“Maybe he didn’t,” Jesse said.

“Didn’t jump?”

“Maybe.”

Abby stepped back from him and stood with her hands pushed into the pockets of her long blue coat.

“Jesse,” she said and stopped.

He waited.

“Jesse, a lot of people think you’ve gone off the deep end here. You see conspiracy everywhere. Yet you don’t talk to anyone about it. People are wondering about you.”

“And you?” Jesse said.

She took another step away from him. Jesse knew she was unaware of it.

“I don’t know. I mean, we’ve been so intimate, and yet, you don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone. That’s not healthy, Jesse.”

Jesse leaned his forearms on the railing and looked at the gray water. It was like the last night in L.A., except he wasn’t drunk. L.A. seemed much longer than six months ago.

“I’m not going to explain myself, Abby. I’ve done this kind of work most of my adult life. I’m doing it the best way I know how.”

“A lot of people blame you for Lou’s death.”

“Because I suspended him?”

“Yes. The thinking is that if you had anything on him, arrest him for it, otherwise leave him alone. People in town liked Lou. He grew up here. He’s part of the militia.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“The militia, oh for God’s sake, Jesse. They’re like the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company. They march in the Fourth of July parade, for God’s sake. Sure I think they’re silly, and so do you. But they aren’t some criminal enterprise.”

“I hadn’t heard you defend them so strongly,” Jesse said.

He was still staring at the choppy gray water below him. Above them a splatter of herring gulls soared and stooped. The sound of them was as constant as the movement of the sea. Abby seemed cold, she thrust her hands deeper into her pockets, hunched her shoulders so that the high collar of her coat was a little higher.

“Jesse, I live here and I work here. I am with a good law firm, I have a chance to be a partner.”

Jesse nodded silently.

“What are you nodding about?” she said.

“I’m agreeing that it is not going to be good for your career if you stick by me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes,” Jesse said. “You did. You just didn’t use those words.”

It was an overcast day, and raw. There was a spatter of rain with snow mixed. The snow didn’t last on the blacktop of the parking lot, or the rocks. But it had a short life on the grassy parts of Indian Hill, and a small residue had collected around the base of the windshield of Jesse’s car. Abby stood drawn in upon herself. She shook her head slowly.

“This isn’t happening right,” Abby said.

“No,” Jesse said.

“I . . . have had a very nice time with you, Jesse.”

“Yes,” Jesse said. “It’s been nice.”

“People think you should resign.”

Jesse nodded.

“Want a ride back to your office?” Jesse said.

“No,” Abby said. “I’ll walk back. I need the time alone.” She smiled without pleasure. “Clear my head.”

“Sure thing,” Jesse said.

He was still leaning on the rail.

“Jesse,” she said. “Turn around.”

He did. She stepped to him and put her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Jesse.”

He patted her gently on the back.

“It’s okay, Abby,” he said.

Then he let her go and she walked away down the hill toward town, the spit of snow glistening momentarily in her hair. Then she was out of sight and he turned back and looked at the gray water and listened to the gray gulls and thought about the other ocean and the night he left it. He smiled after a while.

“Here’s looking at you, Jenn,” he said out loud.

His voice was small and nearly soundless mixed with the wind and the ocean sound and the noise of the gulls.

Chapter 68

Hasty didn’t like driving in city traffic. But he had to see Gino Fish, so the big Mercedes was wedged into the northbound commuter traffic on the Southeast Expressway. Hasty was nearly in tears.

“You dumb bastard,” he said to Jo Jo.

“What the hell are you yelling at me for?”

“Because this was your deal. You were the one vouched for Fish.”

“Bullshit,” Jo Jo said. “You come to me, I was trying to do you a favor. Don’t whine to me it didn’t work out.”

“You bastard,” Hasty said.

He turned off at Mass. Avenue and drove past Boston City Hospital. He didn’t like the city, and didn’t spend much time there. It took him two or three false turns to find Tremont Street and another ten minutes to find the block where Gino Fish had his storefront.

“You needa be careful about this,” Jo Jo said. “That Vinnie Morris is a quick sonova bitch.”

“I thought you were a tough guy,” Hasty said. “Are you scared of these people?”

“No, but it don’t make no sense,” Jo Jo said, “go charging fucking in there? Yelling and waving your arms, you know?”

“The goddamned fairy took my money,” Hasty said. “The Horsemen’s money. If I have to I’ll bring the whole militia company in here. And I’m going to tell him that.”

Hasty parked beside a hydrant near the Cyclorama, and got out.

“You going to back me?” he said to Jo Jo.

“I didn’t cut in for that,” Jo Jo said. “I set up the deal. They welshed on it. It’s between you and them.”

“You yellow belly,” Hasty said.

He slammed the door, and turned and went down Tremont Street to the storefront. It was empty. The door was locked. Hasty groaned in anger and disappointment and turned and went back to his car. He got in and started up without a word.

“Nobody there?” Jo Jo said.

Hasty nodded as he yanked the Mercedes out into the traffic and drove out of the South End on Tremont Street.

“I knew there wouldn’t be,” Jo Jo said. “Why I didn’t waste time walking down there.”

“You’re a yellow belly,” Hasty said.

“You want to go one on one with me?” Jo Jo said.

“These are your people, Jo Jo. I want my weapons, or I want my money.”

“You been stiffed, asshole. Don’t you get it? There aren’t any fucking weapons.” Jo Jo said “weapons” in exaggerated scorn. “There never were any weapons. They saw you coming.”

“You brought me to them. You get the money back.”

Jo Jo shook his head.

“I mean it, Jo Jo. You are in this far too deeply to just walk away.”

Jo Jo felt a little tingle of fear race up the backs of his thighs. His glance shifted onto Hasty’s face, and held. He pulled his chin down into his neck almost like a turtle retracting, and his neck thickened.

“I may be in it, Hasty, but I sure as shit ain’t in it alone.”

Hasty didn’t answer right away. He had driven out of the South End and onto Charles Street where it ran between the Common and the Public Garden. The city rose up all around them. A cold rain had begun to spit and Hasty turned the windshield wipers on to low intermittent.

“I do not believe what I am hearing,” Hasty said finally.

He was choosing his words carefully, talking as if to an adolescent, trying to speak with the icy assurance of command.

“We have paid you well for work you were willing to do. Now you speak as if, somehow, that gave you knowledge which you would use against us.”

“Hey, you’re the one talking about getting in deep,” Jo Jo said.

“And you are in deep. There is no information you have which you could use against us that would not also incriminate you.”

“You want people to know about Tammy Portugal? Or how you had me throw Lou Burke off the rocks? You think that might not get you in just a little fucking trouble?”

Hasty shook his head as if saddened. He turned left onto Beacon Street, past the Hampshire House with its line of tourists outside the Cheers bar.

“Jo Jo, you haven’t the intestinal fortitude. You inform on me and you go to the electric chair. It’s as simple as that, and you know it. You have great big muscles, and you are mean as hell, but you are as yellow as they come. You have nothing on me that won’t get you in trouble too.”