“I’m sorry I yelled,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry I kvetched.”
“I know,” I said.
Chollo looked at Hawk.
“I miss something?” he said.
Hawk shook his head.
“Long time ago,” Hawk said.
This is for Rose . . . always.
35.
Because he knew who I was, tailing Red was a little harder. I needed to drop off him more. And I periodically lost him because I was too far off. But I didn’t mind, I just wanted to talk to him alone, in a proper location where there was privacy and space. I knew where he lived. I always found him again. Mostly he drove Alderson places. Though never on dates. Sometimes I crossed paths with the Feds tailing Alderson. We ignored each other. The FBI guys weren’t clumsy, but it is hard to stay on somebody’s tail for a long time without getting noticed. I assumed Alderson knew they were there. My time came in a couple of days. Red drove Alderson out to Taft University in Walford. The FBI and my humble self were trailing along behind them. Red dropped Alderson in front of a red-brick building on the Taft campus. There were evergreen shrubs around the building. A small neat sign out front said Hanes Science Center. A big sign on the front door said something about a conference in the auditorium about
“Taking Back Your Country.” There was a list of speakers. Alderson was at the top. I wondered if it was because he was important or because his name started with A.
The FBI peeled off behind Alderson, hoping to catch him saying something subversive. I stayed behind Red as he drove around a corner and parked on the top level of a four-story garage behind the Hanes building. I went in behind him and parked three cars away. We got out at about the same time. He looked at me and did a small double take.
“Whadda you doing here?” he said.
“Came to chat with you, Darcy.”
He thought for a moment about my knowing his name. Then he said, “I go by Red.”
“My name was Darcy, I’d go by Red, too,” I said.
“You ain’t got red hair, asshole.”
“You sure?” I said.
He made a brush-away gesture with one hand and started toward the elevator. I stepped in front of him.
“We need to talk, Darcy.”
“You looking for trouble?” he said.
“Information,” I said.
“I got no information for you,” he said. “You looking for trouble, I’ll be glad to accommodate you.”
He tried to move past me to the elevator. I moved and blocked him again.
“How’d you happen to hook up with Alderson?” I said. He took two handfuls of my jacket up near my neck.
“You gonna move, or am I gonna move you?” he said. He was a big guy, bigger than I was, but jacket grabbing is an amateur move, and I suspected he’d gotten by much of his tough guy life on being big rather than skillful.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. I’ll move.”
He grunted and shoved me scornfully away and started past. I kicked both his ankles out from under him and he went down sideways and hard on the cement floor of the parking garage. I stepped back and waited. It took him a minute.
“You tripped me,” he said. “You fucking sissy.”
“Sort of,” I said.
It took him a minute but he got his feet under him and got up and charged me. I moved a little and steered him past me and into the trunk of a car parked next to his. He grunted and steadied himself against the car. The impact had set off the car alarm and the horn began honking rhythmically.
“Stand still,” he said. “You fi ght like a fucking girl.”
“You think?” I said.
No one normally paid much attention to car alarms. But there might be a security guy with too much time on his hands. Best to end it. Red came after me a little more carefully now. His fists were up in front of his face. I feinted at his body with my left hand and then hooked it up over his guard when it 157 dropped. It staggered him, and I followed with an overhand right that put him on his back. He stayed there waiting for his head to clear. When it did he sat up.
“You some kind of fucking pro?” he said.
“I am,” I said.
“I don’t even know what we’re fi ghting about,” he said.
“I think you wanted to show me that you could kick my ass,”
I said.
“And maybe I can,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. “Hasn’t been going too good so far.”
Still sitting, Red nodded.
“Whaddya want?” he said.
“I want to talk with you.”
“I ain’t ratting out Perry,” he said.
“No harm having some coffee,” I said. “Talking about it.”
He nodded. Red hadn’t been knocked on his ass very often. He was trying to adjust.
“Okay,” he said, and got slowly to his feet.
34.
I met epstein for breakfast at Zaftig’s in Brookline.
“There’s nothing closer?” I said when I sat down.
“It’s close for me,” Epstein said.
“You live in Brookline,” I said.
“Am I Jewish?” Epstein said.
“I think so,” I said.
“And I like a nice deli,” he said.
“My honey is Jewish and she lives in Cambridge,” I said.
“Sometimes they stray,” Epstein said.
“On the other hand, she is a shrink,” I said.
“But they never stray far,” he said.
“Comforting, isn’t it,” I said. “We got anything to talk about or have you just been missing me?”
“Good to stay in touch,” Epstein said. “The latkes here are fabulous.”
The waitress brought us coffee, and I ordered latkes with applesauce. Epstein had eggs and onions with some sable.
“The big red-haired guy,” Epstein said. “He’s not in the system either.”
“He didn’t seem like a pro to me,” I said. “He knew what he was doing, he wouldn’t have dissed Chollo.”
“Chollo?” Epstein said.
“Friend of mine from LA, be like dissing a cobra.”
Epstein smiled.
“Remind you of me?” he said.
“No.”
The waitress came with breakfast, and more coffee. I had a bite of latke.
“How are they?” Epstein said.
“How should they be?” I said.
“Fabulous,” Epstein said.
“They’re fabulous,” I said.
Epstein nodded.
“Name’s Darcy Englund,” Epstein said. “AKA Red.”
“I suspected that would be his nickname,” I said.
“Nice to confirm it,” Epstein said. “Only other thing we got is that Red’s been with Alderson at least as long as Alderson’s been at Concord College.”
“In what capacity?” I said.
“Red?” Epstein said. “Hard to say. Friend, driver, gofer, bodyguard. We don’t know. Mostly he’s just around.”
“Never been arrested,” I said.
“Nope.”
“Military service?” I said.
“Nope.”
“Visible means of support.”
“Last Hope,” Epstein said.
“Got a job title?”
“Nope. But he deposits a two-thousand-dollar paycheck from them every week.”
“Where’s he live?”
“Cambridge,” Epstein said. “Apartment on Hilliard Street.”
“Close to Alderson,” I said.
“Yep. About a block.”
“You got a tail on him?”
“No,” Epstein said. “He looks like small fish to me. We’re sticking with Alderson.”
We were quiet. I finished my latkes. Epstein finished his eggs and ate a piece of toast.
“No bagel?” I said.
“I try to avoid ethnic clichés,” Epstein said.
“Like eggs and onions with a nice piece of sable,” I said.
“So, sometimes I fail,” Epstein said. “Whadda you got?”
“Sheila and Lyndon,” I said.
Epstein nodded.