He looked at me.
"You," he said. "I'll give you as much as you want. You want the Indian, I'll hire him, too. Both of you. Say how much, you got it. Just keep Stephano away from me. Anything you want. Anything."
"The truth," I said. "You tell me what happened to Dawn Lopata, and maybe Z and I can help you out with Stephano."
"You know about him," Jumbo said. "What he does? What he's like?"
"I do," I said.
"I got nowhere else to go," Jumbo said. "You gotta help me."
"Tell me about Dawn," I said.
Jumbo took his champagne bottle from the ice bucket and drank about a third of it. He put the bottle down, belched hugely.
Then he said, "Fuck Dawn. These guys are gonna kill me, and you're worrying about some little slut from the fucking local boondocks?"
"Exactly," I said.
Jumbo guzzled some more champagne.
"I tell you what I know, you'll help me?"
"If I believe you," I said.
"How I gonna do that?" Jumbo said. "How can I make you believe me?"
"Can't," I said. "Gotta hope I do."
"That fucking sucks," Jumbo said.
"Does," I said. "Doesn't it."
Jumbo looked at his bodyguard.
"Lock the fucking door," Jumbo said. "Can you handle that?"
Don stood up and locked the door to the trailer.
"Useless fuck," Jumbo said.
"Hard to figure why you're having trouble finding help," I said.
58
OUTSIDE, THE RAIN was pounding. Inside the trailer, the plan was working better than I had ever hoped.
"Okay," Jumbo said. "I'm fucking her."
"Dawn," I said.
"Who the fuck else?" he said. "Little Bo Peep?"
"Or her sheep," Z murmured.
"Hey, man, you wanna hear or not?"
"Sure," Z said.
"I don't know what he tole you," Jumbo said to me. "But I'm speaking the God's-honest truth."
"Keep it up," I said.
"So we done pretty much everything I know how to do," Jumbo said, "which is a lot, and she wants me to try something new. So I'm game; she takes out this scarf from her purse, and ties it around the bedpost, then she loops it around her neck, but she keeps hold of one end, you know, so she can tighten it or loosen it. And then she tells me to do her again. That's what she said, 'Do me again.' So I'm game, and I do, and she tightens up the scarf and loosens it and tightens it, and it's like she passes out for a few seconds, and then loosens up and wakes up and, you know, really goes crazy. We been drinking some champagne and doing some dope most of the evening. I was kind of fucked up and starting to feel sick, so I tell her to hold on, and I go in the bathroom and . . . I'm sick for a while . . . and then I'm feeling better . . . and I clean up and come out, and she's hanging off the bed. She's got the scarf wrapped around her hand for some reason, and it didn't loosen."
"You think she passed out?" I said.
"Yeah," Jumbo said. "And--my luck--rolls off the bed and fucking chokes herself."
"Scarf was still around her wrist," Z said. "When I went in."
"And you had Z pretty everything up," I said.
Jumbo was looking out the window at the rain and the murky figures under the awning.
"Yeah, man," Jumbo said. "There is important money in this picture. I'm trying to save it, you know?"
"Heroic," I said.
"It's not my fault," Jumbo said.
"You know how she got to the hotel?" I said.
"Yeah," Jumbo said.
He continued to slug champagne from his bottle.
"Talk about a hoot, man," Jumbo said. "Her old man drove her in. He knew where she was coming, too. Even gave her a note to give me."
"The note say something about insurance?"
Jumbo raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah," he said. "It did. How you know all this shit?"
"I'm a trained investigator," I said.
"Whaddya gonna do about Stephano?" he said.
"Nothing yet," I said.
"But I told you the honest-to-God truth."
"Maybe," I said. "But the thing is, Stephano is not after you, at least at the moment. He's here to kill me."
Jumbo looked out the window again. There was nobody under the awning next to the truck. He looked back at me and started to speak, and stopped, and sat down suddenly.
