December Boys (22 page)

I stood outside the car a moment, looking through the donut shop glass, weighing luck against providence.

Bowman held open the front door.

“Come on, Jay. What do you think I’m gonna do? Cap your ass and dump your body in the cruller batter? Let’s go. I’m freezing my nuts off.”

Besides the acne-riddled cashier, who also wouldn’t be getting laid anytime soon, the only other person inside the donut shop was a hobo who’d wandered in from the forest. Wrapped in a padded puffer, duct-tape-stuffed at the seams, he sat at a table and sniffed his fingers, a gooey white substance I prayed was egg.

Bowman ordered two coffees. I reached for my wallet.

“On me,” he said, unwrapping a thick roll of rubber-banded cash from his jeans. “How you like your coffee?”

“Light and sweet.”

“A real man’s man. And a half dozen donuts,” he said to the clerk. “I’m fucking starving. Mix ’em up. Anything but Boston Cream. I hate Boston.”

At the table Bowman clamped down on a jelly. He pointed at the donuts in the bag. “Eat up, Jay. They’re good for you. Fried sugar and bread. Everything a growing boy needs.”

Bowman kept his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on the door. I’d never seen him this up close before. Deep crags and crow’s feet rivered his face, the burden of a hard-lived life etched and unforgiving. Forty-eight or fifty-eight, neither would’ve surprised me.

I snared a glazed and gobbled up half in one bite. I was running on fumes.

“Okay, let’s see it,” Bowman said, licking jam off his thumb.

“What?”

“You got in a car with me, drove the darkest dirt roads, and
now
you want to play it safe? You’re clutching that paper bag like a purse.” He held out his hand. “Come on, man, let’s have it.”

“First, tell me what’s in it for you. No offense, but I have a tough time buying you’d want to help me do anything.”

Bowman leaned back. “You’re right. I don’t give a shit about you. But I do care about breaking free of Adam and Michael. More like the enemy of my enemy. I know for a fact you’ve been poking around.”

“Poking around?”

“Xeroxing courthouse documents. Visiting former guests of North River. Hanging around construction sites. Asking too many questions. You’re making the Brothers nervous. This Roberts thing is no joke.”

“Judge Roberts?”

“Whatever your little girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I give a shit. She made a photocopy up in Longmont. They want it back.”

“They send you to break into her apartment too?”

“If I wanted to fuck you over, I’d pick a better spot than a donut shop.”

I passed the bag, which comprised everything I had—my own clippings, charts and graphs from Fisher, Nicki’s contribution to the cause. I couldn’t imagine what he was looking for. Even the supposed classified court documents were part of a public archive.

Bowman stacked it all on the table, licking a thumb, perusing page by page.

“You and the Brothers Lombardi aren’t seeing eye to eye these days?”

“You could say that.”

“What else could you say?”

“A guy like me is dead weight—and the first thing that gets cut when criminals go legit.”

“How so?”

“I did a seven-year stretch at NH Correctional. Back when I was a kid your age. Breaking and entering horseshit. Prison ain’t nowhere you want to spend a night, let alone seven years. But I tell you this. I met more mensch in NHC than I ever did in the construction racket. It’s a business filled with liars and crooks, every last one of them. And Lombardi is the worst.”

“I’m guessing you’d know.”

“Not a lot of employment opportunities for ex-cons.” He pointed at the Star of David tattoo on his neck. “Bit of a hiring deterrent.” Bowman kept leafing through the stack, carrying on a conversation in between slurps of black coffee. “You have no idea what you stumbled on last winter.”

“Yeah, Gerry Lombardi was a creep.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“I don’t know what that old man did or didn’t do. But their father’s perversion wasn’t what had Adam and Michael so rattled. That hard drive your brother got his hands on contained something far worse.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Jay. I’m not exactly an inner-circle guy. I handled more of the grunt work.”

“You mean breaking and entering, assault . . . murder?”

Even at the accusation, Bowman remained unfazed. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. But I didn’t kill your brother’s friend.”

“Is this like a criminal’s code or some shit? Beating and battery is okay, but you draw the line at murder?”

He stopped reading to catch my eye. “I never said I haven’t killed a man. Just not that man.”

