But what to do after that? Every other time I had gotten into a bind, I had always counted on my few friends to help me out. Paula Quinn, assistant editor at the Tyler Chronicle, was always there to dig up some obscure piece of information or give me a tidbit about local politics. But the last I knew, she was out in Colorado with her boyfriend — the town counsel for Tyler — taking a couple of weeks off after being hurt at that same anti-nuke rally in Falconer where the activist Bronson Toles had been shot.
Diane had always been Diane, but she was… she was out of the picture.
And Felix?
No joy. I had no idea where he had gone.
I rubbed my arms again, feeling the most alone I had in quite a long time. People kept on walking by, not as many as before, as the night lengthened and the air grew colder. Up to the left was Beacon Hill, home of the Massachusetts Legislature and the source of many a headline and criminal sentence, and behind me was the famed Boston Common.
I waited. I could make out the grinding sound of a T train rattling beneath me.
What to do?
I looked one way, and the other.
Traffic was thin.
I waited.
A car approached on Tremont Street, slowed, and then pulled in front of me, in a No Parking area. It was a bright red BMW sedan. The driver’s side window rolled down.
Felix looked out at me.
I got up from the park bench, strolled over and around the BMW, opened the door, and sat down gratefully in the heated interior.
CHAPTER FIVE
I fastened my seatbelt and Felix moved quickly into traffic. “You okay?”
“Feet hurt and my butt is frozen. And you?”
“Never finer. You dump your cell phone?”
“Quite dead,” I said, adding, “Your aunt’s place is under surveillance.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He stopped at a traffic light near Frog Pond. “What happened back there?” I asked him.
“I was waiting for you and those two pulled up. Showed me ID, stating they were FBI. Wanted to talk to me.”
“Sweet Jesus, you shot two FBI agents?”
Felix tightened his hands on the steering wheel, made a sharp left turn. The BMW was a standard and he seemed to take a pure physical joy in working the clutch and moving the shift. His jaw worked and he kept quiet, and he quickly braked at another red light.
“Sorry,” I said. “Spoke too fast. Spoke without thinking.”
We waited at the light. It was a long wait.
The light turned green. Felix said, “I guess you damn well did.”
Then we started moving again.
I kept my mouth shut. My feet were tingling with joy from not having to walk any more. Felix made another turn and we were on the Mass Avenue Bridge, heading into Cambridge.
“So I was parked there, waiting for you to come out. Then the LTD drove by, made a U-turn, parked across from me. One guy came out and walked over, wanted some identification. I politely asked him who he was. The guy said he was FBI, flashed me his ID. It didn’t look right. The photo was slightly out of focus, print looked blurry, badge looked cheap. That was point number one. Point number two was when I asked him if I could take a closer look at the ID. He refused. Lewis, in my previous encounters with similar officials, they’re always happy to show off their IDs. Makes them feel that much more important.”
It was good to be in the warm interior of the BMW, good to be with Felix, good to hear him explain what had happened.
“So the first guy got closer in my face, wanted to know why I was at Boston University. I said I was there to meet a friend. What friend, he asked. None of your business, I said right back at him. Meanwhile, I was also keeping an eye on his driver, who was back at the LTD, standing behind an open door, giving him cover. And while this was all going on, I was evaluating.”
We were now in the People’s Republic of Cambridge. Luckily, the long-promised border and customs crossing had not yet been set up. “What do you mean, evaluating?”
Felix slowed down as we approached another red light. “Sounds spooky, hocus-pocus, all that crap, but in my line of work you develop a sense of what’s going on. Learn how to sit in a restaurant. Know, when you’re walking down a sidewalk, who might be a potential threat. Learn when to answer a party invite at some guy’s house or stay home and watch basketball. And you know how much I hate basketball. But this sense, it’s never failed me, not once. So I’ve learned to trust it.”
“What was your sense telling you?”
“The whole thing was a setup,” Felix plainly said. “The guy was too pushy, too demanding, too cocky to be an FBI agent. Plus his clothing and shoes, it just didn’t add up. FBI guys like to dress flashy. He wasn’t flashy at all. I talked to him for about two or three minutes, and by then I knew they were both fake. So I slapped him on the shoulder, told him good job, why doesn’t he try out for summer stock theater next year, and I turned to walk back to my Caddy.”
“Turning your back on them didn’t seem too bright.”
“Maybe not, but I had an advantage. The way I’d parked the Cadillac, I had a pretty good reflection from its side windows. When I was walking away from the gentleman actor, I saw him reach under his coat, grabbing a weapon. It was quickly going bad. I was either going to get shot right then, or they were going to drag me into the LTD and I was going to get shot later on. Neither outcome was appealing.”
“You moved fast.”
“I wasn’t thinking, just reacting.”
“Sorry again for second-guessing you.”
“Apology accepted once again. And speaking of apologies, I’m sorry I didn’t wait around for you. I only had seconds to get the hell out of there.”
“Understood. Though I admit I was getting nervous after you didn’t show up at Fenway Park or your aunt’s place.”
“Took a while to dump the Cadillac and pick up new wheels. Even with prep work, calls have to be made, people have to be paid off.”
“Fair enough.”
Felix made a series of turns and we went down a residential street. He pulled over and put the shift into neutral, left the engine running. “So, where now?”
“Off to Brookline,” I said firmly. “To see Professor Knowlton.”
“I take it you didn’t get much joy from the professor?”
“Not a damn thing, except overpriced and undervalued opinions.”
Felix glanced back at the rear of the BMW. “We’re missing some gear.”
“I think we can make do if we put our minds to it, don’t you?”
Felix paused. “You really want to do this?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Felix shrugged, shifted into first and let out the clutch. “No, you’ve made that pretty clear.”
He expertly drove us through the side and back streets of Cambridge, where we then passed over to Brookline. My feet were finally feeling like they were attached to a human, and after a couple more minutes of driving Felix got us to Professor Knowlton’s neighborhood.
“Damn,” Felix said.
“You said it.”
We were definitely late.
Up ahead on the street, the place was lit up by flashing strobe lights from three fire trucks and two police cruisers. Rigid hose lines snaked their way across the road, and firefighters and police officers were doing their job as Professor Heywood Knowlton’s house burned to the ground.
There was an all-night diner outside Brookline, on Route 2, where we stopped to have a meal. Not sure what kind of meal it could be called because of the time, but it made sense to refuel. We both had cups of coffee and Felix had an omelet stuffed with veggies, while I had scrambled eggs and bacon and hash browns. Felix looked at me with disdain and said, “Ketchup on eggs? Really?”
“Why not? Better than spoiling eggs with vegetables. Vegetables don’t belong in eggs. They belong in salads or side dishes.”