“Either that or she’ll be brought here tomorrow night.”
“Only one car parked there. So how many could they have in there now, two, three guys?”
“Maybe.”
“There’s four of us here right now, plenty of guns between us. We could storm the shit out of the place. Bust in, get the girl, bust out. Try not to kill too many Irishmen.”
“We go in there blind, we’ll probably get her killed,” I said.
“You have a plan?”
“It’s in development.”
On the right side of Halladay’s was a place that rented tools and construction vehicles: Bobcats, backhoes and other machines sitting silently on their treads. On the left side was a store whose windows were papered over. The last business there had apparently been a souvenir shop. I wondered what souvenir was right for Wellington Hill: a bullet from a drive-by or a bouquet of flowers left at a sidewalk vigil.
“They’ve got hoarding, fencing, cameras and guns,” I said. “They control the only way in. We have to come up with a way to surprise them.”
“Why don’t you ring the bell and run away,” Victor said.
Frank punched his shoulder and said, “Don’t make me push you out in the street and let the locals take care of you. Jesus Christ,” he said, “kid brothers.”
“You two are related?” I asked.
“Half-brothers,” Frank said. “That’s all I’m admitting is half.”
Another kid brother shown up by the older son. Did any of us escape the shadow they cast?
“They must order food in during the day,” Ryan said. “One of us could take the delivery guy’s place, get in, take a look around.”
“No one would believe a white delivery guy around here,” Frank said.
“Just tell me if you guys are in,” I said. “If you are, we’ll come up with a plan that works.”
Frank and Victor looked at each other and then Frank said, “What the hell. It’s got guns. It’s got a girl. It’s got a deserted house of death. I’d say all we’re missing is 3D.”
CHAPTER 33
As soon as we got back to the hotel, we started packing everything we had, including Jenn’s clothes and all of David Fine’s papers. I wanted to be out and in a different hotel first thing the next morning in case Gianelli or the Boston PD came looking for me.
“So what do you think?” I asked Ryan.
“About what?”
“Frank and Victor. They strike you as any good?”
“Victor I could take in my sleep. Plus he has lousy taste in guns. You believe he wanted us to get him a Tec- 9? They’re bigger and heavier than Uzis, poorly made and very picky about ammo. Plus law enforcement loves to make examples of people who carry them.”
“What about Frank?”
“Frank’s okay,” he said. “Solid. I could get along with him. Do a job with him. See how he wanted the Mossberg? That’s solid too. Two of him, I’d feel a little better, but this is what we got.”
After Ryan went to bed I got on the Internet and found an inexpensive hotel across the street from the Christian Science Plaza reflecting pool on Huntingdon. I phoned and reserved a room for the following night, wishing I needed another one for Jenn, and asked for an early check-in.
I’d been on the run all day, running after Jenn, running from the images of David’s murder, from the exhaustion of failure, of guilt. Now, at rest, it caught up to me. I was trailing ruined lives behind me like cans tied to a newlyweds’ car. Since I had come to Boston to find David, at least four people had been murdered-McCudden, Walsh, Carol-Ann and David himself. The rabbi and his lovely daughter were probably cursing the moment we’d met. Lesley McConnell might well die if her transplant didn’t go through.
For those of you at home keeping score, how the fuck was I doing?
I thought so. Nice job, Geller. The kid brother does it again.
I woke up the next morning with a dull headache creeping through my skull. And I hadn’t even had any wine. I’d dreamed that Jenn was being chased down a dark urban street by a pack of feral dogs slashing at her legs, trying to bring her down, while people stood by and did nothing to help.
Even if she were still alive, as Stayner thought, there was nothing to say Daggett wasn’t mistreating her.
I phoned next door and got Ryan up, and we met outside a few minutes later and stowed all our gear in the Caliber.
“You look like shit,” Ryan said.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve seen albinos with better colour.”
“I’m fine.”
“You going to hold up your end?”
“Yes.”
“I want more than Frank and Victor watching my back.”
“All I need is coffee,” I said.
Early Monday morning, it took just a few minutes to get to the new hotel. We checked in using a credit card Ryan had under the name Robert Bernardi. The clerk gave us a tag for each piece of luggage and stowed it in a room behind the desk. We tipped him ten bucks and said we’d be back later. Probably a lot later. He gave us directions to the nearest Starbucks, where we picked up the largest containers of the darkest coffee they had, and headed out to the airport. It was time to switch cars too: Daggett would know the Dodge Caliber on sight, plus it was undersized and hamster-powered.
The man at the rental place looked at the damaged rear end in dismay. I told him it was the result of a hit and run. “You should have reported this to the police right away.”
“It must have happened in the dark,” I said. “I didn’t see it until this morning. And it’s insured to the hilt, right?”
“You’re still going to have to fill out a police report.”
“That would be inconvenient,” Ryan said.
“Nevertheless.”
“For you, I meant.”
Twenty minutes later, we left in a midnight-blue Dodge Charger. “It’s hard to believe these two cars are made by the same company,” Ryan said.
“Do you love it?” I asked.
“Yes, I love it. Why wouldn’t I love it, it’s gorgeous. A throwback to the Charger of the sixties. Just a shame it didn’t come with the hemi.”
“No car-rental place is going to have a hemi-V8. We’re lucky it has a radio.”
We took the Mass Pike back into the city, back to Blue Hill Avenue, along a strip of liquor stores, hair treatment places, smoke shops and fast-food places. More trash blowing down the street than people. We turned down Wellington Hill toward Halladay’s, where more shops were boarded up, as if a great storm were coming. In their case, it had come and gone and they had missed whatever hobo train they were supposed to have jumped to ride off bound for glory.
“If we could get into one of those neighbouring buildings,” I said, “get up on their roof. We could get a better look past the hoarding. Get the full picture.”
“White prowlers in Wellington. How many seconds you give us?”
“What we need is a friend in the African-American community.”
“You know where to find one?”
“I do.”
“Where?”
“You ever see
There was fuck all going on today for DeMaurice Simms. He and his boys had taken off a load of Blu-Ray
