“You’re late,” said the dark figure smoking a cigarette, his face obscured by shadows defined by the glowing red end of the cigarette. He was tall, athletically built and this could be seen even under the topcoat that no doubt concealed weapons and maybe even a flak jacket as Null’s did.
He had been waiting for Null by Paulie’s Deli on Broad Street at the bottom of the financial district, close by Faneuil Hall, Federal and Franklin Streets, sticking to the shadows, avoiding the light. Squat gray buildings defined both sides of the street, Null neither looked up nor did he even look directly at the man who had been waiting for him. He had the appearance of a burned-out case, maybe half a step up from a wino, his sunken, stubbled face impassive with scars.
“I had to make preparations.”
“Won’t matter if you did.”
“I’m a boy-scout of a kind—always prepared. Maybe an eagle scout.”
“You’re a boil on my ass, and that’s a fact.”
“So, you’re the famous Legere.”
“Not too famous. Anyone who knows about me shouldn’t. Call me Manny.”
“Make your pitch, Manny.”
“I need to make you a pitch? You got chutzpah, I’ll say that for you.”
“Say something of value, so I’m not standing here for nothing.”
“You’re done Null, finished.”
“I’ve heard that before. Hasn’t proved true yet.”
“It will tonight. You’ll see.”
“If I had known meeting you had entertainment value, I’d have brought some popcorn.”
“You like popcorn, do ya?”
“You look a little nervous there, Manny. You’re sweating.”
“I said you’re goddamn finished already!” Legere had gotten loud and his eyes were darting about, but at that moment he and Null were the only two figures on Broad Street.
“Make your move, Legere, or I’ll make mine.”
“You don’t have to do a thing—just walk away is all. That’s it.”
“You’re telling me that if I do, all is forgiven?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“So where’s my walkin’ away money, then?”
“You don’t get any. You get to live. That’s it. That’s all there is.”
“And if I decline your generous offer, what happens?”
Legere cleared his throat. “Then we’ll be coming for you, full court press!” By now, he was shouting.
“Why not just take care of it here and now and spare Hebe Group the trouble and expense?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, back off!” Loud again.
Null said nothing, but quick as a dying whisper he worked his way around Legere, had his arm creasing his windpipe, the Heckler and Koch making an impression on the side of his head.
“That was a little too easy, don’t you think, Legere?”
“You’ll get yours, you zombie fuck! You’re a dead man!”
“I get that a lot, Manny. In some ways, it’s true and in some ways not.”
Null released his hold on Legere, pushed him away then patted him down, paying special attention to hips, chest and even ankles. Null pushed him again, hard enough so that he almost lost his balance. He cocked the Heckler and aimed it straight at him.
“Strange you’re not packin’, Legere. You want to tell me what your deal is now?”
“I, uh, I honestly don’t know.”
Null put the Heckler back in his coat pocket. “They didn’t give you a very good script, did they?”
“No.” His face was drained of color and in the intermittent streetlight looked young, callow, unblemished in the shadows.
“How was it supposed to go down?”
“The-they didn’t tell me.”
“If you try to run, I’ll make a kill-shot right to your head. My accuracy’s improved with all the additional corpses. I think I can make the shot.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Just stand there.”
“Listen, I—”
“Shut up or I’ll plug you now just to be on the safe side.”
A female figure approached both of them out of the shadows from further down the street. Even at a distance, her feminine figure was obvious. Her high heels made a clacking sound that echoed.
“Where’s the other one?” Null called to her.
“She’s still up there, getting some answers.”
“Your guy all done?”
“Yeah, but not permanently. He’ll be out for a while, and I shot him in the leg to boot.”
Janis appeared relaxed and expressionless in the streetlight. She seemed neither friendly nor affectionate, matching Null.
“His rifle’s down a shute to the basement, I’m guessing. What have we got here?”
“I don’t really know. A faux Legere at the very least.”
Janis went over to the man and stuck her lavender Beretta in his ribs. “Tell us all about yourself, you fuckin’ mook!” she ordered.
“I think that’s a good idea. Tell me what you are and do it quick or you’re apt to become a corpse of convenience.”
“Save the long story, stretch. You’re a paid actor doing this as a gig right?”
“I don’t have to say anything.”
Null lowered the Heckler, stared quizzically at the man. “You do if you want to live.”
