“Guy I know arranged I could make the deposit in an account under a fake name, no questions asked,” Jo Jo said. “So I got this rental car and I’m trying to get there, and the traffic is out of control, you know. And when I finally get there I can’t find a place to park, and I’m riding around the block down by the World Trade thing, and the freaking bank closes. You believe it. I got a dirty seven hundred thousand in a suitcase and the bank closes while I’m riding around like a dildo looking for a parking space.”
Morris was looking at Jo Jo with no expression, his heels hooked in the bottom rung of his chair, his arms folded over his chest.
“You hear me okay?” Jo Jo said.
Morris nodded.
“Well, I figure the money’s okay, I mean, who’s going to mug somebody like me, you know? But I still gotta get it deposited, so I haul it back to the hotel. I’m staying at the Marriott in Times Square, and I ditch the car and next morning I get a cab and haul the money back downtown and it’s dandy. Cabbie drops me off right in front of the bank. I take the stuff in, go to the desk, and ask for the name they gave me, who’s going to count the cash and take care of the deposit and he ain’t there. He’s at another branch in freaking Queens, they gave me the wrong branch. So I go out with the suitcase, which is lucky I’m big and strong, because it’s getting heavier every minute and I try to find a cab and I can’t, so I get on the subway. I got a suitcase full of cash and I’m riding the freaking subway, and I’m boiling. And I go back to the hotel and get a cab there. You can always get a cab at a hotel, and I go over to Queens hauling the dough, and the guy is there, but he’s in a meeting. So I tell the slut at the desk that they better get his ass out of the meeting or else and she says, real preppy, ‘Excuse me?’ And I said get this guy’s ass out here, now. And I give her a real hard look and she gets up and goes in back and in a little while my guy comes out, and he’s nice as freaking pie. ‘Oh, sir, so sorry to keep you waiting, come right in to one of our conference rooms, blah, blah.’ And I got the money deposited. But is that a kick or what, I’m chugging around freaking New York with three-quarters of a million in cash for two days trying to get somebody to take it.”
“Scared hell out of that bank lady, huh?” Morris said.
Jo Jo didn’t much like the way Vinnie said it. He could never tell whether Vinnie was putting him on or not. Hard to figure Vinnie. He didn’t seem interested in anything. He never seemed in a hurry. He never had any reaction to anything, except to say things like “scared hell out of that bank lady,” which Jo Jo could never quite figure out.
Jo Jo thought maybe he ought to grab Vinnie someday and slap him up against the wall. Get his freaking attention. But there was something about Vinnie . . . Jo Jo stopped thinking about it. He sat straight upright on the other straight chair. He would have liked to cross his legs, but they were too thick. He probably ought to do more stretching, loosen everything up a little. Gino Fish came into the room, nodded at Vinnie, walked past Jo Jo, and got behind his desk.
“Sorry I’m late,” Fish said.
But he said it in a way that sounded to Jo Jo like he didn’t care if he was late or not. He could use a little shaking up too, Jo Jo thought. Involuntarily he glanced at Vinnie, as if Vinnie could know what he was thinking. Vinnie looked blankly at him or past him or through him. Jo Jo could never be sure.
“No problem, Gino. Been talking with Vinnie.”
Fish smiled without amusement.
“So what have you got for me, Jo Jo?” Fish said.
“Guy I know is looking for guns.”
Fish was quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy on Jo Jo.
“Who is this guy?” Fish said finally.
“He’d like to remain anonymous,” Jo Jo said.
“Wouldn’t everyone,” Fish said. “Is he IRA?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Zealots are not good people to do business with,” Fish said.
Jo Jo wasn’t exactly sure what a zealot was. But he knew Hathaway wasn’t IRA.
“Can you do something for us?” Jo Jo said.
“What are you after?” Fish said.
“Automatic weapons, machine guns, mortars, handheld rocket launchers, grenades.”
There had been other things on the list, but Jo Jo hadn’t wanted to carry the list. It would be bad if he got caught with it, and he wanted Gino and Vinnie to think he knew more about guns than he did.
“In what quantities?” Fish said.
“Enough to outfit a regiment,” Jo Jo said. It was what he had been told to answer.
Fish smiled again without warmth.
“When I was of an age for the military,” he said, “I was in a different kind of government service.”
“I didn’t know you did government work, Gino.”
“I was in jail,” Fish said.
Jo Jo felt hot. He hated to look stupid in front of Vinnie.
“I knew that, Gino,” he said. “I was kidding you.”
“Well, don’t,” Fish said. “Vinnie, do you know what kind of weapons order you’d need to outfit a regiment?”
“Yeah.”
“Do we know anyone who could supply that amount?”
“Sure.”
Fish looked at Jo Jo.
“There,” he said. “Now what?”
“Can you get me a price?”
“Supplier will set the price,” Fish said. “I’ll add my commission.”
“Sure, Gino, of course. These are just, ah, whaddycallit, preliminary talks, you know.”