I gauged the distance to the door, adding how many steps I could manage before I reached the edge of the forest versus the likelihood a bullet would split my scapula first.

Disinterested in my crisis of faith, he continued. “Whatever was on that hard drive is tied to this UpStart business, I can tell you that. You only copied the pics. We got back the hard drive. Which is the only reason you’re still here. Even when Gerry was alive, doing whatever he was doing, Adam and Michael were planning this center. It’s why Adam spoke out about the drug epidemic so often, why Michael lobbied so hard to get legislation passed for a private facility. The Coos Center is priority number one. It’s why they blew up the truck stop and motel. It’s why they paid off judges like Roberts to ship kids to North River. Necessity feeds the mother. They want this prison.”

“You can prove that?”

“If I could prove that, Jay, why the fuck would I need you?”

“Why
do
you need me?” I pointed at the trail of papers. “Those
are public records my friend Nicki copied, newspaper articles I snipped out. Available to anyone with a buck and pair of scissors.”

“Your girlfriend got her hands on something special. Someone from the courthouse called Michael. The Brothers have been freaking out ever since. I need to get out of here.”

“Here?”

“New Hampshire. New England. Maybe the country.”

“Had to fuck up pretty bad to need to run that far.”

“That part doesn’t concern you,” Bowman said, “But, yeah, I wouldn’t mind landing somewhere those two can’t find me. And a parting payback shot would be nice.” He closed the folder. “You don’t have it.”

“What?”

“What you need.”

“I thought you worked for Tomassi Construction now. Delivering payoffs.”

“I’m a jack of a lot of trades. Listen, kid, none of this would make any sense to you. It’s a need-to-know basis. I’m telling you what you need to know. Don’t worry about me or my life, what I did or where I’m going, okay? You’re on the right track. Judge Roberts, HUD programs pushed through, the new juvie center. But the spike you need to nail those pricks to the wall isn’t here. Now think back. Your little girlfriend—”

“I told she’s not—”

“—got into some records. Out-of-state extradition. Population overflow—”

“That’s everything I have.”

He slammed his fist on the table. The hobo jump-farted in his sleep. The dropout cashier recoiled, terrified.

“If they want her that bad,” I said, “why haven’t they sent someone to toss her place?”

“They have. The girl hasn’t been home in days.”

Where the hell had she been sleeping?

Bowman stood to leave.

“Hold on,” I said. “Where you going?”

“Away from here.”

“How am I supposed to get home?”

“Not my problem.” He slid on his jacket. “Call your girlfriend. You’re going to want to do that anyway.”

“Well, thanks for the date.” I would’ve pushed harder for a ride back, since I was now stranded, except for two things: one, I had no interest in running into those Longmont cops, and two, I didn’t want to spend another minute in this guy’s company. He had that wild, unhinged look of a man with nothing left to lose, someone who wouldn’t mind going out in a blaze, a lethal combination I didn’t want to spark.

Bowman nodded at the documents. “Don’t go back to your place. Have your girl pick you up here. She has a photocopy. I know that for a fact. Every copy made at the courthouse needs an ID. Either she made it or someone using her name did. What you’re looking for involves the kids shipped out of state. Kentucky. Arizona. You find that information and you slip it in an envelope, ship it down to the
Monitor
, care of Jim Case.”

“Who’s Jim Case?”

“He’s a reporter. Been poking around this Roberts stuff too. Making the Brothers very nervous. He’s next on the list, if you know what I mean. Get him those papers. Then you and your little girlfriend take a trip out of town.”

“I’m married.”

“Leave your wife and son in Burlington. They are a lot safer up there.”

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Figure it out. And then get out of Dodge. You’re in the crosshairs, kid. You and the girl.”

When Bowman got to the door, he turned over his shoulder. “Sorry for punching you in the back of the head last year. When you hit a man you really should look him in the eye. Good luck.”

I
KEPT TRYING
to reach Nicki, who still wasn’t answering. I left increasingly dire messages, attempting to explain the danger in thirty seconds, avoiding asking where she’d been sleeping because I didn’t want to sound like a possessive ex-boyfriend. If Bowman was right, she couldn’t go back home now, wherever “home” was. The thought of her sleeping with someone else burned me up, although I knew I had no right. What did I really know about the girl? Besides that she was from New York City and had been studying at Keene before taking a semester off and getting stuck with a relative up here. An uncle, I thought she said.

