Family Honor

Chapter 55

I bought some new place settings to make up for the ones that had been vandalized, and I took them to the empty loft and carefully set my table with them and stood back and looked at them.

“Very nice,” I said.

On my bed, Rosie raised her head and looked at me.

“You like?” I said.

She stared at me and kept her opinion to herself.

I fussed with the table setting for a while and then put Rosie’s leash on and went down to my car. It was early evening, still sort of half lit with a blue tone, as I put the car in gear and drove away from my loft. As I always did these days, I circled the block once to see if I could spot anyone following me. I didn’t see anyone, but, as I came back to Summer Street, a black Lexus settled in behind me. It didn’t have to be a tail. This was a prime route out of South Boston. Past South Station I took a left and headed past Chinatown toward the expressway. There was a lot of traffic. The car behind me did the same thing. In fact ten cars behind me did the same thing. Most of them peeled off toward the Southeast Expressway, but at least three of us deked and dived among the pylons and construction hazards and onto the Mass Pike heading west. The Lexus cruised past me. It had tinted windows and I couldn’t see the driver. Maybe I was jumpy because of the vandalism in my loft, and the way Kragan had looked at me when Spike and I left him. On the other hand, there was no exit until we got to Allston so he could tail me from in front without worrying that I’d turn off on him. We went under the Prudential Center and past Fenway Park and behind B.U. The sign said Cambridge/Allston; as I pulled into the right lane to exit, I passed the black Lexus and when I went off, he was behind me. At the river, I turned right onto Storrow Drive. If he was tailing me he’d have to show himself. There wasn’t much reason for someone to come out here on the pike and then head right back into town. As I passed B.U. from this side, he was behind me. I felt the little thrill of fear again. I looked at Rosie. She was on the floor of the passenger side with her nose almost in the heater. Good. She was out of the line of fire. I took my gun out and put it in my lap.

At the overpass to the Fens the Lexus began to close on me. I took the Fenway exit and cut over to Mass Avenue and went south. The Lexus was right behind me now, and as we approached Washington Street the Lexus pulled out as if to pass me. A window in the back seat rolled down. I slammed on my brakes as hard as I could and a shotgun blast went sweeping over the hood of my car. I yanked the car left onto Washington Street. Behind me I could hear the tires squealing on the Lexus. I was heading for the police station on Warren Ave., but I wasn’t going to make it. There was a red light two blocks ahead. Cars were stopped in both directions. If I got stuck in traffic I was dead. But I had a backup. I yanked the car right, and then right again onto Tremont and jammed it up on the sidewalk in front of Buddy’s Fox. Tony Marcus. It wasn’t much but there wasn’t anything else. I picked up my gun, scooped Rosie up and ran in the front door. The place was full. Everyone was black, and most of them were male. I went to the bar.

“Tony Marcus,” I said. “My name’s Sunny Randall.”

I could tell that the bartender had seen the gun. But all he said was, “Hold on.”

He must have hit a button under the bar because all of a sudden Junior appeared in the hallway with Ty-Bop jittering beside him. Kragan came into the restaurant with two other men. All three had their hands in their pockets. Tony Marcus slid past Junior and stood beside me at the bar.

“Sunny Randall,” he said, and reached out and scratched Rosie behind the ear.

Kragan glanced around the restaurant and then began to walk toward me.

“He wants to kill me,” I said to Tony.

“We don’t want him doing none of that,” Marcus said and stepped in front of me. “Do we?”

“Step away from her,” Kragan said.

Tony looked at Ty-Bop, and a gun appeared in Ty-Bop’s hand as if it had always been there.

“He show a piece,” Tony jerked his head at Kragan, “kill him.”

From his post in the hallway Junior produced a double-barreled shotgun. The bartender showed a pump gun. Both shotguns were aimed at Kragan’s companions. Kragan looked at Ty-Bop. Ty-Bop looked back at him without expression. He was suddenly motionless, as if the gun had stabilized him. His small eyes had the depth and humanity of two bottle caps. It was as if his life was in his gun. Kragan looked at him the way a huge crocodile might suddenly confront a small, very poisonous viper. In Kragan’s face was the slowly dawning realization that this trivial boy could kill him. Him! Cathal Kragan! The restaurant was dead silent. The diners all hunched a little lower over their tables, trying to watch, trying not to get caught watching, hoping that if the guns went off they wouldn’t get hit.

“You motherfuckers have a reservation?” Tony said.

Nobody said anything. Kragan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off me. His desire to kill me seemed almost sensual.

“No?” Tony said, just as if Kragan had answered. “Then get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

Nothing moved.

“I say three, and you ain’t moving,” Tony Marcus said to Kragan. “Then Ty-Bop going to shoot you in the head. One...”

Kragan moved. Without a word he turned and walked out. The two backup men went out after him. The room was quiet for a moment, then someone began to clap and then somebody else clapped, and then everyone in the restaurant began to applaud.

“Join us for supper, Sunny,” Tony Marcus said. “Later on I’ll have somebody take you home.”

“I couldn’t eat,” I said.

“How ‘bout this animal here, she like chitlins?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Never liked them much either,” Tony said.