Child Not Found

by Ray Daniel

  I asked, “What danger?”

  “There are those who say you turned against your cousin Sal.”

  “Who?”

  “And there are those who say you would never turn against Sal.”

  “Again, who?”

  Jael stepped over a slush pile. “It does not matter. What does matter is that all sides see you as an enemy.”

  “Sides of what?”

  “A war.”

  “Again with the war. Doesn’t anybody want to find Maria?”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I pointed up at the Common. “I took her sledding on that hill. Then she got in a car, down where that guy is standing.”

  Jael looked. A guy in a Bruins jacket stood at the kidnapping spot, apparently considering a run across the street.

  Jael said, “The rumor is that you turned on Sal. That you took Maria for leverage.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t care who runs the Mafia.”

  “It does not matter whether you care. It only matters that dangerous men see you as a traitor or threat.”

  “Who?”

  “All of them.”

  “I’ve taken care of that.”

  “How?”

  I told Jael about the ransom note, the photo, and how Rittenhauser was going to put it on the front page.

  Jael said, “Then I am too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Hugh Graxton told me to find you before you did something rash.”

  “That wasn’t rash. These people will see that I’m looking for Maria.”

  “It was rash. You do not know what these people will do. Neither do I. We have to get off the streets.” Jael quickened her pace.

  I sped up to follow. “I think you’re overreacting.”

  “What did you do that they see you as a threat?”

  “I visited Sal, had coffee, went to Christmas dinner. Just normal stuff.”

  “Exactly!” I’d never seen Jael so agitated.

  “Normal is good, right?”

  “Normal is irrelevant. Whatever you do will be badly interpreted.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Hide. Stay out of sight. Go away for a few weeks.”

  We continued down Charles. The guy in the Bruins jacket stood at the curb, gazing at the Public Garden.

  I changed topics. “Why would anyone take Maria? What do they want?”

  “There are only three reasons for kidnapping a young girl,” said Jael.

  I waited.

  Jael continued. “The first is to do unspeakable things to her.”

  I imagined the unspeakable for a second. Pushed it from my mind. “What’s the next one?”

  “To sell her.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “It happens,” said Jael.

  “What’s the third reason?”

  Jael kept walking and said, “Be ready. We are about to be attacked.”

  “What?” I said.

  The guy in the Bruins jacket turned and stepped in front of us.

  “Hey Tucker, you fucking traitor,” he said.

  Jael stopped walking, stood stock still.

  I stood next to her. “Do I know you?” I asked.

  “I saw you in Cafe Vittoria with Graxton. You turned on your own cousin.”

  “I didn’t turn on anyone. I’m … ”

  “Fuck you,” said the guy.

  “We are leaving,” Jael said.

  Bruins Jacket looked Jael up and down. Reached out to push her. Said, “Shut up, bitch.”

  There was no transition. No warm up. No delay. There was simply a change of state, snapshots of action. Bruins Jacket standing in front of me, his arm extended, his fingertips on Jael’s leather jacket, his mouth showing teeth as he finished the word bitch. Then, Jael’s gloved knuckles buried in the guy’s Adam’s apple. The guy reaching for his throat. Jael’s boot lifting him from the pavement by the balls. The guy on the ground. Jael’s heel on an elbow. The elbow popping.

  The pop brought me back to real time. Bruins Jacket couldn’t scream through his ruined throat. He gurgled instead, cradling his shattered elbow.

  Jael said, “Let us go.” Started walking.

  The guy regained his voice. “I will fucking kill you both.”

  Jael stopped, turned, and was suddenly holding a black boxy gun to the guy’s forehead. She looked at me. “Would it be better for me to just end this now?”

  Bruins Jacket looked from Jael’s gun, to me, back to the gun, and back to me.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Pistol Salvucci.”

  “Do you have Maria?” I said.

  Pistol said, “No.”

  “Do you know where I can find Maria?”

  “No.”

  “Might as well kill him,” I said to Jael.

  “No!”

  “No? Then tell your friends I’d never turn on Sal.”

  Jael’s gun disappeared in a smooth motion. We turned from Pistol to head back down Charles.

  And ran straight into Agent Frank Cantrell.

  Eighteen

  Cantrell pointed at Jael, then at Pistol. “You can’t do that!”

  “I cannot ask questions?” Jael said.

  Cantrell said, “You can’t sucker punch our citizens, break their arms, and stick guns in their faces.”

  “Sucker punch?” Jael said. “I punched him in the throat.”

  “You punched him when he wasn’t ready.”

  “How else would you punch a large hostile man?”

  “What I mean is—”

  “It would be foolish to warn him.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “He touched me.”

  “Well, maybe, but—”

  I asked, “What do you want, Frank?”

  “That’s Special Agent Cantrell to you, Tucker.”

  “Oooh lah-dee-dah. Look at me, I’m Special Agent Cantrell.”

  Pistol groaned.

  “Aw jeez, Pistol,” Cantrell said. “Stay here. I’ll get help.” He pulled out a cell phone, dialed.

