Robert Parker - Death in Paradise

"You think of anything, give me a ringy dingy," Jesse said.

"You bet," Gino said. "Nice of you to stop by."

Vinnie had been looking at Jesse with nothing in his eyes since Jesse had entered.

Jesse turned and shot Vinnie with his forefinger. Vinnie had no reaction as Jesse walked back out through the draped arch.

Jesse sat in a cubicle in the Organized Crime Unit in the new Boston Police headquarters and talked with a detective sergeant named Brian Kelly.

"Bobby Doyle over in District Thirteen told me you were the man to talk to," Jesse said.

"He still in youth service?" Kelly said.

"Yes."

"I used to work over there in Area C," Kelly said. "Whaddya need?"

He was about Jesse's size with thick black hair cut short. He looked in shape.

"Gino Fish," Jesse said.

Kelly rocked back in his swivel chair and paused for a moment.

"Ahh," Kelly said. "Gino."

Jesse nodded.

"OCU spends a lot of time thinking about Gino Fish," Kelly said.

"What can you tell me?" Jesse said.

"How long you been chief out there?" Kelly said.

"Four years."

"Work your way up?"

Jesse smiled.

"Down, I think," Jesse said. "I was in L.A. working homicide. I got fired for drinking on the job, which sobered me up some, and I sort of resurfaced in Paradise."

"What's the deal with Gino?" Kelly said.

Jesse knew he had passed.

"There was a floater in the lake," Jesse said. "Shot once behind the right ear and weighted. Body pulled loose from the weight and surfaced."

"Execution?"

"I would guess," Jesse said. "She was a kid named Billie Bishop. Runaway, and the last place she ran away from, she gave Gino's phone number as a forwarding address."

"She was with Sister Mary John," Kelly said.

"Yes."

"Which is how you ran into Bobby Doyle."

"Yes."

"I didn't know Bobby knew about Gino," Kelly said.

"He didn't. I did. His name came up a few years ago in a case I was on."

"In Paradise?"

"Yep."

"Mean streets," Kelly said.

Jesse smiled.

"So," he said, "you know any reason a fifteen-year-old girl would be giving people Gino's number?"

"Gino's into a lot of things," Kelly said. "None of them pleasant." He grinned. "But girls are not usually one of them."

"I picked that up," Jesse said.

"So she wouldn't be for his own use," Kelly said. "There'd have to be a profit motive. Kid come from money?"

"Not that kind," Jesse said.

"So…"

"So sex."

"Gino hasn't got much background in prostitution," Kelly said.

"Because he wouldn't?"

"There's nothing Gino wouldn't," Kelly said. "He just hasn't."

"How about Vinnie Morris?"

Kelly shook his head. "He wouldn't."

"He a shooter?" Jesse said.

"They say he shoots clays with a handgun."

"Nobody can do that," Jesse said.

Kelly shrugged.

"He's a shooter," Kelly said. "Clay pigeons, people, don't make any difference to Vinnie."

"But?"

"But," Kelly shook his head. "You know how some of these guys are. There's stuff he won't do."

"Like prostitution?"

"Like that. Like dope."

"So what's he do for Gino?"

"Bodyguard, enforcement. Gino needs to threaten somebody, Vinnie's the threat. People threaten Gino, Vinnie's the response."

"How far from the street is Gino?" Jesse asked.

" Far. City used to be run by a guy named Joe Broz, but he got old, and his kid wasn't up to it. So things got divided up. The Feds put the Italians out of business. Tony Marcus runs Roxbury and part of Dorchester. The Burkes have the Irish neighborhoods like Southie. Fast Eddie Lee has Chinatown. Gino's pretty much got what's left: South End, Back Bay."

"So if Gino's an executive, how does he come in contact with a street kid like Billie Bishop?"

"Maybe you start at the other end," Kelly said. "Who likes fifteen-year-old girls?"

"That knows Gino Fish," Jesse said.

"And maybe has a connection to Paradise," Kelly said.

"That Gino likes?" Jesse said.

"That Gino can use."

The room was empty of ornament. Just a gray metal desk, an extra chair, and a swivel chair with a man sitting in it behind the desk. The man was white, entirely bald, clean-shaven. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the neck and a pair of pale blue jeans. The shirt and jeans were starched and pressed. His face was healthy-looking. His teeth were very white. His fingernails gleamed. The man's name was Dix.

Jesse sat in the extra chair.

"My name is Jesse Stone," he said. "My ex-wife says she's talked to you."

"She did," Dix said.

"You used to be a cop."

"Until I gave it up to be a drunk."

"What pushed your button?" Jesse said.

"My boozer button?"

"You know," Jesse said, "the precipitating event."

Dix laughed. Jesse noticed that Dix's hands lay perfectly still, one on top of the other on the desk in front of him.

"Booze," Dix said.

"Booze?"

"I was a drinker of opportunity," Dix said. "As soon as I could get booze, I did."

"I was all right until my wife left."

"No, you weren't. Even if you were sober. You were a drunk waiting to happen."

Jesse was silent for a time. Dix waited. He seemed ready to wait for the rest of eternity. There was nothing hurried in him.

" Lot of wives leave a lot of husbands," Jesse said.

Dix nodded.

"Not all the husbands have a drinking problem."

Dix nodded again.

"You married?" Jesse said.

"My wife left me because I was a drunk," Dix said. "By the time I got sober she was with somebody else."

"Tough."

"I earned it," Dix said. "Like they say, if you can't do the time, don't do the crime."

"Booze kill the job, too?"

"Yes."

"How'd you get sober?"

"I stopped drinking," Dix said.

"That's the secret?"

"You're a drunk because you drink," Dix said. "Don't drink, you're not a drunk."

"You don't believe in addiction?"

"Sure I do. I was addicted. Still am. But that's an explanation. You want to stop drinking, pal, you have to do more than explain it."

Jesse smiled a little.

"You're a cold bastard, aren't you," he said.

"Stopping is cold bastard work," Dix said. "Ever been to a shrink?"

"Not till now."

"Lotta people go to the shrink. They discover their childhood. They understand why they do what they do. And they say, 'Oh boy, now I understand why I'm such a full-bore blue-blooded asshole.' And they think they're cured."

"But they aren't," Jesse said.

"They're halfway," Dix said. "The trick is to stop being a full-bore blue-blooded asshole."

"I sense a parable," Jesse said.

Dix smiled. "You need will as well as understanding."

"There's the rub," Jesse said.

"Yep. There's the rub," Dix said.

"Can you help?"

"What am I, another pretty face? Of course I can help you. But I can't stop you. You got to find a reason for that."

"Like a higher power?" Jesse said.

"Like not getting your ass shot because you're drunk while serving and protecting," Dix said.

"So what do we do?"

"We talk," Dix said. "We think about where you are and how you got there. Sometimes I offer advice."

"Like what?"

"Like drink a lot of orange juice. Your body starts to crave sugar when you give up booze."

"Why juice?"

"Because it's better for you than candy bars and tonic," Dix said.

"For that I'm paying a hundred and fifty an hour?"

"A hundred and sixty-five an hour," Dix said. "I'm here all the time. You can call me anytime. You can stop by at 3:00 A.M. if you want. We can talk. We can sort out the things you tell yourself. And we can agree once again that the way to stop is to stop."