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Authors: Michael Brandman

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BOOK: Killing the Blues
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“Coffee,” Jesse said.
“I'll walk with you,” Molly said.
With Molly at his side, Jesse headed for the coffeemaker. As he poured himself a cup, he noticed a box of donuts sitting on the sideboard. He grabbed one.
She watched him. He took a bite.
“Yum,” he said.
She stared at him, disapprovingly.
“Those'll kill you,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “But what a way to go.”
“Death by lard,” she said. “How pleasant for you.”
He looked at her. Then he went back to his office. She followed.
“I've been meaning to ask you something,” Jesse said.
“What,” Molly said.
“We do have intercom capability on our phone system, don't we,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Why have we stopped using it,” he said.
“Why have we stopped using the intercom?”
“Yes.”
Molly didn't say anything.
“You answer most of the calls that come in to the station, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You always ask who's calling, right?”
“Where is this leading, Jesse?”
“Every time there's an incoming call, you answer it and then you shout out the name of who's calling. And who it's for. Do you think it's possible that shouting might not be the most effective way of alerting our personnel to incoming calls?”
“Do I need an Internal Affairs representative present for this conversation?”
“Would you ever consider placing an incoming call on hold and then notifying the recipient by use of the intercom?”
“Would I get paid more?”
“Do you think it's possible we could attempt an experiment involving the intercom?”
“Are you instructing me to use it,” Molly said.
“I wouldn't put it that way.”
“What way would you put it?”
“I'd like you to try using the intercom.”
“I don't like the intercom.”
Jesse didn't say anything.
“Are you instructing me to use the intercom,” Molly said.
“No. I'm asking.”
“You're not instructing.”
“No.”
“I'll take it under advisement,” she said, and stood up.
As she was leaving, she looked back over her shoulder and shouted, “Rich Bauer phoned.”
Jesse stared at her.
Then he returned Bauer's call.
“The dogs, Jesse,” he said. “It's awful.”
“How awful?”
“Awful. Whoever killed them really meant to do it.”
“Similarities?”
“Broken necks. How could anyone do that to a dog?”
“Takes all kinds, Rich.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“We're gonna find who did it is what we're gonna do,” Jesse said.
24
Y
ou're here because you're feeling overwhelmed,” Dix said.
“I didn't say that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said things had heated up somewhat.”
“So you don't feel overwhelmed?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Why does this have to be so hard,” Dix said.
“I'm feeling stressed,” Jesse said.
“How are you handling the stress?”
“I'm talking to you.”
“You may be talking, but you're not saying anything,” Dix said.
Jesse didn't say anything.
“This car business. How are you handling it?”
“Unconventionally.”
Dix didn't say anything.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Jesse said.
“Tell me again why you came here.”
“To talk.”
“Perhaps I'm missing something.”
“Let's put it this way. Let's say that I'm baiting a trap.”
“Will this trap place you in harm's way?”
“It might.”
“So you feel vulnerable,” Dix said.
“I didn't say that.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“How do I feel?”
Dix didn't say anything.
“Anxious,” Jesse said.
“You feel anxious?”
“Yes.”
“How do you handle it?”
“The anxiety?”
“Yes.”
“I handle it,” Jesse said.
“But you're experiencing a great deal of it,” Dix said.
“Only on occasion.”
After a pause, Dix said, “Are you drinking?”
“Not really.”
“Are you sticking to your rule?”
“What rule?”
“The two-drinks-a-night rule. This is brutal.”
“Mostly I'm only having one a night.”
“So you're not drinking?”
“I overstepped my limit the one time.”
“After the parking-lot killing,” Dix said.
“I couldn't get the image of the widow out of my mind. She was so grief-stricken. She was trying to hold it together, but the worst was yet to come, and I could see in her eyes that she knew it.”
“So you got drunk?”
“Yes.”
“But you haven't gotten drunk again?”
“No.”
Dix didn't say anything.
“I identified with her grief.”
“Jenn?”
“Yes.”
Neither of them said anything.
“I regretted it,” Jesse said. “I'm determined not to let her get to me again.”
They sat silently for a while.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me,” Dix said.
“I've started seeing someone.”
“Someone other than Sunny Randall?”
“Yes.”
“So you're not seeing Sunny any longer?”
“She's away.”
“If she were here?”
“I don't know.”
“Why?”
“I flew too close to the flame.”
“Which means?”
“I like it better where it's cooler.”
Dix didn't say anything.
“I don't think I'm ready.”
They sat quietly for a while.
“Do you take these sessions seriously,” Dix said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
“Do you find them helpful?”
“Mostly.”
“Do you reflect on them?”
“Sometimes. Why?”
“Because you're often obtuse.”
Jesse didn't say anything.
