They met at midnight at an old warehouse in Charlestown. Johnny was already inside rigging the last few devices as Kevin sat on the hood of his Crown Vic, keeping watch and wondering what his life had become. Thirty minutes earlier, they’d busted the chain-link gate of the condemned toy factory on the Mystic River. Later, in the dark, moonless night, they’d touch off several spots on the second and third floors. To hear Johnny say it, everyone believed Zucco was to blame. And when it was all over, and fires started, no one would come after him or Kevin.
Kevin still couldn’t believe Zucco had turned on them. All he knew is that he just wanted everything to be over and didn’t want to go to jail. He’d followed Johnny this far, and he’d follow it until things were done. After this maybe he’d leave Mass for a while, try to find some work at a fire station up in Maine somewhere. Get away from the city, live off the grid.
“Come on,” Johnny said, walking down from the loading platform. “It’s time.”
The building was old, with busted-out windows and weeds growing through the asphalt. A big realty sign had been staked out in the front parking lot. Along the side of the building, big white letters painted on the brick read TOYS & GAMES.
“Now they’ll know it’s Zucco,” Johnny said. “Let’s set this thing off right. I been scoping this place out for months. You’ll see it fucking burning all the way to China. It’s a statement that Boston Fire needs more men and better facilities. They may hate Mr. Firebug now, but he’ll be remembered as a hero in history. We done real good.”
Kevin lowered his head and followed Johnny into the building. Johnny shone a flashlight up onto the wooden crossbeams overhead and the stacks and stacks of scrap wood and trash.
The warehouse was dark and hot. Rain water dripped down from the floor above, pinging in puddles. He swallowed, as it was tough to breathe. In a far corner, he spotted what he thought was some kind of mannequin, false and artificial, propped up by a couple of old mattresses and a big stack of tires.
He walked closer. Behind him, Johnny continued to arrange the tires and douse them all with the kerosene. Johnny whistled “Mr. Heat Miser” from the old kids’ Christmas special as he worked. Kevin remembered watching it every year with his mother. She loved it.
“Why does it matter if we use La Bomba?” Kevin said. He walked forward to the big mess of tires.
“’Cause it’s his fucking trademark,” he said. “The dumb bastard.”
Johnny talking now like Mr. Firebug was someone different, a person separate from them doing all of this. As he got close to the pile ready to burn, Kevin stepped forward and looked down into the face of the mannequin—Ray Zucco. Zucco was gray and still, openmouthed and surprised, his head turned in a weird angle as if he were watching the tanker ships sliding by outside on the Mystic.
“Holy shit,” Kevin said. “Holy shit. What’d you do, Johnny? What’d you do? Jesus. Jesus Christ.”
Johnny looked like a fat little troll in the moonlight, almost like the Heat Miser himself. Lights flashed red and green off the passing cargo ships. He lit a cigarette and craned his head to study Zucco’s face a little. “Hmm,” Johnny said. “Looks to me like he got caught in his own job. Cops think it’s Zucco. Now they’ll know it’s Zucco. He’s dead and they got nothing on us. He ate a gun and burned himself up.”
“What did you do?” Kevin said. “Jesus. What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“Good night, Mr. Firebug,” Donovan said. He tossed the lit cigarette into the mess by Zucco and the blue flame started to spread and zip onto the tires and trash. The burn and the heat came on strong and fast. “Now get going upstairs and light it up. We need to get the fuck out of here. Now.”
“No,” Kevin said. “No fucking way.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Donovan said. “You gone mental? Zucco sold us out.”
57
A little after midnight, Kevin Teehan had ridden up into Charlestown and parked outside an old warehouse by the Tobin Bridge. Belson parked at a safe distance where we watched Teehan meet up with Johnny Donovan. Then they both walked inside and disappeared from view. We waited.
Captain Cahill was on his way. If caught in the act, Belson and Glass would charge them both for Featherstone’s murder and the deaths of Pat Dougherty, Jimmy Bonnelli, and Mike Mulligan.
“I’m shocked I don’t see Ray Zucco,” Belson said. “What are the freakin’ chances?”
“They’re gonna burn it up.”
“And Cahill and his people will have a front-row seat,” Belson said. He reached for his radio and called in some patrol officers to watch the side streets in case they ran. “I can’t believe we lost Johnny Donovan the other day. He’s a tricky little bastard.”
Twenty minutes later, Captain Cahill, Glass, and Cappelletti from Arson pulled in behind us. Belson and I got out of the car and explained how long Teehan and Donovan had been inside the old building marked TOYS & GAMES. Prophetic.
“This reminds me of a building I worked when I was a firefighter,” Cahill said. “The building was in Southie right off the channel. We had to use the fireboats to attack the other side. They light this thing up and we’ll be fighting it for two days. Let’s get them before the show starts.”