“That’s bullshit,” he said. “He never said that.”
“Yeah, I guess he needed help torching my building on Marlborough,” I said. “You set the alley while he set the fire by my door. Or was it the other way around? Maybe Zucco drove that white van?”
It was brief. But Donovan couldn’t help but grin. “You’re crazy,” he said. “Get outta my fucking office.”
I looked out his small window to the concrete lot. The boys were working to clean off the windshield. They had a squeegee and Donovan’s dirty rag working over the glass. Their blond hair stuck up like straw, and they looked as if they’d arrived from Ireland a hundred years ago. The shirts and shorts they wore were threadbare. Their faces were filthy.
“Nice to have good help,” I said.
“So whatta you have?” Donovan said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his cut-off khakis. His V-neck white shirt rode up over his fattened, hairy belly. “Fucking nothing. Show me some evidence if you’re so damn good.”
“Nah, Mr. Firebug is too smart,” I said. “He’s a coward and crazy, but pretty smart. I just don’t know what’s in it for the three amigos. Fame and fortune?”
Something changed in his face. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. One of the twin boys ran into the office and told Donovan they were finished. Donovan reached into his pants and handed him a few bucks. The boy turned and left. I noted he was wearing a T-shirt that simply read FIRE RESCUE with a shamrock logo but no city and no department.
“You’ll never catch him,” Donovan said. “You or anyone in Arson. Damn right. This guy is good and he’s fucking smart. He’ll keep burning this city until he gets the power people to pay attention. If you’d get your head outta your ass, you’ll see that we are all trying to help and find him.”
“Boston Fire doesn’t want your help.”
“They don’t want anyone’s help,” he said. He said it with so much force the veins bulged in his neck. “That’s their fucking problem. They can’t see two feet in front of them. All that smoke has screwed up their vision.”
“Aha.”
He shook his head. “You’re looking at the wrong person,” he said. “I’d bleed for those guys.”
“I heard they reopened the case in Newton,” I said. “That family’s home you burned after you slapped a kid? I guess that was a misunderstanding, too.”
“You keep on pushing. This is fucking harassment.”
“Where are those boys’ parents?” I said, nodding outside.
“Those kids work for me,” he said. “They needed some money. I do good in this neighborhood. People respect me.”
“I hope so, Johnny,” I said. “I also hope you trust your friends.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Two more firefighters got hurt the other night,” I said. “Three men dead from the church. Real firefighters can’t live with that. They’re all family. They’ll come find you.”
Donovan took a few steps backward. In the small, heated room, his stench was something awful. He spit on the ground and marched to the door, holding it open.
I took the subtle hint and left.
51
Two days later, as I forced out my twelfth bench press of two hundred and twenty-five pounds, Hawk entered my field of vision. He didn’t offer to spot my last rep. He simply loomed over me and said, “Got something for you.”
“Can’t you see I’m deep into my intense training?”
“Weights will be here,” he said. “This won’t wait.”
I followed Hawk out of the Harbor Health Club. Z was working with a heavy-set woman on a treadmill. Her mouth was working faster than her legs. Helpless, Z watched as we left.
In the parking lot facing the harbor, Hawk popped the trunk of his Jag. He reached inside and pulled back an Army blanket to expose a large black box.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“It’s July.”
“This shit can’t be returned,” he said. “One of a kind.”
“Hard to get?” I said.
A couple of seagulls looped around the docks. Pleasure boats bobbed up and down in the morning chop. Hawk closed the trunk and leaned against the Jag. He smiled. The sun was very bright and his teeth gleamed.
“How’d you know where to find it?”
“One of DeMarco’s people owes me a favor,” he said.
“That’s mighty white of you,” I said.
Hawk grunted. I could see the edge of his .44 under a light, long canvas jacket. “Jackie gonna be a little mad,” he said. “Three folks try to get in my way.”
“Stefanakos?”
“Nah, man,” Hawk said. “I’m saving his ass for you.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“We can sell tickets.”
“I’ll make popcorn.”
“Haw.”
Deep in the harbor, I spotted the USS Constitution making a rare journey out of port. The big white sails full of air, cutting through the mild chop with ease. Cannons boomed off Old Ironsides in some kind of ceremony. Even on shore, I could hear people clapping from the decks.