George Higgins - The rat on fire

“What is it that I am doing around here?” Roscommon said. “Am I talking to my goddamned self?”

“Lieutenant,” Carbone said, “I made a mistake.”

“Well,” Roscommon said, “that’s the first time I ever heard that excuse. Of course a kid is dead, and a lot of people lost everything they own, and the AC is all over me like a rash and a wet towel and a new suit all at once, because those folks happened to be unwhite, but even though I am not enjoying this whole matter very much, I got to admit this is the first time I ever nailed an investigator for booting one, and he came right out and said he booted it. You have my full attention, Donald.”

“I watched his goddamned house, Lieutenant,” Carbone said. “I watched his goddamned car. His van. I started watching when it was still dark this morning. The minute that son of a bitch moved, I was after him.

“The trouble is, I was out in front with the van, watching it, and he apparently went out the back and left the van there. I don’t know how the fuck he got to Bristol Road. He must’ve had a car stashed on the other side of the alley, and gone in that. By the time I figured out he must be gone, since he always comes out before nine in the morning, he was out.

“ ‘Oh, my God,’ I said to myself, ‘this is the day he’s gonna do it.’ I call Sweeney and he’s watching Fein. Fein’s just leaving his house. ‘Fuck Fein,’ I say.”

“Not supposed to use that kind of talk on the air,” Roscommon said.

“Not supposed to get in the kind of situation where you use that kind of talk on the air,” Carbone said. “I did. Told Sweeney, forget the landlord and haul ass to Bristol. I’ll meet him there. Sweeney tells me, forget meeting, he’s closer to Bristol, I should go find Dannaher. Which is what I did. Took me a while, but I did it.”

“He say anything yet?” Roscommon said. “Because once Tiger Mike gets here and has a little chat with him, he isn’t going to. Mike’ll get somebody else to represent Dannaher, and Fein’ll have his own guy, and Proctor’ll have Mike and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Not a fucking thing,” Carbone said.

“Shit,” Roscommon said.

“The only thing he said was, I didn’t really understand it,” Carbone said, “but what he said was did we know how the fire started, and I said it was still too hot for the fire marshals to go in, but it looked like it was wiring to them. And he said, ‘Leo lit the rats off.’”

“Where is Leo this fine afternoon,” Roscommon said.

“In the holding pen,” Carbone said. “They picked him up when he came out of his house for the second time, around one this afternoon.”

“Leo, my friend,” Roscommon said to Proctor in the holding pen, “it’s been too long between conversations.”

“Yeah,” Proctor said.

“Leo, my friend,” Roscommon said, “Jimma Dannaher says that you’ve been being mean to rats.”

“That son of a bitch,” Proctor said, “he ducks out on me and I can’t find him when I need him? That son of a bitch.”

“Is it true, Leo?” Roscommon said. “Is it true that you’ve been being mean to rats.”

“That son of a bitch,” Proctor said.

“You know me, Leo,” Roscommon said. “I am always kind to animals myself. I, for example, would not even hurt a rat, if I had a choice.”

“No,” Proctor said.

“Particularly,” Roscommon said, “if the rat knew something about a first-degree murder case.”

“You wanna talk?” Proctor said.

“That was my hope,” Roscommon said. “That was my hope. Leave us talk about some rats, and a lawyer and maybe even a cop.”

“Cop?” Proctor said.

“Leo, Leo,” Roscommon said, “how’d you like a Danish, one of the prune Danish down the Scandinavian Pastry?”

“I never got but one of those Danish,” Proctor said.

“I know,” Roscommon said. “But I am gonna get that cop.”

“I know,” Proctor said.