Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Twenty-Five

Jesse went to the bowling alley in Cambridge where Vinnie Morris held court. They were close enough that he could have called first. They were probably even friends.

But this wasn’t likely to be a friendly visit, and Jesse didn’t want to give him the heads-up.

It was Healy’s idea, actually, but it wasn’t offered with much grace. “Well, that scumbag wasn’t helpful,” he said, when they parted outside Mulvaney’s townhome. “But you know another scumbag, don’t you? Maybe you can ask him.”

Healy had never liked Vinnie, because Vinnie was a gangster — an old-school gangster who still followed a code of conduct you saw only in movies. But Vinnie was still a criminal, and for Healy, that put him on the other side of the line. He’d never liked Jesse’s relationship with him, and was never shy about saying so.

For Jesse, Vinnie was more complicated. Vinnie Morris was one of the best shooters Jesse had ever seen, or even heard about. For years, he’d used his talents for a mobster named Gino Fish. Then, when Fish was killed, Vinnie went out on his own. He and Jesse had helped each other over the years. Jesse didn’t ask what kind of activities funded the empty bowling alley or what Vinnie’s crew did when Jesse wasn’t around. They were bound by old debts and secrets and some genuine regard for each other, though neither of them would have ever said it out loud. They were on opposite sides of the law, but they shared a belief in a stricter kind of morality, a need to do the right thing despite the rules of their different worlds.

Or at least Jesse thought they did. Sometimes he wondered if Healy was right, and he was just kidding himself.

The bowling alley was quiet, as it always was. There were places where people still bowled, Jesse knew. They had kids’ parties and loud music and neon lighting. Slightly older kids went to those places to get drunk and hook up and occasionally toss a ball down a lane.

Vinnie’s was not one of those places. It was a relic, frozen in a time when men owned their own balls and joined leagues and left the house every Tuesday night to have a few beers away from the wife and kids. You could put the entire building in a museum. Nobody came around to bowl. Which was how Vinnie liked it.

Jesse walked past the lobby and into the bar. The bartender, a new kid in Vinnie’s crew, scowled at Jesse. “We’re closed, Officer.”

At least the kid could spot a cop. Of course, Jesse wasn’t making it that hard. He still wore his Paradise PD gear.

“Tell Vinnie I want to see him.”

The kid, all testosterone and not enough smarts, came out from behind the bar. “I said we’re closed.”

Jesse smiled. He had to admit his mood might be improved by a fight. But then Vinnie came out from his office in the back.

“Mikey, the hell you doing?” he said. “Go back behind the bar.”

“Vinnie, this guy—”

Mikey went silent as Vinnie looked at him. There was something cold in Vinnie’s stare, and nobody argued with him for long when he turned it on them.

“Sorry, Vinnie,” Mikey said, and went back behind the bar.

Vinnie was, as always, immaculately dressed, as if he were in Milan instead of a grimy bowling alley. He wore a perfectly cut navy blazer today made of a linen that would probably wrinkle if you breathed on it wrong, complemented by gray wool slacks with a knife crease down the front and a shirt of robin’s-egg blue. He wore no tie, which made Jesse wonder if this was casual Friday.

He shook Jesse’s hand, but he didn’t look much friendlier than Mikey had. Jesse suspected that Vinnie knew what this visit was about.

“Come on,” he said. “Take a seat.”

They went to one of the vinyl booths and sat down. “You want something to drink?” Vinnie asked.

Jesse did. He’d looked at the bottles behind Mikey with a little too much nostalgia. But he had Dix to deal with that. For now, he shoved the desire down and focused on Vinnie.

“This isn’t a social call,” Jesse said.

“Yeah. I thought as much. I saw the news.”

“Then you know why I’m here,” Jesse said. He took out his folder of photos and papers from the Burton house and opened it on the table.

Vinnie only glanced down, then looked back at Jesse.

“No” was all he said.

“No?” Jesse repeated. “No, you don’t recognize these guys, or no, you don’t know what I’m talking about, or—”

“No, as in we’re not going to talk about this, Jesse.”

“Why not?”

Vinnie sighed. “You don’t want a drink? I could use one.” He signaled to Mikey, and the kid started pouring something.

Jesse refused to be distracted.

“What is this, Vinnie?”

“I’m getting to it,” Vinnie said. He and Jesse waited for Mikey to deliver the whiskey to the table, then walk away.

Jesse looked at the brown liquid in Vinnie’s glass and then looked away quickly.

Vinnie noticed. He noticed everything. It was how he stayed alive. “You okay?”

