"Hi, pal, don't be afraid. My name's Rocky. This here's my place. You okay?"
Scott Enders stared at him for a time and then shook his head.
"I think I have some broken ribs," he said. "It hurts to breathe."
"You from around here?"
"No, from Cleveland."
"Cleveland, huh? I could swear I seen you before.
What's your name?" Scott pointed at the tag sewh on his shirt.
"Bob, huh. ' Pocky sniffed. "X" assat, some kind of prison shirt or something?"
"I don't know," Scott said.
"You want a drink?"
"Yes."
Rocky started to hand him the bottle, but then changed his mind and passed over the half-filled glass, keeping the bottle for himself.
"YOu got any money?" he asked.
"Some."
Scott pulled out what remained of the bills Eddie Garcia had given him, crying out softly at the pain that exploded from where the hijacker had kicked him in the chest. Several times during the trip from Ohio he had coughed up blood in the bathroom of the bus. Now, every breath was an agonizing effort. After he arrived at the terminal in Boston, a cab driver had taken twenty dollars of his money and had dropped him off somewhere in East Boston. The next thing Scott remembered was being nudged awake.
Rocky DiNucci eyed the money.
"Well Bob," he said, ',if You want to pay me a few bucks rent, I'll be happy to share this place with you."
"I've got to find Mrs. Gideon's horse."
"Right, sure you do."
Scott knew he was making no sense to the man.
He wanted very much just to head off-to try to find whatever it was Mrs.
Gideon's horse represented; to try to find himself. But the long journey and the unremitting pain in his chest had sapped him dry.
He felt at once hot and terribly cold, and all he could think about was sleep. He handed the bills over and then lay back on the blankets.
"Hey, thirty-five bucks is too much," he heard Rocky Say. "Here, I'll keep ten and you keep the rest.
YOu sure you're okay? Maybe you should go to the hospital…
Well, suit yourself. Maybe you'll feel better after a little sleep…
You sure you haven't been in these parts before? I could swear I seen you…
Well, no matter. If I seen you before, I'll figure out where..
.. People make fun of me sometimes, but they don't know that ol'
Rocky DiNucci has the memlory of an elephant. If I seen you before I'll figure out where. Yessir, Bob, ol' Rocky the elephant'fl figure out where."
The odometer on Felix Connolly's lime-green Beetle had been frozen at 99,000 miles when he bought the car in 1980, and at 99,000 it remained.
Still, during their drive through the chaotic late afternoon traffic, Eric was impressed with the bug's Clan. He was also relieved that the attorney had returned his flask to his suit-coat pocket after a single drought, and had shown no inclination toward another toast. There was too much at stake at this point to have to question the man's judgment If Connolly was concerned about being followed, he showed no sign of it, staying essentially in one lane and seldom, if ever, checking the rearview mirror. or did he offer Eric any explanation as to why they were headed into the Roxbury section of the city, directly away from Bernard Nelson's Boylston Street office.
I'mist the bug," was all he would say.
Before leaving his apartment, Eric had called Joe Silver at White Memorial. The E.R. director coolly suggested that it would be in everyone's best interest if Eric voluntarily removed himself from the staff until the whole matter of his arrest on drug charges was resolved.
Eric intimated, without giving any details, that there were some illegal and dangerous practices going on at White Memorial which he would be in a much better position to ferret out on the active staff. If Silver was part of Caduceus, he hoped that his tacit threat might provoke some telltale reaction or remark.
The E.R. director seemed not the least influenced by any of Eric's concerns. He tersely gave him until the following afternoon to remove himself voluntarily or be summarily suspended.
After hanging up, Eric carefully wrapped Verdi's body in newspaper and set it on the balcony, hoping that before long he would be in a position to do something more appropriate. Connolly had set 3:30 as the time they would leave. Over the few minutes remaining, Eric propped himself against the balcony railing. Gazing out across the rooftops, he took stock of himself in the light of Joe Silver's demand for his suspension.
He was apprehensive about his future and angry at Silver's lack of confidence, but most of all, he ached for the shame his parents would be feeling.
Earlier in the day, during a lun at court, he had called them and tried to impress on them his innocence. Not unexpectedly, they took his difficulties quite personally and were unable to see far enough beyond their own bewilderment and humiliation to find the words that would have indicated they truly believed him. The very worst things he had ever done in his life were far too mild to prepare them for dealing with events like these. His being forced out of White Memorial would hurt them even more than his brother's arrests had.
Silently, he renewed his vow to see things through-to find those who had decimated his world and Laura's, and to absorb whatever punishment was necessary to bring them down. Afterward, assuming he was still alive, he would pick up what pieces were left and make some sort of new life for himself-with Laura a part of it, he hoped.
"Gray Cougar and blue Volvo," Felix Connolly said. What?"
"Don't look back, but there are at least two cars working a tail on us.
They've been at it since we left your apartment."
"Reporters?"
"That depends on how lucky you're feeling."
"Not very," Eric said.
"Then I don't think they're reporters. Tighten that seat belt and feel free to close your eyes any time you want."
Connolly pulled out his flask and took a small gulp. Then, before Eric could comment, he shifted down a gear and floored the accelerator.
The VW shot forward Past two startled drivers, into a tight, skidding right-angle Turn, and down a side street. Eric. glanced behind just as the Cougar screeched around the corner, followed a second or two later by the Volvo.
The side street was typical of many in this most run-down Part of the city, with trash and broken glass lining the gutters. Dilapidated red brick buildings were separated from the curb by three-foot sidewalks, and from one another by narrow alleyways. The pursuers, whoever they were, had made up considerable ground by the time the VW was halfway down the street. It was unlikely they would reach the next cross street without being overtaken. Then, suddenly, even that concern was meaningless. Ahead of them, hood up, a disabled old Chevy was parked at an angle that completely blocked the street.
"Shit," Eric said, glancing back once again.
"What do we do now?"
At that instant, Connolly slammed on the brakes and spun left into a cluttered alley that was so narrow, Eric had not even noticed it.
The VW cleared the buildings on either side by barely two inches.
"Bernard insists on calling this Nelson's alley," Connolly explained as they crept along, "even though I'm certain I told him about it. He and I bought this little chartreuse beastie just for days like this, so it doesn't get driven much. Although actually it's sort of a pleasant change from my Wrcedes. That junker back there with its hood up belongs to a friend of ours who's probably in some bar down the street right now. it weighs a goddam ton. If our pals can't get past itand they can't-there's no way they can reach the street we're heading to."