“I protect my informant.”

I nodded. Snow fell softly out onto West Broadway. Smoke billowed up from the diner down the street. A crowd emerged from the T station, and a handful of people replaced them.

Connor blew more smoke from his nose. He ground the cigarette under his tasseled loafer. He looked up at me dramatically. He sneered at Hawk.

“I’m the best chance you got for getting that kid back,” Connor said. “I don’t want her hurt.”

“Then bring in Flynn,” I said.

“I can do more damage with Flynn on the outside,” he said. “Play the game, the girl goes free. Let me do what I do best.”

“C’mon, Spenser,” Hawk said. “Trust the nice man.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up,” Connor said.

“This Mossberg been modified for military use,” Hawk said. “Twenty-gauge, with a kick like a mule. Leaves a nasty hole through a man.”

“I don’t give a shit who you know with the staties,” Connor said. “You shoot a federal officer, and you’re toast.”

“If you’re going to play with us, Connor, please work on your dialogue,” I said.

“‘Toast’?” Hawk said. “Shit, this might be worth it.”

I lifted up my free hand. “We get the kid. Then talk.”

“Flynn won’t do it,” Connor said. “I swear to Christ I tried. What you don’t really get is that Jack Flynn is a sociopath.”

“I had a sneaking suspicion.”

“He’s a suspect in more than fifty killings. I can get him personally on about twelve. But I want it all. I want to use him up till he’s dry and then send him to jail for the rest of his life.”

“For some reason I don’t see how your plan fits with the Bureau’s code of conduct.”

“Fuck that,” Connor said. “I didn’t make a name by playing by the rules. How about you?”

I shrugged.

“Just tell me where to find Theresa Donovan,” Connor said. “I’ll make sure she’s safe and can be brought in when it’s time. Flynn will calm down and let the kid go.”

Officer Barrett didn’t know about Theresa being brought in as a witness. Quirk and Belson had kept a lid on it, as I knew they would.

“If we arrange a meet,” I said, “I’d prefer it wasn’t in Southie. No offense.”

Connor looked at me. He tried to give a confused look. Connor wasn’t much of an actor.

“Looks like you got at least one patrol guy on the team,” I said. “Probably a lot more.”

“Ah, shit,” Connor said. “You’re not from down here. You don’t know how the system works.”

“Try me,” I said.

I heard and felt Hawk’s breathing behind my right shoulder.

“Give me an address, and I’ll make sure the kid goes free.”

“You tell Flynn I want to see Mattie in a very public place,” I said. “When she’s safe, I’ll give you an address.”

Connor laughed. He placed both hands in his suit pockets. He nodded and grinned. “I get Theresa Donovan, and I’ll give the go-ahead to Flynn. Deal?”

“Public place,” I said. “And not in Southie.”

Connor nodded. He headed past us for the door. “Nobody gets out of this world alive, Spense.”

“Again, not so original, Tommy.”

“If you want to monkey-fuck us with Boston police, this will all go to hell. Jack Flynn will make her disappear. He’s quite talented, you know.”

“Me, too.” Hawk stepped forward. “Hard to prosecute if they can’t find your body.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Connor asked.

“Little girl better not have a hair out of place,” Hawk said. “If she do, there gonna be an empty casket at your wake.”

Connor just laughed and walked away.

60

Kind of a theatrical choice, ain’t it?” Hawk asked.

“I aim to please,” I said.

We stood on the granite steps leading up to the Bunker Hill monument in Charlestown. The battle and monument were actually on Breed’s Hill, but after a couple hundred years, I guess the name had stuck. It was still snowing, dusting the steps, and floating past the glowing lamps by the granite obelisk. Over the winter, snow had accumulated on the top of the piked iron fence.

It was almost eight o’clock, and it had grown very cold and very dark. The waiting was always the toughest part. But when the bad guys set the time, you don’t have much choice. Flynn wanted us tired. He wanted us nervous. Hawk and I were neither.

The lights were on in the brick town houses surrounding the square. Everything seemed very hushed in the snowfall.

A sign for the Freedom Trail announced THE REVOLUTION BEGINS HERE.

“And you tell me how Charlestown is better than Southie.”

“It’s more integrated,” I said.

“Maybe in the projects,” Hawk said.

“And they have Old Ironsides.”

“We good on your witness?”

“Quirk’s got it,” I said. “Connor knows how to find her. But she’ll be surrounded by about twenty of Boston’s finest.”

“Wired?” Hawk said.

“They got more bugs in that place than a bait shop.”

“Bait shop do have lots of bugs.”

“We pull this off, maybe you and I go fishing.”

“‘We’ll take the car and drive all night,’” Hawk said. “‘We’ll get drunk.’”

“Play it, Sam.”

“Yes-suh, Mr. Rick.”

Hawk began to whistle “As Time Goes By.”

“You fish?” I asked. I leaned against the handrail. My hands in my coat pockets. A .38 in my right hand. A .40-caliber strapped under my arm.

“Nope.”

“I fished a lot as a kid,” I said. “Lots of good places to fish in Wyoming.”

“Don’t really care to fish,” Hawk said.

I nodded.

“Prefer to hunt.”

I nodded.

Up the long steps, the statue of William Prescott brandished his sword. Hawk caught me staring. “Don’t shoot till you see the whites.”

“I think you have that a bit mixed up,” I said.

“Do I?” Hawk asked.

He kept the shotgun on a modified rig under his black leather trench coat. He wore the .44 Magnum on his belt. The leather coat covered both very nicely.

I wore my peacoat and Red Sox knitted cap. I had on a well-worn pair of Red Wing boots with steel toes in case the fight got down and dirty. I did not expect the transition to go smoothly. I fingered the S&W .40-caliber in my right pocket.

“Always been guys like Connor.”

I nodded.

“Don’t make it right.”

“Nope,” I said.

“You hear him call me a spook?”

“I did.”

“Who uses the word ‘spook’ anymore?”

“Anachronisms.”

“And assholes.”

“Connor exemplifies both.”

My cell phone rang. I took the call. Hawk watched everything without showing a thing on his face.

“We got a visitor,” Belson said. “But it ain’t Connor. It’s fucking Gerry Broz.”

“Crapola.”

“He’s in the lobby with Theresa,” Belson said. “Lots of people. We saw him make a call.”

At the base of the steps up to the monument, a black Ford SUV pulled to the curb. Jack Flynn stepped out from the passenger side. He looked up at us through the falling snow and climbed the steps. His big face was ruddy and wind-chapped under a thick mop of curly hair.

“Boom,” Hawk said, eyeing him.

The SUV took off. I walked down a couple steps and met Flynn halfway.

“Excuse me if we don’t shake hands,” I said.

“Once we know we’re not being followed, you can have the kid.”

“Gee,” I said. “Such a swell guy.”

Jack Flynn studied me without emotion. There were crow’s-feet around his pale green eyes, which appraised us quickly, in a way that reminded me of a wild dog. His camel-hair coat fluttered around him while snow caught in his hair and translucent eyelashes. He’d been around a long time, longer than me. He had a lot of confidence.

“Don’t make this hard.”

“You made the play.”

You could smell him. Jack Flynn smelled of sweat and testosterone and a dash of Aqua Velva.

“I don’t kill kids,” Flynn said.

“Got to draw the line somewhere.”