Vineyard Shadows (9 page)

Her body fit against mine as though it was made to be there. Her arms were now around my waist and her soft hair drew my face down so I could inhale the scent of it. My arms were around her and I noticed that my hand was caressing her back. It was a gentle movement, like that I gave to my children when they were sad or hurt.

Abruptly she pulled away and brushed at her eyes. “You must think I'm a complete idiot! Come in.” She reached for my hand, then pulled her own back. She turned and I followed her into the house.

She waved me into a chair. “I'll bet you could use a beer!”

“Sure.”

“Some things never change.” She tried a smile that didn't quite work and went into the kitchen. The beer she brought back was the light kind, but I sipped it anyway. If God wanted us to drink light beer, She'd have made light grain.

Carla sat on the couch. “It's so good to see you again. You haven't changed much in fifteen years.” She picked at something imaginary on her sleeve. Her skin looked tight and her eyes were those of a spooked deer.

“A lot of water's gone under the bridge,” I said.

“Yes.” She leaned forward. “I read about what happened. That
PILOT DOWNED AND TRUCKER WRECKED IN ACCIDENT WITH HOUSEWIFE
story. It was all my fault! Is
your wife going to be all right? I'm so sorry! It was so stupid of me to send Tom there, but I never imagined that those men would come here. . . . I'm such a coward!”

I agreed with some of that, but I said, “Forget it. It's just more of that water. Zee and Diana will be fine. What's important now is that we all get shuck of the guys who are after your husband.”

“Where is he? Where's Tom? Is he all right?”

I drank off the rest of my thin-tasting beer and stood up. “Let's go for a walk.”

“A walk?” She looked puzzled, but nodded. “All right.”

When we went out, there was a blue Lincoln sedan parked about half a block up the street behind my truck. It hadn't been there when I pulled into her driveway. We walked away from the car, up the block, passing other big old houses like hers. It was a nice, quiet street.

“Why are we out here?” she asked.

“Probably for no good reason,” I said, “but I want to be careful. There are at least two people who want to find Tom: Sonny Whelen and a guy named Graham, who says he's a cop. I doubt if either one of them has a satellite system to keep track of the people they're interested in, but it's possible that one or both of them have bugged your house or tapped your phone or car. You can go down to your local magazine store and buy a catalog for the stuff you'd need to do that. It's less likely that they have a big ear listening to us out here on the street, so that's why we're here.”

She looked around almost wildly. “Do you really think our house might be bugged? I can't believe it. It's like a movie.”

“It's not a movie,” I said. “It's real life, and your house
probably isn't bugged. But if it is, you and Tom can't talk without having somebody else hear every word you say. I think you should play it safe. Do you have any money?”

She looked at me with surprise. “Some. Not much. Our credit cards are used up and I can't pay the bills, but I have a little set aside.”

“I think you should buy a couple of cell phones and use them when you and Tom talk. You keep one here and I'll take the other one with me when I leave and get it to him. That way, nobody can trace his calls and find him. Or at least I don't think they can. When you talk you should both be very careful not to say where he is. Don't ask and don't let him tell you. And don't talk for too long, just in case somebody really can trace his location. Keep your messages short and sweet.”

“But I want to know where he is! I want to know he's all right.”

“And he wants to tell you both things, which is exactly why you have to make sure he doesn't.”

“But if the house isn't bugged . . .”

I had to twist the knife a bit. “If you know and the hoods come back, you'll tell again, just like you did last time.”

“Oh.” She kicked at a small stone on the walk. “Of course I would. I'm such a coward . . .”

I felt a kind of tenderness for her and was glad to cast the knife away. “No. Anyone would tell. The person hasn't been born who can stand up to every torture and threat. Don't be hard on yourself. Just don't ask where Tom is and don't let him tell you. That may give us time to get out of this mess.”

Her arm went around mine and she leaned against me. “You don't have to do this, Jeff, but I'm grateful.”

Her touch brought back other feelings I thought I'd gotten rid of long ago.

“Don't be grateful yet,” I said. “We're still in the stew.”

“Why are you doing it at all?” She looked up at me with the soft blue eyes I'd first seen in a college hallway twenty years before and thought I'd since forgotten but hadn't.

Why, indeed? Was it because I'd never really stopped loving her even after I fell in love with Zee? Or because I wanted her to be happier than I had ever made her, because I felt sorry for her and her addicted husband and wanted to save them from his sickness?

I said, “I'm doing it because my family and I are involved and I want to get us uninvolved, and the only way I know how to do that is to get you and Tom uninvolved, too.”

“Oh, if only we can do that! This has been a nightmare. You can't imagine. We're schoolteachers, not gangsters. I'm not made for this kind of life.”

