concrete wall and waited by a metal door.
We were in a storage cellar around the corner from a bar where Z worked as a bouncer. Z wore jeans, work boots, and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut out. It read ROCKY BOY, MONTANA ALL-STARS .
“Go fuck yourself,” Tyler said.
“Witty,” Hawk said.
“Who the hell are you?”
Hawk didn’t move. He stood in the shadow with shades on. “Hawk,” he said.
Tyler swallowed. He had dirty hands, grease under his stubby fingernails. He wore a green Sox cap like they pass out free on St. Paddy’s Day. I stepped in closer and got a good look at his neck tattoo. Mickey Mouse extending his middle finger.
“What the hell?” he said. “Why’re you busting my nuts? What’d I ever do to you?”
“We work for Disney,” I said. “I know a lawyer there. Did you realize you’re guilty of copyright infringement?”
I turned to Hawk. He started to whistle “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”
“Song of the South.”
“Yes, suh,” Hawk said.
Z smiled. Hawk and I had perfected our act long ago. We were the Martin and Lewis of beating the crap out of people. My hand hurt. My ribs hurt. Jackie DeMarco had definitely traded up in his hired help.
“Who sent you?” Tyler said. “Christ. You can’t stick a fucking gun in a guy’s back and knock him around until he talks. This ain’t some Arab country. Shit. We got rights here.”
“Sure,” I said. “But how about a little talk. Or else my associates here might take you out on a deep-sea fishing trip and use you as bait.”
“Bullshit,” Tyler said. “Hawk does shit for money. How much money do you want to let me go?”
Hawk shook his head. “This ain’t for pay.”
“How about you, Pancho Villa?” Tyler said, looking to Z. “I’ll give you a lot of pesos.”
“I’m full-blooded Cree,” Z said, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “We get paid in scalps.”
Tyler swallowed again and turned his eyes up to me. He looked at me and nodded and said, “What do you want?”
“I want to know why Jackie DeMarco had you burn that church in the South End.”
“What the fuck?” Tyler said. He began to laugh. “I got no freakin’ idea what you’re talking about. He didn’t burn a goddamn church.”
Hawk stepped up out of the shadows and into a slice of light. Tyler looked up into the light and blinked. I held up a hand for him to wait. Hawk took a step back. There was a single bulb in the room shining on many boxes of liquor. A wino’s dream.
“Jackie wanted to send a message,” I said, “after he started cutting into Gino Fish’s territory.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Who the fuck is a Gino Fish?”
I shook my head at his lack of understanding of local history. My hand rattled around in the ice. I pulled it out and examined it. My knuckles were fat and getting fatter. I stuck it back in the bucket. My ribs ached with each breath. I figured a couple might’ve been cracked.
“I can hit him,” Z said. “I’d like to hit him again.”
Tyler winced and turned his head. Z grinned, standing tall and still.
“Why’d you have me followed?” I said.
Tyler jacked his head up at me. He stared at me and yelled, “I got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“Two guys,” I said. “Black SUV picked me up before we went into the tunnel. You called ahead after you got tipped I was coming.”
Tyler snored. “Nobody tipped nobody.”
“Double negative,” Hawk said. “A terrible reflection of today’s education system.”
I held up my swelling hand and said, “We met,” I said. “They told me. One of them looked like he just escaped a traveling circus.”
“So fucking what?” Tyler said. He smiled, pleased that his connection to DeMarco was now public knowledge.
Z looked to Hawk. Hawk stayed by the door. Outside, you could hear the late-afternoon bustle around Faneuil Hall and the market. People yelling and hooting. Ready to party on a Friday night. Two-for-one
We were in a storage cellar around the corner from a bar where Z worked as a bouncer. Z wore jeans, work boots, and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut out. It read ROCKY BOY, MONTANA ALL-STARS .
“Go fuck yourself,” Tyler said.
“Witty,” Hawk said.
“Who the hell are you?”
Hawk didn’t move. He stood in the shadow with shades on. “Hawk,” he said.
Tyler swallowed. He had dirty hands, grease under his stubby fingernails. He wore a green Sox cap like they pass out free on St. Paddy’s Day. I stepped in closer and got a good look at his neck tattoo. Mickey Mouse extending his middle finger.
“What the hell?” he said. “Why’re you busting my nuts? What’d I ever do to you?”
“We work for Disney,” I said. “I know a lawyer there. Did you realize you’re guilty of copyright infringement?”
I turned to Hawk. He started to whistle “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”
“Song of the South.”
“Yes, suh,” Hawk said.
Z smiled. Hawk and I had perfected our act long ago. We were the Martin and Lewis of beating the crap out of people. My hand hurt. My ribs hurt. Jackie DeMarco had definitely traded up in his hired help.
“Who sent you?” Tyler said. “Christ. You can’t stick a fucking gun in a guy’s back and knock him around until he talks. This ain’t some Arab country. Shit. We got rights here.”
“Sure,” I said. “But how about a little talk. Or else my associates here might take you out on a deep-sea fishing trip and use you as bait.”
“Bullshit,” Tyler said. “Hawk does shit for money. How much money do you want to let me go?”
Hawk shook his head. “This ain’t for pay.”
“How about you, Pancho Villa?” Tyler said, looking to Z. “I’ll give you a lot of pesos.”
“I’m full-blooded Cree,” Z said, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “We get paid in scalps.”
Tyler swallowed again and turned his eyes up to me. He looked at me and nodded and said, “What do you want?”
“I want to know why Jackie DeMarco had you burn that church in the South End.”
“What the fuck?” Tyler said. He began to laugh. “I got no freakin’ idea what you’re talking about. He didn’t burn a goddamn church.”
Hawk stepped up out of the shadows and into a slice of light. Tyler looked up into the light and blinked. I held up a hand for him to wait. Hawk took a step back. There was a single bulb in the room shining on many boxes of liquor. A wino’s dream.
“Jackie wanted to send a message,” I said, “after he started cutting into Gino Fish’s territory.”
Tyler narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Who the fuck is a Gino Fish?”
I shook my head at his lack of understanding of local history. My hand rattled around in the ice. I pulled it out and examined it. My knuckles were fat and getting fatter. I stuck it back in the bucket. My ribs ached with each breath. I figured a couple might’ve been cracked.
“I can hit him,” Z said. “I’d like to hit him again.”
Tyler winced and turned his head. Z grinned, standing tall and still.
“Why’d you have me followed?” I said.
Tyler jacked his head up at me. He stared at me and yelled, “I got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“Two guys,” I said. “Black SUV picked me up before we went into the tunnel. You called ahead after you got tipped I was coming.”
Tyler snored. “Nobody tipped nobody.”
“Double negative,” Hawk said. “A terrible reflection of today’s education system.”
I held up my swelling hand and said, “We met,” I said. “They told me. One of them looked like he just escaped a traveling circus.”
“So fucking what?” Tyler said. He smiled, pleased that his connection to DeMarco was now public knowledge.
Z looked to Hawk. Hawk stayed by the door. Outside, you could hear the late-afternoon bustle around Faneuil Hall and the market. People yelling and hooting. Ready to party on a Friday night. Two-for-one
Similar Books
