cocktails. Guinness on tap. Jell-O shooters for everyone.
“Go ahead and scream,” Z said. “Nobody gives a shit.”
I looked to Z and nodded. Z walked up to Tyler King and snatched up a good bit of his shirt. Z pulled back his arm, which when coiled resembled Secretariat’s hind leg.
“They were with me,” Tyler said. “But nobody tipped me. I saw you over at the Muscle Factory and then over at the packie. You got a blue Explorer. I know fucking cars. It’s my goddamn job.”
“Nope,” I said. “You got tipped. You were waiting for me.”
“Believe what you want.”
“All we want to know is about the fire,” I said. “I know what you do for Jackie. And I know why you burned the church. You lit it in the cellar in two places and then hauled ass in that alley.I saw you on surveillance tape. You can either talk to me about it. Or I’d be more than fine calling the police.”
“Call ’em,” Tyler said. “And I’ll sue the fucking Mex for assault and kidnapping.”
“Cree,” Z said. And then he punched him once but very effectively in the face.
“I don’t know nothing about no fucking church fire,” Tyler said. He spit out some blood. “Mr. DeMarco wouldn’t ever touch a church. Are you nuts? He goes to Mass every Sunday with his wife and kids. That’s some crazy bad luck.”
“It wasn’t going to be a church anymore,” I said. “The archdiocese had sold it. It was sold to a man named Herbie Wu.”
“Am I not speaking English?” Tyler said. “I got no fucking idea. How many ways can I say it?”
“Then tell DeMarco I want to talk,” I said. “You set the fire. But he called it.”
“Jesus Christ, man,” Tyler said. “You can beat the crap out of me. Toss me in the ocean. Do what you want. But that doesn’t change that we didn’t burn no fucking church. Now either let’s get down to the beatin’ or let me fucking go.”
No one spoke for a good thirty seconds. My hand swelled with each breath. The storage room was small and tight. I felt empty and hollow after the adrenaline surge of the fight. I looked down to Tyler and his small, hard eyes.
“Let him go.”
Z didn’t seem pleased. But Hawk held open the door. Light poured into the dark room and Tyler stumbled to his feet.
“Jackie won’t like this,” Tyler said. “Jackie ain’t gonna forget this one goddamn bit.”
After he left, Hawk closed the door. We gathered like bugs under the single warehouse light. Hawk shook his head. “Mmm.”
“You believe him,” I said. “Don’t you?”
Hawk nodded.
I looked up to Z. He shrugged in agreement. “Now what?”
“Wait for the best-laid plans to unravel.”
“Or Jackie DeMarco to shoot your ass,” Hawk said.
“Yes,” I said. “Or that.”
R
ob Featherstone was a Spark. He’d been a Spark for maybe twenty years, running the fire museum and handing out coffee when he wasn’t playing with his model trains. He was a tall bald guy, with what hair he had left dyed jet black on his freckled head. “My back,” he’d say. “If I hadn’t screwed up my back, I’d been a Boston firefighter. All I ever wanted since I was a kid in Brockton.”
Featherstone had cornered Kevin at the Scandinavian, right as he was about to hang it up for the night. Two more fires, this time set by Johnny and Big Ray. Kevin had followed the fires, gone back for a cup of black coffee before getting home. He had an early day of work at the Home Depot.
“He’s freakin’ nuts,” Featherstone said. “Crazy as ashithouse rat. I don’t want to say nothin’ bad about him. I just want you to know who you’re dealing with.”
“Who?”
“Who the hell you think?” he said. “Fucking Johnny Donovan. You’re a young guy. Impressionable. What are you, twenty-one? Hadn’t you taken the fire exam?”
“Twice.”
“Yeah,” Featherstone said. “And maybe next time
you’ll pass, you know? You don’t want Johnny Donovan anywhere
around you. He’s bad, bad news. Tried to
“Go ahead and scream,” Z said. “Nobody gives a shit.”
I looked to Z and nodded. Z walked up to Tyler King and snatched up a good bit of his shirt. Z pulled back his arm, which when coiled resembled Secretariat’s hind leg.
“They were with me,” Tyler said. “But nobody tipped me. I saw you over at the Muscle Factory and then over at the packie. You got a blue Explorer. I know fucking cars. It’s my goddamn job.”
“Nope,” I said. “You got tipped. You were waiting for me.”
“Believe what you want.”
“All we want to know is about the fire,” I said. “I know what you do for Jackie. And I know why you burned the church. You lit it in the cellar in two places and then hauled ass in that alley.I saw you on surveillance tape. You can either talk to me about it. Or I’d be more than fine calling the police.”
“Call ’em,” Tyler said. “And I’ll sue the fucking Mex for assault and kidnapping.”
“Cree,” Z said. And then he punched him once but very effectively in the face.
“I don’t know nothing about no fucking church fire,” Tyler said. He spit out some blood. “Mr. DeMarco wouldn’t ever touch a church. Are you nuts? He goes to Mass every Sunday with his wife and kids. That’s some crazy bad luck.”
“It wasn’t going to be a church anymore,” I said. “The archdiocese had sold it. It was sold to a man named Herbie Wu.”
“Am I not speaking English?” Tyler said. “I got no fucking idea. How many ways can I say it?”
“Then tell DeMarco I want to talk,” I said. “You set the fire. But he called it.”
“Jesus Christ, man,” Tyler said. “You can beat the crap out of me. Toss me in the ocean. Do what you want. But that doesn’t change that we didn’t burn no fucking church. Now either let’s get down to the beatin’ or let me fucking go.”
No one spoke for a good thirty seconds. My hand swelled with each breath. The storage room was small and tight. I felt empty and hollow after the adrenaline surge of the fight. I looked down to Tyler and his small, hard eyes.
“Let him go.”
Z didn’t seem pleased. But Hawk held open the door. Light poured into the dark room and Tyler stumbled to his feet.
“Jackie won’t like this,” Tyler said. “Jackie ain’t gonna forget this one goddamn bit.”
After he left, Hawk closed the door. We gathered like bugs under the single warehouse light. Hawk shook his head. “Mmm.”
“You believe him,” I said. “Don’t you?”
Hawk nodded.
I looked up to Z. He shrugged in agreement. “Now what?”
“Wait for the best-laid plans to unravel.”
“Or Jackie DeMarco to shoot your ass,” Hawk said.
“Yes,” I said. “Or that.”
R
ob Featherstone was a Spark. He’d been a Spark for maybe twenty years, running the fire museum and handing out coffee when he wasn’t playing with his model trains. He was a tall bald guy, with what hair he had left dyed jet black on his freckled head. “My back,” he’d say. “If I hadn’t screwed up my back, I’d been a Boston firefighter. All I ever wanted since I was a kid in Brockton.”
Featherstone had cornered Kevin at the Scandinavian, right as he was about to hang it up for the night. Two more fires, this time set by Johnny and Big Ray. Kevin had followed the fires, gone back for a cup of black coffee before getting home. He had an early day of work at the Home Depot.
“He’s freakin’ nuts,” Featherstone said. “Crazy as ashithouse rat. I don’t want to say nothin’ bad about him. I just want you to know who you’re dealing with.”
“Who?”
“Who the hell you think?” he said. “Fucking Johnny Donovan. You’re a young guy. Impressionable. What are you, twenty-one? Hadn’t you taken the fire exam?”
“Twice.”
“Yeah,” Featherstone said. “And maybe next time
you’ll pass, you know? You don’t want Johnny Donovan anywhere
around you. He’s bad, bad news. Tried to
Similar Books
