Boystown 7: Bloodlines by marshall thornton Page A

bottom. It seemed too much of a stretch to think that Jimmy’s bosses had turned on him. In fact, part of the reason to go after someone like Jimmy was to see if he’d turn on his bosses.
      “When you reach the end of your life you start to think about what it all meant,” Jimmy said. “It’s important that it meant something. The thing that matters most in life is family. When it’s all over that’s what you have. Family.”
    I smiled weakly. If family was the thing that mattered I was screwed. Mine didn’t speak to me. Not that it bothered me much. It had been like that for a long time. I spent a lot more time worrying about my friends than giving thought to my relatives.  
    Still, it seemed like a good idea to say, “Family’s important. Very important.”

Chapter Nine

    I was back in my office by five-thirty taking notes on both meetings and strategizing on how I might tell Owen Lovejoy, Esquire I’d talked to his client without informing him first. It was unfortunate that I’d let our regular thing slide or that he’d replaced me—whichever had actually happened, I’d barely paid enough attention to be sure. Fucking him would have come in handy at that moment. He was much more likely to accept that I’d gone ahead and spoken to Jimmy on my own if I told him about it while I had my dick up his ass.  
    But the visit had been worth it. I needed to be certain that Jimmy hadn’t kept the journal or diary himself. I believed him when he said he hadn’t. That left me thinking that Prince Charles had been the one writing things down. At the very least, he was connected to whoever had written it. If I figured out who he was, I could figure out what he had that was written down. Conversely, if I figured out exactly what the journal/diary was, then that could lead me to Prince Charles. I had a chicken and egg problem and no clue how to find the henhouse.
    There were two hang-ups on my answering machine. I figured it was the woman who called earlier. She kept calling, so I had to assume she’d actually talk to me if I picked up the phone. So, why wouldn’t she leave a number? Without even thinking about it, I found myself crawling onto the sofa for nap. I tried to put together a plan for the next few days. I was going to spend them in the lobby of the Federal Building collecting for charity. I wondered if I should invest in one of those crazy little cameras they always showed in spy movies. That way I could take pictures of people as they came and went without being noticed. I realized it was actually a good thing I’d been in an elevator with those two Federal agents. If one of them walked in with Prince Charles I might have chance of figuring it out. Otherwise, I realized that the informant could walk by me twenty times a day and I probably wouldn’t know it. Staking out the Federal Building was a long shot but at the moment it was the only shot I had of any kind.
    I was nearly asleep when the phone rang. Springing up from the couch I grabbed the receiver expecting to find some strange woman on the other end. Unfortunately, it was Frank Connors, Harker’s former partner.
    “This is unexpected,” I said.
    “I got a call about you.”
    “Really, who from?”
    “Someone who’s looking into you.”
    “Why would someone look into me?”
    “You got a new job, didn’t you?”
    “Yes. Is that a problem?”
    “It seems to be, yes. You’re working on something that is pissing people off.”
    “It’s not the first time. It probably won’t be the last.”
    “They’re nosing around things I’d rather they didn’t nose around.” That was a problem. The night I drowned the Bughouse Slasher in the pond at Graceland Cemetery I’d dropped my gun and couldn’t find it. Connors had brought it back to me three days later. That meant other people might know about the gun. Connors had probably run the serial number to find out it was mine. If someone was looking into me that meant they could hurt