Эйс Аткинс - Kickback

I nodded. The old man stepped off the ladder and flipped a switch, and the weaver started working again. At closer inspection, I could see that the loom was real, actually fashioning a broad piece of white cloth. Outside the towering industrial windows were three other identical brick mills. The whole town of Blackburn was built on the idea of industry, nestled by the river, with man-made canals dug throughout the town, intersecting and powering the mill. I took off my hat and dried off the melted snow.

“You’re a smart kid,” I said.

“Doesn’t get me much at my job.”

“You could go back to school.”

“When?” he said. “My old man kicked me out.”

“There are ways.”

“I’m nineteen years old,” he said. “I got six thousand dollars of credit card debt and I’m a month late on my rent for me and my girlfriend. I ain’t going back to school.”

“When I dropped out of college, I joined the Army.”

“My dad would love it if I joined the Army,” he said. “But I don’t really like people shooting at me.”

“That is a downside,” I said.

“Did you like the Army?”

“Not really,” I said. “But some of it I enjoyed very much.”

“You think the cops are going to arrest me?” he said. “They came after Beth and then you.”

“You think she told them about you and Ryan?”

“That’s why Ryan wanted to talk to her,” he said. “He was worried about the same thing. But she swore to God she didn’t say anything about her introducing us to you. As far as they know, she just talked about problems with some kid named Yates.”

“Dillon Yates.”

“That’s him,” he said. “You know him?”

“He’s the reason I’m here,” I said. “Scali sentenced him like he sentenced you and Ryan. And it looks like a whole lot of other kids in Blackburn.”

“He’s a total dick.”

“That’s a given,” I said. “But he’s become a wealthy one at that.”

We walked down the empty row blocked off with rails to a hallway and then turned up a flight of steps. You had to go up the steps to get off the floor and then through the museum to get out of the building. I was pretty sure you had to exit out of the gift shop after being dazzled with the romance of the Industrial Revolution. I wondered if they had a pinup calendar of the mill girls of the 1890s.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Beth shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t think she had a choice.”

“Sure she did.”

“She’s seventeen,” I said. “And adults were pulling her in to say that either she tells the story they want her to tell or else she’s going to prison.”

“I hate this place,” he said. “It’s become the crappiest city in the state.”

“I think it was destined to be that way.”

“Yeah?”

We stood alone in the middle of wide displays of black-and-white photos of workers standing by their looms. Women who’d come from Canada to work night and day in the mills, eat at the mills, live at the mills. “Probably always been pretty crappy,” I said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I kind of figure this stuff out as I go along.”

“What if they put you in prison?”

I laughed. “That won’t happen.”

“How do you know?” he said. “They can do whatever they like. You go against them and you’ll end up in Walpole. My uncle is in Walpole now. But he should be. He killed a guy.”

I shook my head. “But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You think that freakin’ matters?”

“Scali and Callahan and these cops pick on kids because they can’t fight back,” I said. “They target kids from families without money. Or families who don’t even speak English. They’re cowards. Besides, unlike most kids, I have a very good attorney.”

Jake nodded. We walked through the historical displays or fabric, wooden spindles, and mannequins wearing very uncomfortable-looking uniforms of old. A light sleet tapped on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, Hawk was waiting for me in a nice warm car he stole for the day.

“Jeez,” he said. “For your sake, I hope your attorney is tough.”

“The judges better start wearing cups under their robes,” I said. “She knows right where to hit them.”

31

You get this thing figured out, babe?” Hawk said.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Now we can head back to Boston and have dinner at Rialto. I hear Jody has a special with scallops tonight.”

“Haw.”

“Or we can kick around Blackburn a bit,” I said. “See what’s shaking.”

“Might get both of us in the clink.”

“That’s why we are incognito,” I said. “Forward thinking to steal this luxury vehicle.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he said. “Borrowed it from one of my neighbors.”

“I always knew that was the way it worked on Beacon Hill,” I said. “Just take the closest car. Wouldn’t want anyone inconvenienced.”

“May have a fresh car, but we do stand out.”

“Hard to be this handsome.”

“And be this big and black,” Hawk said. “If you hadn’t noticed, I kind of put the black in Blackburn.”

I smiled. Hawk started the car. It was a nice car, leather seats, push-button ignition. The engine ran so quiet, I couldn’t even tell it was running. Hawk’s taste was exquisite. He wore black leather gloves and a matching cap. I had on my trusted Navy peacoat and Dodgers cap. The day was cold and gray, and about perfect for a field trip to an old mill town.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Both judges are in court. Let’s drive up to Lawrence and I’ll buy you lunch.”

“How you make my heart pitter-patter,” Hawk said. “Lunch in Lawrence.”

“Better than sticking around here,” I said. “And then we’ll head back and see what’s going on with Callahan and Scali.”

“You don’t think the cops on the lookout for you?” he said. “Probably watching both houses in case you show up.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or perhaps they believe they’ve taught me a lesson.”

“Don’t they know your forehead is four inches thick?”

“Trade secret,” I said, knocking on my brow.

We drove up to Lawrence, had a nice lunch, and returned to Blackburn by late afternoon. We followed Scali home. We drove past the Callahan place. I checked out Beth Golnick’s place, but no one was home. We drove back to Boston.

The next morning there was a hard snow. We headed back to Blackburn.

Again, nothing.

The third day was indeed a charm. Hawk had grown tired of our routine, no more pleased with sojourns to Lawrence than he’d been spending the day in Blackburn. We followed Scali as he left the courthouse, and this time he did not return home. He crossed the half-frozen Merrimack and took I-93 south. Hawk hung a few cars back. Hawk could follow a car down a back highway in Arizona without anyone noticing. And in traffic, he could really work his hidden art. On the third day, we had a third car. This one was a Lexus.

“You ever think about stealing a Hyundai?”

“Nope,” he said.

“You people really do like flashy cars.”

“Almost stole me a pink Cadillac,” Hawk said. “We could drive around Blackburn blaring some Curtis Mayfield from the speakers.”

“Anytime.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. “Where’s Scali headed now?”

Scali braked to a quick stop and took an illegal and very sloppy U-turn. But I guess when you’re a local and crooked judge, you can make a few traffic infractions. He headed back a block or two north on I-93 and pulled into the parking lot of the IHOP.

“Aha,” I said.

“Been here before.”

“Yep.”

“You eat here?”