There are few things in this life as depressing as contemplating life’s mysteries inside a Dunkin’ Donuts on the side of a highway in the dead of winter.

The gas station next door sold cigarettes. I made sure to be extra friendly to the clerk, over-explaining how my car had broken down and I was waiting on a friend. I couldn’t afford to get tossed for vagrancy. I’d watched the hobo get the boot a while ago. I didn’t know which jurisdiction I was in or what police force might get the call, but I didn’t want to find out.

If those two Longmont cops couldn’t find me at my place, how long before they checked Charlie’s? I dreaded calling him. Mostly because I was worried he wouldn’t pick up the telephone. I could take getting ignored by Nicki or even my wife, but the day Charlie
Finn stopped taking my calls I’d know I’d burned my last bridge, abandoned forever on the Island of Misfit Toys. I didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t sit on a gas station curb smoking cigarettes all night. I hadn’t seen a single car pull in. Not that anyone picked up hitchhikers these days. Plus, where would I go?

Charlie wasn’t thrilled to hear from me. I could hear the Dubliner in the background. He didn’t sound too drunk. When I explained where I was and who’d brought me there, he agreed to come get me. I ordered another coffee and donut so I’d have an excuse to wait inside where it was warm. The whole time I kept hoping Nicki would call back, but she never did.

I tried to remember the day she got fired. Interstate extradition? Maybe. Kentucky, Arizona? Sounded right. By that point, she’d already crawled under my skin, bugging me. I wasn’t the greatest listener under normal circumstances.

What if Bowman was setting me up? If they couldn’t find Nicki, maybe I could. Maybe that’s what they wanted, for me to bring her out in the open. Except I’d been running around town with the girl for the last few days, in plain sight. She’d just been in my house. If those cops were looking for her, why hadn’t they grabbed her when she left? She’d been parked right out front. Or maybe they’d arrived a minute too late, the timing too convenient. Or maybe those weren’t the same cops. I was pretty sure the car was the same one as the other day, but a lot of cars look alike, Crown Vic the preferred prowl vehicle for undercover. Which meant I was taking my cue from a criminal and murderer. And still Bowman had given me more to work with than anyone else.

Sometime around midnight, Charlie pulled up, alone. I hadn’t anticipated Fisher tagging along for the ride but I wouldn’t have been shocked to see him. Either way, I was glad I didn’t have to deal with his bullshit.

This time of night granted wide berth on the parkway. The thoroughfare, like the Turnpike, traversed mountain granite, but located on the other side of the range, the road invited less traffic.

Charlie immediately brought up the elephant.

“And why do you believe Bowman?”

“His real name is Erik Fingaard.”

“Whatever you’re calling the guy,” Charlie said, “he’s the same asshole who knocked you unconscious and dumped Pete Naginis’ body behind the truck stop.”

“He admitted punching me out,” I said, “and a lot of other fucked-up shit, too. But he denied killing Pete.”

“Did he pinky swear?”

Charlie’s skepticism was understandable. You don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. Especially when that impression is one someone wants to stomp into your skull. I couldn’t explain why my gut told me to trust Bowman.

Charlie reached for a smoke. “So, where to? You said you don’t want to go home. I guess you can crash at my place.” He sounded exhausted.

“Sorry about last night.” I passed my pack. “Sorry about, y’know, everything.”

“I love you, Jay. You’re the closest thing to family I got.” He took a deep breath. “Just tell me the plan, man. You say Bowman’s on the level? Sure. Why not? Can’t hurt mailing a package to the press.”

“Won’t matter if I can’t get Nicki to return my call.”

“Don’t shit where you eat, bro.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“None of my business. But I could see where that was headed soon as you walked in the Olympic. The way she looked at you. The more you denied it.”

“I love my wife.”

“You wouldn’t be the first guy to love his wife and get some on the side.”

“I told you I didn’t sleep with her. We fooled around for, like, thirty seconds, a minute tops.”