reading he nodded at Paultz.
"How do I know you haven't copied it?" Paultz said.
I shrugged. "You're paying me not to show them around."
"You still got Winston?" Paultz said.
"Of course I do. That's why you're going to give me money. So I won't use him."
"How about he talks on his own?" the white-haired man said.
I looked at Paultz. "What do you think, Mickey?"
Paultz shook his head.
"Correct," I said. "Give me the bread." The room was quiet. Hawk tapped the shotgun rhythmically against his leg. Since we'd walked in the room he'd looked steadily at the two thugs.
I said, "Don't screw around with this, Mickey. You know you're going to do it, so let's get it done."
Paultz looked at me silently, then he looked at the white-haired man and nodded. The white-haired man handed me the briefcase. I took it and turned and walked out. Hawk came behind me. We got into the car and drove away.
"He's going to kill you," Hawk said.
"Count the money," I said.
"It'll be right," Hawk said. "No point shortchanging you now."
"I know, but count it anyway. Don't want to embarrass myself at the bank." Hawk put the shotgun on the floor, took the briefcase, opened it, and started counting.
I drove straight to the branch of the First National Bank near Haller's office. It was in Charles River Park Plaza on Cambridge Street. I parked. Hawk closed up the briefcase.
"Look like three hundred fifty thou to me. In big bills."
We went in and deposited it to the Reorganized Church of the Redemption Trust account. It took a while but bankers will, finally, still accept cash.
Back in the car Hawk said to me, "Now what?"
"Now," I said. "We double-cross Paultz."
CHAPTER 29
The Reverend Bullard Winston and I sat in a conference room in State Police Headquarters at 1010 Commonwealth Avenue and talked about Mickey Paultz. With us was a large mean AFT cop named Riordan, a state cop named Devane from the state organized crime squad, a scruffy narcotics cop from Quiney named McMahon, an assistant prosecutor from the Norfolk County D.A.'s office named Rita Fiori, and Martin Quirk.
Ms. Fiori said, "I'm not clear what interest Boston homicide has in this affair, Lieutenant Quirk."
"Unofficial," Quirk said. He jerked his head at me. "I know Spenser and he asked me to set up this meeting."
Ms. Fiori crossed her legs. She had elegant legs. "Then I think our first order of business is to establish jurisdiction." Her tailored suit fit well around the hips.
Riordan sighed. McMahon, the Quincy cop said, "Rita went to Harvard."
Rita smiled at him. "And one of the things I learned there, Artie, is that a case needs someone in charge of it . . . and it shouldn't be some asshole narc."
Winston sat in something like a trance as the discussion of who was in charge roiled around us. He was pale, his shoulders slumped, his breathing was shallow. He sat motionless for the full half-hour of discussion that finally resolved in Devane, the statie, being acclaimed case coordinator. When it had been settled Devane looked at me.
"Okay," he said. "Let's hear from you." Devane had a neat mustache and looked a little like Wayne Newton.
I said, "My associate, Reverend Winston here, will give you a full statement detailing the way Mickey Paultz laundered money through the Reorganized Church of the Redemption."
McMahon murmured, "Saints preserve us."
"And I will produce the names of two witnesses who will, if granted immunity, testify under oath that Mickey Paultz sold them heroin in wholesale amounts clearly intended for resale."
Devane said, "Who are the witnesses?"
"First the immunity," I said.
"We can't do that without even knowing who they are," Fiori said.
"That's the deal," I said.
"Where'd you come up with these witnesses?" Devane said.
Beside me Winston remained motionless, looking at the floor. A vein pulsed in his right temple. Otherwise he might have been dead. I shook my head.
Quirk said, "Off the record."
I looked at Devane. He nodded.
"Joe Broz,"
"How do I know you haven't copied it?" Paultz said.
I shrugged. "You're paying me not to show them around."
"You still got Winston?" Paultz said.
"Of course I do. That's why you're going to give me money. So I won't use him."
"How about he talks on his own?" the white-haired man said.
I looked at Paultz. "What do you think, Mickey?"
Paultz shook his head.
"Correct," I said. "Give me the bread." The room was quiet. Hawk tapped the shotgun rhythmically against his leg. Since we'd walked in the room he'd looked steadily at the two thugs.
I said, "Don't screw around with this, Mickey. You know you're going to do it, so let's get it done."
Paultz looked at me silently, then he looked at the white-haired man and nodded. The white-haired man handed me the briefcase. I took it and turned and walked out. Hawk came behind me. We got into the car and drove away.
"He's going to kill you," Hawk said.
"Count the money," I said.
"It'll be right," Hawk said. "No point shortchanging you now."
"I know, but count it anyway. Don't want to embarrass myself at the bank." Hawk put the shotgun on the floor, took the briefcase, opened it, and started counting.
I drove straight to the branch of the First National Bank near Haller's office. It was in Charles River Park Plaza on Cambridge Street. I parked. Hawk closed up the briefcase.
"Look like three hundred fifty thou to me. In big bills."
We went in and deposited it to the Reorganized Church of the Redemption Trust account. It took a while but bankers will, finally, still accept cash.
Back in the car Hawk said to me, "Now what?"
"Now," I said. "We double-cross Paultz."
CHAPTER 29
The Reverend Bullard Winston and I sat in a conference room in State Police Headquarters at 1010 Commonwealth Avenue and talked about Mickey Paultz. With us was a large mean AFT cop named Riordan, a state cop named Devane from the state organized crime squad, a scruffy narcotics cop from Quiney named McMahon, an assistant prosecutor from the Norfolk County D.A.'s office named Rita Fiori, and Martin Quirk.
Ms. Fiori said, "I'm not clear what interest Boston homicide has in this affair, Lieutenant Quirk."
"Unofficial," Quirk said. He jerked his head at me. "I know Spenser and he asked me to set up this meeting."
Ms. Fiori crossed her legs. She had elegant legs. "Then I think our first order of business is to establish jurisdiction." Her tailored suit fit well around the hips.
Riordan sighed. McMahon, the Quincy cop said, "Rita went to Harvard."
Rita smiled at him. "And one of the things I learned there, Artie, is that a case needs someone in charge of it . . . and it shouldn't be some asshole narc."
Winston sat in something like a trance as the discussion of who was in charge roiled around us. He was pale, his shoulders slumped, his breathing was shallow. He sat motionless for the full half-hour of discussion that finally resolved in Devane, the statie, being acclaimed case coordinator. When it had been settled Devane looked at me.
"Okay," he said. "Let's hear from you." Devane had a neat mustache and looked a little like Wayne Newton.
I said, "My associate, Reverend Winston here, will give you a full statement detailing the way Mickey Paultz laundered money through the Reorganized Church of the Redemption."
McMahon murmured, "Saints preserve us."
"And I will produce the names of two witnesses who will, if granted immunity, testify under oath that Mickey Paultz sold them heroin in wholesale amounts clearly intended for resale."
Devane said, "Who are the witnesses?"
"First the immunity," I said.
"We can't do that without even knowing who they are," Fiori said.
"That's the deal," I said.
"Where'd you come up with these witnesses?" Devane said.
Beside me Winston remained motionless, looking at the floor. A vein pulsed in his right temple. Otherwise he might have been dead. I shook my head.
Quirk said, "Off the record."
I looked at Devane. He nodded.
"Joe Broz,"
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