“So tell your principals it’ll be a few days, and I’ll be in touch with you. Before we go too much further, though, I will want to meet the principals.”
“They won’t like that, Gino.”
“I don’t care, Jo Jo. That’s the way it will have to be. I don’t do this kind of business with people I don’t know.” He smiled his joyless smile again. “I have had all the government service I care for.”
Jo Jo flushed again, feeling foolish about misunderstanding government service. He glanced sideways at Vinnie. Vinnie seemed oblivious.
“I’ll talk to them,” Jo Jo said.
“Fine. Now if you’ll excuse us . . .”
Jo Jo stood up, too quickly. He wished he had reacted slower.
“I’ll wait to hear from you,” he said to Fish.
He made a little punching gesture at Vinnie with his clenched fist, and went out of the office. When he was gone, Fish turned to Vinnie Morris.
“What do you think,” he said.
“Some homemade patriot group,” Morris said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because the only contact they got is a jerk like Jo Jo.”
Fish nodded.
“And the only contact he has is us,” Fish said. “Do you have any idea how to arm a regiment?”
“Not a clue,” Morris said.
“Do you have any contact with international arms dealers?”
“Piece I’m carrying I bought from a guy named Ralph,” Morris said. “On Dorchester Ave.”
“Do you suppose he could arm a regiment?”
“Ralph works out of his car.”
“Yes, of course,” Fish said. “Very efficient.”
“I could ask around,” Morris said.
“Um hmm.”
Fish seemed to be thinking of something else. Morris looked at him and came as close to smiling as he ever got.
“Or you could figure out a way to skin them,” he said.
Fish didn’t answer for a time, as if he had to finish a thought and return to the subject at hand.
“If they wish to give us their money,” he said finally, “I see no reason why we shouldn’t encourage them in that course.”
&nb
sp; Chapter 34
Tammy didn’t really like to see him with his clothes off. He was stringy, the sparse hair on his chest was white, and there were small wrinkles inside the bend of his elbow. He didn’t look at all rich and powerful. In fact he didn’t look anywhere near as good as Bobby had, and Bobby had been a loser for sure.
“Come to bed,” she said.
And she was glad when he got in bed and was under the covers. He always got under the covers. The first time they had done it and he got under the covers she had almost laughed. Would he wear pajamas next time? With feet on them?
He put his arms around her and clamped his mouth against hers. She had to help him a bit, as she always did, to get it up, but as soon as it was up he rolled over on top of her and proceeded. While he was on her he whispered how much he loved her and called her his darling. He was through before she was even aroused. And like always he rolled off her and lay on his back beside her silently, with the covers up to his chin. Still, it didn’t take him long, and there were other men, Saturday-night men, who would give her excitement.
“If you love me so much,” she said, “how come you don’t get rid of your wife and marry me?”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “We’ve been married twenty-seven years. I’m the leading figure in the town.”
“But you know she’s fucking other men,” Tammy said.
“You know I don’t like you to talk that way about my wife,” he said.
“Well, it’s the god’s truth,” Tammy said.
“We . . . have . . . our understanding,” he said.
“Yeah, sure,” Tammy said. “And where does that leave me.”
“I give you money,” he said. “I buy you things. We have our time together every week.”
“Yeah, you sneak in here and bang me, and sneak out. You know what that makes me feel like?”
“Tammy, please, we’ve had this talk before.”
“Well, we’re having it again. I deserve more than that. I deserve to be out of the damn closet here. I deserve to be married and going to the Yacht Club with you, instead of her.”
“God, no,” he said.
“God, yes,” Tammy said. She sat up in bed, and the motion pulled the bedclothes nearly off him. He struggled to keep covered. “I mean it. I got a right to be more than your whore once a week. I want to live in that house. I want to go to the Yacht Club dances and run a table at the Harvest Fair and have an account at Saks. I want you to marry me.”
“It’s not possible,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll make it possible,” Tammy said.
She was angry, and she felt strong when she was angry. Her anger had always worked with Bobby, and when she got angry enough it had driven him from the house. What a loser Bobby was.
“You will?” he said.
The anger was working with him too. He was very meek.
“If I have to. I’ll go public with this. I’ll tell your wife, I’ll tell everybody. You’ll have to marry me just to shut me up.”
“Don’t do that,” he said.
His voice was so quiet. She almost smiled. Men were easy. Bobby had been strong as a blacksmith and all she had to do was get mad and he caved right in. Now it was working again. There he was with his money and his position and he was as meek as a little boy when she got mad.
“So think about it. Either you get rid of her and marry me, or I go all-out fucking public.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course. I can see how you’d feel. Just give me a little time. I’ll make it right. I care about you a great deal.”
“And I care about you. But you gotta treat me right.”
He nodded again.
“Yes,” he said. “It’ll take a little while for me to arrange everything. But I’ll do the right thing, Tammy. I promise.”
She laughed with pleasure and leaned over and kissed him.
“Will you give me an engagement ring?” she said. “A big engagement ring with a big diamond and maybe little emeralds on either side?”