He seemed smaller, as if he had imploded.
59
IT HAD GOTTEN DARK earlier than usual because of the clouds and the rain. We drove back from South Boston along Atlantic Ave in heavy traffic made heavier by the rain. Stephano and company had been parked next to us at the set, and were now behind us as we inched along.
"This is getting annoying," Z said. "Every time I see him, I think this is it. Is this when the balloon goes up?"
"The readiness is all," I said.
"Whatever," Z said. "It's working on me . . . which is why I suppose he's doing it."
"One reason," I said.
"There's another one?"
"It excites him," I said.
"And it gives him the chance to pick his spot," Z said.
"It does," I said. "But he won't act until the tension gets too big for him to hold off any longer."
"You mean like sex," Z said. "Foreplay, foreplay, then zoom."
"Something like that," I said.
We inched forward in the dense rush hour. The windshield wipers worked steadily. In the glistening rain, the traffic lights were jewel-like.
"Maybe we should pick our spot," I said.
"And hope he's ready?"
"If our spot looks really good to him," I said, "maybe he'll become ready."
Z nodded. I began to push against the traffic, deking and diving as if maybe I were in a panic.
"First thing," I said. "You want somebody to chase you, you gotta run."
Stephano stayed with us. In maybe forty minutes we pulled into a construction site, off Mystic Ave in Somerville, where a warehouse was being rehabbed into apartments. Most of the apartments would have a view of Somerville. Some expensive ones would offer the Mystic River.
We parked close, and made a dash through the rain into the building.
Even as our eyes adjusted, it was palpably dark inside. As we felt our way in, we encountered gutted-out lumber and tool stands, loose wires, sawhorses, and bales of insulation. Behind us, the doorless opening where we'd entered was a very slightly paler shade of black. There was a large obstacle in front of us, which felt like a pallet of bricks. We wedged around it and stopped and looked back at the faint opening where we'd entered.
"Now what?" Z said.
"We wait and see what develops," I said.
"Crees great warriors of the High Plains," Z said. "Crees mostly don't fight in warehouses."
"One might," I said.
"What if they don't follow us in?" Z said.
"Then the plan didn't work," I said.
"Then what?" Z said.
"We find another way to outwit them," I said.
60
THE FLOOR OF THE WAREHOUSE was concrete. There was no insulation in any of the exterior walls. The hard rain on the roof sounded through the whole building like a drum.
It took a half-hour, but the plan kicked in. There was just a hint of movement in the lesser darkness of the entrance.
"See that?" I murmured.
Z said, "Yes."
Then the electric purr of Stephano's voice cut through the blackness and the drumming of the rain.
"You can run, Spenser," he said. "But you can't hide."
"He thinks we're trying to hide?" Z said softly.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Isn't even a little afraid we might have set him up?" Z whispered.
"Too arrogant," I whispered. "And probably too eager. It's like he was dating us and we led him into the bedroom."
"And he's too hot to think," Z whispered.
"Be my guess," I whispered
.
"Been there," Z whispered.
I smiled in the darkness.
"Most of us have," I whispered.
"You coming out of your hole, Tough Guy?" Stephano purred. "Or I gotta drag you out, squealing, by the tail."
"How come all the talk?" Z whispered.
"I had to guess," I whispered, "I'd guess he's attracting our attention while his people sneak around and try to find us."
"Maybe I'll sneak back at them," Z whispered. "Crees are great night fighters."
"I thought they didn't fight at night because if they were killed in the dark they wouldn't reach the happy hunting grounds?"
"What movie you see that in?" Z whispered.
"Can't remember," I whispered. "But Gene Autry was the star."
"He should know," Z whispered.
"I'll work left," I whispered. "You go right. We'll try to come in on each side of Stephano. Whichever of us gets there first kills him. And we'll try not to kill each other by mistake."
"Okay," Z whispered. "Then what?"
"Then we'll see," I whispered. "His pals may come for us, or they may run. Play it by ear."