  I said, “See you around, Frank.”

  Cantrell, ear to the phone, pointed to me and said, “You two stay here.” Then into the phone, “No, not you. I need an ambulance.”

  “What do you want with us?” I asked.

  Cantrell made the universal sign for “zip it.” He gave the ambulance directions, hung up. Crouched next to Pistol. “Hang in there,” he said.

  “Hey, Pistol,” I asked, “how did you know we’d be here?”

  Pistol lay on his back, eyes rolling into his head.

  Cantrell said, “Shit, he’s going into shock. He needs a coat thrown over him.” Looked at us. We looked back. It was too cold to think about sharing a coat.

  I said, “How did he know we’d be here?”

  Cantrell snapped his fingers at us. “C’mon, I don’t have a good coat.”

  “I mean, it’s like he was waiting for us.”

  Jael unzipped her leather jacket. Threw it over Pistol. Now Frank and I looked like jerks. I took off my coat, threw it over Pistol. The cold sliced through my cotton button-down and set my teeth chattering. Jael was fine, she’d dressed in layers.

  Cantrell said, “Pistol wasn’t waiting for you. He was waiting for me. I was going to talk to him about Maria. She got taken here.”

  “He doesn’t know anything about Maria. I asked him.”

  “Before or after you broke his elbow?”

  I rubbed warmth into my arms. I said, “Seriously, Frank? You’re going to keep your coat?”

  “I didn’t cripple the guy. Serves you two right.”

  “Pistol was an informant?” Jael asked
.

  Frank said, “No! Be careful spreading that idea.”

  I nudged Pistol with my UGG. “That true, Pistol? You ratting out Sal?”

  Pistol shook his head. “N-n-n-o.”

  “Pistol is loyal to Sal,” Frank said.

  “It doesn’t look that way to me,” I said. “I think Sal should know.”

  Pistol said, “No!” and passed out. Lay still, his body settling into the slush as his muscles lost their tone.

  “Is he dead?” I asked. “Can I have my coat back?”

  Frank said, “He’s not dead. You scared the shit out of him.”

  “So if he’s not an informant, why were you meeting him?”

  “He was going to talk to Sal for me.”

  “About what?”

  “They’re going to arraign Sal today and the DA is going to ask for no bail. I’m pretty sure Sal’s going to get killed if we leave him locked up, so I have a plan. I want Sal to turn so they’ll agree to let him make bail.”

  I said, “Sal won’t turn.”

  “He’d better turn.”

  “Agent Cantrell is right,” Jael said. “Sal will die in prison.”

  An ambulance arrived, lights flashing, no siren. I grabbed my coat off Pistol, pulled it on, shivered in the freezing fabric. Jael waited until the paramedics handed her her coat. She was a woman of steel.

  “Why will Sal die?” I asked Jael.

  Frank said, “It’s like with lions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The new pride leader,” said Jael.

  “Exactly,” said Cantrell.

  “What about the lions?” I asked.

  Jael said, “When a new lion takes over a pride, he kills the old male.”

  “What’s that got to do with Sal?”

  The ambulance guy knelt over Pistol. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He has a broken elbow,” said Jael.

  “And a crushed nut sack,” I added.

  Frank asked, “You kicked him in the nuts?”

  Jael said, “No.”

  I kept a straight face. “He slipped on the ice,” I said.

  “He slipped on the ice and crushed his nut sack?” the ambulance guy asked.

  “He’s really clumsy,” I said.

  The ambulance guys bundled Pistol into a gurney, lifted him into the back of the ambulance, and took off up Beacon Street toward Massachusetts General Hospital.

  I pointed after the ambulance. “They’re taking him to Mass General?”

  Cantrell said, “Yeah. You just cost the Commonwealth a bundle.”

  The ambulance disappeared around a corner.

  “What’s this about the lions?” I asked.

  “Guys are fighting it out for Sal’s turf. The winner isn’t going to want Sal back.”

  “Maybe Sal will win.”

  Cantrell said, “Maybe, but he sure as hell won’t win from jail.”

  I shivered, willing my body to heat the coat. “Sal won’t turn,” I said.

  “I heard you,” said Cantrell. “Pistol was supposed to talk some sense into him.”

  Jael said, “Pistol is in no shape to talk to Sal.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  Cantrell said, “It’s simple, Tucker. You do it.”

  “Sal won’t listen to me.”

  “Then fuck you both.” Cantrell stalked up Charles Street.

  I turned to Jael. “I’m not kidding. He won’t listen.”

  Jael shoved one arm through her coat. I reached for the coat to help, but she turned so that it was out of reach.

  “What?” I said. “You’re mad at me?”

  Jael walked toward her Acura MDX. “You need to go home.”

  Nineteen

  Silence filled Jael’s SUV as she navigated Commonwealth Ave, then Arlington. Her eyes darted from road to mirrors then back to road, ignoring me. I felt like a package, the source of an unpleasant errand.

  I said, “You shouldn’t feel bad about Pistol.”

