Among Thieves (16 page)

To his credit, he never complained about taking her in. Most guys would have, Sally knew. Most guys would have at least asked
for a paternity test. That was never an issue with Devon, though. He seemed to accept instinctively the fact that Sally was
his daughter. In some ways, he even seemed excited about the prospect. He treated her with a sort of fearful awe. She supposed
it was something approaching love, but she had little with which to compare it to verify her suspicion.

All the love in the world, though, couldn’t improve their living conditions. It was a step up from her mother’s situation,
but then a step up from crack houses wasn’t exactly the Ritz. She gathered quickly from his schedule that Devon didn’t have
any legal employment, and she deduced that he was a thief. She asked him about it once, and he didn’t even try to lie. That
didn’t bother her; in her experience, theft seemed a minor sin. She just wished he was a better thief; he was barely making
enough to feed them and pay the rent. Every once in a while she would catch him looking at her with what she could only describe
as shame in his eyes. As if he was failing her. Maybe he was, a little, but she was safe and dry. She’d learned not to hope
for more.

Recently, that look had begun to recede from his eyes. He’d seemed more confident; optimistic, even. Once again, she had allowed
herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—better things were on the way. Now he was in jail. She vowed never to feel hope again.
It was a promise she’d made before, but seemed unable to keep. Hope was crack to her; she couldn’t seem to give it up no matter
how hard she tried.

She took another drag off her cigarette just as the silhouette of a head appeared in the window to her room, making her flinch.
“You scared me,” she said.

Finn poked his head out the window. “I scared you? I came up to see if you needed anything and found the room empty; talk
about scared. What are you doing?”

She considered lying, but decided against it. She held her cigarette up in view.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Finn said.

“You’re not my father,” she replied. It came out with a harsher edge than she intended. “Devon lets me smoke,” she explained.
“My mother was too fucked up to care one way or another.”

Finn climbed out onto the fire escape. It was an awkward fit out the window for a grown man. Once outside, he stood up and
looked around. “I’ve never been out here,” he said. She looked around. The window was located on the back side of the building,
and the fire escape looked sideways on the hill. Down below she could see the street and the upscale brownstones across the
way.

“It’s not bad,” she said.

“There’s a roof deck upstairs. It’s got a better view. You can see both the water and the monument.”

“This is better than any view I’ve ever had.”

He looked down at her. “Fair enough.” He stood there for a moment, then took two steps down the fire escape and sat next to
her. It was cramped, and she shimmied toward the building to give some room; she didn’t want their legs touching. He sat there
for a minute. Then he turned and looked again at her cigarette.

“I swear, my father lets me smoke,” she said. She’d picked up smoking from her mother a couple of years before. She figured
it beat suicide.

“I didn’t say anything,” Finn said. He was still looking at the butt. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“You got an extra?”

She reached into her pocket, pulled out the pack and tossed it to him. “You shouldn’t smoke,” she said.

“So I’ve heard.”

He lit the cigarette and took an ex-smoker’s drag. He held the poison in his lungs for a long time, milking its full effect,
like a man lost in the desert drinking at an oasis. Finally he let the smoke out in a loud, long, satisfying exhale. Looking
at the glowing ember of the cigarette, he asked her, “So, you doing okay with all of this?”

She shrugged. “Which part? My mom ditching? My dad being in jail? Having no place to live?”

“Your father being in jail and you having to stay here with me.”

“Par for the course in my life,” she said.

He took another long drag off the cigarette and held it for a shorter time. “It’s not always gonna be like this,” he said
as he exhaled.

“No? What’s it gonna be like?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Is this the part where you share an inspirational story about how hard life was when you were growing up, and how you beat
the odds?”

“No,” Finn said. “Not anymore.”

“Good. I’ve heard it before. It’s like every guidance counselor’s been given the same script.
I’m in control of my own life; I can do whatever I want; if I just apply myself, all the doors in the world are open to me.
Except it’s a load of shit. Worse, they know it’s a load of shit. They say the words, but they know what really happens.”

“So, what is it you want?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. A view as good as this, maybe.” There was a part of her that wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t
let herself. What would be the point?

Finn sat smoking his cigarette for a while. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was back to looking out at the street. “You’re
right,” he said at last. “I’m not your father. And I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is try to get your father out
of jail, and try to help you out in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not much.”

“I know.”

“I really do want to help. So does Lissa. So does Kozlowski.”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Okay, I don’t know about Koz. He’s tough to read. I’m sure he’d want to help if he gave it any thought, though.”

Sally thought about it. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to help? Why does Lissa want to help? What do you care?”

Finn stubbed out the butt on the fire escape and threw it over the side. “You’re the daughter of a client.”

“That it? My father’s a client, that’s why you’re helping me out?”

He nodded. “That’s why I agreed to take you in. I didn’t know you then.”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “I’d help you out even if you weren’t Devon’s kid.”

“I guess that’s something,” she said.

