Эйс Аткинс - Kickback

Pearl did her business as soon as we walked under the iron gates, seeming to make sure not to desecrate the hallowed ground. We came out on Brattle Street and headed back from whence we came. On the return, I had the inspired idea to order a pizza with mushrooms and peppers.

I told Susan while we walked about what I’d learned about MCC and Minos Inc., and from Bill Barke. I mentioned a little about my run-in that afternoon with three men. I told her my funniest lines, but she didn’t laugh.

“They brought guns into your office.”

“They weren’t the first,” I said. “Won’t be the last.”

“But they threatened you.”

“Well,” I said. “Yeah. It’s what guys like that do.”

“And I’m sure you called the police?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t do any good,” I said. “I don’t know who they are. And I didn’t have much to offer the police.”

“You could call Quirk.”

“I use that contact sparingly.”

“When someone dies.”

“Always the best time for Quirk.”

We strolled for a little bit with Pearl. Pearl Two was about ninety-nine percent muscle, and had I decided to hook her up to a sled, we could’ve ridden in style to Susan’s. But I kept her on a tight leash, trying to look dignified in an old sweatsuit and watch cap. Susan had on black leggings and jogging shoes, and a big black puffy coat over a sweatshirt. She wore a slouchy gray hat like nobody’s business.

“When does Z get back?” she said.

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course, you could call Hawk.”

“The idea had crossed my mind,” I said. “But I don’t think a few knuckleheads merit reaching out to Hawk. He might make fun of me.”

“Is he in town?”

“Yep.”

“And when does the situation merit it?”

“If matters escalate.”

“What if they escalate without you knowing it?”

“These guys were semi-pro,” I said. “One of them had been a garbage collector for Joe Broz.”

“Who do they work for now?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Things aren’t as clear as they used to be. You used to know who was who and what crew they ran with. If you were Italian or Irish or black, that gave you a little idea of the neighborhood. But color, race, ethnicity is of little consequence anymore.”

“Progress.”

“Yep,” I said. “The hoods have finally integrated in Boston.”

“Whoopee,” Susan said.

“But if it were my guess, I hear there is a shake-up in the city. I think some of the men who shall remain nameless in Providence are setting up more branch offices in the North End.”

“Really?”

“That’s the word,” I said. “I heard it from a blind shoeshine man outside a Falafel King downtown.”

“That’s solid.”

“You bet.”

We walked farther up Commonwealth. The sidewalks were clean of ice and snow, and for a moment I realized spring would be here soon.

“Why would some hoods from the North End be involved with a judge in Blackburn?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“I’ll go with money,” I said. “When in doubt, go with the money.”

“And how is the boy?”

“On the island,” I said. “Megan Mullen thinks she can get the ruling overturned. But that’ll take some time.”

“Could you go out and see him?” she said. “See how he is?”

“I’d have to rent a boat and break into the facility,” I said. “I tried to have a friendly sit-down with the company CEO, but he was away from the office. I was shuffled off to a happy plump woman who spoke in platitudes. All further calls to the CEO were unreturned.”

“Has his mother seen him?”

“No.”

“Can she speak to him?”

“They talk once a week,” I said. “Phone calls are limited to fifteen minutes. They’re also monitored.”

“So she has really no idea how he’s doing.”

“Nope.”

“That must be horrible.”

“She’s pretty upset,” I said. “As you can imagine.”

We finally made it to Linnaean and walked up the steps of Susan’s Victorian, where she lived and kept her practice. Pearl jumped up the steps as if ready to repeat the entire walk. I held on to the bannister and stretched out my leg. There was a neat little sign by the front door that noted SUSAN SILVERMAN. PSYCHOTHERAPIST.

“Do you ever get walk-in clients?” I said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Do we have beer?”

“And wine and soon a pizza,” she said. “What more could a good Jewish girl want for an evening?”

“Let’s get changed and I’ll show you.”

“My mother warned me about a goy like you,” she said. “She said they only think of one thing.”

I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek as she unlocked the door. I whispered into her ear, “Your mother was right.”

24

The next day, I hadn’t been in Blackburn all of two hours when a cop pulled me over with his flashers. He asked me to step out of the car and put my hands on the roof.

I told him this technically wasn’t a car. “It’s an SUV,” I said. “It has four-wheel drive and everything.”

“Get the fuck out of the car, smart-ass, before I drag you out.”

“That would be interesting to see.”

“What?”

“I said I’d be thrilled if you’d try,” I said. “You know, reach in, grab me by the arms, and see what happens? It’ll be fun. You look like you could use a little workout this morning.”

He looked hard at me. I looked at him. I noted the name on his badge. Murphy. I took in the features of his round face and weak chin. A thin scar over his right eye. Small, vacant blue eyes and squat, wide nose. Short, oily blondish hair. I reached down to my smartphone and flipped through the apps as I kept eye contact. Looking at him wasn’t very pleasant. It took great effort and fortitude. His breath smelled like the back alley of a seafood restaurant.

“You resisting?”

“You keep breathing on me and I’ll write out a confession.”

“Get out of the vehicle now.”

“Are you arresting me?” I said.

“You bet your ass,” Officer Murphy said.

“Just for the hell of it, what’s the charge?”

“You people make me sick.”

“Educated?”

“Pederast,” he said. “Bopping little girls. Probably keep porno shit on your computer. Now get out of the car.”

There was a lot of blood rushing into my face and I felt a jolt of adrenaline zap my chest.

I wanted to hit him very hard and very fast in the big bazoo. The cop had his hand on his sidearm and stepped back so I could open the door. I touched my smartphone to start recording as I got out.

“I think you have me confused with your old priest.”

He stared harder at me. I resisted the urge to shudder.

My window was down as I closed the door. Several cars zoomed past on Central Avenue. Across the street was a used-tire business, and you could hear the quick zapping of the air gun on the lug nuts. I started to yell over to the men working in the open bay but decided that would be cowardly. Besides, I wasn’t a local. Only special visitors to Blackburn get harassed.

He touched my shoulder, very light, and I spun very fast. He jumped back and pulled his gun. “Wow.”

“You want trouble,” he said, “you got it, big guy.”

“Big guy?” I said. “Wow. You improvise that? Or have you been practicing that in the shower. Along with other things.”

“Turn around,” he said. “Hands behind your back. And shut up.”

He touched the mic on his lapel. He let dispatch know he’d gotten the guy and would need another unit to transport. It made me feel very important.