  “I do not feel bad about Pistol,” Jael said.

  “Oh.”

  I looked out the window. A doorman dressed like a train conductor hailed taxis in front of the Taj hotel. The Taj had been the Ritz Carlton once, but the Ritz had moved.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  “I am not angry with you.”

  More silence, more careful driving. Traffic was slow.

  “You’re quiet,” I said.

  “I am always quiet when I am working.”

  “Working?”

  Jael glanced at me. Annoyance slipped into the corner of her mouth.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Do you deliberately ignore the danger around you?”

  “What danger?”

  Jael shook her head.

  I said, “You mean Pistol?”

  Jael said, “How many factions do you believe are fighting over Sal’s business?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Exactly. You don’t know,” said Jael. “Do you know how many of those factions consider you an enemy?”

  “No.”

  “All of them.”

  “Even Hugh Graxton?”

  “You are right. All but one. But Hugh does not consider you an ally.”

  “There you go, calling him ‘Hugh’ again.”

  Jael turned down St. James. Drove half a block, got stuck in traffic. Something beyond our view had blocked the street. She said, “This is dangerous.”

  I said, “You think someone will be looking for us here?”

  “If someone does look for us here, we will be trapped.” Jael reached beneath my seat, pulled out a black gun, and put it in my lap.

  “What do I do with this?” I asked.

  “Hand it to me if I need it,” Jael said. “It is a precaution.”

  Light dawned on Marblehead. I said, “You’re scared.”

  Jael said, “You should also be scared. There are men who want to kill you. There are probably others who want to take you hostage.”

  I said, “Why? I’m just Sal’s cousin.”

  “Blood relationships are everything to these people. To them you are either Sal’s ally or a turncoat.”

  “I only want to find Maria.”

  The traffic sludged its way down St. James toward the Pike. Tailpipe steam filled the road ahead of us.

  Jael said, “You cannot find Maria without being murdered.”

  She turned at the John Hancock Tower, its blue-sky reflection filling the MDX’s sunroof. The road was clear. Jael settled back in her bucket seat and picked up speed. She took the gun, slid it back under the passenger seat.

  “Maria was my responsibility,” I said.

  Jael said, “That does not mean you can find her.”

  “But I thought, with your help—”

  “I cannot help.”

  “What the hell are you taking about?”

  Jael glanced at me, then back at the road. “I cannot keep you safe.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is beyond me.”

  “I didn’t think anything was beyond you.”

  “There are limits.”

  I digested the notion of Jael’s limits. “Well, what should I do?”

  Jael stopped at a red light. She had right on red but didn’t take it. She looked up and down Columbus, peering around snow piles. She asked, “Do you like the winter?”

  “The winter?” What the hell? “No. I don’t like the winter.”

  “We don’t have this weather in Israel. It is never this cold.”

  “But you have terrorism.”

  “Every place has terrorism.”

  �
��You think I would be safer in Israel?”

  “Yes. Or any warm climate you choose. Perhaps you can find computer work in California.”

  The MDX rolled down the slushy street. The sun had come out and warmed the pavement enough to create a sheen of water. It would ice over in a couple of hours. I thought about sitting under a palm tree in Union Square, drinking a coffee and musing about some coding problem at a hip startup. No family, new friends, nobody trying to kill me.

  “I’d hate myself,” I said, “for running away.”

  “You’d rather die?”

  “I was hoping that you could help me avoid that.”

  “I wish I could.”

  Silence refilled the SUV as we rolled down Columbus Ave. Red brick buildings hunkered against the cold on either side of us, their color an antidote to the weak light and black slush. Dormant trees dropped bits of snow as the sun finished its work for the day and started to slope toward its four o’clock bedtime.

  Enemies or not, I could not run away to California. Maria was in Boston somewhere with no one to protect her. Or, who knew? Maybe she was being protected by one of the factions in the Sal war. Or maybe she’d be a hostage again. Maybe there was, at this moment, another note on my door—or worse, a pinkie or some other evidence.

  I didn’t know how to find Maria, but I also didn’t know how to stop looking. One thing was sure, though: I’d need to do it without Jael. It was one thing to tilt at a windmill; it was another completely to get your friend killed while you were doing it.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let me out here.”

  “What?” Jael asked.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t be dragging you into this. Just let me out here. I can walk home.”

  “That is a terrible idea.”

  “Why?”

  “There could be somebody in your apartment. I will check it with you.”

  “And then what? I sit in it for a month? Get groceries delivered by Peapod?”

  “That would be safe.”

  “You and I both know that I’m not going to sit in my apartment while Maria is out there.”

  “When you are killed, there will be nobody for Maria.”

  “I’m not sitting this out,” I said. “C’mon. Stop the car.”

  Jael’s eyes flicked to the mirror, back to me. “It seems I have no choice.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  A bullhorn blared behind us. “Pull it over.”

  Red and blue lights flashed in the side view mirror. Jael stopped the SUV. I thought about the gun. Had Jael shoved it all the way under the seat?