Cold Service (16 page)

"We're on Franklin Street, going west behind Boots," I said. "You should probably go home before somebody shoots you."

Vinnie said "Sure," and broke the connection.

"Vinnie don't say much," Hawk said.

"You wish he'd talk more?" I said.

"God, no," Hawk said.

We went through Saugus and up Route 1. We went east on Route 128 and south on 114.

"We seem to be moving in a large circle," I said.

"Be safer to go around the fight than through it," Hawk said.

"Plus," I said, "fooling anyone trying to follow."

"You bet," Hawk said.

After an hour and a half, we ended up almost next door to Marshport in the Phillips's Point section of Swampscott, near Tedesco Rocks, a bit beyond the foot of a long driveway that wound up to a squat little flat-roofed fieldstone castle with a crenelated roofline and a round tower at one end. The silver Volvo had pulled into that driveway and parked in the big circle at the top.

"Tasteful," Hawk said.

"Probably got boiling oil," I said, "ready on the roof."

"At least there no drawbridge," Hawk said.

We sat and looked at the house. It sat high on some sort of ledge. The ocean was below it in the back. There was land on both sides, between it and its neighbors.

"Got an entry plan?" I said.

"No."

"Good to be working with a pro," I said. "Assuming we get in, you got an exit plan?"

"Same as usual," Hawk said.

"Run like hell?" I said.

"That one," Hawk said.

We sat for a while more with the car windows down. It was a warm, damp, and overcast day. The kind of day that might feature a thunderstorm before it was over. A car passed us in the other direction. A solitary gull swung over us on its way to the sea.

"Here the plan," Hawk said.

"Oh, good," I said.

"We walks up the driveway and rings the front doorbell."

"Un-huh."

"Tha's it," Hawk said.

I didn't say anything. Hawk didn't say anything. Above us, the gull did another long sweep.

"Well," I said finally, "it's an easy plan to remember."

We got out of the car. Hawk opened the trunk and took out two dark-blue Kevlar vests. He handed me one. I put it on and adjusted the Velcro straps. Hawk put his on.

"Don't tell Vinnie we wore these," I said. "He'll think we're sissies."

"He don't have to know," Hawk said.

We started up the driveway. Hawk had his big.44 out and concealed behind his right leg. I had brought my Browning nine-millimeter.

"Put the gun away," Hawk said. "We get in, I take the Ukrainians. You take Boots. I don't want him dead."

"Okay if I tickle him?" I said.

"Long as he don't die," Hawk said.

I holstered the Browning.

It was a long walk up the driveway. Except for the easy long cycle of the seagull's pattern, nothing happened as we walked it. No dogs barked. No alarms sounded. No one yelled, "Hey you." No one shot us. Only the slow silence and the seagull. It was a white seagull with some gray. There are actually many kinds of seagulls. Maybe this one was a herring gull. Maybe it didn't make all that much difference what this one was.

At the front door, Hawk put his left hand over the peephole and rang the bell.

There was movement, then silence, then a voice said, "What?"

Hawk said something in a language that might have been Ukrainian. And after a moment, the door opened on a chain. Hawk and I hit it simultaneously as it opened, and the chain pulled loose. The door flew open, and the man who opened it staggered backward, raising a handgun as he staggered. Hawk shot him once in the face, under the left eye.

"Lyaksandro," Hawk said, as if he were checking him off a list.

We were in a high foyer full of heavy furniture. Two men appeared in the archway to our right. One of them was Boots, with a small handgun. The other man had an Uzi. I dove at Boots. I heard Hawk fire. I rammed into Boots and he went down. I got hold of the handgun and twisted it sideways as he fired. He kept firing. I kept twisting. The bullets splintered into some of the heavy furniture. He struggled to turn it toward me and failed. Then the gun was empty. He let it go and began to fight me. With my left hand, I got hold of his hair and rolled sideways, twisting him with me. He was flailing at me with both fists, but I was too close to him for him to get much behind the punches. He didn't have much of a punch, anyway. I put my forearm under his chin and pressed it against his throat. He tried to bite me. I pressed harder. He was having trouble breathing.