"Think he'll stay where he is?"
"I think he'll keep talking," I whispered. "He wants to distract us, and I think he enjoys it, like all the rest."
"Come out, little rats," Stephano called. "Be men. Don't make us hunt you down like vermin."
"It is a good day to die," Z whispered, and left me.
The gutted interior of the warehouse was darkness visible. The litter of reconstruction made for very slow going. Particularly if you were trying to be quiet. I edged past something that felt like a sawhorse, and slipped under what felt like some loose wires. I stepped on a big timber with one foot and paused and felt around for a way past it. Probably a second-story floor joist. There were loose nails and screws underfoot. Enhanced by the wet weather, the black air was pungent with the effluvium of decay. I shuffled a few inches at a time. My gun in my right hand. My left forearm shielding my face.
Off to my right I heard a sudden scuffle of activity, sounding, in the thick silence, probably louder than it was. I stopped, listening. Again, silence. Was it Z, or was it one of Stephano's helpers? A wavering holler. What the hell was that? Then I figured it out. It was Z's version of a Cree war whoop. Z seemed to be rising to the challenge. There was no gunshot. The bowie knife must have proved useful. One down.
I smiled again. If I had been Stephano, the war whoop would have creeped me out. It couldn't hurt. I inched along carefully, shuffle step by shuffle step, tediously edging around debris, containing the impulse to rush. I inched farther to my left, looking for the wall. Anything to give me some orientation. My shoulder hit something made of sheet metal. It rattled. I ducked low, and five rounds blasted past me as Stephano fired at the sound. I didn't fire back. He wouldn't be where he'd fired from. He wasn't that dumb.
I felt the wall with my left shoulder. With my shoulder against it, I felt along the wall toward where Stephano had fired. If it had been Stephano. I didn't bump into anything. Maybe the construction guys had cleared a passage along the wall. Stephano had no way to know if he'd hit me or not. Maybe I was dead. The uncertainty, coupled with the Cree war whoop, must have been stressful. Finally, sliding along the wall, I saw the faint square of lesser darkness, where we'd entered. I stopped. I couldn't really make out much in the way of shapes. I was looking for movement. What I got was a bonus.
"Spenser," Stephano said.
He was right in front of me.
"Let's stop fucking around with this," Stephano said. "You come to the door. I'll be there. We'll do it standing straight up, looking at each other, like two men."
I raised my gun and aimed toward the sound.
"I'm right here," I said.
And he moved. I fired at the motion, five shots as fast as I could shoot. I heard him grunt, and, after a moment, I heard him fall. I heard him breathe with a bubbly sound for a moment. Then I heard nothing.
I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled toward him. When I reached him, I put my hand out and felt him. I wasn't sure where I was feeling. But it didn't move. I felt around and realized I was on his leg. I traced up his leg to his stomach, then his chest, which was wet and warm. I found his throat and felt for a pulse. There was none. I stayed flat on the floor.
"Z," I said loudly. "I got Stephano."
From the darkness close by, Z said, "Yay."
"Two down," I said.
"Three," Z said.
"Wow," I said. "Quiet."
"Old Mr. Bowie," Z said.
I raised my voice.
"Okay," I said. "Last assassin. There's two of us, and you're alone. We've killed three of you already. I got no need to kill you, too. You sit tight, we'll leave, and you can go about your business. You do anything else, and we got all night. We'll find you and kill you."
Silence.
"Z," I said. "Can you see the door?"
"Sort of," he said.
"Okay, go for it and on out. Let me know it's you, as you come. I'll come out right behind you."
As he moved toward me through the blank darkness, heading for the hint of light that was the door, he began to sing softly.
" 'Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight?' "
Then I saw him move in the darkness as he went past me. On my hands and knees, I fell in behind him.
