Страница 47 из 52
“You and Hawk walk away?” Gerry said.
“My word.”
“Your word means shit to my family.”
“Meant something to your old man,” I said.
Gerry studied my face. He nodded some more in secret Gerry Broz thoughts. Something rattled around in there, and a gumball finally popped out. “Why should I feel bad for rattin’ on a rat?”
“There you go.”
“Bastard never respected me.”
“The shame of it.”
“You tryin’ to make fun of me?”
“Never.”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on,” I said. “What was in it for you? You’re too smart for this.”
Having to say that last part pained me.
“We were go
“How lovely,” I said. “Where’s Fly
Gerry stood up. He looked down at his old man. Joe Broz’s chest, as thin and delicate as a bird’s wrapped in hospital paper, rose and fell.
“Still in Southie,” Gerry said. “He’s keepin’ the girl at this old office building on West Broadway. That’s where he keeps his guns. He’s got a fuckin’ arsenal.”
“Good to know.”
“You better buckle the fuck up.”
“Will he know we’re coming for him?” I asked.
Gerry shook his head. “Didn’t I say we had a goddamn deal?”
I nodded. I stood.
I reached my hand over what was left of Joe Broz and shook hands with his kid.
His grip was wet and limp.
58
You know, we could turn all this shit over to Quirk and have a late breakfast at the Russell House Tavern,” Hawk said.
“We could.”
“Brioche French toast with a big Mescal Mary on the side.”
I nodded.
“But we won’t.”
“That what you want to do?”
“Hell, no.”
“Let’s check out what Gerry said,” I said. “We find Fly
“Plant your feet, bite down on your mouthpiece, and say let’s go.”
Hawk steered us toward the Mystic River and 93 South. We caught the interstate for a few miles, crossing the cha
Hawk slowed in front of a long row of three- and four-story brick storefronts that lined West Broadway. He parked across the street from a defunct bar with a FOR SALE sign hung from a second-floor window. The bar was abandoned. Shades and file cabinets covered most of the windows in the building.
Snow was coming down harder now. It had started to stick.
“How come Fly
“Must have something to do with charisma.”
A patrol car pulled right onto the curb by the defunct bar. Officer Bobby Barrett got out and adjusted his cap on his head. He craned his neck up to the second floor and dialed a phone in his hand. A door at street level opened, and he waddled inside.
“Nice to have the law on your side,” Hawk said.
“That’s the officer who caught Mickey Green washing down the car,” I said. “His testimony put Green away.”
“Ain’t that a coincidence,” Hawk said.
Ten minutes later, the side door opened. Barrett walked out alone, got into his patrol car, and drove off.
“He one of the officers watching Mattie’s family?”
“One of ’em.”
“Nice choice,” Hawk said.
“Maybe we should call Quirk.”
“Maybe,” Hawk said. “Or maybe Fly
I nodded. “Keep it clean and simple.”
“If Mattie inside,” Hawk said, “time is tight. And we the best she got.”
“And if we’re the best she’s got, that’s not too shabby.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“How’s the arm?”
“Cool.”
“How’s the chest?”
“Sore.”
“How many men do you think Fly
“Does it fucking matter?” Hawk said.
“Nope,” I said. “Just thinking out loud.”
59
The door to the stairwell was metal and well worn and locked. Someone had scrawled some graffiti in big diagonal letters that said BLACK NEVER. SOUTHIE FOREVER. Hawk craned his neck to read it. He turned back to me and shook his head. Snow drifted down along the cracked sidewalks of Broadway. Across the street, thickly bundled people hustled into the T station.
Hawk looked both ways, stepped back, and kicked in the door.
The door slammed open, and light shone into a narrow stairwell covered in dirty red carpet. The light was very dim, burning from a couple of bare bulbs. We moved quickly to the second floor and curved up to the third. Dust motes twirled in the soft gray light.
The third-floor hall seemed to stretch out forever in the dim light. The old building shifted in the darkness; its loose windows battered and thumped against the sills.
I nodded to Hawk. I took the lead.
If Mattie was with Fly
We moved through the hall, checking the first two small offices fronting Broadway. Hawk watched my back, eyeing the length of the hallway, looking for opening doors and waiting for footsteps behind us.
Down the hall, we heard the creak of an office chair.
“Spenser?” a voice called out.
I turned to Hawk. Hawk looked to me. He fitted the stock of the Mossberg into his shoulder. Agent Tom Co
“Come on in,” Co
“And you wonder why Native Americans don’t like the Feds.”
“Let’s talk.”
“Where’s your buddy, Jumpin’ Jack?” I asked.
I kept the gun aimed at Co
People always smoked when trying to look pensive. Co
“This is a mess, Spenser,” Co
“Gerry has often had that problem.”
“I don’t think you get what’s going on here.”
“It’s become pretty clear.”
“No, it’s not,” Co
Hawk had not lowered his weapon. It was unwise to call Hawk a spook. Especially when Hawk was armed. Of course, it was an unwise move to call Hawk a spook anytime.
“Where’s Fly
“You want to talk about this city’s greater good,” Co
Hawk leaned forward with his shotgun.
“Easy there, Hawk,” Co
“I takin’ an instant dislike to this motherfucker,” Hawk said.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s got a kind of reverse charisma.”
“You can never imagine the filth and violent shitbags I have to deal with every day.”
“My apologies,” I said.
“Sad,” Hawk said.
“I have to compromise.”
“You said that.”
“Jack Fly
“Kind of fucked-up logic, Tom.”