"Okay," he croaked. "Okay."

I took my forearm off his neck, kept hold of his hair, and got us both on our feet. Hawk was looking down at the man with the Uzi.

"Vanko," he said.

It was hard to hear him. The room still seemed full of gunfire. My ears rang. Hawk put the.44 away and looked at me and Boots.

"What the fuck?" Boots said.

"Shut up," Hawk said.

He looked at me.

"Bring him," he said, and turned and walked past the two dead men, out the front door, and toward the car parked down the hill.

"What the hell was that mumbo jumbo at the door?" I said to Hawk.

"Ukrainian," Hawk said. "I said, 'Hurry up, it's an emergency.' "

"You speak Ukrainian?" I said.

"Memorized the phrase, case I needed it."

"Like you memorized the five Ukrainians involved in shooting Luther," I said.

"Names and faces," Hawk said.

"Remind me not to annoy you," I said.

"Too late," Hawk said.

Boots continued to stare blankly. He seemed smaller than he had been, and limp. Like an uprooted weed.

Standing behind him, Hawk said, "You didn't make a break for it, so I figure you hoping to live."

Boots stared.

"You hoping to live?" Hawk said.

Boots didn't answer. Hawk cuffed him on the back of the head.

"You hoping?" Hawk said.

Boots shrugged.

"Hard being tough when you alone," Hawk said. "Easier when some of your people around."

Boots shrugged again.

"You got a chance," Hawk said. "You do what I tell you."

Boots was motionless for a moment, then nodded.

"You give me ten million dollars," Hawk said. Boots was silent for a time, and when he finally spoke, his voice sounded as if he hadn't spoken for a long time.

"I don't have that," he said.

Hawk took out his gun and pressed the barrel hard against Boots's right temple. He cocked it. The mechanical sound of the hammer going back was harsh in the quiet room.

" 'Course you do," Hawk said.

"I don't. I mean, I may be worth it, but I don't have that in cash."

"How much you got in cash?"

"Maybe five?"

Hawk looked at me.

"Marty Siegal told me, if you shop, you can get a secure three percent at the moment."

"Hundred and fifty thousand a year," Hawk said. "Think Rita will shop?"

"Somebody will," I said.

"Think one hundred fifty thousand enough?"

"Probably more than Luther made," I said.

Hawk nodded.

"How 'bout inflation?" Hawk said. "Kid's still a baby."

"Invested right, it'll grow with inflation."

"And Rita will invest it right," Hawk said.

Then he smiled and said in unison with me, "Somebody will."

During the conversation, Boots sat motionless and without affect.

"Okay," Hawk said to Boots. "Five it is. I find out you had more and you dead."

Boots nodded. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. It was the first sign of life in him.

"You gonna wire-transfer it to an account I'll give you. When the transfer is done and the money in the account, you free as a buzzard."

"I don't know how to do that," Boots said. "My accountant does that."

"Where you accountant?" Hawk said.

"State Street."

"In town here?" Hawk said.

"Yes."

"Well, then he probably still alive."

Without taking the gun from Boots's head, Hawk leaned forward and took the cordless phone from my desk and handed it to Boots.

"I don't know what to tell him," Boots said.

"Give him the paper from Rita," Hawk said.

I did.

"Routing number, account number, all that stuff," I said.

Boots was afraid to move his head with the cocked gun at his temple. He raised the paper so he could see it. Then he took in some air and dialed the number.

"The Kodiak Kid," I said.

"Who?"

I shook my head.

"I assume you know something about this," Susan said.

"Yes."

"I won't ask for details, but I need to know something."

"I'll tell you anything you want to know," I said.

"How many dead?"

"Since the beginning?"

"Yes. Since they shot Hawk."

"Counting Luther and his family, and the people did the shooting, and the Marshport numbers, maybe twenty."