True, no doubt. She'd not been made for the stresses of being a cop's wife, either. And now she was married to a guy hooked to the mob.

“Your husband has a problem. Problems have solutions.”

“Not all of them.”

“This one does.”

Her arm tightened on mine. “What is it?”

I shook my head. “I don't know yet. But there is one. The thing we have to do is keep Tom out of sight until I've figured it out.”

“What will happen to him if they find him?”

I'd given that some thought. “It depends on who does the finding. If it's Sonny, and he thinks Tom will keep his mouth shut and keep bringing in some worthwhile
money, Sonny's boys will probably slap him around a little and let him keep slaving for them. If Sonny thinks he'll turn to the cops and talk, they'll do worse. Graham, of course, wants Tom to do just what Sonny doesn't want him to do: be a mole and tell the cops all, then testify in court. If Tom doesn't play ball, Graham will probably arrest him on gambling charges and anything else he thinks might stick. Even if nothing much does, Tom will still be through as a schoolteacher and even more broke than he is now. It's a nice pair of pincers he's caught in.”

“It's hopeless,” she said.

I thought she might be right. “No, it isn't,” I said, “but it's best that you know the realities. Now, we should find ourselves a mall or someplace where you can buy a couple of cell phones.”

We turned and walked back. The blue sedan was still there. “I see your neighbor owns a Lincoln,” I said. “You live in a classy section of town. We didn't have any Lincolns in our part of Somerville when you and I were young.”

She glanced at the car, then shook her head. “ Somebody's just visiting.” Then she smiled. “We had that old Chevy that burned almost as much oil as gas. Remember?”

“I remember.” It had been my first car. Twelve years old when I bought it, full of dents and rattles and other needed work that I was too poor to have done. I kept it running by buying motor oil by the case and the cheapest retread tires I could find. Come to think of it, the rusty Toyota Land Cruiser I drove now was even older than the Chevy had been. I hadn't made much progress as far as cars were concerned.

“Go inside and get your purse and your money, and we'll go shopping,” I said. “I'll wait for you here.”

She squeezed my arm, frowned slightly, and went up
the walk and into the house. When the door closed behind her, I went up the street and tapped on the window of the sedan. The man inside showed me an expressionless face. I tapped again and smiled at him. He pushed a button and the window went down. There was another man beyond him, in the passenger seat.

“Whatta you want, buddy?” asked the driver.

“Hello, Pete,” I said. “We saw each other in the Green Harp, but we haven't been introduced. I'm J. W. Jackson. Maybe I can simplify your life for you. As soon as Mrs. Rimini collects her purse, she and I are going to the nearest mall or some such place to do some shopping. I'll drive slow enough for you to keep up with us without any problem, but if you get lost, just come back here and wait. We should be home in less than an hour.”

“Fuck you,” said Pete McBride.

“In case you're wondering what I'm doing here, Mrs. Rimini used to be Mrs. Jackson, as you may know, and even though we've been divorced for fifteen years, I don't want her to be unhappy. You know what I mean, Pete? Now, some of your boss's guys had the mistaken notion that her husband, Tom Rimini, was hiding out at my house down on the Vineyard. They came looking for him there and got themselves shot up some. You probably read about it in the papers. I had a talk with Sonny, and now I've come by to see how Mrs. Rimini was doing, and to assure her that Sonny Whelen won't be bothering her or me anymore. That's right, isn't it, Pete? Sonny doesn't plan on bothering either of us anymore, does he?”

“You got a big mouth. Shut it up.”

I tipped my head to one side. “You know something? I just had a thought. I'll bet that Sonny didn't send you here. I'll bet you and your pal over in the suicide seat are here on your own. Am I right, Pete?”

“I'll close his trap,” said the man in the passenger seat. He put his hand on the handle of his door.

I let him see me put a hand under my shirt. “It's dangerous to start fights with people you don't know,” I said to him. “Look what happened to The Pilot and Howie Trucker. Both of them were twice as tough as you, and I'm at least half as tough as my wife.”

“Hold it, Bruno,” said McBride. “The dame just came out of the house.”

Bruno? I didn't know anybody was ever really named Bruno. I glanced back and saw Carla coming down her sidewalk, looking at me with an inquisitive expression on her face. I turned back to McBride. “I don't know what's up your sleeve, Pete, but I know there's at least one extra ace in any deck you deal. You want to let me know what's on your mind? I'm always willing to listen to a man with new ideas.”

“Fuck off,” said McBride.

I stood back and pointed a trigger finger at him. “I'll bet you can find me if you want to, Pete. You have a mouth and I have ears, so if you have anything to say to me, I'll listen. Maybe we have some common interests. Meanwhile, I'll tell you what I'll do. I won't tell Sonny that you were here. Is that fair, or what?”

