“Still, it’s something to think about,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, “it is.”
42
On the walk back across the Providence River, I called Veronica and suggested she join me for my usual gourmet fare at the diner. I was watching Chef Charlie burn the life out of my cheeseburger when she showed up with Mason. That irritated me a little. A squeeze and smooch from Veronica, and I almost got over it.
“I’m glad you called,” she said, climbing onto the stool next to mine. “Something I meant to tell you this morning. You remember Lucy?”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. She’s driving down from Boston this afternoon to spend the weekend with me. I won’t be seeing you for a couple of days, so it’s good we can grab a quiet lunch together.”
I looked around. Two loudmouthed women were having an expletive-laced discussion about the cheating ways of someone named Herb. Charlie hummed a little off-key ZZ Top to drown out my burger as it screamed for mercy. Some guy a couple of stools down was snoring like a champ. The diner wasn’t exactly a romantic spot, and sitting between Veronica and Mason didn’t feel much like quality time.
“You’ve got a sister?” Mason said.
“I do.”
“Is she as pretty as you?”
“Younger and prettier.”
“Think she’d like me?”
What was this, High School Musical?
Veronica tossed her mane and laughed. “She might. I’ll give her your number and you can ask her yourself.”
Mason grinned, then remembered he was rumored to be a reporter. He unsnapped the Dunhill and extracted a file folder.
“Got a few minutes now to consult on that manhole covers story? I think I’m on to something, and I could use your advice on how to proceed with my investigation.”
Oh, great. Now he’s an investigative reporter.
“Sorry, Thanks-Dad. No time today.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said, and put the file away.
He sat quietly for a moment, then said, “Mulligan?”
“Um?”
“Is this a test? Do you want to see what I am able to accomplish on my own?”
“Right. You’re on to me.”
“So I should use my own judgment, then?”
“Yes, that fine instrument honed in the hallowed halls of Columbia.”
He nodded and smiled to himself.
Veronica and Mason were still picking at their sandwiches when Charlie cleared away my empty plate and dropped the check on the counter. I nudged it toward Thanks-Dad.
“Have fun, Veronica,” I said. That sounded lame, so I pecked her cheek for emphasis.
As I headed for the door, I turned around for a last look at her bare legs curled around the stool. She had her wallet out and was showing Mason a photo of her sister. He was grinning again. I turned away and stepped out into a day that smelled like rain.
I walked to the CVS in Kennedy Plaza, bought a package of Benadryl, dry-swallowed a couple, and made for the musty property-records room in the basement of city hall. The drug didn’t help much. By the time I closed the last records book, my eyes itched and my nose dripped.
The triple-decker on Doyle, the single-family on Pleasant, and the duplex on Larch had all been bought by one or another of those five mystery realty companies in the last eighteen months. The garden-apartments complex on Mount Hope was a different story. It belonged to Vinnie Giordano’s company, Rosabella Development, named after his sainted mother. Records showed the mobster had snapped it up at a tax sale three years ago. Just to be thorough, I looked up the house where the DeLuccas lived, confirming it had been in Joseph’s family since the 1960s.
I wrote it all down, but it wasn’t worth the time or the clogged sinuses. As far as I could see, it wasn’t worth anything at all.
43
It was past nine when I finished up a few things in the newsroom and stepped out into a light rain. I didn’t feel like spending the rest of Friday evening smelling traces of Veronica in an empty apartment, so I walked over to Hopes and claimed a stool at the bar. Annie, a moonlighting Johnson & Wales student, was behind the stick.
“The usual?”
My ulcer said yes, but the rest of me said Killian’s.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Somebody fed quarters to the juke and punched up Bob Dylan’s “Lonesome Day Blues.” Just what I didn’t need—music to fit my mood.
A cluster of firemen were laughing at the other end of the bar. I looked over and saw them shoving dollar bills at Annie. She snatched them and hiked her peasant skirt all the way up her long, long legs, giving them a good look. Then she smoothed the skirt back in place, glided back my way, saw my bottle was already empty, and brought me another.
“What was that about?”
“I got a tattoo last week,” she said, “and I made the mistake of mentioning it in here. Now everybody wants a look. At first I said No way. Then guys started offering me a dollar apiece to see it. I figured What the hell? Only way I can get some of these deadbeats to leave a tip.”
I jerked my wallet out of my jeans and slid a bill on the bar.
“Give me five dollars’ worth,” I said.
She smirked and lifted her skirt, revealing a red-and-blue butterfly perched just south of heaven. I thought it might take my mind off Veronica. It didn’t work.
I was finishing my third beer, and my ulcer was beginning to grumble, when Annie drifted over with another bottle. “This one’s on the tall, drop-dead gorgeous brunette at the table in back,” she said. “She looks familiar. Haven’t I seen her on TV?”
I looked where Annie was pointing and said, “Yeah. In the trailer for the new Wonder Woman movie.”
I picked up the bottle and carried it to the table where Rosie sat alone, a shot of amber liquid in her hand and four Budweiser empties lined up in front of her. She was normally a sipper. I’d never seen her drink that much. There were frown lines around her mouth that hadn’t been there before.
“Didn’t see you when I came in,” I said.
“I saw you. Just didn’t feel like talking right away.”
“How you doing?”
“Two of my men are dead, three more are in the hospital, the ones I’ve got left are all fucking exhausted, and I’ve lost count of the number of civilians killed and injured on my watch. That’s how I’m doing.”
I covered her left hand with mine and squeezed.
“It’s not like any of this is your fault,” I said.
“You sure about that?” There was that glare again, the one that took me straight back to first grade.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a hero, Rosie.” But the hero lowered her head and declined the honor. Her shoulders slumped, and tendrils of brown hair fell across her face. It was the first time I’d ever seen her look small.
“Know what scares me most?” she said, her voice a whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Polecki and Roselli. With Dumb and Dumber on the case, we might never get out of this nightmare.” She tossed down what was left of her shot and signaled Annie for another. When it arrived, she threw it back in one motion.
“You need some time off, Rosie.”
“That’s what the public-safety director said. I told him No way, but he ordered me to take a couple of days. I’m going to spend them getting drunk.” She rummaged in her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. “Here,” she said, “you might as well have these.”
I peeked inside and found two tickets to the home opener at Fenway.
“Take your girlfriend,” she said. “I’m not going to be in the mood.”