The Professional

Chapter 48

I FOUND ZEL AND BOO sharing a two-bedroom apartment in Jamaica Plain. There was linoleum on all the floors and a soapstone sink in the kitchen. Zel answered the door.

“Come in,” Zel said. And nodded toward one of the empty chairs at the kitchen table. “Have a seat.”

Boo was seated at the kitchen table, in his undershirt, reading The Herald. He stood when Zel let me in and left the room. Zel watched him go and put his hand out to stop me and stood between me and the door that Boo had left through. In a moment Boo returned with a gun.

“Put it away, Boo,” Zel said.

Boo pointed the gun at us.

“Get out of the way,” he said to Zel.

“Put it away,” Zel said, and walked slowly toward Boo, keeping himself between us.

I focused on the gun in Boo’s hand. It was a semiautomatic, maybe a.40-caliber. The hammer was back. His finger was on the trigger. If I saw any sign of finger movement I would go down and roll. I adjusted slightly to keep Zel between us.

“Get out of the way, Zel,” Boo said again.

Zel took another step and reached out and took hold of the gun. Boo stared at him, his face squeezed tight, then let Zel take it. Zel eased the hammer down and put the gun in his hip pocket.

“I do the gun work, Boo,” Zel said. “You know that.”

Boo nodded slowly, then turned and left the room again. “He got another gun?” I said.

“No,” Zel said. “He’s going in there to sulk.”

“How bad is he?” I said.

“In the head?” Zel said, and shrugged. “You saw him, he drops his hands when he fights. He always has.”

“So he’s had his brain rattled.”

“A lot,” Zel said.

“Can he take care of himself?”

“Not against a guy like you,” Zel said. “Amateurs, he does fine. He can still punch.”

“I meant can he take care of himself in general,” I said. “You know, buy food, balance his checkbook, go to the dentist?”

“I take care of him,” Zel said.

“Been doing that long?”

“Yeah.”

We sat for a minute. Zel sat across the table from me, where he could watch the door to the room that Boo had gone to.

“You got any work now that Jackson got aced?” I said.

“Not right now, but I’m making some calls. People know me.”

“Seen Mrs. Jackson at all?”

“Not since her old man got whacked,” Zel said.

“Know why Jackson got whacked?” I said.

“No.”

“Know who did it?”

“No.”

“Any suggestions?” I said.

“How’d he get it,” Zel said. “I know he got shot, but cops wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Two in the head,” I said. “One from about eight feet. One from about three inches.”

“Proves it ain’t me. The one from eight feet woulda been enough.”

“That a forty-caliber you took away from Boo?” I said.

“Never noticed,” Zel said. “Jackson capped with a forty.”

“Yep.”

“Boo ain’t much of a shooter,” Zel said.

“From eight feet you don’t have to be much of a shooter,” I said.

“You any good?” Zel said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Know anybody better?”

“Two guys,” I said. “Vinnie Morris, guy from L.A. named Chollo… maybe Hawk.”

“That’s three,” Zel said.

“So maybe three,” I said.

“I hearda Vinnie Morris,” Zel said.

“You as good as Vinnie,” I said.

“Ain’t been determined,” Zel said.

“How come you weren’t with Jackson when he got shot,” I said. “I sorta thought that was your job.”

“Told us to take the day off,” Zel said. “Said he didn’t need us.”

“Was Boo with you when Jackson was shot?” I said.

“Boo’s always with me,” Zel said.

“I’d swear that gun you took from Boo was a forty,” I said.

Zel took it out and looked at it.

“Nice call,” he said. “S-and-W forty-caliber.”

“Yours?” I said.

“They’re all mine,” Zel said. “I don’t want Boo carrying no gun.”

“How many you got?” I said.

“Six,” Zel said.

“All of them clean as this one?” I said.

“I keep them clean,” Zel said.

“Tools of the trade,” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

I looked at the door to the room where Boo was sulking. “Too bad Boo never learned to keep his hands up,” I said.

“Everybody tried,” Zel said. “But when the fight started, he could never remember. Even before he got hit, Boo wasn’t the brightest guy you’d meet.”

I nodded. We sat again.

“I hear anything useful,” Zel said, “I’ll give you a shout.”

“Please do,” I said.