Among Thieves

Chapter Four

It took Finn nearly an hour to make the two-and-a-half-mile journey from Nashua Street to Fenway Park. Normally the drive would have taken fifteen minutes, but it was Patriots’ Day and the streets were packed.

Patriots’ Day, which marks the battles of Lexington and Concord in 1775, is celebrated only in Boston. It’s one of three smug local holidays intended to remind an indifferent world of Boston ’s place in American history. For all the city’s parochial pride, however, few Americans would have heard of Lexington and Concord were it not for Schoolhouse Rock. Even worse, few Bostonians have any idea what Patriots’ Day is intended to celebrate. They do know, though, that it means an extra day off, and it’s the day on which the Boston Marathon is run every year. It’s also a day the Boston Red Sox play a special morning game at Fenway Park. The holiday causes mayhem in the city, as people line the streets early, and the bars are packed by midmorning.

Finn parked at the edge of the Fens, close to the Back Bay, in a lot owned by a client. He’d called ahead to reserve a space, knowing that otherwise there was little chance of finding anyplace to leave his car. By the time he’d pushed his way through the carnival atmosphere around Fenway Park it was nearing noon. When he found his seat next to Tom Kozlowski and Lissa Krantz two rows behind the Red Sox dugout, Boston was leading six-nothing in the fourth inning.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, squeezing into his seat.

“Your loss,” Kozlowski replied. He was a butcher’s block of a man in his early fifties, with a bold, carved face marred by a long scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to the bottom of his ear. He was dressed in cheap polyester slacks and a sport coat Goodwill would have turned down. Blue collar through and through, he’d spent a quarter of a century in the Boston Police Department, most of it in homicide, before he was pushed out and became a private detective. The cop inside him wouldn’t let go, though. He worked out of a small office in the brownstone in Charlestown where Finn had his law practice, and did enough work for Finn that they loosely considered themselves partners. “You missed a few good innings,” Kozlowski said.

“I said I was sorry.”

“I heard you.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Problem is, you’re late. We been coming to this game ever since you started the firm. It’s a tradition.”

“I only started the firm a couple of years ago,” Finn pointed out.

“Even worse. New traditions are fragile.”

“Quit your bitching and watch the game,” Lissa said. She was a small, attractive, razor-tongued woman in her mid-thirties, with thick dark hair and a strong jaw. She’d worked as a paralegal for Finn while attending law school at night, and since graduating and passing the bar the previous year had been taken on by Finn as an associate. She was wearing capri pants and a cashmere sweater that had probably cost more than Finn paid her in a month; she came from that kind of money. She and Kozlowski had been dating for over a year, and Finn couldn’t imagine a stranger couple. The thickness of their skins and their physical attraction to each other seemed the only things they had in common. Apparently that was enough.

“You’re the one who’s been bitching about him for the past hour,” Kozlowski said to her. “Don’t play all innocent.”

“I’ve never played innocent.”

Kozlowski grunted. “True enough.” To Finn he asked, “Where were you, anyway?”

“ Nashua Street.”

“New client?”

“Maybe. Old acquaintance; we need to talk about whether he’s gonna be a client.”

“Anyone I would know?”

“You remember Devon Malley?” Finn asked.

“From Southie? The thief?”

“That’s the guy. You know much about him?”

Kozlowski shook his head. “Not really. He had a rep for a while, but it died. He was basically a minor player.”

A beer vendor passed in front of them in the aisle. Lissa put her fingers in her mouth and gave a deafening whistle. It was loud enough to startle the young man, and he nearly dropped his tray. “Yo! Three over here!” she yelled.

Finn put a finger in his ear and gave a pained shake. “Is that really necessary?”

“Jesus, you’re a pansy,” she replied. She pulled out her purse and found a twenty.

“You sure you don’t want me to get these?” Finn asked. “It’s a work function.”

“Keep your wallet in your pants, boss. I’ve got more money than you.”

“True. But still…”

She looked at him. “You really want to pay?”

“Not really, no.”

“Fine. Then shut up.”