“I don't want you to wander off the path toward self-realization,” Dix said.
“It's when I wander that I come to see you.”
“Which is a good thing.”
“If you say so.”
25
J
esse returned to the safe house. He parked in the garage and went inside.
Everything was as it had been except that both Perkins and Suit now had two days' worth of beard.
“Anything I should know about,” Jesse said.
“He's agitated. He's been asking for you,” Suitcase said.
“That's a start,” Jesse said.
They went to the door and watched Lopresti for a while.
He, too, needed a shave. Jesse went into the room.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Where were you? Why in hell did you take so long to come back?”
“Did you miss me?”
“Don't fuck with me.”
“Do you have something to tell me?”
“I might.”
“I'll want to know several things, but first I'd like to learn who you're working for.”
“How do I know that you'll let me go if I tell you,” Lopresti said.
“You don't.”
“You said something about verifying what I might tell you. How does that happen?”
“That's my concern.”
“How much information will I have to give you?”
“Enough to satisfy me.”
“You don't give an inch, do you?”
“Someone has died because of this business, Robert. I intend to put a stop to it. If you help me, you'll go free. You'll have to trust in that.”
Lopresti thought about it. “John Lombardo,” he said.
“How do I find John Lombardo?”
“I don't know. He finds me.”
“That's not good enough, Robert.”
“Listen, I don't know how to find him. If I need him, I call his cell.”
“What's the number?”
Jesse wrote it down as Lopresti recited it.
“How did you come to know Mr. Lombardo,” Jesse said.
“Fall River. I was workin' the streets. Me and Santino. Every now and then we'd lift a car. Mostly just to see if we could. I knew a guy was interested in parts. We'd sell the cars to him.”
“And?”
“And this one time we brought in a car and our friend told us that Mr. Lombardo might have work for us.”
Jesse didn't say anything.
“So we met with him. He asked if we'd like to join his operation. The money was good. So we did,” Lopresti said.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six months or so.”
“And you've been working for him ever since?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“What?”
“Where have you been working,” Jesse said.
“Here and there. No one place.”
“Until you set up shop in Paradise.”
“Yeah.”
“Which you did because . . . ?”
“Because Mr. Lombardo said to. He said he wanted to find a new place for a shop. He mentioned Paradise. He purchased the farm and told us to work there.”
“Where do I find Mr. Lombardo?”
“I already told you I don't know.”
“Did you ever meet him in Boston,” Jesse said.
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“At a restaurant.”
“What restaurant?”
“Some place he likes in Cambridge.”
“What place?”
“An Italian place. Il Capriccio. On Ash Street. Go verify this shit, will ya? My wife must be climbin' the walls.”
“Who killed Mike Lytell,” Jesse said.
“Who the fuck is Mike Lytell?”
“Guy killed in the carjack.”
“How would I know?”
“Because you do.”
Lopresti didn't say anything.
“The name of Lytell's killer,” Jesse said.
When Lopresti remained silent, Jesse stood up to leave. He walked to the door.
“Petey Marcovy,” Lopresti said.
“Russian?”
“Yeah.”
“Peter Marcovy?”
“Pyotr. P-Y-O-T-R. Everyone called him Petey,” Lopresti said.
“Also from Fall River?”
“By way of the Ukraine. You won't find him, though.”
“What?”
“You're not gonna find him. He's dead.”
Jesse didn't say anything.
“Mr. Lombardo had him shot. Petey was a new guy. A hothead. Mr. Lombardo had enough of him.”
“More likely he didn't want Petey identifying him,” Jesse said. “Sharks feeding on their young.”
“Yeah, well, I'm hoping that because of you they don't start feeding on me.”
“Life's a bitch, ain't it?”
26
J
esse phoned Healy from the car.
“Bingo,” he said.
“Gee, and all I needed was N-thirty-five.”
“You ever hear of a connected guy called John Lombardo?”
“Not offhand.”
“Our POW gave him up. Fall River guy.”
“I'll check it out. Don't do anything foolish, Jesse,” Healy said. “Let me at least get the skinny on him.”
“You know where to find me,” Jesse said, and ended the call.
J
esse pulled up in front of the Town Hall and parked in the no-parking zone. He found Carter Hansen in his office, eating a brown-bagged lunch.
“May I interrupt your lunch,” Jesse said.
“If I said no?”
“I'd come in anyway.”
“Why don't you come in, then,” Hansen said.
“I'd like to borrow the services of Alexis Richardson.”
“Excuse me?”
“You mentioned that she was adroit in the field of public relations.”
“I can't remember ever using the word
adroit.
”
“Forgive me. I must have you confused with someone else. Well?”
“Well what?”
BOOK: Killing the Blues
10.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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