Chapter 42

I slid the pin into the bottom notch of the weight stack on one of the chest-press machines at the Harbor Health Club, and sidled in under it, and took a wide spread grip and inhaled and pushed the weight up as I exhaled. Things creaked in my right shoulder, but the bar went up. I eased it down, pushed it up again. I did this eight more times and let the bar come back to rest. Henry Cimoli was watching me.

“Ten reps,” he said. “You got another set in you.”

I nodded, breathing deeply, waiting. Then I did ten more reps, struggling to keep form. And rested and did ten more.

“That’s as good as you did before,” Henry said.

I slid off of the machine and stood waiting for my oxygen levels to normalize, watching the rest of the club members exercise. Most of them were women in spandex. Across the room was a bank of treadmills and Stair Climbers each with a small television screen so that you could exercise while watching an assortment of daytime talk shows, with maybe a videotape of a public dismemberment thrown in to cleanse the palate.

“Weigh in,” Henry said, and we walked to the balance scale. I got on, Henry adjusted the weights. I weighed to 210. The same weight I’d carried into the river almost a year ago.

“I’d say you’re as good as new,” Henry said.

“Too bad,” I said. “I was hoping for better.”

“We all were,” Henry said. “But you can’t shine shit.”

“You’re awfully short for a philosopher,” I said.

“Hell,” Henry said. “I’m awful short for a person. But I’m fun.”

I got off the scale and went and drank some water and wiped my face with a hand towel. There were mirrors on all the walls so that you could admire yourself from every angle. I was doing that when Vinnie Morris came in and glanced around the room and walked over to me.

“I tried your office and you weren’t there,” Vinnie said. “Figured you’d be here.”

“Ever consider a career as a private investigator?”

“Naw,” Vinnie said. “Gino wants to see you.”

“You told him I was back,” I said.

“He’s out in the car,” Vinnie said.

I went to Henry’s office, got my jacket and my gun, put both of them on, and went out with Vinnie. There was a big silver Mercedes sedan double-parked on Atlantic Ave. The street was already narrowed by construction, and the traffic was having trouble getting around the car. There was a lot of honking, to which, as far as I could see, no one paid any attention. Gino Fish was in the backseat. A guy with a thick neck and a black suit was behind the wheel. Vinnie opened the back door and I got in beside Gino. Vinnie got in the front. Gino was wearing a blue suit, a blue striped shirt, and a gold silk necktie. His hair was cut so short that he seemed bald, though he actually wasn’t. He was wearing bright blue reflective Oakley sun glasses, which seemed totally out of keeping with the rest of his look.

“Drive about, please, Sammy,” Gino said.

And the Mercedes pulled into traffic, cutting off a maroon van and causing more honking of horns. Neither Sammy nor Gino seemed to hear them. We cruised slowly north along Atlantic Avenue.

“I understand you were injured,” Gino said.

“Yes.”

“Specifically you were shot.”

“Yes.”

“Vinnie tells me this man dresses in gray and may be named Rugar.”

“Or he may not be,” I said.

“Yes,” Gino said. “It is good to be precise.”

We passed the garage in the North End where the Brinks job went down almost fifty years ago, and the Charlestown Bridge to what had once been City Square. Sammy kept on straight on Atlantic, under the elevated trains in front of the old Boston Garden, with the new Boston Garden behind it.

“I know of such a man,” Gino said.

“Gray man?”

“Yes.”

“Called Rugar?”

“Yes.”

I waited. We bore right past the Garden and North Station, past the ruins of what used to be the West End. There was a single defiant three-decker remaining, surrounded by pavement, like the isolated tombstone of a neighborhood that disappeared.

“This Rugar, who affects gray all the time — so tacky — is a gunman. He works out of New York and he is very expensive and, hence, very exclusive.”

“Ever use him?” I said.

“I have Vinnie,” Gino said.

“Before you had Vinnie,” I said.

Gino smiled gently.

“His arrangement is simple. You pay nothing until it’s done. Then you pay him promptly in full and in cash and he disappears. Once he commits to a project he stays on it until it is done, no matter how long it takes, no matter how far he has to travel. He guarantees results and he requests no payment until he gets them. Anyone who has dealt with him is not likely to try and, ah, renege on payment.

“And it prevents him from getting stung if the client turns out to be an undercover cop. He doesn’t take money, he can just say he was humoring them and had no intention of killing anyone.”

We went past the old Registry building and the new Suffolk County jail, past the Charles River dam, and onto Storrow Drive, going west at a leisurely pace.

“Where do I find Rugar?” I said.

“One might be better not to find him,” Gino said.

“One might.”

Gino sort of smiled. If it was a smile. Whatever it was, it was devoid of warmth or humor.

“People who wish to hire him,” Gino said, “see an attorney in New York who arranges a meeting.”

“And if the cops ever backtrack to him,” I said, “he can claim that all his dealings with Rugar are privileged communication between a lawyer and his client.”

“You are an astute man,” Gino said.

“Yeah, and a swell dancer. How come you’re telling me this?”

“Vinnie holds you in high regard.”

“Good employee relations?” I said.

Gino spread his hands. They looked like the hands of a violinist.

“You know the attorney?” I said.

“Not anymore,” Gino said.

“But the one you knew was a New York guy?” I said.

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know who replaced him?”

“No.”

“No reason to think it wouldn’t be a New York guy,” I said.

“No reason,” Gino said.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You’re entirely welcome,” Gino said. “Where would you like us to drop you off?”

The sublet had run out, I had my office back. “My office is fine, corner of Berkeley and Boylston.”

“I know where your office is,” Gino said.

He leaned forward slightly.

“Did you hear that, Sammy?”

“Yes, sir,” Sammy said. “Berkeley and Boylston.”

“While we drive you there, may I offer another thought? I’m a thoughtful man, and what I think is often valuable.”

“And your diction is très elegant,” I said.

“Thank you. My dealings with Rugar remain my business. I have spent a long and successful life among very deadly people. If I were a fearful sort, I would fear Rugar more than anyone I’ve ever known. I advise you to stay away from him.”

“How’s he compare with Vinnie?” I said.

“I would not ask Vinnie to go against him alone.”

Vinnie sat in the front seat looking at the coeds from Emerson College as we turned off Storrow Drive and onto Beacon Street. He didn’t seem interested in our conversation. In fact, Vinnie wasn’t interested in many things. What he could do was shoot. I had never met anyone I wouldn’t send Vinnie up against — except maybe Hawk. Or me.

We went up Beacon to Clarendon, turned up to Boylston, and drove back down to Berkeley. Sammy pulled up and double parked outside my building.

I said, “Thanks for the information, Mr. Fish.”

“And the advice,” Gino said. “You would be wise to heed the advice.”

“And spend the rest of my life waiting for him to come back?”

“Perhaps he’ll never learn that you survived,” Gino said.

Several drivers behind us blared their horns. Sammy ignored them.

“He will if I do what I signed on to do.”

“Get that schwartza out of jail?”

“Yes.”

“The world is a better place,” Gino said, “with him in jail.”

“He didn’t do what he’s there for. I said I’d get him out.”

“And you keep your word,” Gino said.

“Yes.”

Gino nodded slowly, looking past me at the corner of the Public Garden that showed on the left at the end of the block. Then he looked at me. His eyes were pale blue and as flat as a couple of one-inch washers. Again he made the motion with his face that might have been a smile.

“I don’t think the beard becomes you,” he said.

I got out of the car and watched as it pulled away and headed down Boylston. I watched it until it turned left on Charles Street and disappeared. Then I turned and went up to my office.

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