Finn smiled at Kozlowski, who just shrugged. “So, what did Devon get pinched for?” the ex-cop asked.

“Robbery,” Finn answered.

“No shit, that’s what he does. You wanna be a little more specific?”

“Not really.” Finn took a sip of his beer. “He was robbing a clothing store,” he said after a moment.

“Allegedly,” Lissa tossed in.

“Good girl,” Finn said. “Allegedly.”

“How allegedly?” Kozlowski asked.

Finn shrugged. “The police walked in on him in the store at midnight holding a bunch of women’s lingerie,” he admitted.

Kozlowski shook his head. “That’s not very allegedly. It’s gonna be hard for him to live that down.”

“It was high-end stuff,” Finn said.

“I’d hope so.” Kozlowski took a huge bite out of a bratwurst that had been sitting on a cardboard tray on his lap. A chunk of sauerkraut and mustard toppled off the end and splattered onto the front of his shirt. Finn thought it was an improvement. “So, does he have any kind of a case we can work with, or would we just be looking to plead it out?”

“Don’t know yet. All I’ve got is his side of the story. I don’t know where the cops are with this. Maybe we can come up with something. Devon seems to think that when he gets out he might be able to throw someone else to the DA. Maybe get probation.” Finn thought about it for a moment. “Probably not, though.”

“So it sounds like a shitty case,” Kozlowski said. “Why would we want it?”

Finn sighed. “I knew the guy back in the day. Back when I was mixed up in all that. I feel sorry for him. How can I say no?”

“Easy,” Kozlowski said. “Tongue on the top of your mouth, exhale and round your lips. N-n-n-o-o-o. See?” Finn didn’t smile, and the ex-cop’s face darkened quickly. “You didn’t tell him yes, did you?”

“No, I told him maybe. But I’m thinking yes.”

“I thought you said we were gonna discuss new cases. All three of us.”

“So, I’m discussing. Like I said, I feel bad for the guy. I’d like to help him out.”

“How old is he?” Lissa asked.

“Somewhere in between Koz and me,” Finn said.

“That old?”

Kozlowski stared out at the field. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Lissa said. “I was just thinking being a criminal must suck as you get older.”

“Everything sucks as you get older,” Koz pointed out.

“It’s different,” she said. “If you guys screw up at least you don’t end up in jail.”

“No, if we screw up someone else ends up in jail,” Finn replied. “Besides, it’s not clear that he screwed up. It was an inside job, and it looks like the cops were tipped. It may be that someone wanted him taken out.”

“Any idea who?” Kozlowski asked.

“A few possibilities. I told Devon we might be willing to check them out.”

“Great. Is he going to pay us to do this?”

“He said he would.”

“Will he give us a retainer?” Lissa asked.

Finn shook his head. “He said his money’s in cash and he’s got to get out before he can get it to us.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Kozlowski said. “Please tell me you’re not actually stupid enough to believe that.”

“He could be telling the truth,” Finn said.

“No, he couldn’t. And you know it. So what the hell is going on?”

“He’s got a daughter.”

“And?” Kozlowski asked. “If we’ve got a policy of doing charity work for anyone with a kid, I missed that in our marketing materials.”

“She’s fourteen. Devon didn’t even know about her until last year. Her mother’s a fuckup; she dropped the girl off with Devon and ditched. Now he’s taking care of her. If he goes in, she gets put into the system. I’d like to prevent that if I can.”

“Jesus, Finn,” Lissa said. “You don’t even know this girl, do you?”

“No, but I know the system. I lived in it for fifteen years. It’s not a good place to be. If I can do something about it, I’d like to.”

Kozlowski shook his head in disbelief. “So much so that you want to do this without getting paid?”

Finn looked at him. “Yeah, if necessary. What’s the problem? You feeling poor? You’re making twice what you were when you left the department. You afraid you won’t be able to afford the summer clothing sale at Wal-Mart?” He glanced over at Lissa. “And I know you’re not worried about the money.”

“No, I’m not,” she admitted. “As long as we don’t make a habit out of it.”