"How many are you responsible for?"

"Depends," I said. "I helped Hawk set this up."

"Helped him, or watched his back while he did it?" Susan said.

I shrugged.

"Mostly the latter," I said.

"How many people did you shoot?" Susan said.

"None," I said.

"Good," she said.

It was evening. We were sitting on her front steps with Pearl, watching the action on Linnaean Street, at which Pearl was poised to bark, if there was any, which there wasn't.

"Responsibility is complicated," I said.

"Not if you shot them," Susan said. "Then it would be simple."

"So maybe sometimes complicated is better," I said.

"I think so," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Uneasy about it all," I said.

"But?"

"But I did the best I could with it."

"Yes," Susan said, "you did."

A squirrel leaped with no apparent anxiety from a high branch to a low one. Pearl's large ears pricked forward, and her shoulders tensed. The squirrel jumped from the tree to a fence, and ran along the top of it. Pearl watched closely until it disappeared and, ever hopeful, for a time afterward.

"What happened to Boots?" Susan said.

"He wire-transferred five million dollars to an account at Rita's firm. It'll be invested on behalf of Luther Gillespie's surviving child."

"Does Rita know about investing?" Susan said.

"My guess is that Rita can't balance her checkbook. She'll have one of the trust lawyers manage it, and she'll godmother it."

"What will that provide for the child?" Susan said.

"More than one hundred thousand dollars a year," I said.

Susan nodded. We watched as two women with long, gray hair, one with it braided, strolled past us toward Mass. Ave.

"Is Cambridge the long, gray hair capital of the world?" I said.

"Un-huh."

"Great look," I said.

"Un-huh. Where is he now?"

"Boots?"

Susan nodded.

"Part of the deal," I said. "Boots comes up with the five million, Hawk lets him stroll."

"Just walk away?"

"Yep."

"So he's free and alive?"

"For the moment."

"For the moment?"

"Boots won't be able to leave this alone," I said. "Eventually, he'll make a run at Hawk, and Hawk will kill him."

"You're so sure," Susan said.

"I am."

"Why did Hawk let him go?"

"Part of the deal," I said.

"But why would he need to keep a bargain with a man like Podolak?" Susan said.

"Wasn't about Podolak," I said.

"No," Susan said. "Of course it wasn't."

"Hawk let him go because he said he would," I said.

"Yes," Susan said. "I understand. I just forget sometimes."

"You don't forget a hell of a lot," I said.

"Other than that, is it over?" she said.

"Not quite."

Hawk and I had walked peaceably into City Hall and up the elegant front stairway to sit with Tony Marcus and Brock Rimbaud in Boots's former office. Ty Bop and Junior stood silently in the hallway on either side of the door. I smiled at them as we went in. Neither of them seemed to notice. One of the big Palladian windows in the office was secured with plywood. The far corner of the big office was draped in polyethylene wrap. There were scorch patterns on the vaulted ceiling. The Gray Man sat behind Boots's former desk. Tony and his son-in-law sat in front of the desk.

"Mr. Mayor," I said courteously.

The Gray Man tipped his head.

"Things under control?" Tony said.

"For the nonce," the Gray Man said.

Hawk looked at me and silently repeated the word "nonce?"

"For whatever," Tony said. "Is it our city now?"

The Gray Man nodded.

"You going to run the town?" Tony said.

The Gray Man had his fingers tented in front of him, tapping his chin lightly.

"Until the mayor returns…"

Tony snorted.

"Or until a new mayor is duly chosen by the electorate."

"Or the city is in receivership," I said.

"But for now," the Gray Man said, and smiled faintly, "I am in control here at City Hall."

"So let's talk about plans," Tony said.

Sitting beside Tony, Rimbaud was jiggling his knee.

"You wouldn't be in City Hall," Rimbaud said, "wasn't for us."

Tony glanced at Rimbaud for a long, silent moment.

I did my always-popular Bogart impression.

