Close to the Bone

by William G. Tapply

  “I guess it would.”

  “That’s why you called?”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to share something with you.”

  “Sharing is good. One of those virtues you learn in kindergarten. Some guy made millions on a book about all the good stuff you learn in kindergarten. Share away, Mr. Coyne.”

  I told him about my conversation with Dolph at the boat ramp, my examination of Paul’s boat at the Coast Guard station, and my visit with Maddy Wilkins at Paul’s cottage on Plum Island. “And when I left,” I said, “Thomas Gall was standing there outside the house. When I called to him, he walked away, got in his truck, and drove off. You know who Thomas Gall is, don’t you?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “This past winter Paul Cizek defended the man who killed Gall’s wife in an auto accident. The jury came back with a ‘not guilty’ verdict. At the end of the trial, Gall threatened Paul. He yelled, ‘I’ll get you,’ or something to that effect.”

  “So you think he got him, huh?”

  “I don’t know what to think. The girl said he’d been there before. So he knew where Paul was staying. If anybody had a motive—”

  “We don’t even know if Cizek’s dead, Mr. Coyne. All we know is that his boat was adrift in the storm.”

  “He wasn’t fishing. There was no bait aboard. So why was he out there?” I paused, then said, “According to his wife, he was not heavily insured, by the way.”

  Kirschenbaum chuckled. “Yeah, I thought of that.”

  “I thought you might have. I suppose you could check on the insurance, but—”

  “Look,” said Kirschenbaum, “I appreciate your help, I really do. I’ll keep this Gall in mind. But, you know, we law enforcement people pretty much limit our work to solving crimes and apprehending criminals, and so far we don’t seem to have a crime here. All we’ve got is a boat, you know?”

  “Sure. I know that.”

  “But you’re trying to make a murder case out of this.”

  “No, I’m not. I’d rather Paul was alive. But it doesn’t look like he is.”

  I heard Kirschenbaum sigh. “No, it doesn’t look that way, and I really don’t mean to be short with you. I’m glad you told me about this Gall character and the insurance thing. Anything else, don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And if we learn anything, I’ll pass it along to Mrs. Cizek.”

  “Since I’m her lawyer,” I said, “it might be better if you pass it along to me.”

  “Because if it’s bad news, you should be the one to break it to her. You being more sensitive and caring than me.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Olivia returned my call around noontime. “Have you heard something?” she said.

  “No. Nothing. You?”

  I heard her sigh. “No.”

  “I’m glad you’re working,” I said.

  “It gives me something to do.” She hesitated. “Brady?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think it would be better if you didn’t call unless you had something to tell me. I mean, I appreciate your concern, but when I saw that message from you, my heart started pounding and I felt like I had to throw up. Right now I’m figuring that no news is—well, at least no news is not bad news. I was so grateful to be able to come to work today. The weekend was hard. This gives me other things to think about. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” I said. “No problem. I do understand.”

  “You’re awfully sweet. And I do want to put this on a businesslike basis.”

  “I’m having Julie draw up a contract. We’ll send it out to you this afternoon. And we’ll do business when and if there’s business to be done.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll sign it and write you a check and get it back to you.”

  “It’s not necessary, you know.”

  “I’m more comfortable with it this way.”

  I ushered the day’s last client out of my office on Wednesday afternoon. It was four o’clock, which, if I didn’t dillydally, would give me just enough time to zip home, change my clothes, gather up some gear, and drive out to the Squannacook River in Townsend, where the trout would be feeding on mayflies. An attractive plan, I thought. I would do it. I owed myself one.

  About then Julie tapped on the door, pushed it open, and stuck her head into my office. Her eyebrows were arched in her “May I come in?” expression. I crooked my finger at her, and she came in.

  She closed the door behind her and stood in front of my desk. “Brady,” she said, “there’s a man here who wants to see you.”

  “He doesn’t have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “You never let anyone see me without an appointment,” I said. “I was actually thinking of going fishing.”

  “He’s been waiting all afternoon. I told him you’d see him when you were done.”

  I slumped back in my chair. “He must be awfully persuasive. Or desperate. What’s he want?”

  “I don’t know. He’s desperate, I think. He came in, said he needed to see you, and when I told him he could make an appointment, he just sat down and said he’d wait. I told him you were tied up all afternoon, and he said that was okay. He’s been sitting there jiggling his knee and flipping through your old Field & Streams.”

  “You’re telling me I should see him.”

  She nodded.

  “Even though he doesn’t have an appointment and he’s not one of our clients.”

  She shrugged.

  “The whole damn trout season is passing me by.”

  “He seems like a nice, quiet man with big problems.”

  “Fine. Okay. I’ll see him.” I shook my finger at her. “But don’t you ever again accuse me of being a softie when I make house calls or forget to record all my billable time,” I said, in what I thought was a convincing growl.

  Julie grinned, came around the desk, and planted a wet kiss on my cheek. “You’re a nice man,” she said.

  “I’m a sucker, is what I am,” I said.

