The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3)

by Brian Shea

  "Why’s that?" Gray asked.

  "Because Bobby McDonough doesn't leave Boston unless he's under orders."

  They closed the distance on the highway, fluctuating between keeping half a mile to a mile away from McDonough. After driving west for the better part of an hour, the two had stopped playing the guessing game of trying to figure out where he was taking them. The thought had entered Kelly’s mind that his friend had somehow figured out he’d been tagged and was leading them on a wild goose chase just to screw with him.

  They turned onto US 5N and snaked down the long offramp into the City of Agawam near the Connecticut border. Kelly had only driven through it when taking his daughter to The Big E, Eastern States Expo, held mid-September to early October every year.

  Passing the turnoff street he typically took to the expo, he thought back to his and Embry’s favorite tradition. All six New England states were represented in these massive, house-like vendor havens. The expo was set up like a carnival, and the food was legendary. Embry fell in love with the Maine house’s loaded baked potato. Every year they went, Kelly stood in line with his daughter for the hour-long wait it took to get one.

  The price was worth it, both in time and cost, when he saw the look on Embry's face. Her eyes would light up as she took her first spoonful of the baked deliciousness.

  "Your buddy got connections out here that you know of?"

  Gray’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Kelly shook his head. "No, not that I know of. Like I said, everything McDonough knows is in Dorchester. He'd maybe branch out into one of the other neighborhoods, but not this far away. He's not a suburbs guy. He's got to feel crazy out here. Makes me wonder where he's going."

  As if he were somehow telepathically communicating with his friend, the red dot stopped moving. Scanning the map, they could see he had pulled into a commercial lot containing a hardware store and weed shop.

  Kelly pulled the car to a stop on the adjacent street, parking on the road with a good eye on the lot’s entrance.

  McDonough's vehicle didn't move. A few minutes passed.

  Kelly considered doing a drive-by of the lot to see if his friend was meeting with somebody, and was about to take his foot off the brake when a white panel van nosed out from the lot and waited to turn west onto the street. Ray's Electric was stenciled on the side, and at the wheel was none other than Bobby McDonough. He turned left without looking in their direction.

  "You think he saw us?" Kelly asked softly.

  "No, I don't. Your friend moonlighting as an electrician?"

  "I hope," Kelly said, but he knew better. There was no reason why Bobby would be driving an electrician's truck.

  "Do you think he knows about the tracking device? He's ditching us?"

  Kelly shook his head. "I don't think so. That doesn't make sense. I mean, why go through the trouble of grabbing a different van and coming out the same way he had gone in? No. If he thought we were tracking him, he would have done something else to ditch us long ago. He would have stuck it on another car. He wouldn't have let us wait for him as he came back out in a different vehicle. No, this is all him. I just don't know why he's doing it."

  They now had to contend with a much more complicated tail, and Kelly had to apply his Narcotics experience. At least Gray had dialed down his look and wasn’t wearing the full suit, trading it in for a business casual look and windbreaker. The good thing about following a panel van was that it stood out amongst the crowd of other cars. It wasn't like Bobby was driving a blue Honda Accord, blending into the scenery. Kelly tried to keep three cars between them and the van.

  McDonough continued driving, appearing to be unaware of their efforts to follow him as he navigated Agawam’s side streets.

  Then the vehicle took a right into a quiet neighborhood. The map showed the street to be a dead-end cul-de-sac. Kelly pulled to a stop just past the street, giving Gray the best vantage point of the parked van.

  "Your friend hasn't left the vehicle. Scratch that—door’s open. He's stepping out. He's wearing a gray overall suit and hard hat. He's got a rectangular, heavy plastic case in his right hand."

  Kelly’s pulse pounded. If this was a hit, he wouldn’t be able to protect his friend. If Bobby did something now that was witnessed by the FBI, he’d be done. Kelly thought about pulling away, saying it was too hot, too dangerous, all in the veiled effort of protecting his friend, but Gray would see right through it.

  He knew there was no way around it. They had to see what he was up to.

