The Big Dig by Linda Barnes Page A

and we shook. No embrace.
    He’d chosen a North End pizzeria as a rendezvous, a thick-crust Sicilian joint. In another month or two, we might have eaten outdoors at a small table under a Cinzano umbrella, sipped espresso, watched street life pass down Hanover Street. I’d driven straight from Tewksbury, parking semi-legally, too close to a hydrant. It was rainy, dark, windy, and like the other patrons, we chose to eat indoors.
    â€œI called the General,” he went on. “The official line is no change. His condition’s listed as—”
    â€œGrave, but it’s worse than that, Eddie. I talked to a guy. They’re keeping him on life support long enough to round up people who can use his organs. He’s not coming out.”
    â€œWho told ya that?”
    â€œGuy I know. Guy I trust.”
    â€œDamn. Here, why don’t ya sit down?”
    Indoors, the cracked plaster needed paint; the carpet, replacement. There were seven tables—first come, first served, seat yourself. Customers came for the puttanesca sauce, not the kitschy Chianti-bottle décor or the sketchy ambiance. Fire blazed in a brick oven in the far wall. At least it was warm.
    â€œSo, is this going to be a black mark against Horgan Construction?” I took off my coat and draped it on the back of my chair.
    â€œYa wanna order?” Eddie’s clothes were rumpled, and he looked older than he’d appeared at our previous meeting, old enough that I wondered how beneficial mozzarella and pepperoni would be on his weakened heart. We decided to split a big pie. Two smalls, you wind up with nothing but crust.
    He tapped nervous fingers on the table. “It’s bad, any accident on the project is bad, causes trouble, but I don’t think we have to worry. Nothing to do with the stuff I asked ya to look at.”
    â€œStill,” I said.
    â€œStill what?”
    â€œThere are things I’d like to know. For instance, I haven’t talked to anybody who saw the guy fall.”
    â€œInsurance dicks will cover that.”
    â€œYou want me to stick to stolen equipment?”
    The waiter interrupted and took our order. Eddie asked for Bacardi and soda. I stuck to Pepsi. I was still working.
    As soon as the waiter left, Eddie motioned me closer, lowered his voice. “Listen, another call came in yesterday on the hotline. About the Horgans.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCarlotta, I don’t like being used. Politically. Ya know that, right? Even when I was a cop, I didn’t let the suits shove me around.”
    He was giving himself the benefit of the doubt, but I nodded in agreement.
    â€œIf I thought this was just political, I’d quit. Thing is, I’m not sure what it is.”
    â€œEddie, you know me from when I was a cop, too. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there.”
    He blew out a breath, smiled. His fingers touched the collar of his shirt like they wanted to loosen it. “Okay, Carlotta. Sometimes I gotta hear it. I’m sorry.”
    â€œHey, you hired me, you can fire me. I’ll keep my eye out for smoke and mirrors. I’ve got no grudge against the Horgans.”
    He nodded, sipped water.
    â€œWhat’s with the new hotline call?” I asked.
    â€œSelling dirt.”
    â€œSelling dirt ?”
    â€œGuy says somebody’s selling dirt offa Horgan’s site. Illegally.”
    â€œThere’s money in dirt?”
    â€œWhen you’re talking thirteen million cubic yards of it, there is. Ya know how much dirt that is?”
    He was itching to enlighten me so I shook my head.
    â€œCould fill Foxboro Stadium thirteen times.”
    The New England Patriots play football in Foxboro Stadium.
    â€œWho pays for dirt?” I asked.
    â€œDepends where it goes, depends who hauls it. There’s deals with the state, capping landfills, making a new park over on Spectacle Island, ya know. Some private guys are in there too,