“I told you this wasn’t a social call,” Jesse said.

Vinnie shrugged and took a drink.

“Fine,” he said. “You want to know what this is. I can give you the general shape of it. There are people, sometimes, who need to be dead. You know this.”

Jesse nodded. He would argue about who the people were, but that was one thing he and Vinnie had always agreed on: The world was better off without some people in it. Vinnie had helped Jesse with one of them, a while ago. He didn’t have to bring that up. They both knew it, and it was always between them.

“So, in some organizations, you have people who do this work for you. You’ve got the talent in-house.”

“Like you and Joe Broz, and then Gino Fish.”

Vinnie smiled a little. “You wearing a wire, Jesse?”

Jesse didn’t reply.

“Like I said, sometimes your organization has that talent. But a lot of times, you don’t. It’s not an easy thing to do well, and not a lot of people have the skills or the opportunity to practice.”

“Right,” Jesse said.

“And guys who can do this work, well, they don’t always get along well with others. They might not fit into a group that asks you to follow a bunch of rules. They might be more comfortable in a less structured environment.”

Jesse wondered for a moment if Vinnie had been reading Molly’s business books.

“Sure,” Jesse said. “Freelancers.”

Vinnie made a little gun with his thumb and forefinger and pointed it at Jesse. “Bingo. But how do you know a freelancer can do what he says? How do you choose to trust that guy? Most of the time, you can’t. You need someone to vouch for him. You need an honest broker.”

Jesse looked down at the pictures.

“You need an agent,” he said. “Someone who finds the talent and provides it.”

“Exactly,” Vinnie said.

“Did you know Burton?”

Vinnie took another drink.

“I’m not asking you to give anyone up, Vinnie.”

“I’m sure you think that.”

Jesse made a noise in the back of his throat. Then he tried another tack. “Let me guess, then. You never worked for him. But you knew people who did. Or who used his services.”

Vinnie said nothing, his eyes cold and still.

“So let’s talk hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically. Sure.”

“Hypothetically,” Jesse said, “a guy like Burton would find a hit man—”

“Contractor,” Vinnie interrupted.

“—a contractor,” Jesse said, “for a client. But because the client didn’t have your kind of organization, your kind of trust, they’d want some proof of the results.”

Vinnie nodded.

“And so the broker would provide it. Like these pictures.”

“If he and the contractor wanted to get paid, yes,” Vinnie said.

“Verification. Proof that the target didn’t just run off to South America or something. That the job was actually done.”

“Right,” Vinnie said. “But then both parties were supposed to destroy the materials. So there was nothing left.”

“And, clearly, that didn’t happen here.”

Vinnie shrugged again. “Sure looks like it.”

“I’m going to ask you again, Vinnie. Do you know anyone in these photos?”

Vinnie looked away, then back at Jesse. “I think you know me well enough to know I don’t leave fingerprints behind, Chief.”

“I didn’t think you did any of this,” Jesse said. “I thought you might know who did.”

“Sure,” Vinnie said, the word dropping like a stone into a well.

“Did you know Burton was working out of Paradise?”

“I think what you mean is, if I did, why didn’t I tell you about him?”

“Did you?”

“No,” Vinnie said. “I knew there was a broker around Boston, but there are a few guys like that. They don’t generally get caught. One day they’re taking contracts, the next they don’t answer the phone. They either retire or die, but either way, nobody ever hears from them again.”

“You think someone would have killed Burton for this?”

“If he was keeping photos like this? Definitely.” Vinnie tapped the folder and looked Jesse in the eyes, just to make sure he got the message. “Anyone holding this kind of stuff, he’s got a target on his back. There are people who will do whatever it takes to make sure it stays buried. If I were to find something like this, I’d burn it and bury the ashes under a landfill.”

Then Vinnie took another drink. Something shut down behind his eyes. Jesse could tell that was as much as he would get today.

Jesse closed the folder. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I know,” Vinnie said. “When do you ever do the smart thing?”

Jesse appreciated the warning. He imagined it cost Vinnie something to give him even that. It was possible he’d damaged what passed for their friendship by coming here today.

But he didn’t have a choice.

“Good to see you, Vinnie,” he said, and stood up.

“Sure,” Vinnie said again.

Jesse was halfway to the door when Vinnie spoke up one more time.

“Jesse,” he said. “There are some people I owe more than you. Even if they’re not around anymore. I can’t watch your back on this one.”

There might have been something like regret in his voice.

“I didn’t ask,” Jesse said, and left.