  "He's crossing the street and going behind that yellow house. Your call,” Gray said, focused out the window.

  “Let's move," he said, opening the car door and hopefully not closing the chapter of his lifelong friendship with McDonough.

  22

  Kelly's mind raced at almost the same pace at which he and Gray were approaching the house where McDonough had just slipped around back. Whatever he was there to do, it was not good, and neither was what was in that case.

  Kelly hoped, if nothing else, he would manage to get there quick enough to intervene before whatever was about to take place actually did. He might not be able to save Bobby from a prison sentence, but maybe he could save his life.

  The fact that McDonough was wearing gray overalls and had ditched his car for a fake electrician's van left Kelly with only a few possible scenarios. Moonlighting as an electrician wasn’t an option. This was definitely a hit. The who was still up for debate. Walsh had a lot of enemies. The Penitent One was now one of many on a very long list vying for Walsh’s head.

  Why here? Why in the middle of suburbia? None of this was making sense. But ever since touching the Tomlin case, nothing in Kelly's investigative world seemed to add up.

  They were one house away when they slowed their pace from a sprint to a jog. They no longer had a visual on McDonough, the house’s back corner shielded from view by a large pine bush.

  The neighboring houses looked to have been built in the ’70s, relatively new by Massachusetts standards. All of the houses looked dated, except the one McDonough had picked. Kelly banked to the left, skirting the space between it and the neighboring house.

  In warmer months, the backyard would have provided ample cover to conceal their movements. Big trees and shrubs lined the rear, but most were completely barren. They crouched low and moved along the ice-covered grass to the poured-concrete patio tucked behind an oversized do-it-yourself fire pit. Kelly peeked around.

  McDonough stood facing the back of the house. He knelt down and opened the case, withdrawing a handgun and screwing a gray cylinder onto the barrel. A silencer. The possession of those two items alone could land his best friend in prison for a cool ten.

  Kelly cursed to himself. Did I just betray my best friend to the FBI? Have I severed a lifelong connection in the sole hopes of solving a case? The lines of his investigative career, his need for the truth, for justice, had never been so blurry as they were right now. He wanted to scream to his friend and tell him to run.

  But how would he explain to McDonough why he and an FBI agent were there?

  Gray took the lead.

  "Let's see what he does. He's got a reason for being here. I mean, if what you told me is true and he is their top gun, maybe this is where The Penitent One lives. We may be closer right now than we've ever been."

  Kelly looked over at his federal counterpart, who was almost salivating. The drive, that invisible force that pushed Kelly forward on his cases, Gray had it too. His eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through the walls of the house.

  Bobby stood with the silenced semi-automatic handgun down by his right thigh, making no attempt to conceal it. At this point, he was committed.

  "You think this is our guy? You think this is The Penitent One's house?"

  Gray shrugged, still staring at Bobby and the house he’d targeted.

  For Kelly, it seemed like time was as frozen as the landscape around them.

  "The guy's got to live somewhere.
I guess here is as good as any," Gray offered. "We've got to get closer. We've got to be able to see in. If we're wrong and we just walked up on a regular old mob hit, we've got to stop your friend before he pulls the trigger. Otherwise, he's going to be looking at a heavy sentence. Nothing either of us will be able to do to help with that."

  It was like Gray had read his mind. Here he was, a fed, out of his area, but somehow he understood the level of connection Kelly had with McDonough. It must have been the military in him. He understood brotherhood at the take-a-bullet-for-a-friend level. And Kelly was impressed Gray was at least willing to help stop his friend before he did something stupid and irreversible.

  The two pushed themselves up, using the fireplace for balance as their feet slipped on the iced-over patio slab.

  McDonough stepped closer, disappearing behind a shed protruding from the back corner of the house.

  Kelly and Gray were now moving quickly, or as quickly as they could while trying to maintain noise discipline over the crunch of each step. Both withdrew their duty weapons, keeping them low.

