“Barbarian,” Felix said.
“Just know what I like.”
We ate in silence for a while, the other booths filled with late-night students, early-bird truckers, and a fair mix of whoever else was out and about at this hour of the night. When the plates had been cleared and the check dropped off, I said, “Your Aunt Teresa going to be okay?”
“Oh, cripes yeah,” Felix said. “First of all, her neighbors will keep a good eye on her. Second, I really don’t think someone’s gonna pick up a lady her age and try to bring her in. And if they do, she’ll start yapping at them in Italian, and if they get an Italian speaker in, then she’ll start going at it with some sort of Sicilian dialect.”
“Plus she’s deadly with a kitchen knife.”
“Only with relatives,” Felix pointed out.
I picked up the check, thought for a moment, put it back down. “So what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll remind you that I’m here as—”
“Yeah, advice and technical assistance.” There was a sprinkling of toast crumbs by the end of the counter. For some reason it disturbed me, so I took a moist napkin and wiped it clean.
“So this what I think,” I began. “Curt Chesak and the Nuclear Freedom Front… he’s incredibly connected, or there are some serious types after his ass. But neither makes much sense. If he’s connected, then who’s pulling the strings? Anti-nukers and their friends? They don’t have deep pockets, and the vast majority of them are peaceful. Their idea of being violent is writing snotty letters to the editor, or leaving anonymous postings on conservative Web sites. So that doesn’t make much sense, that everything that’s been thrown up against us has been from close friends of Curt Chesak. Unfortunately for us, and for him, Professor Knowlton was our only real connection to Chesak. With his house burning down around his ears, I don’t think he’s going to be seen anytime soon. Don’t know if he was in that house or not, but he’s certainly ticked someone off.”
Felix picked up his coffee cup. “All right. Considering the reception I got at BU, then I’d say there are some serious types after his ass. Any theories?”
I wiped again at the countertop. “There were two guys with fake IDs at BU. I saw two other guys hanging out at your Aunt Teresa’s place. Then you have the crew that burned down Professor Knowlton’s house. That means at least six fellows with dark arts out there in the shadows, and they all need to be paid, to have logistical support, and to have backup. That’s a lot of money, a lot of expertise.”
“Maybe there are others out there like you, seeking revenge.”
I made a face. “One person seeking revenge is a cliché. Two or more is just an incredible coincidence. I just don’t know.”
I made for the check again and Felix beat me to it. And as a man who knew his tradecraft, Felix paid the bill with a twenty and a five. No credit cards, no records.
“So what do you want to do now?”
“Beats me. You got any ideas?”
Felix said, “I want to check on my aunt.”
“All right.”
“And you?”
“Still planning to chase down Curt Chesak.”
“Don’t remember you having a boat called the Pequod,” Felix said.
“That’s a hell of a literary reference. Maybe you should be on Jeopardy or something.”
He frowned. “Wouldn’t pass the background check. So, while I’m checking in on Aunt Teresa, how are you going to find Chesak?”
“You got any suggestions?”
A shrug. “Whenever I’ve been stuck, sometimes going back to the beginning pays off.”
“That’s a hell of a suggestion, and I like it.” I looked into my wallet. “But only if you can spot me some money.”
Felix reached into his own wallet. “Have I ever said no?”
Several hours later, I emerged from a train in Exonia, the town directly next door to Tyler. I was tired, dirty, and hungry, the meal from the Brookline diner only a distant memory. From that diner, Felix took me to North Station in Boston, and with a cash advance, I got a one-way ticket on the Amtrak Downeaster to Exonia, home of the famed prep school, an obscene number of writers, and the hospital where Diane was. Felix had also slipped me my 9mm Beretta and said, “Be thankful there’s no metal detectors on Amtrak.”
It was well after midnight when I stepped into Exonia station, which was just a roofed-over portion of the platform. There was a parking area, a number of buildings, and a closed diner. A few cars were parked at the end of the lot. Two other passengers got out and quickly got in their cars and drove off.
Then a dark blue Ford sedan rattled into the lot, with EXONIA CAB on the side in yellow letters. I walked over and a woman driver peered out at me. She was smoking a cigarette and rolled down the window. “Where to?”
“The hotel near the hospital.”
“Tyler Inn and Suites?”
“That’s the one.”
She frowned, and I said, “I know it’s not much of a fare. Make you a deaclass="underline" take me there and I’ll pay double.”
“And double the tip, too?”
“Of course.”
“Mister, you got a deal.”
I got in the back of the car and settled down in the seat. It was clean and smelled of Lysol and tobacco. She shifted and we left the parking lot, went up past a school and Catholic church, and made a left-hand turn. Within seconds we were passing through the old and impressive buildings of Phillips Exonia Academy, a prep school that’s been teaching since 1765. There were a few lit Halloween decorations along the way. Usually Halloween is my favorite holiday, but not this year. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate anything fun or special about death or the spectral arts.
The driver had an all-news radio station on, which was broadcasting the latest poll numbers for the upcoming election between Senator Jackson Hale from Georgia and the current incumbent. The driver snorted at the news and said, “You follow this political shit?”
“Not as much as I used to.”
“Then you’re a smart fella, you are.”
“Some nights, not tonight.”
I had a pang of guilt. Annie Wynn. With my cell phone destroyed so whoever was out there couldn’t trace my signal, I had no way to contact her, and my home number wasn’t being answered either.
Through the center of Exonia, past a delightful bandshell that had two town hall buildings on opposite sides — an oddity, I know, but this was New Hampshire — and two traffic lights and turns later, we were at the Tyler Inn and Suites. After paying my driver, I wandered into the lobby, which was empty. I rang a bell on the counter and a yawning male clerk came out from behind, with a black goatee and slicked-back hair, and tattoos on the backs of his hands.
We had a bit of to and fro with me not wanting to use my credit card to pay or to guarantee the room. But I managed to give him the impression that my, quote, old lady, unquote, had kicked me to the curb — which explained my lack of luggage — and after slipping him a twenty, he slid across a keycard and said, “You take care, bro.”
“You can count on it.”
I went up to my room, got inside, and stripped and took a shower, and then collapsed in bed. Considering the noise level of the past few nights, I fell asleep within seconds.
CHAPTER SIX
After getting dressed the next morning, I went down Porter Avenue and visited a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts. Once upon a time, Dunkin’ Donuts used to make and sell quite a variety of doughnuts; nowadays, they focus on specialty coffees, oddball sandwiches, muffins, and the random tasteless doughnut that gets shipped in from some secretly located bakery. Once upon a time I heard they used to make delicious crullers, but that might just be an urban legend. I got a black coffee with two sugars and a blueberry muffin and went up Alumni Drive to Exonia Hospital. The morning was crisp and bright, and I sat on a park bench, had my breakfast, and watched the stream of people coming to work. Most of them looked happy to be out and about.