"All the son-in-laws, in all the world…"

"What's that mean?" Rimbaud said.

"Means you need to be quiet," Tony said to him.

He looked back at the Gray Man.

"I want Brock to run the street business," he said.

Again, the Gray Man smiled fleetingly. Things amused him. But not a whole lot. He nodded.

"You met the supervisor?" Hawk said.

"You're so sure there is one?" the Gray Man said.

"You meet him?" Hawk said.

The Gray Man picked up the phone and spoke into it briefly.

In a moment, a door opened to the left of the polyethylene drapes and a tall handsome man came in, wearing a good charcoal-gray pin-striped suit. He had a nice short beard with gray in it, and his hair was longish and combed back over his ears.

"This is Mr. Johnson," the Gray Man said.

"A fine old Afghani name," I said.

Mr. Johnson smiled and walked to a couch to the right of the mayor's desk and sat down. He crossed his legs. He was wearing low black boots with silver buckles.

"It is a name which serves," he said.

There was no hint of any accent. He spoke English with the regionless precision of a television announcer. He glanced at the Gray Man.

"Like Mayor McKean's name," he said.

"Mr. Johnson," the Gray Man said, "represents our Afghani partners."

"My duties are consultive," he said. "Enhancing the product flow, one might say."

"How's it been flowing lately," Tony said.

"It has been a contentious time," Mr. Johnson said. "But the product has flowed."

"And keeps flowing?" Tony said.

"So far," Johnson said.

"Because of you?" Tony said.

"All of us have helped," Johnson said modestly. "I try to stay in the background, not call attention to myself. As you might well understand. I am not comfortable making myself known to so many people."

He looked around the room.

"But the mayor insisted," he said. "And the nature of the current situation…"

He made a small, graceful gesture with his manicured left hand, the nails gleaming, and dropped it back into his lap, where it resumed being motionless. Calm. There is calm that's dense, full of stuff kept motionless. Like Hawk's. And there's calm which is merely the absence of anything else. Like the Gray Man's. To me, Johnson seemed more like the Gray Man.

"The current situation is me," Tony said. "My son-in-law is going to run things for me."

Johnson's dark eyes rested silently on Brock for a time.

"Really?" Johnson said finally.

"Really, really, pal," Brock said. "This sucker's going to be a cash-fucking-cow."

Johnson nodded slowly.

"That's fine," he said. "Fine."

"So who do I see about product?" Rimbaud said.

"You would see me," Johnson said. "I'll have to modify the arrangement slightly." He smiled. "Change the locks, so to speak. Then I'll be back in touch with you."

As Johnson talked, Tony's eyes shifted back and forth from Rimbaud to Johnson to the Gray Man to me to Hawk and back to Rimbaud. Tony was far too cool to show anything on his face, but I suspected he wasn't comfortable.

"Then we're in business," Rimbaud said.

"We certainly are," Johnson said.

Rimbaud stood and put out his hand and Johnson took it. Tony looked at Hawk. Hawk didn't look back. Rimbaud pumped Johnson's hand for a time and then sat down, looking exhilarated.

"Will you be moving back into your office?" Johnson said, "on Naugus Street?"

"You bet your Afghan ass," Rimbaud said.

"Calloused, no doubt," Johnson said, "from so much camel riding."

"You fuckers actually ride camels over there?" Rimbaud said.

Tony looked up at the high ceiling.

"You'll call us there?" Tony said to Johnson.

"I will."

"Ask for me," Rimbaud said.

"Of course," Johnson said.

He stood and looked at Hawk and me thoughtfully.

"You gentlemen are not talkative," he said.

"No," Hawk said. "We not."

"The, ah, mayor, however"-he nodded at the Gray Man-"tells me you do good work."

"Yes," Hawk said. "We do."

"Well," Johnson said. "Here's to the new partnership."

"I'll drink to that," Rimbaud said.

Johnson nodded and smiled and walked out the way he had come in.