  Kelly didn't like the thought of having to point a gun at his best friend, but it wouldn't be the first time the two had been in a standoff together. The last time, Bobby McDonough had pulled the trigger to save Kelly’s life. Even though Kelly had worked hard in the aftermath to conceal his friend's involvement, a life debt is one that is never truly repaid, and Kelly knew that. Now, here he was, sneaking up on his friend with a federal agent on his heels. Not the debt repayment he intended.

  At the invisible, fenceless border between the yards, they tucked in behind the twisted trunk of a maple tree and peered out from alternate sides.

  Kelly had an angle from which he could see McDonough, who was hunched over at the door, working to disable the locking mechanism. Watching him pick the lock, Kelly wondered how many other skills his friend had accumulated over the years of service to one of Boston’s most notorious.

  "It looks like he's picking his way in," Kelly whispered. “When do you want to move in?”

  "You got eyes on the door?” Gray asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Well, let him get it open. Maybe we'll get a look at our guy."

  There it was again. Kelly heard it in Gray's voice. The hunt was on, and Gray could taste how close he was. He was willing to forgo stopping this crime in progress for the chance of seeing The Penitent One’s face.

  A second later, McDonough stood erect.

  "I think he's got it," Kelly said.

  McDonough peered through the window of the back door. Kelly could see his friend's hands were gloved, obviously the work of a seasoned professional.

  "He's in," Kelly relayed, watching his friend disappear through the open door.

  McDonough left it open a crack. Most likely to make for a quick and easy egress should the need arise.

  Kelly and Gray left the cover of their tree trunk, making a hasty crossing of the short distance between the two yards.

  They slowed as they neared the door, guns up. No sign of McDonough. Each closed in on the door, Kelly peeling to the left side and Gray to the right.

  Kelly nodded at Gray, who nudged the door open wider without making a sound.

  Kelly stepped into the opening quickly, filling the void—the fatal funnel, as it was known in tactical circles—and entering the home of the unknown person. Gray was tight on his six.

  They were in an indoor/outdoor hallway separating a two-car garage from the house. It was basically an elongated mud room but unlike any Kelly had seen. It was immaculate. The floor was spotless, except for what the intruders tracked in.

  A door ahead and to the left led to the house. Still no sign of McDonough.

  Kelly took the lead as the two closed the distance to the door. It was open and ajar. Kelly stopped at the frame. Gray stacked up behind him.

  Gray tapped Kelly on his shoulder, indicating he was ready to move. Kelly pushed the door wider and visually cleared what he could.

  Kelly stepped into the kitchen. Light flooded through a window above the stainless-steel sink. The kitchen had a U-shaped layout with a large marble-covered island in the center. McDonough was nowhere in sight. Kelly moved in slowly. He heard something in the hallway and ducked behind the island, Gray wedging in beside him. Footsteps, those of somebody attempting to step lightly but failing miserably, could be heard approaching from the front hallway.

  The footsteps grew louder. Whoever was making them had just entered the kitchen area. Kelly heard the transition of sound from the hardwood to the kitchen tile.

  Kelly coiled like a rattler ready to strike. Gray gave the ready tap, just as he did in the hallway.

  Kelly took two quick breaths and a slow exhale, preparing himself, then sprang upward with his department-issued Glock pointing toward the sound.

  Gray moved in synchrony with Kelly as he stood.

  McDonough had his hands on a doorknob, his gun tight to his ribs but pointed out toward the closed cellar door. He spun on his heels, now facing Kelly and Gray. The silenced pistol followed his body’s turn and was now directed at them, McDonough’s left hand still clinging to the doorknob.

  Kelly felt sick. He was looking at his best friend down the sights of his gun. The silence that followed could have been measured in milliseconds but to Kelly felt like an eternity. Not a word was spoken. No commands were given by either side.

  McDonough released his grip on the door and slowly moved his hand toward his face. He pressed his index finger to his lips, signaling them to be quiet, and then shot a glance at the closed door to his left.

  Kelly reached out with his left hand, silently pleading with his friend to lower his weapon. McDonough did, but just slightly. Kelly could see the tension in Bobby’s face.