  She went out, and a minute later she came back, followed by a short, round man with a high forehead and gray hair and dark eyes. He wore khaki pants and a green linen sport jacket, blue-and-white striped shirt, no tie, and a shy smile.

  “Mr. Coyne,” said Julie, “this is Mr. Vaccaro.”

  I stared at the man for a moment, then nodded. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been wearing a camel-hair topcoat in Skeeter’s Infield, and he’d been talking to Paul Cizek. “We’ve met,” I said to Julie. “Thanks.”

  She frowned for an instant, then shrugged and left the office, closing the door behind her.

  I settled back in my chair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Vaccaro?”

  “I need a lawyer.”

  “Who referred you to me?”

  “No one. At least, not exactly. See, Mr. Cizek is my regular lawyer. Paul Cizek?”

  I nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, Mr. Cizek defended me. Almost two years ago, it was. And now—”

  “I know all about you,” I said.

  He looked at me without expression.

  “You work for the Russo family,” I said. “Vinny Russo pays you to kill people. You shoot them in the eye. You’re famous for that. You murdered an old man in a North End restaurant.”

  He shrugged. “They found me innocent.”

  “They found you not guilty,” I said, “which is a lot different. Look, Mr. Vaccaro. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not a criminal lawyer. I can’t help you.”

  “You mean you don’t want to help me,” he said.

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Mr. Cizek is missing,” he said. “I need him.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Vaccaro leaned forward. “You’re looking for him. So am I. We can help each other.”

  “What makes you think I’m looking for him?”

  He sat back in his chair and shrug
ged.

  I lit a cigarette and looked at him through the smoke. “Why did you come here, Mr. Vaccaro?”

  “I want Mr. Cizek. Look, can I tell you about it?”

  I shrugged. “You’ve already ruined my fishing plans. Go ahead.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said again. “Yeah, the cops had me by the nuts for poppin’ that old guy in Natalie’s. What they wanted was for me to give them Vinny Russo. You know, testify against him. They knew I coulda done it. I give them Uncle Vinny, they let me go. You know, move me someplace, give me a new name and some money. I told ’em no fuckin’ way. I know how those deals work. The Russos’d find me in a month. I’d be a dead man. I told ’em to go fuck themselves. I’m better off going on trial. I figured they’d put me away. But Uncle Vinny got Mr. Cizek to defend me and he got me off.”

  “So what’s your problem?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Now I think that prick Russo’s gonna have me hit. I stood up for the son of a bitch, and now he decides he don’t trust me. I wanna go back to the feds and give ’em Vinny and every other fuckin’ Russo in Boston.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Do it. It’s your civic responsibility.”

  He didn’t smile. “It ain’t that easy, Mr. Coyne.”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” I said. “You should go find yourself a lawyer who can help you.”

  “There’s only one lawyer I trust. I gotta have Mr. Cizek. So you gotta find him for me. You find him and tell him I need him.”

  “As far as I know,” I said, “Paul Cizek went overboard Friday night. They haven’t found his body, but—”

  “He’s alive,” said Vaccaro.

  “What makes you think so?”

  He shrugged. “He’s gotta be alive. I need him.”

  “Well, I tell you what,” I said. “If I see him, I’ll give him your message. How’s that?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Mr. Coyne,” he said softly. “I give you respect. You shouldn’t disrespect me.”

  “Frankly, Mr. Vaccaro,” I said, “I don’t see any reason why I should respect you, and I don’t think there’s anything left for us to discuss.”

  “You kicking me out?” he said.

  “I think you said what you had to say. Your appointment is over.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a roll of bills. He removed several of them one at a time and made a stack on my desk.

  I pushed it away. “I don’t want your money.”

  “You better take it.”

  “I’m not your lawyer. I don’t want you for a client.”

  “You don’t get it,” he said. “You gotta be my lawyer.”

  “No, I don’t. My clients are all people who I want to help. People I like and care about. I’m the one who decides who my clients are.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, that’s pretty good, Mr. Coyne. I like that.” His smile abruptly vanished. He leaned forward and peered at me with his hard little black eyes. “I know how it works, and so do you. I told you all this. I told you I was ready to give Uncle Vinny to the feds. That’s important information. If it got out, it’d be bad for me. I can’t have that happen. If you’re my lawyer, you can’t tell anyone else. If you’re my lawyer, I can trust you. So you better take the money, Mr. Coyne, see?”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Vaccaro?” I said quietly.

  He waved his hand. “I’m just trying to hire a lawyer.”

  “And if I refuse to be hired?”

  He leaned back, spread his hands, and smiled. “Please,” he said. “Take the money.”

  I picked up the stack of bills from my desk. I counted them. There were twenty fifties. I took three of them and pushed the rest away. “Okay,” I said. “That covers the time you’ve been here. So you can trust me. Now your appointment is over.”

  “Now you can’t tell anybody what I told you.”

  “That’s right.”

  He pushed the money back toward me. “Take more than that,” he said.

  “This is my regular fee.”

  “Go ahead. I’ve got plenty of money.”

  “So do I,” I said.

  He shrugged, picked up the stack of bills, and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “You tell Mr. Cizek I need him.”

