'It's more specific than that,' Healy said. 'Boots Podolak is in charge.'
'Tell us about Boots,' I said.
'Boots's grandfather took Marshport away from the Yankees,' Healy said. 'And his father inherited it and passed it on to Boots.'
'They control it.'
'Completely,' Healy said. 'Cops, firemen, probation officers, district court judges, aldermen, state reps, congressmen, school superintendents, restaurant owners, car dealers, liquor distributors, junk dealers, dope, whores, numbers…' Healy spread his hands. 'Everything.'
'And you can't close him down.'
'I can't because I'm the homicide commander and it ain't my job,' Healy said. 'But it's a closed corporation and nobody will talk. Witnesses die. Informants disappear. Undercover cops disappear. Judges get intimidated.'
Healy's office was on the top floor, and through the window behind his desk I could see the snow still falling evenly, and the plows lunging fitfully along Commonwealth Avenue, trying to stay ahead of it.
'You met Boots?' Healy said.
'Yes,' Hawk said.
'You?' Healy said to me.
'Yes.'
'At the same time?' Healy said. 'Both of you?'
'Yes,' I said.
Healy smiled.
'That must have been interesting.'
'How big an operation is Boots running,' Hawk said.
'About eighty thousand,' Healy said.
'The whole city.'
'Yep.'
'How many people with guns.'
Healy thought about it.
'Lemme make a call,' he said.
'Maybe you don't have to,' Hawk said. 'Does he have as many shooters as Tony Marcus?'
'Oh, hell, yes.'
'As good?'
'Hell, yes. He's got some Ukrainians would kill you for eating a Tootsie Roll,' Healy said, 'then take it out of your dead mouth and finish it.'
'These homegrown Ukrainians,' Hawk said. 'Or Ukrainian Ukrainians.'
'Imported,' Healy said.
'How 'bout Boots?' I said.
'Don't look like much,' Healy said, 'does he?'
'He stands his ground pretty good,' I said.
'Does he?' Healy said.
I shrugged. Hawk looked impassive, which is one of Hawk's best things.
'Ain't it great,' Healy said, 'how those of us in and out of law enforcement can share information in the common good.'
'He looks like a mean funeral director,' I said.
'He's a psychopath,' Healy said. 'Or is it sociopath. I can't keep it straight.'
'He's a whack job,' I said.
'He is,' Healy said. 'He's not such a whack job that he can't see what's in his best interest, and he's not such a whack job that he can't do what's in his best interest. He can take care of business. But if it's good for business, he'll do anything. Kill, torture, maim, chop up small children, whatever. A lot of people have died lousy deaths because of him.'
Healy looked at Hawk.
'You think you were almost one of them?' he said.
Hawk shrugged.
'I'll know, sooner or later,' he said.
'As a police officer, of course it is my obligation,' Healy said, 'to warn you against taking the law into your own hands.'
