Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot

33

Kinjo called four hours later and asked me if I’d meet him at Foxboro.

When he’d called, I’d been working out with Hawk. Hawk decided to come along, too. If Kinjo did fire me, Hawk said he’d comfort me in my time of need.

We met Kinjo at a restaurant up the steps from the stadium in Patriot Place, since I knew Jeff Barnes would be less than ecstatic to see me so close to Gillette. Kinjo sat in a back booth at a big sports bar, drinking ice water and checking his phone. Hawk also drank some water with lemon. I had a draft beer.

“Y’all can’t stop,” Kinjo said.

I nodded.

“Barnes got onto me last night,” he said. “He sat down with me, Ray, and Mr. Rosen, and said that it was in the best interest of Akira and the organization if you were fired. He said the state police were backing off, too, and this was going to be a federal case. But shit, man. I haven’t seen one FBI agent yet.”

“I have,” I said. “I may have to fumigate my office.”

“Just ’cause the Feds are on it doesn’t mean I want y’all to back off,” he said. “Wasn’t your fault that those shitbirds were trying to con me. What if they’d been real and they’d taken the money and then tried to kill Akira? Y’all found out who they were, where they lived, and took care of business. That’s what I want. I don’t need more talk. I need people to be at the ready when the word comes down.”

“Still nothing?”

Kinjo looked down at the phone in his hand. His knuckles had been bloodied in practice. “I look at this screen nearly every second since he’s been gone. I’ll pay them. I’ll do whatever it takes. Why won’t they try me? Why won’t they reach out?”

I shook my head.

“I give you my word that I’ll tell you everything,” Kinjo said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Not telling you about paying off those people in New York was a mistake. That won’t happen. I don’t give a damn what you think about me. You can think I’m a son of a bitch as long as you trust me.”

Hawk drank some ice water. He wiped away the table’s condensation with a cocktail napkin, not saying a word since we sat down. There were ten customers in the bar that probably could hold six hundred. The staff was young and female and attractive. The bartender was dressed as a referee, complete with whistle around her neck.

“How did you and Cristal meet?” I said.

“Oh, shit,” Kinjo said. “Nicole got you onto this?”

“Nope,” I said. “But in the absence of anything else, it can’t hurt. How did you two meet?”

“How else? At a bar.”

“What bar,” I said. “When.”

“Bar here in Boston,” he said. “Two years ago. Place called Camelot.”

Hawk looked up. “Gentlemen’s establishment.”

“Yeah,” Kinjo said. “Strip club.”

“And she was a, uh, dancer?” I said.

“Shit, no,” Kinjo said. “I don’t date strippers. She was a waitress. Said she liked to watch me play and had been a fan going back to when she was a kid. She even knew who Andre Tippett was. He was my hero when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like him.”

I drank some beer. There were at least twenty televisions on the bar, turned to various iterations of ESPN and the local news. “Speaking of the old days, did you ever meet a guy named Kevin Murphy?” I said.

“Her ex?”

I nodded. I had made this connection before working out.

“I knew who he was,” Kinjo said. “Yeah. Came up to her apartment one time when I was there. He never did that shit again.”

“Did you know what he did?”

“He was a stupid punk,” Kinjo said.

“He was busted in December for using underage girls in dirty movies,” I said. “Arrested several times with drugs, intent to sell. Guy like that has to be connected.”

“So Cristal made some mistakes,” Kinjo said. “She’s got no reason to mess with my family. She loves Akira. And he loves her. Hell, during the season she with him more than me.”

“It would’ve been nice to know the connection,” I said. “Maybe Murphy saw an opportunity?”

“State police never asked me about him.”

“Some of the state police are not as dogged as me.”

The waitress reappeared and asked if we wanted anything to eat. Hawk said he wanted a grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side. I was good with the beer. If I were to eat, I’d decided on the burger. Never order a salad at a bar.

“I don’t know,” Kinjo said.

“It’s worth checking out,” I said.

Kinjo nodded. I finished the beer. A couple in matching Pats sweatshirts walked in the front door and made their way to the bar. The man and the bartender chatted like old friends, the bartender leaning across and nodding over to our table. The man and the woman stared openmouthed at Kinjo.

“People are always talking about me,” Kinjo said.

“Who?”

“Sportswriters and shit,” he said. “There’s this one dude with a blog who called me heartless because I’ve gone back to practice. How’s this any of his fucking business? How can he understand?”

“Can’t,” Hawk said. “Same way he can’t understand what it’s like to play.”

“Other people saying the same thing,” Kinjo said. “Those guys Paulie and the Gooch? They were on me last night about going back and practicing. Front office let it be known I’ll play this Sunday. What else can I do? I don’t have nothing else. I got to believe he’s going to be all right. I got to have a place to put all that anger. Hitting brings me level. I got to be level.”

Hawk nodded.

I asked for a second beer. Second beers keep me level.

“My mind goes places,” Kinjo said. “My heart feels torn to shreds. He’s everything. I don’t care who you hurt. I don’t care what Cristal thinks. You think maybe her ex got something going, check him out. But y’all don’t leave. This morning, Detective Lundquist and his people started to pack up their show. They been living with me and then I walk in and get breakfast and they’re closing up their computers and shit. Say they still working leads but they aren’t in control. Feds taking over. I don’t know these people. Or trust them.”

“Maybe for good reason,” I said.

Kinjo lifted his eyebrows, not considering I’d think he was right.

“Their special agent in charge and I have a history.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Nope.”

Kinjo shook his head. He stared straight ahead and then wiped his wet eyes. He pounded the table with his fist so hard, Hawk’s ice water spilled across the table. Hawk stood before the water dripped into his lap. The waitress came over and quickly cleared the table. My beer was unharmed.

“Be cool,” Hawk said.

Kinjo nodded.

“Do what you need to do to keep your mind right,” Hawk said. “We’ll find your boy.”

“How?”

“We always do.”

I shrugged and nodded. “I’m with him.”

“Even on nothing?” Kinjo said.

“Yep.”

“As long as it takes?” Kinjo said.

Hawk and I nodded.

“You know what y’all are?” Kinjo said, staring at Hawk. “You’re Ronin. You, him, and that big Indian guy. Don’t answer to nobody. Am I right? You understand what I’m saying?”

“I left my sword at the office.”

“I’m serious.” Kinjo’s gaze did not waver. “Y’all are samurai with no master, doing what’s got to be done. Roaming the earth, taking care of business without any rules.”

“Mostly greater Boston,” I said. “And I have rules.”

The waitress brought Hawk fresh water. He took a sip, ice rattling, and set the glass back on the table. Hawk stared at Kinjo a long while and tilted his head to the side. “He do. But I write my own.”