  “I don’t expect to see Paul Cizek.”

  “But if you do?”

  “I’ll tell him,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. He stood up and held out his hand to me.

  I did not shake it.

  15

  JULIE STARED AT ME. “He’s a what?”

  “A hit man,” I said. “A murderer. An assassin for hire.”

  “But he seemed—”

  “Like a nice, quiet man.”

  “Well, he did.”

  “Desperate, I think you said.”

  Julie nodded.

  “He’s desperate, all right. And quiet. But he’s not nice.”

  She dropped into the armchair in my office and began hugging herself and shaking her head. “You mean he really—”

  “Eddie Vaccaro makes his living by shooting people he doesn’t even know,” I said. “He does it without emotion. It’s his profession. He uses a twenty-two automatic pistol. He usually puts the first one in their eye and another behind their ear.”

  “And I made you see him,” she said.

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. I won’t see him again.”

  “I’m sorry, Brady.”

  I patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it.” I decided not to tell her that I was worried about it. I didn’t like having killers share their life-and-death secrets with me.

  “So what did he want?” she said.

  “He wants Paul Cizek. He said he’s in trouble and needs a lawyer. Apparently Paul is the only one he trusts.”

  “Why come to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He thinks I’m looking for Paul.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know if Vaccaro was telling me the truth.”

  Julie frowned. “If he was lying—”

  “Let’s not think about it,” I said quickly. “It’s time to go home.”

  Of course, I did think about it. I thought about it while I walked home from the office, and I thought about it while I sat on my balcony sipping Rebel Yell on the rocks, and I thought about it while I stared up into the darkness with Alex sleeping beside me that night.

  If Vaccaro had been lying about the reason he wanted to find Paul Cizek, it meant he wanted him for something else.

  If he’d been lying about the fact that he didn’t know where Paul was, it meant he did know what had happened to him.

  I decided I might as well assume Vaccaro had been telling me the truth. I figured being lied to by a Mafia hit man was bad news by definition.

  And if Eddie Vaccaro had been telling me the truth, of course, it meant that he hadn’t killed Paul.

  And I fell asleep hoping that I’d done the right thing, accepting his money. I don’t think I’d have fallen asleep at all if I had refused it. Anybody who killed people for money wouldn’t hesitate to kill them for their silence.

  Olivia called shortly after I arrived at the office on Friday morning. “I wonder if you can give me a hand,” she said.

  “I’ll try,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “The Coast Guard called. They want Paul’s boat moved. I told them I’d arrange to come get it.”

  “When?”

  “It’s got to be this weekend. They said they’d have to dispose of it if it wasn’t gone by Sunday.”

  “Can you get off this afternoon?”

  “Let me check.” A moment later she said, “I could meet you at that Friendly’s ice cream place at four. Can you do that?”

  “That’ll work,” I said. “We’ll have to get Paul’s car, because we need the trailer. Do you have a key?”

  “To his car? No, I d
on’t.”

  “There’s probably a spare one at his cottage. We’ll have to check there.” I thought we could look around, and if we didn’t find Paul’s spare ignition key, Maddy Wilkins might help. I decided not to mention Maddy to Olivia unless it was necessary. “Okay,” I said. “Friendly’s at four. I’ll be there.”

  “Brady,” said Olivia, “you haven’t heard anything, have you?”

  I thought of my visit from Eddie Vaccaro. “No. We agreed not to keep calling each other unless we knew something. I’ve heard nothing.”

  “Me neither,” she said.

  Olivia was leaning against her red Saab with her face tilted up to the sun when I pulled into the lot at Friendly’s. She was wearing sneakers and tight-fitting jeans and a plaid cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she was sipping through a straw from a Friendly’s cardboard drinking container, and for an instant I could picture her as a young, carefree college kid with nothing better to do than sip a soda and enjoy the sunshine. When she saw me, she waved, came over, and climbed in beside me.

  “Another beautiful June afternoon,” I said lamely.

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “Perfect.”

  I pulled out of the lot and headed into Newburyport. “How have you been?”

  She laughed quickly. “I guess I’ve been numb. I have these—these moments. When it hits me. It’s worst at night, when I’m home alone. I’ve been watching a lot of television. But mostly I just live my life. It’s been a week. It seems like forever since I got that call. It was a week ago tonight.”

  I drove down High Street, onto Water Street, and out past the Coast Guard station, heading for Plum Island.

  “How are we going to get into his place?” said Olivia.

  “I know where the key’s hidden.”

  She didn’t ask how I knew, so I didn’t have to mention Maddy.

  And since Maddy’s old yellow Volkswagen was not parked in Paul’s yard when we got there, I still didn’t have to mention her to Olivia. The newly planted petunias looked pink and perky in their little flower bed in the front yard. The key was still under the flower pot on the deck, and I used it to let us in.

  Olivia looked around and smiled. “He wasn’t much for picking up after himself,” she said, and I didn’t miss her use of the past tense. I figured that somewhere in her unconscious she’d already accepted the likelihood that Paul was dead.