“Good,” Finn said. “So we’re all on board? We’ll get him out on bail and do what we can do. We’ll treat it as a pro bono matter, and if by some miracle he actually pays us-”

“Not gonna happen,” Kozlowski said.

“Fine, but if it does, then it’s like a windfall. You could even take your share and buy yourself a new suit. Maybe something made of natural fibers. It won’t repel the rain the way rayon does, but you might like it anyways. So? Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Lissa said.

“Fine, but I don’t like it,” Kozlowski mumbled.

“I don’t know what you’re bitching about. This is gonna be a lot harder on me than anyone else,” Finn said.

“How so?”

Finn took a sip of his beer. “I told him I’d keep an eye on his daughter.”

Lissa shouted loud enough to draw stares from those around her in the stands. “You told him what?”

“You heard me. I’m taking his daughter for a few days.”

“Oh, this gets better and better,” Koz grunted.

“What did you want me to do?” Finn asked.

Lissa rolled her eyes. “It’s all making sense now. This is some kind of a fucked-up crusade for you, isn’t it? That’s why you want to take on the case. You think if you can keep her out of the system, it’ll make up for how messed up you were when you were her age? When are you gonna learn? You’re Devon ’s lawyer, not his family. It’s not your responsibility.”

“Of course it’s not my responsibility, but it’s a couple of days, tops. What’s the big deal?”

“Have you ever dealt with a fourteen-year-old girl?” Lissa asked.

“Not since I was fifteen. Millie Donnolly. God she was cute.”

“I was fourteen once,” Lissa said. “I’m telling you that this is a big fuckin’ mistake. Where is she now?”

“She’s at Devon ’s apartment. Devon’s girlfriend is there, but she’s headed back to Providence today. I told Devon I’d pick her up after the game. He said he didn’t have anyone else-he just got arrested last night.”

“It’s still a mistake to get involved with a client like this, Finn. You can represent them, but you can’t fix their lives.”

“I like to think of us as a full-service firm,” Finn replied.

“You like to think of yourself as a savior.”

“Right. Me and Jesus. Practically separated at birth. He had longer hair and a beard, of course, but-”

“And more patience. Trust me, you’ll find that out after a few days with a fourteen-year-old girl.” She took a long swig of her beer.

“After a few days or so, it’ll be over. We’ll get Devon out on bail, and we’ll see where the case goes. If we can’t cut a deal that keeps him out of jail long-term, he’ll find someone else to take the girl.”

“How do you know?”

“He gave me his word.”

Kozlowski sighed. “Great. Who could worry once you have the word of a man in prison?”

Boston had taken an eight-to-one lead by the seventh inning, and the game was turning ugly. The sun broke through the cloud cover in the eighth, and jackets and sweatshirts came off around Fenway Park. In the bleachers, a group of beefy twentysomethings stripped to the waist, revealing their bloated bellies, painted bright red and blue, each with a letter to spell out “RED SOX.” At one point the fourth young man in the chain was overcome by a morning of drinking and passed out in his seat, leaving his friends to advertise themselves as “RED OX.” In fairness, Finn thought, they did more resemble bulls than ballplayers.

Finn, Kozlowski, and Lissa stayed through the last pitch, as did nearly every other fan in the stadium. Then they all filed out of the park together, spilling into the melee surrounding Fenway. The entire area reeked of stale beer and fried meat. The front windows of the bars and cafés were open, and young men and women, fully inebriated at two-thirty in the afternoon, leaned out from the jambs, laughing and screaming.

Finn frowned as he dodged a young man on Rollerblades bebopping down the sidewalk, the paper bag ineffectively disguising the forty-ounce bottle of beer in his hand.

“I’m so fucking old,” Finn said.

“Yes,” Lissa agreed. “You are.”

“What’s that make me?” Kozlowski asked.

She laughed. “Sensitive, apparently. I try not to think about what it makes you.”

“Seriously,” Finn said. “When did this happen? When did I become the guy who thinks kids play their music too loud and don’t respect their elders?”

