”

Devon looked at the guy. “That work for you?”

The man said nothing.

“Good,” Bulger said. “Irish it is.” Everyone just sat there, saying nothing. “Understand your role in this,” Bulger said after a moment. “Your job is to get Irish here into the place. That’s it, got it?”

“What place?”

“Don’t you get fuckin’ smart with me!” Bulger screamed. For a moment, Devon thought he was dead. Then Bulger cleared his throat and calmed down. “You get this done, and I’ll take care of you. You fuck this up, and I’ll only see you once again. You understand?”

“Yeah, Mr. Bulger, I understand.”

Bulger looked at Devon as if he were something to be scraped off his shoe. Then he gave a carnivorous smile; the kind of a smile that shows more teeth than necessary. “Call me Jimmy,” he said.

Chapter Seven

“Don’t mess with me.”

Those were the first words Lissa Krantz spoke to Sally Malley. Fi

“I have to drive her to school over in Southie,” Fi

Lissa nodded.

Sally said nothing, plopped down in one of the uncomfortable chairs against the wall. The tiny firm was thriving financially, but Fi

“Koz in?” Fi

“His office,” Lissa responded.

“I’ll be right back.”

Lissa wasn’t sure whether Fi

“You’re pretty,” she said to Lissa. “Is that how you got the job, or can you type, too?”

“Don’t mess with me,” Lissa replied.

“You’re tough, then?” Sally asked.

“Only compared to some. And only when pushed.”

The girl said nothing.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Lissa said.

“Why? He’s not dead.”

“I know.”

“So, why are you sorry?”

Lissa considered the girl and the question in equal measure. She liked both, she decided. They both seemed brutally honest-a quality, in Lissa’s experience, that was hard to come by. “I don’t know,” Lissa said. “I guess I was just assuming his arrest might be hard on you. I was trying to offer some sympathy. You can take it if you want. Or not. Up to you.”

“You go

“No.”

“Good. I hate it when people say shit like that.”

“So do I.”

They lapsed into silence again, the girl slouching down deep into the chair, her brow furrowed, looking stymied by Lissa’s refusal to play the traditional establishment role of coddling adult.

“So, what do you do around here?” Sally asked after a moment.

“I’m a lawyer,” Lissa replied. “I work with Fi

“Really?” The girl seemed both impressed and skeptical.

“Yeah, really.”

Fi

“Sally, this is Tom Kozlowski,” Fi

She sat up a little straighter but didn’t respond, trying to dispel any impression that she was intimidated. Lissa could tell it was an act, though. Kozlowski said nothing.

“Right,” Fi

Lissa could see the girl go a shade paler at the thought of riding with Kozlowski. She stood. “You two have a lot to deal with today. I have a doctor’s appointment later, but other than that I’m not that busy, so why don’t I take Sally to school?” She wasn’t sure who looked more relieved, the men or the girl.

“Really?” Fi

“No problem,” Lissa said. “You ready?” she asked Sally.

The girl got up and picked up her bag. She walked over to the door and looked back at Lissa. Lissa started toward the door, then turned and walked back to Kozlowski, lifting herself up on her toes and giving him a kiss that lasted longer than necessary. Kozlowski was taken by surprise, but she didn’t care. She turned and walked past Sally, whose mouth was open wide enough to count teeth. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go.” With that, Lissa opened the door and walked out, a broad, amused smile breaking over her face as Sally followed her out to the car.

Detective Stone crouched near the spot where Vi

It was still an hour before Stone’s shift started at nine o’clock, and he’d already been at the Body Shop for half an hour, considering the entire scene in the glint of the morning. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was there. It was unlikely that the teams of forensic specialists that had been there the day before had missed anything. And yet there he was, squatting by the dark stain that was the last impression Murphy would leave on the world.

It was because he wanted to gain Sanchez’s approval, he recognized. There was no getting around it. He hoped to gain some additional insight he might share with Sanchez at the start of their shift to earn her respect. It was foolish, probably. He was a damned good cop, and if she couldn’t see that already, she would likely not be convinced. They had gone back to the station house the previous day and she had gotten on her computer and tapped away at the keyboard for more than an hour. He’d asked twice what she was researching, but she hadn’t responded. He could see why she lost partners.