machine gun that can be carried under a coat.'
'Unbelievable,' said O'Hearn. 'Jesus, I hate to think what they'd mean in the wrong hands.'
'Which, having been stolen, they are,' replied Joe.
We made our way up to Joe's office. I plunked down into a chair and listened to my ears ringing. I told him I had no idea the funny-looking little pistol was so deadly. I thought it was just a cheap pistol… a junky version of the army. 45 auto sidearm.
'Nope. The reason your description caused such a flurry is because every major police bureau in the country has had a circular from the army, sitting on their desks for these last eight weeks. The Ingram machine pistols, departed from Schenectady, turn up in western Massachusetts. They are heading east then, probably on their way to Ireland., And incidentally we have no idea who your midnight companion could be. Neither do the Boston Police.'
'Is that surveillance team going to pick up the young brat-Buzarski's son-in-law?'
'Last we checked the barn was clean as a whistle, so we've got no cause. We're just all hanging back in the bush observing the place through heavy lenses. We're also going to go after the Rose again.'
I leaned back in the chair with my hands clasped behind my head and stared at the ceiling. It was one of those horrendous affairs with fiber panels with tiny holes in them. I had a thought or two, but said nothing. So far Schilling had remained at least one hop ahead of me. The only way to turn the tables was to put myself in his place, to think the way he would think, do what he would do, and intercept him.,
'Is Hannon putting a watch on your house?'
'Yep. And I'd like one put on The Breakers too. If it can't be done by public cops I'll hire some. I'm pretty sure he's found out by now that I have two homes. Of course the grim warning of Angel is clear: I back off or maybe one of my family is next.'
'And are you going to back off?'
'Absolutely. Wouldn't you? You saw what happened to Danny Murdock. How'd you like your sister, Mary, to get the same?'
Joe shuddered.
'That's smart; let us handle it. I'm also going to request extra protection in Concord for you, and we'll keep an eye on the cottage too. Where you going?'
'I'm going for a run and a steam bath at the Y, then home. And listen: if you're anxious to ever have a chance to talk to the Newdecker brat, I'd do it mighty quick. When Jim Schilling has squeezed the utility out of people they have a nasty habit of vanishing in gruesome ways. I appreciate the help; come out tonight and we'll hunt up some Chinese. The buffet special is on in Lexington. I'll pay.'
I left the building and drove over to the YMCU gym on Boylston Street. I glanced at the watch: 11:45. Tommy Desmond would be there. He never missed his noon workout.
I parked the car in a sleazy lot just on the edge of the Combat Zone and gave the attendant five bucks.
I found Tommy working the speedbag. He circled the tiny teardrop-shaped bag doing a slow foxtrot, pawing at it with his mitts in small circles like a kid imitating a choo-choo train. The bag bounced under the platform and spoke like a conga drum: whackata-whackata-whackata-whackata, faster than the eye could follow.
I told him I wanted to buy him lunch and talk. He nodded. An hour later we were in J. J. Foley's bar and grill, wrapping our faces around a couple of cheeseburgers and inhaling beer.
'Liatis is in trouble again, Doc. You heah?'
'No. Same thing again? Bar fight?'
He nodded.
'Punk started it. As usual.'
'And Liatis finished it.'
'Uh huh. Four seconds. Cops aren't sure the kid'll live though. It's serious this time. He could go to trial and everything. Even all his friends on the force can't save him.'
'Jesus. Chest kick?'
'Naw. Throat punch.'
'He's got to quit getting bombed in those sleazy bars, Tommy.'
He nodded sagely and chewed.
Let me tell you: if you ever find yourself in one of Boston's sleazy bars in the Combat Zone and a short, stocky man with a drooping moustache and thick accent asks you what you think of the Patriots' chances, or who you're voting for, or anything… your best bet is to place your drink back on the bar, make hand signs as if you're deaf and dumb, and back out of there smiling and bowing, And take the next plane to Fresno.
When he asked me what it was I wanted to talk about I mentioned NORAID, the IRA, arms smuggling in general, and my strange nocturnal meeting in the Buzarski barn. Tommy's big blue eyes changed. They took on a steely coolness, rather like the Vaughan Lewis Glacier. They had a piercing, laserlike gleam of intense feeling that could cut through a bank vault door. Sensing his change in mood I made it emphatically clear that I didn't wish to pry into his personal life or activities, or those of his friends and acquaintances. I just wanted an idea if the man I had met was, in his estimation, an IRA Provo.
His replies were cool and clipped, though polite. No, he thought. The IRA was infinitely more sophisticated than most people thought. What I had bumped into sounded to him like a half-assed outfit, though certainly a dangerous one. He advised me as a friend to heed the man's warnings. But if he is IRA, he'l1 kill you next time, Doc. Count on it. If not, he still might. But I know for a fact that most of the guns used in the North are smuggled through New York and New Orleans now-even though the money comes from here. Also, they're getting more and more of their stuff from other terrorist groups like the PLO. Hello, Joe!'
'Hi ya, Tommy. May God bless-'
His name was Joe Berry, and he wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and had snow-white hair capped with a snap brim hat. His nose was long and cherry red. Tommy bought him a beer and he sat down, listening to Tommy telling me about the British domination and exploitation of the Northern six counties.
'Fookin' Brits!' he piped.
The waitress had stopped by our booth an inordinate number of times.
Her name was Mauneen-she told Tommy this. She was very pretty. She was pretty all over, as a matter of fact. She couldn't take her eyes off Tommy. She was looking at him the way a cat looks at tuna fish. She leaned over to collect our plates,. staring at Tommy dead level and moving the damp rag around on the Formica as if she were working a Ouija board.
'Did you like it?'
'Excellent,' I answered.
She didn't hear me; she was looking at Tommy.
Tommy's eyes were darting between her face and chest, face and chest. He wore a huge smile.
'But Tommy,' I said, 'the guy gave me back my gun. Tommy?'
'… Oh from Cork, eh? Hey Joey, Maureen's from Cork. Oh yeah. Hey, don't they make 'em pretty in Cork, eh?'
'And not only that, but the guns could be going somewhere else. Like maybe South Africa, or even Quebec. Tommy?'
'And you're staying in Wollaston now are you? Well, I live there too-oh yeah.'
Several patrons were holding their empty bottles aloft. The batman was glaring impatiently at Maureen.
'Uh Tommy, just one more, uh…' I began.
To hell with it. I gave Joey the money to pay for the meal and began to slide out of the booth. He nodded and winked at me.
'Happens alla time to 'im. Like a fookin' broken reoord-'
'Uh huh. I know. See you, Joe.'
'Same to you. Watch yerself!'
I left J. J. Foley's and retrieved the car. At home, Mary showed me one of the big Chinese pots.
'Angel's head's in there, Charlie. I want you to dig a deep hole in the garden and bury it.'
She had worked days on the pot.
'You sure?'
'Uh huh. And I'll tell you something else. I'm never going to feel good until they're found. I could kill them
