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Fi
“Eddie Ballick.”
“The Fisherman? You’re kidding, right?”
“Ballick was Murphy’s boss. If anyone would know anything, it would be him.”
“Maybe, but so what? What’s Ballick go
Devon shook his head. “No. But maybe he’d give up someone else. I been tryin’ to figure out something to give the DA. I give them someone good enough, maybe I can cut a good deal. Maybe even stay outta the joint?”
“I guess that depends on who you could give them. I’m not sure they’re go
“What if we could give them someone more interesting?”
“It’d have to be someone pretty interesting. Who did you have in mind?”
“How about Joh
Fi
“I told you,” Devon said, “it was an inside job. Joh
“So what happens now?” Fi
“With Murphy dead, who knows? There’s go
Fi
Devon shook his head. “No, probably not. But we can still give him up on the burglary and insurance fraud, right? The murder angle is just a bonus that the cops might want to play with a little.”
Fi
“That’s what I figured. It could actually get me out of this in the long run.”
Fi
Devon shook his head. “I only talked to Murphy. That’s why we gotta get Eddie Ballick on board. The whole thing swings on him.”
Fi
“Not that I can think of.”
“Think harder.”
Devon sighed. “You know how shit works, Fi
“They got a clear shot at you.”
“I’m tellin’ you, the only person who might be able to co
Fi
“You ever meet him?” Devon asked.
Fi
Devon agreed. “No, he’s not. But he’ll remember. He remembers everything.”
“He still down near Quincy?”
“Yeah. At the shack on the water. You couldn’t pry his ass away from there.”
Fi
“Do me a favor,” Devon said.
“You’re about out of favors, Devon.”
“Give me a call when you’re done with him, okay? I wa
Fi
“Wait, Fi
“What?”
“How’s Sally? She okay?”
“Yeah,” Fi
Devon smiled. “She’s a fuckin’ pistol. Hell of a lot smarter than either of her parents. Her mom’s a real fuckup. No one ever gave Sally a chance. Shit, I didn’t even know she existed until a year ago.”
“She seems to be getting by,” Fi
“Yeah, getting by,” Devon said. “She’s a survivor, that’s for shit-sure. I should be doin’ better by her than this. With all the crap she’s been through she deserves better than just getting by.”
“We all deserve better than just getting by,” Fi
“Yeah,” Devon said. He was back into the thousand-yard stare. “Sometimes that’s right.”
Chapter Nine
It was lunchtime at Nashua Street just after Fi
Devon felt bad for Murphy. Not nearly as bad as he felt for himself, but bad all the same. Murphy had tried for him. Even after the others had given up on him, Murphy had kept him afloat, even if just. Had things been different, maybe the Gilberacci’s job would have been enough-the begi
He turned his thoughts back to Murphy’s murder. It was hard not to leap to the obvious conclusion. It fit with the rumors he’d heard. It would make sense. But he still wasn’t certain. Murphy’d led a dangerous life. He’d pissed off lots of people, and he’d run with a vicious crowd. His murder could be a coincidence. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible, and Devon clung to that possibility.
There was only one way to be sure. Ballick was the key. They’d made their mistakes, but they’d made them together. Until he knew for sure, Devon was safer in jail.
He thought back over the past decades and wondered whether he’d have done anything differently. Probably not. He was who he was, and nothing would have changed that. Even if he’d known.
The Irishman didn’t trust Devon. It didn’t take a lot of brains for Devon to recognize it. In some ways, Devon could understand. Devon was undisciplined. He talked too much. The Irishman had a singular purpose, and from what Devon knew of him, he had dedicated his life-everything he was or would become-to waging a war that required the kind of commitment Devon would never understand.
It had been more than four weeks since they’d met at the Body Shop, and Devon still hadn’t delivered. They’d made one try, and it had been a farce. Two weeks earlier they had acted out a pathetic pantomime in front of the museum off Fenway. The Irishman and Devon pretended to assault another one of Murphy’s crew out on the street late at night, well within the range of the outdoor security cameras. The third man then ran to the museum’s side entrance and started banging on the door and ringing the bell, calling out for help. The guards, though, had been more cautious than Devon had expected, and had simply called the police, staying locked up in the museum themselves. The three of them had just barely cleared the area before the cops arrived.