“It happens to all of us eventually,” Kozlowski said.

“Really? When did it happen to you?”

“When I was nine.”

“Right.”

“We could stop inside Sonsie for a drink,” Lissa suggested. “It’s a little bit of an older crowd in there. Very cosmopolitan and chic. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

Finn shook his head. “I don’t think so. I have to go pick up Devon ’s daughter. Besides, I’m not wearing enough black to get into a place like Sonsie.”

“Suit yourself.” She looked at Kozlowski. “How about you, old man? You want to take me to Sonsie for a drink?”

“I don’t own any black.”

“Fake it. If you’re nice to me, you might even get lucky later.”

“It’s not luck.”

“Trust me, old man, sometimes it’s luck.”

Finn cleared his throat. “On that note…” Finn gave them an abbreviated wave and peeled off onto Commonwealth Avenue, following the marathon course, heading back to his car.

He hadn’t enjoyed the game. He was nervous about the prospect of taking Devon ’s daughter in, even for a short time. Lissa was right, he had no experience with children at all, much less with fourteen-year-old girls. He’d been raised as an orphan, though, shuttled from foster family to Catholic orphanage to state-run facility back to foster family, so he knew what that kind of life was like. He’d grown up quickly and hit the streets by the time he was fifteen. Crazy as it seemed, he felt he had a responsibility to at least try to help Devon to keep his daughter out of that life.

He opened the door to his car, slid into the front seat, and pulled out the address Devon had given him. How bad could it be? After all, it was only for a couple of days.

Liam Kilbranish sat at the kitchen table in the weather-beaten capehouse two blocks from the water in Quincy. An RPB MAC 11.380 submachine gun with a detachable suppressor was disassembled and lay in pieces on the table in front of him, each component individually cleaned and oiled. A.223-caliber AR-15 semiautomatic rifle leaned against the kitchen wall, and the nine-millimeter SP-21 Barak semiautomatic pistol was breached and two full clips were lying next to it. An eight-inch knife lay next to its ankle sheath, gleaming under the flickering bare bulb of the overhead light.

Sean Broadark was on the sofa in the living area, which was separated from the tiny house’s kitchen only by a countertop. He was flipping channels disinterestedly on the tiny twelve-inch television. He was an unattractive specimen. His face was cragged with pits and moles, and he was balding in an unusual pattern that left an island of graying red at the crown. He had a paunch that evidenced the kind of personal neglect Liam deplored. In all other respects, though, he was a model soldier: more dedicated to the cause and to the command structure than he was to his own life. A patchy beard was beginning to take root on the man’s pockmarked face, like weeds growing through the cracks in a dilapidated sidewalk. He looked to Liam like one of God’s unfinished works-the sketch of a monster the Almighty had never come back to.

“He didn’t know anything,” Sean said from his perch. It was the first time he’d spoken in nearly a day.

“So it would seem,” Liam replied.

“He’d have talked if he knew anything. No one could take what he took without talking if he had anything to say.”

Liam said nothing.

“You said he would know. You said he would have the answer.”

“Aye. I did,” Liam conceded.

“You were wrong.”

Liam picked up the Barak and slid one of the magazines into the pistol grip, pulling back on the release to chamber a round. He held the gun loosely. “Aye, I was.”

Broadark seemed unfazed. He’d seen enough violence in his lifetime that attempts to intimidate him were useless, and Liam knew it. “So, what now?” was all he said.

“There are two more,” Liam replied. “We find them and make them talk.”

“How do you know they’ll have something to say?”

It was a question that had gnawed at Liam since they had set out from Belfast a week before. It was a question his superiors-those few who had approved of his mission-had asked him as well. How do you know? And to that, there was only one answer: Someone has to know. It was the only answer that would keep alive everything for which he had fought a lifetime; the only answer that would allow him to live up to a promise he had made silently to his father more than three decades earlier.

“They’ll have something to say,” Liam replied.

Broadark never turned. His eyes remained on the television as the stations flashed aimlessly by, one after another. “That’s what you said about Murphy,” he said simply.