  Neither Kelly nor Gray lowered their weapons.

  "Get your friend under control," Gray whispered.

  "I'm trying," Kelly said.

  Kelly lowered his weapon slightly. Bobby did the same. Gray slowly dropped his weapon, but not completely.

  McDonough reached for the door again.

  Kelly waved McDonough off and shook his head, but he turned the knob, calling Kelly’s bluff. McDonough knew Kelly couldn’t pull the trigger.

  The open door momentarily shielded McDonough from view.

  Kelly heard a strange mechanical thunk, out of place in the silence.

  They stepped wide to the left, slicing the pie and trying to reestablish visual with McDonough.

  Just as Kelly caught sight of McDonough standing at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, an explosion erupted, sending a fireball up the stairwell. McDonough was launched through the air, bouncing off the countertop before disappearing from view.

  The house shook violently, as if every bit of the frame buckled at once. The impact knocked Kelly to the tile. Gray slammed down on top of him. Flames flashed over the kitchen island as they fought to regain their footing.

  The heat was intense. The kitchen cabinets and walls were already fully engulfed by the ravenous flames. Kelly and Gray stayed tucked behind the kitchen’s sturdy island as flames ripped and tore at the walls, the fire burning faster and brighter than anything Kelly had ever seen. It was like the house was designed to burn.

  Gray coughed and said, "Got to get out of here!" He darted back in the direction they had come, through the open door and into the hallway, disappearing behind a wall of fire.

  Kelly looked toward his one chance of escape as the opportunity quickly dwindled. Survival instincts kicked in as he prepared to follow, but even in the midst of the inferno, Kelly couldn’t leave his friend behind.

  He snapped out of his desperate need for flight and scanned for any sign of McDonough. Through the smoke and fire, Kelly saw his friend’s foot sticking out from behind a cabinet on the far side of the kitchen.

  Kelly sprang into action, crawling fast and low across the shattered tile floor. Bits of the damaged ceramic slashed at him as he moved. He put the pain out of his mind
and pushed forward. He rounded the corner and found McDonough crumpled in a heap, the gray suit covered in black, a portion of it near his shoulder still on fire. Kelly swatted at the flames, dousing them.

  He reached over and grabbed his friend by the collar, pulling him close. Nothing, no movement. No time to check for vitals. Either way, dead or alive, Kelly wasn’t leaving his friend inside. Without question, Bobby McDonough would do the same for him.

  Kelly yanked and pulled his friend across the floor, staying low. McDonough’s dead weight made for an incredibly slow go of it. Kelly had pulled his sweatshirt over his nose and mouth, trying to keep himself from being taken out by the smoke blinding his vision.

  Near the refrigerator, Kelly banged his forehead into the corner of a cabinet. Had he not been in a dire situation of life and death, he might have yielded for a moment to the pain of the sharp edge. He felt it immediately, the warmth of his blood trickling down into his right eye, blinding him further.

  Kelly persevered, taking each inch forward as a small victory. He was beginning to lose steam. The smoke was filling his lungs. The more he exerted, the more he coughed. The flames swirling overhead intensified as Kelly’s vision faded into a haze. He’d lost sight of the door. His head began to spin, and he knew it was now or never. The hard ten, Pops called it. The last ten seconds of a round when a boxer unloaded with everything left in the tank. Kelly heard Pops signaling him to move, to unload. Problem was, he had nothing left to give. Kelly’s head dipped. He felt a jagged piece of tile gouge at his cheek.

  As the bright fire dimmed and his mind battled for strength, Kelly felt something grip his shoulder. He was moving, but not of his own accord. His brain was mush and couldn’t complete the thought and make the connection.

  He was met with a whoosh of air. Kelly’s vision and mind cleared enough to realize he was back in the mudroom, which hadn't been fully ravaged by the fire yet. Kelly instinctively reached for McDonough and panicked when he realized his friend was not with him.

  A split second later, Gray appeared from the kitchen door, dragging the unconscious McDonough behind him.