“And Moon?”

“Moon doesn’t like nosy guys from Beacon Hill asking questions about him at his favorite pub.”

“Why does everyone think I’m from Beacon Hill?” I asked. “You’re starting to give me a complex.”

“You ain’t from Southie.”

“The Man from Laramie.”

“Where’s that?”

“West of Pittsfield.”

“We done?” Red placed his scarred hands on the table and began to stand.

“How about I buy you some coffee?”

“Nope.”

“Cinnabon?”

“Nope.”

“You must’ve heard what really happened to Julie Sullivan, and why,” I said. “Word gets out in the neighborhood when something like that goes down. Your cousin’s doing life for it, but did he do it?”

He turned his light eyes away from me. “Mick always found trouble whether it was his fault or not. Since we were kids, he was the unluckiest bastard I ever met. Julie only came to me for drugs through Mickey.”

“Did you ever see her with a guy, maybe twice as old as her?”

“The boxing must’ve fucked up your hearing,” he said. “I barely knew her.”

“What time did you see Julie that night?”

He snorted again. “Man, that was four years ago.”

“After midnight?”

“Probably,” he said. “Yeah, it wouldn’a been till real late. I don’t start work till after midnight. I sleep in the day.”

“You see her with Mickey earlier?”

He turned and faced me full-on. His blue eyes took me in. Appraised me.

“I sold her drugs.”

“You have to throw her in the car to sell her drugs?”

“She tried to stiff us.”

“Good motive.”

“If I say I fucking killed her, what does it matter now?”

“Matters to Mickey. Don’t you care that he’s in jail?”

“Of course. Mickey is family.”

“So?”

“So I don’t fucking rat on family,” he said. “I don’t rat on no one.”

“Um, he’s been convicted and is currently incarcerated at Walpole. He can’t do worse.”

He nodded.

“Did he do it?” I asked.

He did not break his stare. Red scratched his face.

“You asked me if I did it,” he said. “I said no. You asked if Moon did it, and I said no. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Did Mickey do it?”

“I’m sorry what happened to Mickey,” Red said. “He got mixed up in somethin’ that wasn’t his business.”

“Whose business was it?”

“I didn’t kill her,” Red said. “Moon didn’t kill her.”

“Who did?” I asked. “Why was Julie Sullivan killed?”

Red stood up. He offered his hand.

“Me and you through?”

“Probably not,” I said.

“You know if you don’t leave this alone, you’re gonna have big problems with Mr. Broz.”

“I just call him Ger. And yes, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“That don’t bother you?”

I shrugged. “Why does Gerry give a crap what I do?” I asked. “What’s he have to do with all this?”

“You’re causing him headaches,” he said. “Me and Moon take care of Mr. Broz’s headaches.”

“Does Gerry know what happened?”

“No.”

“And you don’t either?”

“Didn’t I give you my fucking word?”

“You are a street thug,” I said.

“And what are you?” Red asked me.

He turned and waded into a group of tourists gathering by a side door. As Red Cahill headed toward Faneuil Hall, I spotted glittering light against a shiny black head following.

28

I had a visit from a federal agent this morning,” I said to Hawk.

“You don’t say.”

“He told me he was making a case against Gerry Broz and his crew,” I said. “He wanted us to quit bothering poor Gerry.”

“What happened to your buddy, that Fed Epstein?”

“Miami.”

“Jew heaven.”

“He would agree with you,” I said. “New agent’s name is Connor. He was not enthusiastic about a joint investigative effort.”

“So why are we staking out Broz’s boys?”

“You got anything better to do?” I asked.

“Got me a new woman,” he said. “Keeps silk sheets warm. Iron Horse chilled.”

“I brought coffee.”

“Ain’t the same, babe.”

“Simple pleasures are the best pleasures.”

“Best pleasures come in black lace with garters.”

“You have a point.”

We sat in the front seats of Hawk’s Jaguar, watching a two-story house on East Third Street, not far from Dorchester Bay. The house seemed like a midget among the three-deckers, pulled away from the other buildings and ringed by an actual front and backyard. In the backyard, there was a small metal shed. Christmas lights still hung on the front railing of the house. They looked pretty in the lightly falling snow, although we were a couple months past the season.

It was nearing midnight and no one had come from the house. Red’s green Range Rover sat parked up on a curb across the street. I’d parked on G Street before joining Hawk.

“You find out who owns the house?” Hawk asked.

“I’ll run it at my office.”

“You learn how to use the computer?”

“I subscribe to a service.”

“Progress, Spenser. Progress.”

We spent the next hour talking about spring training for the Sox. Talk of baseball led to the downfall of boxing. And the downfall of boxing led to a lively discussion of the good old days of boxing. We recalled the lead-up to the Clay and Liston fight in Miami. We laughed at Clay calling Liston a big ugly bear.

“Liston never got up after being beat twice,” Hawk said.

“Died a few years later.”

“Heroin,” Hawk said. “Never cared for that shit.”

“Killed a lot of good people.”

“Coltrane.”

“Billie Holiday.”

“Chet Baker.”

“Liston,” Hawk said. “That big ugly bear.”

“Not every big black man is as pretty as you.”

“Ain’t it a shame?”

I finished my coffee, now cold.

“You think maybe we follow Red and Moon to their stash?” Hawk asked.

“Then we steal their stash?”

“Make ’em more willing to talk.”

“It could work.”

“You thinkin’ you made Red nervous and he might tip off who really killed Mattie’s momma?”

“Yep.”

“Or maybe he just call ’im on his cell and say what’s up.”

“Sure.”

“But you also interested in the new shake-up in Southie,” Hawk said. “You want to know about Gerry’s new operation.”

“Never thought the Broz family celebrated Saint Patrick’s Day.”

“But now they’re in with a mick crew.”

“Mick is a derogatory word for my people.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. “Makes you wonder why a Polack would throw in with all these potato-eaters.”

“Broz is a Slavic name.”

“Y’all look the same to me.”

We stayed on the small house till three in the morning. At three-ish, Red and Moon walked out of the two-story and to the Range Rover. I was pleased to see Moon sported two black eyes and several bruises on his face.

“You give him that?” Hawk asked.

“I did.”

“Spenser,” he said in appreciation.

Red finished a cigarette and ground it underfoot before climbing inside. The taillights clicked on, and he backed up before going forward. Hawk cranked the Jaguar and followed them to Marine Park and then south on Farragut Road. Farragut joined up with Columbia, and we followed the crook of the harbor down to Old Colony.

“Gerry’s place,” Hawk said.

“Kind of late for a sports bar.”

“After hours.”

“Wonder if they’d still pour me a beer?”

“How’s beer set with bad coffee?”

“My stomach is iron,” I said.

“How ’bout we just hang and see what happens?”

“Instead of just busting in?”

“Yeah.”

“Gerry would appreciate that.”

“Glad to make Gerry happy,” Hawk said.

We parked alongside a chain-link fence by a laundry service. The air smelled of strong, hot detergent. The little side road had a nice view of the front of Playmates. The bar downstairs was closed and dark. The second floor was brightly lit with shadows of men crossing by windows.