The House at Hull

by Karl Tutt

  Chapter 14

  I didn’t have to call Billy. He called me late that night.

  “Okay, Spook, funny thing happened in your neighborhood this evening. Woman called, said she thought she heard a gunshot. The uniforms found two guys in an alley near your place. One of them had a dislocated knee. The other looked like he’d been attacked by an enraged mountain lion. Their stories didn’t quite match up. Said they’d been robbed, then assaulted by a man and a dark-haired woman. Stole the short one’s cell phone. Odd that the descriptions they gave happened to match a couple of people I may know. One of the boys had a neat little pistol, the ID numbers scratched off. Forensics is checking it out, but I’m thinking about your old pal Lute and how they found the .22 slugs in the back of his head. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Off the record . . . actually, I might.”

  I told Billy the whole story. He listened. No questions for a while.

  “So you can identify them both?” he asked me.

  “Yes.”

  He went on. The Hulk, was one Murray Santini, a rap sheet longer than the Bible. A known associate of several prominent mob figures in the Boston area. The boulder was Carmine Estera, an enforcer for hire. Neither of them had ever been convicted of any felony, but they had both made frequent appearances in our Massachusetts jails and were often dishonored guests in our court system. The lack of convictions certainly speaks to the value of clever lawyers.

  “You got the phone?” he asked.

  “You know I wouldn’t lie to you, Billy.”

  “This doesn’t go on record, but I take that as a ‘yes’. You know I got to have a warrant to get into that phone. Probable cause and all that shit. I don’t have one. Maybe you could ask your sweetie to do a little poking around.”

  I spit out a quick “yeah’.

  So okay, Bruce Lee, do your thing, stay in touch, and let me know if you turn up anything.”

  I told him I would and handed Boulder’s cell to Eleisha.

  “All right, my dark savior and esteemed hacker, try your magic on this one.”

  She moved over to the sofa and placed her laptop beside her. Then I began to hear lots of beeps and buzzes as her fingertips danced over the keys. I was still hungry. It’s goes against every thread of my rather dubious character, but I began to consider a delivery from Domino’s. Eleisha said she’d even eat a slice or two if it was strictly vegetarian. I gave in and called the number. I fulfilled her request, but my half was the meat lover’s special. My lady was still doing her thing when the doorbell rang. I slipped the delivery man a five and inhaled. I hate to admit it, but the damned pie smelled delicious. We ate and she talked between bites.

  “I got a little info. Nothing incriminating, but there was at least one interesting number on the speed dial. I was able to cross reference it on the computer. Guess who? The home number of Mr. Dominique Ferrara, aging Italian patriarch, bar-keep, bookie, and ‘made man’, not to mention the father of our dearly departed Lute. And last, but not least, in the ‘recent calls’ file . . . Jackpot. The cell number of Miss Shasta Shipley.”

  “Holy shit. The circle begins to close, but Billy can’t make an arrest based on any of it. And by the way, we could still get killed.”

  “I know you’re just trying to cheer me up,” she said with just a hint of sarcasm. “We obviously need something else. Maybe Billy will squeeze something out of the Bobsey Twins.”

  “Not likely, but there’s always hope.”

  She cut her black eyes at me slyly and arched one eyebrow. Then she nodded toward the bedroom.

  “So let’s make our own hope tonight. You clean up the kitchen and I’ll slip into . . . or maybe out of . . . something a little more comfortable.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice.