“Don’t know,” he said. “I mean, it’s a freakin’ flower shop in the South End. What are we gonna do, steal ideas for anniversary arrangements?”
“Can’t you force them?”
“It’s private property,” he said. “I tried to talk straight to one of the gentlemen who runs it. He claims the camera is busted. I asked for anything the camera had anyway, and he tells me to contact his lawyer. Next thing I know, I get a call from an attorney talking about harassment. I mean, what the hell?”
With great effort, Galway got to her feet and snuffled over to me. She sniffed at my pant leg and her tail began to wag. I figured she’d caught scent of Miss Pearl.
“Maybe I can help.”
“Are you talking about something illegal or unethical?”
I smiled. “Goodness, no.”
We can leave it all alone,” Johnny Donovan said. “Or we can double the fuck down and do the job we agreed to do.”
Big Ray reached for a donut and took a huge bite in an effort to stay silent. Johnny watched him for a moment and then turned to Kevin. Kevin took a cool sip of water and waited. He knew Johnny was cracking a bit. He just hoped he’d hold it together in case someone saw them gathered at the Scandinavian Pastry shop.
“This is it,” Johnny said. “Draw the fucking line. Teach those bastards a lesson. This is the twenty-first century. You can’t run a department with no freakin’ money. Old equipment and jalopy trucks. Action. We need action.”
“That guy you told me about,” Kevin said. He didn’t want to tell but had to tell him. “The investigator? He came to me at work. He started asking me what I’d seen at these fires. Asked me a lot about the church in the South End. And he asked me if you and I were friends.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Big Ray stopped chewing. He just cut his eyes from left to right where Kevin and Johnny sat side by side. He was dressed in civilian clothes tonight. They had plans for a couple places in Brighton just to expand their territory, let the department know that no neighborhood was safe.
“What did he know?” Ray said.
“I don’t think he knew nothing,” Kevin said. “I think he was just fishing around. Someone told him we’d been sparking and he thought he’d run some questions by me. I don’t know. I didn’t think much of it until he got serious about Johnny. He seemed like he wanted to know more about you.”
Kevin turned his head to Johnny.
Johnny pounded his fist on the table. “That fucker Featherstone,” he said. “That son of a bitch. He liked me for the church. He was always jealous and suspicious. I don’t know what this snoop is doing or who’s paying him. But this ain’t good. Somebody from the department, Cahill or one of his shit heels, will come to you guys soon. They’re gonna put on some pressure. But you got to know they don’t know shit. Don’t get nervous and stupid.”
Big Ray nodded. He scratched his nose and looked down at the empty box. “Can I have that last one?”
Johnny gritted his teeth, snatched the box, and crumpled it into a ball. He walked over to the trash bin and tossed it inside. Waddling back to his seat, he shook his head. “We sticking on this?” he said. “We together on all of it?”
Kevin exchanged looks with Big Ray. Neither of them liked what they were seeing in Johnny.
“We lay low for a while,” Johnny said. “Somebody is out there watching us. They are waiting for us to fuck up. But we’re not going to. We’re gonna sit right here and finish our coffee and then go home just like regular Joes. They can chase around all they want, but then they’ll get bored and that’s when Mr. Firebug returns.”
Ray shook his head and let out a breath. “Why the hell’d you do that with my donut?” he said. “Jesus, Johnny.”
Johnny tossed a five spot at Ray and told him to get another half-dozen.
44
So close,” Z said. “Yet so far.”
“I’m fairly certain they’re mocking us,” I said.
Kevin Teehan, Johnny Donovan, and a third man—who may or may not have been the man from the still—sat in a back booth at the Scandinavian Pastry shop off West Broadway. They were drinking coffee and eating donuts. With the windows open, you could smell the donuts.
“Maybe if I run in for a couple,” Z said. “No one would notice.”
“A six-foot-two, two-hundred-thirty-pound American Indian in Southie?” I said. “Can you tell what they’re eating?”
“I hate to say,” Z said. He looked through the long lens of my Canon Rebel, clicking away. “It might only lead to tears.”
“Need I remind you, I just got torched out of my apartment and lost all my worldly possessions?”
“Chocolate glazed. Maybe a cinnamon or two.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Shouldn’t have told me.”