"Don't leave. Don't leave me, please."
"Take it easy. Remember what I said and take it easy."
We got out of there, followed by the girl. Joe looked at his watch, swore, and kicked little stones as we walked down the street. We weren't heading to our van, but in the other direction.
"Stupid little shit; he'll blow the whole thing."
"Where are we going?"
"Just to check the other teams. I guess I better warn everyone that Rizzo's clutched. Look over there; there's Powers up in his crow's-nest."
I was sure he saw us. From up alongside the high pole he could see everything. But he never seemed to take his eyes from the box on the pole that he was fiddling with. Around the corner was another van just like ours. We stopped by and hefted cables for a minute, talking to the men all the time and warning them about the snitch's mental state. It was twenty past three, and Joe and I ambled back toward our van, taking an alley route.
"There's the milk truck," said Joe. It was backed up to a convenience store. The driver, dressed in a blue cotton uniform, lounged on the loading dock with a cup of coffee. We walked over near him. He spoke to us softly, scarcely moving his mouth.
"Anything?" he said.
"Nah. About forty minutes more. How are the little toddlers? They behaving themselves?" Joe walked closer to the milk truck and glanced in the partially opened rear door. I was right behind him and looked over his shoulder. Inside, sitting on two benches reading skin magazines, were four of the meanest-looking dudes I'd ever seen. The SWAT team. They were wearing flak vests, funny-looking headgear, and blackface. Neatly laid out on the floor of the truck were shotguns, tommy guns, and sniper rifles. They didn't even look up at us.
"just be ready when we holler," said Joe, and we walked on.
"Hope we don't have to use the goon squad," he added as we drew within sight of our van. "It'd mess up this nice neighborhood."
We found Kevin fiddling with some bogus Ma Bell equipment and talking softly into his headset, looking very professional. We told him he should get coffee now because there wouldn't be time later.
"Mainly I want you to let Rizzo know we're still here, Kev. Calm him down a little. If he sees me again he's going to come all unglued."
So Kevin went and returned shortly with a steaming cup of java, shaking his head sadly.
"Says DeLucca's gonna hit him, Joe. Says DeLucca ain't coming at four. Says he was riding in a cab and saw you two in the shop with him. He wants to go back to Deer Island where it's safe. What about this guy inna cab, anyway?". '
"Aw, bullshit. He's just spooked. I just hope he doesn't screw up the drill and get some bystander killed. Now Doc, listen: we want you to get in the back there. If I yell, you're to fall flat on your face. Nothing should happen- our van is really just a lookout. But we've got to be ready to pull out and block the street if he's got friends with a car. If that happens, Mary would- never forgive me for bringing you along. But I really expect it'll go smoothly. And if, God forbid, any rough stuff starts, we've got the gorillas in the milk truck."
I was not in a jolly mood. While I dearly hoped Carmen DeLucca the mad-dog killer would be snagged, I had seen a lot in the past hour that had me down. The town depressed me, with its grimy, crowded streets, dilapidated buildings, and ragged, worn-out people. Of course they were the victims, not the culprits, but it was depressing nonetheless. The goon squad in the milk wagon depressed me. Most of all, Johnny Rizzo the jailhouse punk depressed me. He was a sad case, and frankly I didn't see much future for him no matter what happened.
Kevin sat at the wheel. Joe sat in back just behind me, with his legs stretched out on the floor and his headset on. Now and then I listened to my phone receiver and heard the conversations. There was none of the static crackle and buzz of the radio. Code words like over weren't needed either. It was a conference call of four parties, clear, subdued, conversational. And unlike talk on the police radio, it was private.
At four DeLucca still hadn't shown. At four-thirty I was surprised to see Rizzo leave the shop, fiddle with the awning crank, and disappear. I heard Powers alert all of us from his lookout. Right according to plan, Rizzo reappeared a second later, pushing the two-wheeled cart loaded with empties.
"Did you see him?" Joe asked Powers via his headset. "He must've come in the back way. Bill, get your guys ready. Keller, you guys see anything inside from where you're sitting?"
The answer was no. We waited, and pretty soon Bill said that the milk truck had seen no sign of Johnny, who was supposed to saunter down the alley in their direction after he stacked the- bottles. Then a disgusted voice from van number two told us the answer.
"Hey Joe, your prize snitch is here. The little asshole is pounding on our van. You believe it?"
I hadn't seen Joe so mad in a long time. We unhitched the line cables, started up, and tore up the block and around the corner in less than half a minute. There he was, complete in undershirt and white apron, whining and dancing around the telephone crew of van number two and yelling that he wanted to go back to the Big House. Talk about blowing the stakeout. I thought Joe was going to kill him. The other guys thought so too, because they kept between the two men. Finally we had a plainclothesman march Rizzo back to the shop and we went back to our stations. But it wasn't any good; we all knew it wouldn't work after that.
We waited till five-thirty, then decided that it really looked fake to see all these workmen putting in overtime doing nothing. To continue the stakeout now would only wreck our cover for any future ones. Joe arranged to have a heavy surveillance of the place and neighborhood for the next twenty-four hours and we all went home. Kevin was to drive the van back to headquarters at Ten-Ten Comm. Ave., where he and Joe would pick up their cars.
Joe and Kevin were irritable and glum. Joe's mood was so dark it was dangerous. I went and bought them a pint of Johnny Walker, some soda and ice, and some plastic glasses. I said I'd drive the van for them, which I did. They sat stretched out in back and grumbled, swore, and drank. I heard Joe say more than once that he hoped DeLucca did catch up with Johnny Rizzo.
We stopped on the way for Joe to make a call to Mary, and then I got on the line too. She was mad all right, but it could have been worse. Joe promised to buy a big leg of lamb in the North End before we started home.
"No, Joey. That means we won't eat until midnight. Get loin chops. And hurry up, it's past six!"
We promised to be home by eight, and continued on our way. At headquarters Joe didn't even go into his office; we got into his car and headed over to Storrow Drive. In fifteen minutes we were in the North End and, miraculously, parked right off Salem I Street. We walked two blocks and then turned onto a little side street. I mentioned that this wasn't the way to Toscana's, and Joe nodded. He had a desperate look on his face. He said he had a little errand before we bought the meat.
"But it's important, Doc. That's why I thought of telling Mary we were going to Toscana's; there's something I just have to do here. It won't take long."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Joe went into a candy store and pumped coins into a pay phone, speaking into it softly and hunching into the alcove. I was standing next to him and couldn't hear what he said. Then he held, the phone and waited. Finally I heard him say, "I'm right beneath you, in the store." Then he hung up and motioned me to follow him. We went out into the street again, through a small door, and up a flight of stairs to the office of a little realty company. The office was closed, since it was almost seven. But we waited in the hallway, looking in at the dark office through the glass door. I was beginning to think Joe had lost his mind, that the strain of the past week had been too much for him. But soon a young man appeared in the dark office, turned on the lights, and unlocked the door for us.