I stepped farther back, the window went up, and I turned and walked to meet Carla. Behind me, I heard the car start and pull away.

“Who was that?” said Carla.

“Just a guy trying to find Chelsea.”

“Chelsea? Chelsea's miles from here!”

“Yeah. He was really lost. But I set him straight. Come on, let's go get those phones.”

When it was time to pay for the phones, though, Carla bit her lip, turned away from the counter, blushing, and looked at the floor. “I'm sorry, Jeff. I can't afford these. I've got a summer job at a shop in the village, and the boys are out mowing lawns right now. But they eat like horses, and I have bills, and our credit cards are all used up.”

She was of the class of Americans that equates financial failure with moral failure. I once had been a member of it too, but I had long since abandoned that ethic.

“I know what it's like to be broke,” I said. “It can happen to anybody. Jefferson died broke, Rembrandt died broke, van Gogh died broke, and John D. Rockefeller was born and raised broke.” I dug out my own seldomused credit card.

“I can't ask you to . . .”

“Forget it. You need the phones now, and you can pay me back later, when we get this straightened out.”

We got two phones and instructions on how to run them, signed up for service, and got out of there. In the truck, I gave one phone to Carla.

“Use this when you talk with Tom. Don't talk in your house or in your car, because cars are just as easy to bug as houses. I'll have Tom use this other one. It won't keep people from being able to listen in, but it will keep them from tracing his calls to a particular place. Your job is to
keep him from telling you where he is and from arranging to meet with you. We don't want anybody finding that out.”

We drove toward her house.

“This is a terrible way to live,” she said. “How long do we have to do this?”

“I don't know.” I glanced at her worried face. “I do know this, though: from now on you have to be tough. I think that a lot of what happens from here on out will depend on you, because I don't believe Tom is strong enough to get through this by himself. You have to be the strong one, the smart one.”

She shivered, then leaned her head against my shoulder. “I don't want to be strong or smart. I want somebody to hold me.”

Everybody knows that feeling. My arm reached around her shoulders and pulled her toward me. “Just till we get to your place,” I said.

At her door, she held my hands in hers. Her blue eyes were deep as the sky. “Please come in. The boys won't be home for hours.”

I felt like Odysseus hearing the Sirens, and bound myself to the mast. “No. I have to go.”

She dropped her eyes. “I'm sorry. Have I offended you?”

“No.”

“It's just that I'm afraid and I feel all alone and weak.”

Finally, all of us are alone, but I didn't say that. “It's sensible to be afraid,” I said, “but you can't let it rule you. Being brave is acting in spite of fear. People who are never afraid are idiots.”

She brushed at her eyes. “I wish I were brave, like your Zee, but I'm not.”

No one was like Zee. “You're brave enough to see this through,” I said. “Here, let me know if you need some more.” I gave her most of the cash I had on me.

She looked at the money in her hand. “I can't take this, Jeff!”

I put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. With my other hand I brushed the tears from her cheeks. “It's just money,” I said. “Besides, this is a test.”

“I don't understand.”

“For years I've been saying that women are more realistic than men. That women live in the real world, but men live in a theoretical one. I've said that men have economic conferences, but women have to buy things every day with real money; that men make speeches about society, but that women actually have the babies, keep the house, and feed the families. You've been doing those things all your life. You're smart and you're strong and you're realistic, so you take this money, because that's what your situation calls for. Some time later, when things work out, you can give it back if you don't need it anymore.”

I took my hands away.

She looked up into my eyes for what seemed a long time. Then she said, “All right. Yes, you're right.” Her fingers tightened around the bills. “Thank you. I'll pay you back when I can.”

She was forlorn but lovely. Her husband was a fool to have imperiled her, and I realized that I was very angry with him for having done it. But then I pushed my anger away, because all of us are fools at one time or another.

“One thing more,” I said. “Do you how I can get in touch with Graham?”

She shook her head. “If Tom knows, he never told
me. I think he's with vice or drug enforcement or something like that, but I'm not sure. Tom would get a call from him and they'd meet someplace, that's all I know. I've never even seen him.”

“Tom must have had a way to get in touch with him. Look in his office. Search his desk for a note he might have scribbled. Look in his address book. If you find anything, call me.”

“All right.”

“And start thinking of your problem as if it were someone else's. Think of how they might resolve it. Don't allow yourself any wishful thinking. Don't be sentimental, be practical.”

“I will.”

“Good. I'll have Tom call you tonight on this phone. Say, between six and seven, so be out of the house for that hour.”

“Yes. Jeff . . .”

“Yes?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Of course I would.