“As soon as I can,” he said. “As soon as I can get this all fixed. Just give me a little time and you’ll get everything you want.”
“Yes,” she said and lay back on the bed and watched him while he got up and put on his clothes, and left. When he was gone she stayed in the bed, her hands clasped behind her head.
“Yes,” she said out loud and her voice seemed very powerful in the quiet room.
Chapter 35
Jesse sat in his office with the gun permit file up on the computer screen. In Massachusetts, permits to carry a handgun were issued by the local chief of police. The permits had to be renewed every five years. Fire Arm Identification cards, permitting the holder to keep a gun, but not to carry one, were issued once and good for the holder’s lifetime. All the carry permits currently held therefore had been issued by Tom Carson. Some of the F.I.D.’s were much older. But only two had been issued prior to Carson’s arrival fifteen years before. No one had applied for a gun permit since Jesse had taken the job.
Jesse got up and walked to his office door and opened it and spoke to Molly Crane, who was the dispatcher and ran the front desk. She was also the jail matron and the only female officer on the force.
Molly was on the phone.
“Trash pickup has been delayed a day because of Labor Day,” she said into the phone. “No, ma’am. One day later . . . When’s your usual pickup? . . . Then it’ll be Thursday this week . . . Yes, ma’am. Glad to.”
She hung up and smiled at Jesse.
“Suitcase due in this morning?”
“He’s on shift,” Molly said. “Seven to three. Want me to get him in here?”
“When it’s convenient,” Jesse said. “Nice job on the trash pickup dates.”
“Lotta practice,” Molly said. “They call after every holiday.”
Jesse went back into his office and looked at the list of gun permits some more. He looked at them for a long time with his lips pursed, then he pushed the print button and watched as the sheets came silently from the laser printer. He was still watching them when Simpson knocked on his door and came in. He took off his hat and stood in front of Jesse’s desk a little awkwardly. At twenty-two he was still not entirely comfortable being called into the chief’s office. Even if the chief wasn’t very old himself.
“Hi, boss.”
“Close my door, Suit, and then sit down.”
Simpson did as he was told. His shoulders looked tight.
“You’re not in trouble,” Jesse said. “I just need some help and you seemed the right guy to give it.”
Simpson’s shoulders relaxed. He put his hat on the edge of Jesse’s desk and leaned back slightly in his chair.
“Sure, Jesse.”
“You know about the militia group in town.”
“Freedom’s Horsemen, sure. Mr. Hathaway is the commander, I think. I never figured the name out, though, tell you the truth. There isn’t a one of them can ride a damn horse.”
“And you know most of the people in the group?”
“Oh sure. I lived here all my life, Jesse. I know about everybody in town.”
“That’s why I figured you were the right one for this, Suit.”
Jesse reached into the printer catch basket and took out the permit list and handed it to Simpson.
“Go through this list,” Jesse said. “Check off the names that are also Freedom’s Horsemen.”
“Sure. You want me to do it right now?”
“Yes, please.”
Simpson took a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his uniform shirt and began to go slowly through the list. Jesse watched quietly. It took Simpson a long time to go through the hundred or so names on the list. When he finished he
handed the list over to Jesse and capped his pen and put it carefully back in his shirt pocket. Most of the names were checked.
“I don’t know who a couple of those people are,” Simpson said. “I put a question mark beside them. And a couple people I’m not sure if they’re in the Horsemen or not. So I put two question marks next to them.”
Jesse glanced over the list. There were only twelve unmarked names.
“Most of them are Horsemen,” he said.
“Sure,” Simpson said. “It’s always the gun guys join a militia.”
Jesse nodded.
“Gun is probably a prerequisite,” he said. “What I’m wondering is why so few non-Horsemen have permits.”
“Most people are scared of guns.”
Jesse didn’t answer. He stared at the list for a time while Simpson sat and waited.
“How come you want to know this, Jesse?” Simpson asked finally.
“Just like to keep track, Suit. Militias have sometimes gotten a little hairy.”
“Oh hell, Jesse, you take the Horsemen too serious. I known most of them since I been a little kid. They just like to shoot, hang around with each other. Drink beer after the meetings. Hell, Lou’s one of the officers, for crissake.”
“You’re probably right, Suit. What I would like is if you kept it to yourself, though, be kind of embarrassing if Lou found out, or Mr. Hathaway, that I was checking them out.”
“Oh sure, Jesse, no sweat. I won’t say a damned word.”
“And the other thing, Suit, if you know anybody that tried to get a gun permit and couldn’t, could you let me know his name.”
“That off the record too, Jesse?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Simpson said and his round pink face widened as he smiled. “Suitcase Simpson, Undercover.”
Chapter 36
The Strand movie theater in the old downtown section of Paradise was left over from the time when every town had a movie theater. There was a balcony. The ceiling was high. And the screen was big, with maroon drapes gathered at each side of it. Jesse didn’t like the movie much. But he liked the theater. And he enjoyed being with Abby.
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