“You got some nerve,” Vinnie said. “I’m just trying to do my own thing, keep my head down, and stay out of the action. I don’t want trouble with Jackie DeMarco. He keeps to his side of the river and it’s copacetic.”
“You know he may be a dope-dealing thug and killer,” I said. “But I bet deep down he’s a people person. Tell him I need the footage from two nights ago. There was a warehouse that caught on fire across the street from his flower business. Some firefighters barely made it out and are still in bad shape. Tell him he can cut out whatever he wants, but I want the footage from the street.”
“Oh,” he said. “Jackie’s gonna hop right up when he hears Spenser needs his help working a case. Maybe you can get him some kind of junior detective badge.”
“Why not,” I said. “It’ll look great on his track suit.”
“Hey,” Vinnie said. “Don’t knock the track suit.”
“What’s that you got on now?”
“Ralph Lauren,” he said. “Pants and shirt. Purple Label. Cole Haan loafers. Alligator belt.”
“You could be a mannequin on Newbury Street.”
“I ain’t making no promises, Spenser.”
“Of course.”
“And if you turn up dead, I’m not speaking at your wake.”
“I prefer you sing,” I said. “Perhaps ‘Danny Boy’?”
“The fucking lead pipes are calling for your head,” he said.
“Public space,” I said. “Just him.”
“And no Hawk,” he said. “Or fucking Zebulon Sixkill. Or any of the damn Village People you hang out with.”
“You, sir, are an honorary member.”
“Christ,” Vinnie said. “I hope not.”
We stopped at Charles Street. The fat guy from the bowling alley stood by a black BMW sedan. He had on a loose Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and macaws. But I could still spot the big gun he wore on his right hip.
“Don’t call me,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“No problem.”
“And I’ll let you know where.”
“Perhaps Jackie and I could go for an ice-cream cone,” I said. “Or ride a bicycle built for two.”
“Nothing about this situation is funny, Spenser,” Vinnie said. “Those days are long over. Get with the fucking times or they’re gonna get with you.”
48
Bright and early the next morning, I waited in the stands of Harvard Stadium. I had on a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and Nikes. I wore a brand-new zip-up Adidas hoodie over my .357. Not that I didn’t trust Jackie DeMarco. It just helped me feel slightly more secure.
When he arrived, he was thirty minutes late. And had brought two men, my friends from the Greenway market. Davey Stefanakos and his wild-eyed pal waited at an entrance to the stadium while Jackie walked up to me two steps at a time. Stefanakos looked as if he was prepped to tangle with a matador. His eye was still swollen.
“We were supposed to be alone,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot. Where’s my fucking money?”
“And guns,” I said. “I took some nice pieces off your guys.”
DeMarco was a little shorter than me, with a barrel-shaped torso and stubby legs. He had a big head with a lot of black hair and a dominant nose. He wore track pants and a black T-shirt that read DEMARCO TOWING. Probably put his company on his shirts so he could remember one of his legit jobs. Keep his story straight.
“You really want to fuck around?” he said. “Now? I had to feed Davey a sedative before we drove over here. He wants to tear your freakin’ head off.”
“Might try a chain and choke collar,” I said. “It creates a bond between beast and master.”
“You ain’t getting outta here in once piece,” he said. “You know that. This meet. Coming here was dumb.”
“But you would have come to me.”
“Sure,” he said. “Only you seem to got no place to live. You got a lot of enemies, Spenser. Never heard anything like it.”
“And a few friends.”
I motioned to the opposite side of the stadium where a muscular guy in workout gear stood. I saluted him with my coffee. Z waved back. Hawk was around, too. But one does not see Hawk.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I shrugged. “We’ll see,” I said. “We can all fight later. If Davey has a problem with me, I’m happy to settle it. But in the meantime, I wish to appeal to your better nature. If such a thing actually exists.”
“If you’re talking about me giving up my security tapes, you are seriously fucked in the head,” DeMarco said. “I know what kind of arrangement you had with the old man, Fish. You’d stroke him a little under the table and he’d let you do what you want. Or Tony Marcus and all those blacks. But let me deliver some bad news to you. Those fuckers are old. They’re as outta date as my dad’s Sunday ties. You fucked with me in business that was none of your concern. You fucked with me again about that church fire. And just to top it off, you ambush my guys and take my money. How’s it gonna look to people if I don’t just shoot you right now?”
“A few witnesses,” I said. “And besides, my friends would shoot you first and then shoot your men. It’d be a pretty messy package. And you wouldn’t have a chance to march in the Columbus Day Parade this year.”