Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot

27

Kinjo Heywood walked into the Harbor Health Club at four-thirty a.m. and tossed a large workout bag on a weight bench. Hawk had loaded up a curl bar as we waited and repped out with forty-five plates. He had not broken a sweat or showed any labored breathing on his twentieth curl. As he set down the bar, he nodded to Kinjo. Kinjo shook all of our hands. Ray Heywood had gone back to Chestnut Hill.

“I told the police I was headed to the stadium,” Kinjo said.

“What about Barnes?” I said.

“Fuck Barnes.”

“What about Steve Rosen?” I said.

“Rosen got the cash for me,” Kinjo said. “He works for Team Heywood, not the Pats. What we got? Come on, let’s go.”

Z and I had taken a nice leisurely stroll around South Station and came back with diagrams sketched on sheets of yellow legal paper. Kinjo was to show up at the Au Bon Pain in the center of South Station and take a seat. Someone would soon join him, pick up the bag, and leave, presumably by bus, subway, train, taxi, or car. There were many options at South Station, which made it convenient for a drop.

“I’ll cover the platform,” I said. “Z can wait at the escalator down to the T and Silver Line. Hawk is our utility outfielder, covering the taxi stand and exits onto Atlantic.”

“These motherfuckers didn’t say how or when I’d get my kid back,” Kinjo said.

“It’s a one-way conversation,” I said.

“What if this dude tells me Akira isn’t there?” Kinjo said. “That he’ll get me later or some shit.”

“Your son won’t be there,” I said. “They’ll make sure they get the money and then figure out their next move.”

“What would you do?” Kinjo said. “If it were your kid? You want me to be cool about all this. Trust them?”

“Nope.”

I looked to Hawk. Hawk had selected a leather jump rope and used it to stretch out his shoulders. He shot a glance at me before jumping a little rope by the mirrored wall. Hawk was not proficient at being idle unless necessary.

Z sat, elbows on knees, on a bench loaded with the sack of money. I stood with Kinjo. Most of the lights were off in the gym and the air purifier made gentle humming sounds. I had enough coffee at the diner to overcaffeinate a rhino.

“You don’t trust anyone,” I said.

“Then what the hell do you do?” Kinjo said.

“We follow him,” I said. “I wouldn’t want this guy out of my sight until you have Akira in yours.”

Kinjo nodded. “What else?”

“We could put a tracker with the money,” I said. “But I think they’ll check it pretty quickly. The device would get tossed and could definitely piss them off, too. We follow the courier.”

“Where’d you park?” Z said.

“At the Aquarium, like y’all said.”

Z nodded and stood up, going out to the street to check to see if anyone had tailed Kinjo. Hawk finished jumping rope and walked over to where he’d hung up his holster and coat. He slid into the leather, holstering his .44 Magnum, and then fit his leather trench over it. He turned his head slightly, his neck giving an audible pop.

“Won’t be long before Barnes calls the police,” Kinjo said. “Let them know I never made it to the stadium.”

I checked my watch. “Won’t take that long.”

“Can you both promise me something?” Kinjo said.

I nodded. Hawk nodded.

“You snatch up this man and get him to a place where I can whip his ass,” Kinjo said. “All I need is five minutes and a quiet room. I’ll come to terms, I promise.”

“No problem with that, man,” Hawk said. “But Spenser and I have years of experience reasoning with people.”

“You gonna try and talk it out?” Kinjo said.

Hawk shook his head.

“If this person shows up,” I said, “we’ll find out where he’s taking the money and to whom. He’ll talk.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hawk smiled. I nodded my head modestly.

“Y’all stay so cool,” Kinjo said, shaking his head. “I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin.”

“You just show up with that bag,” I said. “We’ll handle the rest.”

He nodded. And then he got up on shaky legs and walked back to the gym bathroom. A toilet flushed and we heard him throw up.