As trying as it was to see Roscoe Niles again because of his connection to both Jenn and Diana, this was harder. He took a few deep breaths before turning his Explorer off the Concord Turnpike and into the parking lot. The lot belonged to the adjacent bowling alley, and Vinnie Morris ran his crew out of the place. Jesse and Vinnie went way back and had been connected through the late mob boss Gino Fish. Even before Fish’s death, Vinnie had broken away from Gino to go out on his own, though he never stopped kicking a percentage upstairs to Gino out of love and respect for the old ways.
Jesse asked for Vinnie at the front desk, and the kid played dumb.
“Vinnie who, mister? What you say his last name was again?”
Jesse shook his head. It was the same routine every time.
“Do you guys have to learn a script?”
“What?”
“Look,” Jesse said, showing the deskman his shield. “I’m chief of police in Paradise. I’ve known your boss since before you were out of third grade. Call back and tell him Jesse Stone is here to see him.”
“Paradise, huh? I didn’t think you’d need cops in Paradise.”
“You’d be surprised, kid. I’ll be at the bar.”
Jesse sat at the bar, staring at the neat array of scotch and Irish whiskey bottles, but he ordered a club soda and lime. The bartender laughed.
“On the wagon, bud?”
“What is it today? I got a DRUNK sign over my head?”
“C’mon, buddy, you kiddin’ me or what? You’re sitting here staring at them scotch bottles like you’d like to take ’em to a motel and then you order club soda and lime. It’s the dry drunk’s favorite cocktail.” He shrugged. “Am I wrong?”
Jesse didn’t answer because he heard the sound of Vinnie Morris’s handmade Italian shoes on the floor behind him. Vinnie was an impeccable dresser. Jesse imagined that Vinnie and Bella Lawton could blow a lot of money if they ever went shopping together. He doubted either of them had ever been to the outlets. The thought made him smile, but neither the thought nor the smile had a very long shelf life.
“Been a couple a months at least, Stone,” Vinnie said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Joe, get the man a Black Label. I’ll have one, too.”
Jesse didn’t put up a fight. They took their drinks over to one of the unused lanes way down away from any of the bowling. They sat on the plastic bench, clinked glasses, sipped. Both men faced the pins at the end of the lane, their eyes looking into the not-so-distant past. When Gino Fish was alive, Jesse and Vinnie had a kind of respect and admiration for each other’s talents and toughness, but now they were bound together in darkness forever.
“Don’t tell me you’re here about that thing I did,” Vinnie said. “That scumbag killed your girl, and even though he didn’t pull the trigger exactly, he killed Gino. Nobody ever deserved killing more than that piece of shit. You saw what I did to him?”
“I didn’t look at the pictures you brought me, Vinnie. I trust you. It’s not why I’m here.”
Vinnie looked relieved. “Good. So what brings you here? You come for chitchat or to bowl?”
“A little chitchat. Had a B-and-E in Paradise on Saturday. An old woman died while she was tied up and the two guys who did it beat the crap out of a MassExpress delivery guy.”
“Good. Those MassEx fuckers never deliver my supplies when they’re supposed to. Sorry about the old lady. But what’s it got to do with me?”
“Nothing. But I got two names or nicknames of the perps. I thought maybe you could ask around.”
“Sure thing. What are the names?”
“King and Hump.”
Vinnie made a face. “Hump?”
“Hump. That’s what the MassEx guy said.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But Stone, you didn’t come all the way down here just for this favor.”
“I was visiting Roscoe Niles over at—”
“You know the Teacher?” Vinnie was impressed.
“My ex introduced me to him years ago. We’ve been friends since.”
“I love that guy. Always sounds half in the bag when he’s on air. So what were you talking about?”
“You really interested?”
“Stone, you ever know me to ask questions or to say anything I don’t mean?”
“We were talking about Terry Jester.”
“Boston’s Bob Dylan.” Vinnie was curious. “What about him?”
“His manager’s throwing him a big birthday party on Stiles Island in a few weeks and I wanted some sense of what I was in for. Then we got to talking about some missing recording.”
Vinnie laughed. “He told you about the Hangman’s Sonnet tape.”
“Somehow you don’t strike me as a Terry Jester fan.”
“I’m not, but I’m a big fan of money. That tape would be worth a lot of ’scarole to the person who finds it.” Vinnie rubbed his fingers together. “When Gino was alive, he tried hard to get a line on that recording. He came up empty. And it wasn’t only Gino. When there were all those lawsuits about the theft of the tape, somebody hired a PI I’ve crossed paths with to look into the whole thing. He came knockin’ on Gino’s door. Gino told me that the cops used to come around asking him about it, too.”
Jesse said, “I guess a lot of people used to come knocking on Gino’s door. So how are you doing?”
“Not like how it used to be out there, Stone.”
“How so?”
“Joe Broz was far from a saint and Gino had his moments, but these foreign gangs have no respect. They’d just as soon shoot your grandma and your puppy as you if it got them another square foot of territory.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You watch out, Stone. See if I’m not right. These clowns are in Boston now, but they’ll be in Paradise, too. Maybe sooner than later.”
Jesse and Vinnie finished their drinks in silence. When they shook hands good-bye, they looked deep into each other’s eyes. Neither spoke. Eventually, Jesse just turned and left.