by Parker
"If she gave you enough time, I imagine you'd have fulfilled her expectations," I said.
"What's that mean?" I shrugged.
"Just a little pop psych," I said. "Pay no attention."
CHAPTER 25
Spike had a town house with guest space on the second floor, in the South End on Warren Ave. "I thought you lived in the South End," Millicent said to me when we were surveying the two rooms and a bath that Spike was offering.
"I live in South Boston," I said. "This is the South End. Two different places."
There was a bay window in my bedroom with a window seat. Rosie immediately commandeered it so that she could look down at Warren Avenue and bark at anything that moved.
"You're sure nobody saw us come here?" Millicent said.
I noticed that she hovered near the inner walls of the room, staying away from the windows. Her bedroom was across the hall from mine, but she stayed with me. Since the shooting she had not let me out of her sight.
"I'm not an amateur," I said. "No one followed us."
Spike came up the stairs with my suitcase and a duffel bag. "What the hell is in here?" Spike said.
"Hand grenades?"
"My face is in the suitcase," I said. "Duffel bag goes next door." Spike dropped the suitcase.
"Come on, Millicent," he said. "I'll show you your room." Millicent hesitated and then followed him across the hall. She looked back as she left the room.
"I'm right here," I said. "Door open."
Spike came back in a moment without her.
"You know what you're getting into," I said.
"Sure," Spike said. "You're going to the mattresses."
"I hope not. I hope we are hiding successfully."
Spike was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a plaid flannel shirt open over the tee shirt. When he sat on the bed I could see that he had an Army-issue Colt.45 stuck in his belt. I took some clothes out of the suitcase and put them in the top drawer of the bureau.
"Kid's scared," Spike said.
"Of course she is, there are people after her. She saw me kill one of them."
"Better than seeing you not kill him."
"True. I have to tell Richie where I am," I said.
"Sure," Spike said.
"I've got to be able to leave her here and go and find out who her mother was going to have killed, and who the people are who are trying to get her."
"Be the same people, wouldn't it," Spike said.
"That's my assumption," I said. "We can't leave Millicent alone."
"I know."
"I hate to ask, but I don't know who else. I can't ask Julie. It's too dangerous and she's got children of her own."
"I'll sit her," Spike said. "But I have to work now and then, though not very hard. Maybe you can get Richie to take a turn."
"I don't. . ."
"You don't want to ask him for anything," Spike said, "I know. But you don't have that luxury."
"I've already asked him a couple of times," I said.
Millicent came out of her room and across the hall and stood inside the doorway and didn't say anything. Rosie began to gargle and yap and growl and bark and jump straight up and down on all four feet in the bay window. Millicent seemed to press herself into the wall by the door. Spike and I both looked out the window. There was a Yorkshire terrier being walked.
"Rat on a rope," Spike said.
"What?" Millicent said.
"Just a dog," I said. "Rosie barks at all children, and most dogs. You might as well get used to it."
"You want some lunch?" Spike said.
"Like what?" Millicent said.
"Like chicken piccata, or a lobster club sandwich?"
"What?"
"Come down with me," Spike said. "You can order what you want."
"You can cook stuff like that?"
"I'm gay, of course I can cook stuff like that."
"I didn't know you were gay."
"Yes, makes me immune to your seductive ways."
CHAPTER 26
I was in District 6 Station House, Area C, on Broadway, talking with Brian Kelly at his desk in the detectives' room. It was a stateof-the-art squad room, which is to say overcrowded, cluttered, and painted an ugly color. In the midst of it Brian was neat and crisp, clean-shaven and smelling of good cologne. "Everybody agrees it's a clear case of self-defense. Nobody wants to bring charges," Brian said.
"And one of them shoved my dog with his foot."
"He got what he deserved," Brian said. "You clean that shotgun?"
"Yes."
"You don't clean them, you know, the barrel pits."
"I know."
"Ten-gauge?" he said.
"You weigh 115," I said, "you like firepower."
Brian's teeth were even and very white, and his eyes were very blue. His hands were strong-looking. He had on a white shirt with a buttoned-down collar and a black knit tie and a Harris tweed jacket. He nodded.
"You weigh 115. I'm surprised the recoil didn't put you on your ass."
"I'm very grounded," I said. Brian smiled.
"Terry Nee was mostly a part of Bucko Meehan's crew," Brian said.
"What's Bucko's line?" I said.
"Truck hijacking, some dope dealing, extortion."
"Tell me about the extortion."
"Mostly small business owners taverns, sub shops, liquor stores. Pay off or we'll bust up your store, or your customers, or you. Terry Nee was the bust-up specialist."
"Not a major player," I said.
"Bucko? Hell no. Worked the fringes."
"Did Terry ever freelance?"
"Sure. In Boston organized crime is an oxymoron. There are affiliations, but they're loose ones, usually ethnic. The micks hang with micks, the guineas with guineas. But everybody freelances."
"So it didn't have to be Bucko Meehan that sent Terry Nee and Mike whatsis to my house."
"No."
"What's Mike say?"
