Robert B. Parker’s Blood Feud

Thirty-Eight

Charlie Whitaker called the next morning.

“Did you read in the Globe about what happened at Logan two nights ago?”

I told him I was behind on my reading, even with my hometown paper.

“A big shipment of guns got stolen,” he said, “from Smith & Wesson, on their way to Australia. Or maybe it was New Zealand, those countries all look alike to me.”

I told him I would look up the story online when we got off the phone.

“So there’s that,” Charlie said, “which is in the news. But here is something that is not: Two days before that, a lot of guns went missing at Fort Devens.”

“I thought that was some kind of base for the reserves these days,” I said.

“It is,” Charlie said. “Army Reserve and National Guard and Marines. Nearly eight hundred military vehicles. And a lot of guns never get fired.”

“Sounds like they’re going to get fired now,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” Charlie said.

“Stolen guns at Logan and missing guns at Fort Devens,” I said.

“Sounds to me,” Charlie said, “as if somebody might be trying to build up to a big finish on that granddaddy of all gun deals we talked about.”

“You think it’s the same people,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “ATF does.”

“Be a pretty ballsy move to make,” I said.

“I told you that volume is the key if somebody wanted to make real money selling guns illegally,” he said.

“You think Desmond Burke or Albert Antonioni has the manpower to make a ballsy move like this?” I said.

“Whoever did it might have had to outsource some of the labor,” Charlie said. “But, yeah, it’s doable.”

“And would involve enough money to have a fight over.”

“You need to remember something about guys like Desmond and Albert,” Charlie said. “They’d fight over dirt.”

“If Desmond wants it, Albert wants it,” I said. “And vice versa.”

“Heavy on the vice,” Charlie said.

“It might not even be as much about the money,” I said, “as about one of them wanting to beat the other.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of them,” Charlie said.

“I know.”

“But you want it to be.”

“I want this to be over,” I said. “That’s what I want.”

“Welcome to my world,” he said. “Or at least my former one.”

“How’s Mrs. Whitaker, by the way?” I said.

“Visiting her sister in Florida.”

“If you hear anything else, let me know,” I said. “I can use all the help I can get.”

“Just remember something,” Charlie Whitaker said. “If figuring shit like this out were easy, everybody’d do it.”

I told him I would hold the thought.