Her lips were soft and hungry. Finally, I pulled away. She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry. I need a man, I guess.”

“I almost wish I were him, but I'm not. We'll get yours back to you before too long.”

“The sooner the better,” said Carla. “I'm definitely not the nun type.” She touched her tongue to her lips. “I don't suppose you want to come in and check out Tom's office for yourself?”

“Too dangerous,” I said, feeling a crooked smile on my face. I turned and walked to the Land Cruiser. She was still on the porch, looking toward me, when I drove away.

I couldn't understand how I'd ever left her. Then I remembered that she had left me.

I hadn't been a member of the Boston PD for fifteen years, but I still knew some guys on the force, so I drove back into Boston, put the Land Cruiser in a parking garage because street parking in Boston is almost impossible, and walked into what I hoped was the right precinct station. Like most of the older inner-city stations it was dingy and smelled of air freshener, soap, dirt, body emissions, and other unidentifiable odors. At the desk I gave my name and asked for Detective Gordon R. Sullivan.

Sullivan was at his desk. He put out his big hand and I took it.

“J. W. Jackson. It's been a while. How's your beautiful wife? Am I right in believing she's the one I've been reading about in the local scandal sheets?”

“She's the one. She's got a bullet crease across some ribs and a lot of bruises, but she'll be fine.”

“Sonny Whelen's lost several people lately. First Ralph Shepard and now these two.”

“Who's Ralph Shepard?”

“Past tense. Who
was
Ralph Shepard? Shepard was Sonny's drug wholesaler in Jamaica Plain. Got himself blown away a while back. Probably by the guy who took over the business.”

“And who is that?”

“I wish I knew, and so does Sonny. Whoever it is, is the community distributor now. Sonny would like to get the territory back, but so far no luck.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah. I won't miss having The Pilot and Trucker around. The stories in the papers anywhere near accurate?”

“Pretty much.” I told him what I knew about what had happened at my house.

He nodded. “Well, usually I don't think much of civilians having handguns in the house, but this time I'm glad she had one. I wonder what Sonny Whelen thinks about having two of his hired apes put down for the count by a lone woman.”

“I can tell you something about that,” I said, and related the tale of my meeting with Sonny in the Green Harp.

“Well, well,” said Sullivan. “Someday you may look back on that and call yourself lucky that nobody just shot you on the spot, carried your carcass out through the kitchen, and dumped it off a bridge later. Over in parts of Charlestown people are blind when stuff like that happens. They never see a thing.”

“There's more,” I said, and told him of meeting Tom Rimini and Carla and what they'd told me about their problems. I told him everything I knew or thought I knew about Rimini, except where he was. I don't tell anybody everything. “I'm trying to get ahold of this cop Graham,” I said. “If I can get Rimini and his family out from under, I want to do it. Maybe Graham can help.”

“Where's Rimini now?”

“He left my place yesterday morning. I haven't seen him since.”

Sullivan put a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed it while he looked at me. “Naturally you don't know where he went.”

“Naturally not.”

“How come you're going out of your way to give him a hand?”

“I'm not always too sure.”

He chewed. “The wife, maybe?”

“Not the way you think. Just call me sentimental.”

“Sentimental you.” He chewed some more, then shrugged. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to talk to Graham. I was hoping you could put me in touch.”

“I don't know him, but I'll ask around. Do you know if he's local, state, or fed?”

“No. I don't think Rimini knows, either.”

“Hmmph. You know, I hate these new no-smoking rules. I'm wearing out my jaw chewing gum! I'll ask around and let you know. Gimme your number. I think I have it around somewhere, but I don't know where, so give it to me again.”

I did that, then pointed at his phone.

“Go ahead,” said Sullivan.

I called Quinn. He wasn't at his desk. I tried his apartment. He wasn't there either. I thanked Sullivan and went out.

At the parking lot I got the Land Cruiser, paid the ransom they wanted for keeping it safe from the meter maids, and got out of Boston just ahead of the evening traffic jam.

I was lucky to have gotten myself a return reservation because new summer people were already lined up to catch the ferry out to Eden. I stood on the top deck and watched the cars and walkers come aboard. Where did all these people come from? Where did they live? What did they do for a living? Were any of them from Charlestown? Did any of them work for Sonny Whelen or Pete McBride? Was one of them named Graham?

The boat's whistle blew and we pulled out into the sound. I went to the foredeck and watched the low outline of the Vineyard grow larger. There were sailboats heading into Woods Hole and others reaching for island
harbors. The waves were fair-sized and the boats were leaning and casting a lot of spray, so the crews were in foul weather gear. Up there on the ferry's deck I was high above the water. I was glad to be leaving the mainland behind, although I knew I wasn't leaving my troubles there.