“Eat shit.”
“You bring the discs?”
“They’re not discs,” he said. “It’s a whole fucking server. I can’t just yank it out and walk around with it. I don’t know what you’re looking for or where to find it.”
“You know about the fire?”
Jackie nodded. As his head bobbed, a thick gold rope chain around his neck bounced up and down.
“Three Boston firefighters got killed by these guys, Jackie,” I said. “And this week two more nearly died by your so-called flower shop. Surely you would like to see justice done. These guys are authentic psychos.”
“That sucks,” he said. “But I don’t want to end up in Walpole like my old man. How do you even know my camera caught a fucking thing that night?”
“I don’t.”
“And I’m supposed to just hand it over and let you sort it out?”
“That’s the plan.”
I patted two large shopping bags I’d borrowed from Susan. Classics from Filene’s Basement. I was surprised how well they supported the weight of the guns. No pride left in newfangled shopping bags. Probably made in China.
“Suck it, Spenser,” DeMarco said. He reached over in an attempt to take back his money.
I pushed him hard in the chest. He fell heavy against the concrete steps. His boys came running. Z tried to head them off. Hawk walked out of a tunnel, hoisting a 12-gauge, moving fast and fluid down the steps.
Jackie DeMarco began to laugh as he righted himself on the steps and stood. He shook his head. “Know what?” he said. “I changed my mind. Keep it. Keep the money. Keep the guns. You know why?”
“I’m guessing because I won’t live to spend it.”
“Goddamn right.”
“Too clever, Jackie.”
Davey Stefanakos came running up, breathing hard but easy. He had on a white silk T-shirt and gray pants. He gave me a hard, flat look, breathing in and out of his nose. It felt a little like being at a weigh-in. I tried to think of something really offensive to say about his mother.
But before I could, Stefanakos reached behind his back. He stopped in mid-motion.
“Hands up, Zorba,” Hawk said. “Or you’ll be picking buckshot out your asshole.”
Stefanakos showed his skillet-sized hands. As did the other man, who Z had met on the field.
I had yet to move from my seat. It had a terrific view of the field and the stadium. “Sorry about the trade, Jackie,” I said. “You know the night I’m looking for. I need an ID.”
Jackie shook his head in disappointment. “Your buddies can’t be everywhere, Spenser,” he said. “Just for the record? You’ve really fucked up this time.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “At least I always try and do my best.”
49
After my meet and greet with DeMarco, I returned to my office.
I had barely had time to go through my bills when Belson and Captain Glass walked through the door. Belson sat down in a client’s chair while Glass glanced around the room. It was her first visit and I noted the admiration in her eyes. I think she appreciated the feng shui arrangement of my desk, couch, client chairs, and filing cabinets. Or perhaps it was the Vermeer prints hanging on the walls.
“I do all the decorating myself,” I said. “The file cabinets really set off the rug.”
Glass just stared at me. She leaned against the wall and looked to Belson.
“Tag on the sedan that belongs to your third man goes back to the police department in Blackburn,” Belson said.
“Terrific,” I said. “They love me up there.”
“I bet,” Belson said. “I made some calls, and it turns out the last one to check out the vehicle was a cop named Ray Zucco. Every heard of Big Ray Zucco?”
“Nope,” I said. “Should I have?”
“Quite the whackjob,” Belson said. “He’s been suspended twice for gross unprofessionalism.”
“In Blackburn, I thought that’d earn a promotion.”
“He lives out in Brighton but couldn’t get on with us,” Glass said. “You know where else he applied five years ago?”
“Boston Fire.”
“Right you are,” Belson said. “Why the hell anyone would want to be a fireman is beyond me.”
“Firefighter,” Glass said. “They have seventeen women on in Boston now, Frank.”
I raised my eyebrows. Belson shrugged and scratched his five-o’clock shadow even through it was only two.
Glass pushed off the wall and placed a hand on her hip. She wore pleated black slacks and a white silk top. She had on a small silver bracelet and a Glock 9 on her hip. Very stylish.
“So tell us what you know,” Glass said. “I understand you and Quirk would often share any information. I hope we can continue an amicable relationship.”
I put my feet up on my desk. “Amicable means nice, Frank.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigar. He lit up, knowing how much I disliked the smoke. I reached over and opened a window.
“I thought you said he couldn’t smoke?” I said. I looked to Glass.