“It’s a start,” he said. He reached out and tousled her hair. It was an awkward gesture, and her first instinct was to slap
his hand away. In a strange way, though, she liked it. She couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that to her before. Most of
the physical contact she’d had in the past had been either violent or inappropriate. Even her father, who clearly cared about
her, seemed afraid to hug her.

She reached up and tousled his hair back. “It’s a start,” she agreed. Then she moved toward the window.

“One last thing,” he said.

“What?”

“You still shouldn’t smoke.”

She looked back over her shoulder at him. “Neither should you.”

Eddie Ballick stood at the edge of the water. There was no moon out that night, and a heavy layer of clouds blacked out the
stars. The harbor was as dark as he’d ever seen it. He wondered briefly whether he was doing the right thing, but the thought
was fleeting. He wasn’t someone who dwelled on such matters.

“Do you think he’s coming?”

The question came from Jimmy Kent. Jimmy had been with him for more than a decade. If Ballick had allowed himself to have
friends, Kent might be one. Ballick viewed him as competent and trustworthy. Other considerations never entered his mind.

“I don’t know. There were only four of us, and he thinks one of us crossed him. Bulger’s gone; that leaves three. Rumor is
he’s coming after us.” It was more than a rumor. Vince Murphy’s murder confirmed it as far as Ballick was concerned. Many
people might have wanted Murphy dead, but Ballick could think of only one man who would carry out the job in the way it had
been done. “Are we ready?”

Kent nodded. “Our three best guys. Positioned just the way you told me.”

“Good.”

“I wish we had more,” Kent said. “There’s still time to get some of the others.”

Ballick shook his head. “He’s too smart for that. If he thinks he’s outmatched, he’ll wait. I can’t surround myself forever.
If he thinks I’m an easy target, he’ll come quickly, and we’ll be able to deal with him. Or not. Either way, it needs to happen
now, and this is the best place for us.”

“What if they send others after him?”

“There are no others. It’s him, and that’s it. If he fucks it up, it’s over.”

Ballick had chosen a good spot; Liam had to give him credit for that. The shack was located on a narrow strip of land jutting
out into the water, sandwiched in between a deserted boatyard and an open marsh that pushed up against the high metal fences
of a gas station and two car dealerships. There was only one way in—a long narrow driveway with trees running down both sides.
A steel swinging-arm gate was locked across the entrance to the driveway. It wouldn’t keep a man on foot out, but it would
present an obstacle to a full assault by vehicle. The driveway set up a bottleneck that would make anyone approaching an easy
target.

Liam had been watching the place for more than a day. He kept tallies in his head of everyone coming or going, and watched
the patterns of activity. He knew Ballick wasn’t alone. If his count was accurate, there were four others on the property.
His count was always accurate.

Five men presented a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. Even the best that Boston’s underworld had to offer had never
been to war. They were little more than bullies, and they wouldn’t understand the principles of ambush and counterattack.

The key was determining where they were positioned. He could be pretty sure that Ballick would keep his most trusted man with
him as a last line of defense. It was likely that two others would be hidden in the trees along the driveway—one on either
side to catch him in a cross fire if possible. That left one more. Where he would be hidden was the main mystery. The driveway
ended at a spot where the land broadened, and beyond was a parking lot and scrub that eased into the marsh. The property was
littered with derelict boats up on cradles, stacks of docks and floats and lobster pots ready to be put into the water once
the weather warmed, as well as piles of netting and unidentifiable junk. The place presented a thousand places for a sniper
to sit and wait, fully concealed. If he guessed where among the mess the fourth man was hidden, he would make quick work of
all of them. If he guessed wrong, he’d be dead before he was aware of his mistake.

Liam was concealed at the edge of an outcropping of small trees and bushes around twenty yards from the gate. From his position,
he had a perfect view down the driveway, and could see the corner of the fishing shack in the distance. He was armed with
his nine-millimeter, four clips, and his knife. Sean Broadark was in a car parked across the street, his head down. Liam’s
instructions had been explicit, and he knew they would be obeyed. Broadark was a soldier.

As he lay there, a beat-up Honda with a square plastic sign advertising Domino’s Pizza pulled up to the gate. The driver hesitated,
then got out of the car to examine the lock. When it became clear that he could not swing open the arm, he got back into his
car and leaned on his horn, giving off two long blasts.

Liam reached into his coat, pulled out a pair of night-vision binoculars and focused them on the driveway; it was all about
to begin.

Kent looked at Ballick when he heard the car horn. “Go check it out,” he said after a moment.

Kent put the hand that held his pistol into the outer pocket of his coat and walked around the corner of the building. As
he headed toward the driveway, he glanced at the stack of lobster pots behind which Tom Shavers, the best shot among all his
men, was concealed. It was a perfect sniper position, with a clear view of any approach to the shack. The tarps over the pots
gave complete cover. They had ripped a seam in the tarps so that Shavers could see out. In the darkness, there was no chance
of him being spotted.