"He says he doesn't know anything. Terry asked him to go along and hold a gun. He says they were supposed to take some girl out of there. Says he didn't even know your name."
"You believe him?" I said.
"I can't turn him. We got him on attempted murder. I tell him if he'll give us who sent him he can get a lot lighter charge."
"And he stays with his story," I said.
"Un huh."
"Which means either it's true, or whoever sent them is too scary to turn on."
"Yep."
"You have any theories?"
"I'm inclined to think he's telling us everything he knows. He's looking at serious time. I think he'd rat out Al Capone if it got him a deal."
"You talked with Bucko Meehan yet?"
"Not yet, want to go with me?"
I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty. I had to be home by four, when Spike went to work.
"Sure," I said.
We talked with Bucko Meehan at the far end of the counter in a Dunkin' Donut shop across from Assembly Square in Somerville.
"Boston cremes," Bucko said. "The best."
I looked at the chocolate-covered things Bucko had in front of him and decided on a plain donut and a coffee. Brian just had coffee.
"You're missing out," Bucko said.
"I'm used to it," Brian said. "Bucko Meehan, Sunny Randall."
"How ya doin'?" Bucko said.
"Fine."
Bucko was a fat muscleman. Hard fat, my father used to call it. He was obviously strong, but his neck disappeared into several chins. He was wearing a Patriots jacket over a gray sweatshirt. The sweatshirt gapped at the waist and his belly spilled out through the gap. The donut shop was empty, except for us and a couple of people at the take-out counter. A middle-aged Hispanic woman was taking their order.
"Whaddya need from me today, Brian?"
"Couple guys that hang with you got in some trouble," Brian said.
"Who's 'at?"
"Terry Nee and Mike Leary."
Bucko shrugged. The shrug di
dn't say he knew them. It didn't say he didn't. People who'd spent a lifetime talking to cops learned, if they weren't stupid, to find out what the cop knew before they admitted anything.
"What kinda trouble," he said.
"Attempted murder."
"Don't know nothing about it," Bucko said.
He broke one of his donuts in two. It had a creamy filling. He took a bite, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"I thought Terry was part of your crew," Brian said.
"I got no crew."
"You know Terry?" I said.
"See him around," Bucko said.
"How about Mike Leary?"
"Don't know him," Bucko said.
"Terry run with anybody but you?" Brian said.
"Hell, Brian, I don't know. Terry's a good guy. He's got a lot of friends."
"He tried to break into a home in Fort Point," Brian said. "And the homeowner shot him."
"Terry?"
"Un huh."
"He dead?"
"Un huh."
"Terry's a tough guy."
"Not anymore," I said.
"Who shot him?"
"Doesn't Matter," Brian said.
"Housebreak?"
"He was there for a purpose." I said. "If you didn't send him there, maybe you can speculate who did."
"Speculate? Jesus Christ, Sunny, I'm too fucking stupid to fucking speculate. What's the other guy say?"
"Says you sent them," Brian said.
"That lying sack of shit," Bucko said. "I don't even know the guy. 1 got nothing to do with anything in Fort Point, for crissake. I don't get east of Lechmere Square."
"Maybe doing somebody a favor?"
Brian said. "I don't know a fucking thing about it, Brian. Swear on my mother. Terry's over in Fort Point doing a B & E, I got nothing to do with it I don't care what lies some guy is telling you?"
"Why would he lie?" I said.
"He's trying to deal," Bucko said. "You know the fucking game, Sunny. He'll say whatever you want to hear."
"And maybe he'll say it in court about you, Bucko." Bucko spread his arms palms up.
"What can I tell you. I got nothing to do with whatever Terry and this other jamoke was doing."
Brian nodded.
"How many times have you been up," I said.
Bucko held up two fingers.
"Three would be a really unlucky number for you," I said.
Bucko shrugged and made his palms-up gesture again. Brian and I stood up. Brian gave Bucko his card.
"You find out anything to help your case," Brian said, "Give me a ringy dingy."
"Thank you for the coffee," I said.
When we were in Brian's car again, I said, "Mike didn't tell you Bucko sent him."
"I lied," Brian said.
"It's a lie might get Mike in trouble with Bucko," I said.
"What a shame," Brian said. "You believe Bucko?"
"He swore on his mother, didn't he?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot."
He looked at his watch.
"That donut was enough," he said, "or can you eat some lunch?"
"I could eat some lunch," I said. "Good."
CHAPTER 27
Spike was dressed for work when I got home. Millicent was on the couch in Spike's living room watching a talk show on television. Rosie rushed out of the living room when I opened the front door and chased her tail for a time before I picked her up and we exchanged kisses. "I made her linguine with white clam sauce for lunch," Spike said. "She hated it."
"She's just not an educated eater," I said. "What did she have instead."
"Crackers and peanut butter."
Spike's disgust was palpable.
"She'll learn," I said.
Spike took the big Army.45 from his hip pocket and handed it to me, butt first.
"Put that in my desk drawer," he said.
I took the gun and Spike went out the front door and closed it behind him. I put the gun away and went into the living room. On television two fat women wearing a lot of makeup were screaming at each other. Between them sat a skinny guy with a sparse beard and long hair. He looked pleased. I shut it off.
