Johnny saw it but didn’t seem to give a shit, talking with two jakes who’d just come out of the building sucking on oxygen. Johnny made some kind of joke and gave the boys a thumbs-up before walking away.
They stood around for the next half-hour before Kevin drove Johnny back to his own car. He’d left the red sedan parked inside a chain-link fence. The fence surrounding the little plot where he’d parked his security company trailer. The two sat there in the car, Johnny’s pit bull going nuts by the gate.
“You see them families?” Kevin said. “We should’ve been more careful. This was supposed to be political.”
“It is political,” Johnny said. “Everything is political.”
“But burning out families?” he said. “I saw ten people sitting on the curb. That old man sucking on oxygen. I don’t like how this went.”
“People have been hurt,” Johnny said. “More will have to get hurt for someone to do something.”
“Nobody’s gotten hurt,” Kevin said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Good night,” Johnny said. He got out and slammed the door.
Kevin sat there for a moment, listening to the dog bark over and over. When he began to start the car, he felt a hand on his wrist. He felt like his heart might leave his chest. It was Johnny, laughing at making him jump. “You know the best part?”
Kevin shook his head.
“Those jakes back there,” he said. “They thanked me. Thanked me for all the support. You know how that fucking made me feel? It’s all gonna be worth it. You’ll see.”
19
After visiting the boys in Arson, I cracked my office windows that afternoon to the pleasant sound and smell of rain falling, and began to check messages. According to my service, I had eight calls from Cedar Junction, or as it’s more traditionally known, MCI Walpole.
Tommy the Torch had fine timing. I returned the call.
Prisoners don’t set their own hours, and I had time to walk down to Berkeley Street to buy a sub sandwich and chips. I made coffee and responded to a few e-mails. I ate most of the sub and cleaned off my desk. I paid a few bills. I checked the time. And then I called Susan. “Dr. Kildare here,” I said. “I’m calling to schedule in a sponge bath after a two o’clock lobotomy.”
“Are you performing your own?”
“You know ol’ Dr. Gillespie,” I said. “He’s pretty rough on me.”
“Do you have any references from after the war?”
“What can I say? I was born into the wrong era.”
I swung around and faced Berkeley. The young woman in the Houghton Mifflin Harcourt building was eating lunch at her desk, too. I offered a friendly wave in solidarity. This time she waved back.
“You better watch out,” I said. “Other women might appreciate my arcane references.”
“I doubt it.”
“Or my ability to produce a pizza later tonight.”
“Pizza sounds wonderful,” she said. “It’s been a hell of a day for shrinkage.”
“With peppers, onions, and black olives?”
She agreed and I hung up. I finished the last bit of the sub sandwich and poured some coffee. I sat at my desk and watched the rain fall for a long while.
At a quarter to five, Tommy Torch called. Actually, it was an automated voice who informed me I had a call from Cedar Junction and would I accept the charges.
“Gladly,” I said.
The automated voice didn’t understand. It asked me again.
“Yes,” I said.
Tommy was animated, talking fast but low into the mouthpiece. He informed me that if someone learned we spoke, that the gentleman might fashion his nuts into a keychain.
“Colorful,” I said.
“You unnerstand?”
“Nuts into a keychain,” I said. “That’s bad, right?”
“The guy we spoke of.”
“Jackie DeMarco.”
“For Christ sake.”
“They can hear you, but not me.”
“Yeah, him,” he said. “He may be using this guy from up in Lynn but works in Revere. He’s one of those young hotshots. A shooter. But I hear he’s been branching out into other lines of work.”
“Diversification.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Right. He’s also real good at burning shit. Not as good as me. But gets the job done.”
“What makes you think he works for DeMarco?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that shit, Spenser,” he said. “I give you a name. If the name pans out, then you put in a good word. That’s how the world works, right?”
“True pals.”
“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
The connection from Walpole was very bad and the line buzzed in my ear. Between the rain outside my window and the mumble mouth of Tommy, it was difficult to hear. “And?”
“What?”
“The name?”
“Don’t fuck me,” he said.
“You needn’t be concerned.”
“You know Teddy Cahill?” he said. “Works in Arson?”
“And his dog, too.”
“That fucking dog once got me four years inside,” he said. “It’s still alive? Christ.”
“I’ll talk to Cahill,” I said. “I’ll let him know if you helped. What they do is up to them.”