Robert B. Parker’s Blood Feud

Thirty-One

In Desmond’s telling, in a flat, almost beaten voice, it all had begun after the Winter Hill Gang had consolidated its power, including with the Italians.

“You hear in politics about gerrymandering,” Desmond Burke said. “There was a lot of that going on in those days, across ethnic lines. It was around the time when a man named Bobo Petricone got himself into trouble because of a girl going around with one of the McLaughlins.”

“George,” I said.

He looked at me.

“I’m a reader,” I said.

I watched Desmond Burke, fascinated, wondering how much he was willing to tell. It was somewhat like watching the old man begin to pull on a thread.

“Bobo was a cousin of Vincent Cataldo,” Desmond said. “Maria was Vincent’s daughter.”

Richie said, “Uncle Felix told me once that Vincent Cataldo had something on Whitey Bulger, but no one ever knew what.”

“To this day we don’t know what,” Desmond said. “But Vincent ended up running his own gerrymandered district, as I ended up with my own.” He shook his head. “I always thought that it amused Whitey,” he said, “pitting Vincent and I against each other.”

“And you took up with Vincent Cataldo’s daughter?” Richie said.

“I did,” his father said. “For the first time in my life, I had power. Including, as I discovered, power over women.”

“How lucky for you,” Richie said.

“I am asking you again not to judge,” Desmond said.

“You’re allowed to ask,” Richie said. “And I’m asking you if Mom knew.”

Desmond nodded. “I finally admitted the affair to her. And she accepted.”

“Easy for you to say,” Richie said.

“No,” his father said. “It is not. And was not.”

He gave a quick shake to his head.

“It was around that same time that Vincent discovered that his daughter and I had been seeing each other,” Desmond said. “And let everyone know that his solution to this particular problem was to have me killed. But Maria told him that if he did that, she would kill herself.”

“So how was it resolved?” I said.

“There was finally a sit-down with Vincent and me,” Desmond said. “He said I was lucky that his daughter had interceded on my behalf, or he would have commenced killing those close to me one by one. But he told me that I had to be the one to break it off with her, without telling her that I had met with her father.”

“Did you?” I said.

“I did. I told her I was Catholic and could never be divorced and that it had been foolhardy of both of us to think that we ever could run away together,” Desmond said. “I think she knew I was lying. But she accepted.”

“The way mom did,” Richie said.

There was something in Desmond’s eyes, like a match being lit suddenly. But he let it go.

“What happened then?” I said.

“A few months after we stopped seeing each other, Maria left Boston,” Desmond said. “On her own. Or was sent away. I never knew which. I was not told where she went, and never saw her again.”

“Where is she now?”

“I swear to you I don’t know,” he said.

“So you don’t know if she’s dead or alive?” I said.

He shook his head. “I always assumed that somehow or someday I would see her again. I never did.”

“You didn’t attempt to find her.”

He gave me a long look. “Nor did she attempt to find me.”

“But now it appears someone is coming for you and those close to you much as her father once threatened to do the same,” I said.

“Perhaps someone who wants to hurt you as he apparently believes you hurt her,” Richie said. “And then kill you.”

“Blood feuds,” his father said. “As mean as brass knuckles.”

“How did Vincent Cataldo die?” I said to Desmond.

“The theory at the time was Albert Antonioni,” he said. “Who had become his partner by then.”

I looked at Richie. He looked at me. We both looked at his father.

“Small world,” Richie said.

“One full of coincidence suddenly,” I said.

“Do you believe in coincidence?” Richie said to me.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Is that all of it?” Richie said to his father.

“As much as is relevant,” Desmond said.

“Even if holding back might keep us all in danger,” Richie said.

“Even if.”

There was one last, interminable staredown between father and son, two pairs of dark eyes locked on each other.

“Please go now,” Desmond Burke said.

We went.