"I was listening," " Millicent said.
"What are they fighting about," I said.
"He's married to one of them and cheating on her with the other."
"He got two women to sleep with him?" I said.
I guess so.
"You should never sleep with someone who can't grow a beard," I said.
"Why not?"
"Just sort of an anti-PC joke," I said.
"What's PC?"
"Politically correct," I said.
"What's that mean?"
I sat down and looked at her. Rosie jumped up and squeezed in beside me on the chair.
"I guess you could say it's a set of humorless rules about speech and behavior articulated publicly and privately meaningless."
"Sure," Millicent said. "You ever have sex with somebody that had a bad beard?"
I laughed.
"Not that I can recall."
"You have sex a lot?" Millicent said.
She was looking blankly at the inanimate television screen. "Define 'a lot', " I said.
"You know, do you screw a lot of guys?"
"If I like a man I am happy to sleep with him," I said. "But I don't meet that many men that I like."
"You have to like them?"
"Yep."
"Why have sex at all?"
I thought about that for a minute. It wasn't a question anyone had asked me in a while.
"Well, it feels nice," I said.
Millicent wrinkled her nose.
"And it is a kind of intimacy that is otherwise not possible."
"I never liked it," Millicent said.
"Well, the stuff when you were hooking doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"I assume there were no emotions involved. Nobody liked anybody. Just fucking. Just a commercial transaction. How about before that?"
"Couple of times with kids at school."
"Any special kid?"
"No, once with Chuck Sanders and Tommy Lee, and once with a guy named Roy."
"Chuck and Tommy at the same time?"
"Yeah, first one, then the other, in Tommy's car."
"Did you like them both?"
She shrugged.
"How about Roy, did you like him?"
"He was nice. Tommy and Chuck kind of hurt. Roy didn't so much."
"I think you need to suspend judgment on sex," I said. "Your experience is with fucking, not with lovemaking."
"What's the difference?"
"It's the difference between pleasure and pain," I said.
Millicent shrugged again. We were quiet. Rosie had rolled over on her back so I could rub her stomach.
"What do you like to do besides watch television?" I said.
"Nothing."
I could have given that answer for her.
"What do you think you know the most about?"
"I know a lot about getting by on the street," she said.
"Yes," I said. "You do. Anything else?"
She thought about it, but not for long. When she had stopped thinking, she shrugged.
"Street-smart is good," I said. "I find use for it myself. But if there were more than being street-smart, life would be more fun."
"Fun?"
"Yes. A foreign concept, I know. But one of the things that it is good to do in life is have fun."
"Like what?"
"Like being with people you love."
"Oh sure, like you?"
"I'm not," I said. "But I don't doubt its charm. It's also fun to love a dog, and look at art, and listen to music, and follow baseball, and go to the movies, and eat well, and read some books, and work out ... stuff like that."
"That doesn't sound like fun to me."
"What's fun to you?" I said. Millicent didn't say anything. "You like Rosie?" I said. "She's okay."
"God, don't
let her hear you say that she's okay," I said. "She thinks she's the queen of cute."
Millicent smiled slightly. I was on a hot streak. We sat some more. The blank gray screen of Spike's television sat silently before us. Waiting.
"Let's make supper together," I said.
"I don't know how," Millicent said.
"Me either," I said. "We can get through it together."
CHAPTER 28
Julie and I were having tea at a little place called LouLou's in Harvard Square near where Julie had her office. "How awful for that girl," Julie said. "Can't you just turn it over to the police?"
"I'm working with a police detective on the men who came to my place. Brian says he can leave Millicent out of it for now. But I haven't told him about Millicent's mother."
Outside of LouLou's the pedestrians and motorists were having their ongoing stare down where Brattle Street wound down from the Square.
"Because?" Julie said.
"Because I have to know more about what's going on, before I put her in the position of testifying against her own mother."
"Brian's the police detective?"
"Un huh."
"Brian?"
"Yes."
"He cute?" Julie said.
"Quite."
"And?"
"And we had lunch the other day and I enjoyed it," I said.
"And?"
"And we'll see."
"Can Richie help you with this?" Julie said.
"With Brian?"
"No, not with Brian. Can he help you find out who sent those men to your loft."
"I'm already asking him to baby-sit," I said. "Divorce means going it on your own, I think."
"Being a professional means using the resources you have," Julie said.
"And Richie's a resource?"
"A good one. You know that."
"Yes. I do know that."
We were sharing a pot of Japanese sour cherry-flavored green tea. I poured some through the strainer for Julie and some for me.
"Is the girl a basket case?" Julie said.
"She doesn't have enough affect to be a basket case."
"She's withdrawn?"
"I don't know the therapy term for it. She doesn't know anything. No one seems to have taken any time to tell her anything. She has no interests. Love, sex, affection puzzle her. She doesn't like dogs."
"You can forgive her that?" Julie said.
"The dogs?" I said. "I'm trying to get past that."
"What does she do all day?"
"Watch television."