" 'Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, and dance by the light of the moon?' "
I was pretty sure that the last assassin would take the offer. I holstered my gun, and felt the tension beginning to drain. As I followed Z through the open door, I found myself giggling at his song lyrics. In the rain we sprinted across the short open space to the car, and got in.
"Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight?" I said, and started the car.
"Give white eyes a sense of Indian culture," Z said.
We pulled away.
"That's the best you could do?" I said.
"You knew it was me," Z said.
"That song has as much to do with Indian culture as Marshmallow Fluff," I said.
"Injun like'm Marshmallow Fluff," Z said.
61
IT WAS LATE. The rain was still raining. We sat at my kitchen counter with a siphon of soda, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of scotch.
I raised my glass toward Z.
"Pretty good," I said.
Z nodded.
"Ever kill anybody before?" I said.
"No."
We both drank some scotch.
"How you feel about it?" I said.
"Less than I thought I'd feel," he said.
"How you feel depends on stuff," I said.
"They would have killed me," he said.
"They would," I said. "And that helps with how you feel. Also, whether you knew them or not. If they died fast or slow. How close they were. What they looked like. It's easier at a distance."
"It was easier in the dark," Z said.
"Anything that distances you from the human fact of them," I said.
"Doesn't mean I liked it," Z said.
"Good," I said. "Stephano would have liked it. But it's worth remembering about yourself that you are the kind of guy who can stick a knife into someone in the dark."
"Are you like that?" Z said.
"Yes," I said.
"You wish you weren't?"
"No," I said. "But I keep it in mind."
"Why?"
"So I won't be that way when I don't have to be," I said.
Z nodded.
"You took Stephano out pretty nice," he said.
"I'm supposed to," I said.
"Yeah."
We didn't talk for a while. We finished our drinks at an easy pace, and made fresh ones. I could hear, faintly, the sound of the rain outside my front windows.
"Whaddya gonna do now?" Z said.
"I'm going to tell Quirk that I don't think Jumbo killed Dawn Lopata."
"You
believe Jumbo?"
"Yes."
"Remember," Z said. "He's a lying fuck."
"Of course he is," I said. "But it's a plausible story, and nothing any of us knows contradicts it."
"Okay," Z said. "Then what?"
"Then Quirk does what he does," I said. "The DA does what he does. Jumbo's people do what they do."
"Can Quirk keep him out of jail?"
"Maybe," I said.
"What if he doesn't?" Z said. "What if they send him to jail?"
"I did what I could. I did what I said I'd do. That's all there is to do."
"Would it bother you?" Z said.
"Some," I said. "But I'd get over it."
"He probably should do time, anyway, for being a creep," Z said.
"Probably," I said. "Maybe he can make a deal."
"Swap Nicky Fellscroft for a light sentence?" Z said.
"Might," I said. "If they press charges."
"They might kill him," Z said.
"Also possible," I said.
"Easier than killing us," Z said.
I nodded. I could hear the rain outside my front windows. Z looked at his half-full glass.
"Ain't a lot of happy endings here," he said.
"There often aren't," I said.
"That's how it is," Z said. "Isn't it."
"'Fraid so," I said.
He nodded and sipped his drink and kept nodding slowly, as if in some kind of permanent affirmation.
"That's how it is," he said.
I don't think he was talking to me.
62
I SPENT THE MORNING with Quirk and a black woman with wide-spaced eyes from the Suffolk County DA's office. Her name was Angela Ruskin. I told them what I knew, and what I thought. They listened.
When I got through, Quirk said, "I don't think there's enough."
"We can't prove it didn't happen the way he said it did," Angela Ruskin said. "We might be able to get him for trying to pretty up the scene."
"How much time would he do?" Quirk said.
Angela shrugged.
"Not much," she said. "Probably none, if Rita represents him."
"I don't want to arrest him," Quirk said.
"Because?" Angela said.
"Because I don't think he did anything. Unless being a creep is illegal."
"And you believe Spenser," she said.
"Yes," Quirk said.
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