The man shrugged and sat down on the curb with no one stopping him, rested his head in his hands, “What are you both so angry at me for? I was just following the script the way I was paid to. When I got to the cue ‘You’re done Null, finished,” the other actors were supposed to enter the scene. This was supposed to be a demo short film for some wannabe college kid director. I was supposed to get my SAG-AFTRA card out of this.”
“That was you I spoke to on the phone?”
“Yeah. That was all me. Convincing, right?”
“You went downhill from there.”
“Everybody’s a critic.”
“Your performance needs work, Null, while we’re on the subject,” Janis jeered.
“It probably would, if I were acting.” He kicked the actor to get his attention, who then looked up at Null with confusion.
“What do you know about Hebe Group?”
Another woman approached from the shadows, not quite as shapely as the first, but definitely feminine. “He doesn’t know jack shit about anything, Null, up to and including acting.”
“I was put on the wait list for Yale Drama, you know,” he said petulantly.
Null knelt down and put the Heckler and Koch to the actor’s temple. He half-whispered when he spoke. “Tell me what you do with little children. Tell me what they have on you.”
“Listen, man, I swear, I don’t know nothing about kids. Hell, I don’t even like them. This was just an acting gig with good money, that’s all.”
“Tell me about Legere.”
“He’s just a character, nothing else. No one real. Some woman named Phyllis something gave me the script, told me the director would be hiding, and we’d have to get as much as we could in a single take. I had to get off book fast. She also told me I’d have to do some improv when I met up with the other actors—paid me half up front in cash. Said I’d get the rest when the shoot was completed. It was a good gig. I could even use it on my resume.”
“Who was the woman?”
“I have her card.” He withdrew it from his coat pocket and shakily handed it to Null, who stood up as he took it.
“She give you that costume?”
“She just told me what to wear and I put it together myself.”
“Cut him loose,” said Boyd, looking both tired and exasperated. “He’s a citizen, knows nothing.”
Null nodded, bent down, dragged the actor up from the curb and nailed him directly in the face with a single hard punch. Then the man went down again, sagging back to the curb, hands to his face to stanch the flow of blood.
“Tell me again you don’t know anything about Hebe Group. I want to hear this again.”
“You broke my fucking nose!”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t hit you hard enough.”
“Felt like you did.”
“Listen, Null, there’s nothing coming from this guy. He doesn’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“He’s an actor. He could be acting.”
“Do you really think he’s that good?”
“You have a point there.”
“Jeeze, you punch me in the face and then you attack my art. Fuck! Admit I had you going!”
“Maybe we should make ourselves scarce before the two snipers wake up and start figuring things out.”
“If your guy wakes up at all, you mean. Besides, how far is he really going to get with a Beretta slug in his thigh?”
“You got a point, Null.”
“With luck, it won’t have killed him,” added Boyd.
“Would it really matter if it did?”
“It would to me.”
“What about your guy, Boyd? Did you wax him or what?” Janis seemed calm, her fidgety left hand betraying her.
“I cooled him out.” She produced a small though weighty-looking sap from her handbag, where she also kept her non-police issue Sig-Sauer. She lightly hit it into the palm of her hand, not hard. Her point was made with the sound of a sharp smack. “He’ll live, but he’s not moving anytime soon.”
“Gun went down the chimney?”
“Where else?”
“Hey, I’m still sitting here listening to all of this. Do I need to hear more, or can I just fucking go?”
“Get up,” ordered Null, and the actor did so, his face stained with blood.
“What, you’re gonna shoot me now?”
“I don’t see any reason for that. Here, take this.” He handed the actor a wrinkled yet clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“Thanks.” He dabbed at his face with it. It didn’t help much.
“Okay, Daniel Day Lewis, just in case you’re not too bright, let me break it down for you. You’re not getting paid for finishing this job. Try connecting with this Phyllis woman again and you’ll probably end up method-acting as a corpse next time. Hebe Group doesn’t appear to like loose ends. Not that I do either, but I flatter myself that I’m a bit more ethical.” Null plunged his hand into a pocket of his coat that already seemed to be threatening to burst at the seams, took out a full up money clip and peeled off three one hundred-dollar bills, which he held out toward the actor.
“Go ahead. It’s clean money.”
He took it from Null shakily.
“You want my card too, just in case—”
“There won’t be any case. I don’t need to know who you are and, believe me, you really don’t want me to know who you are.”
“I believe that.”
“Consider that your final payment, and also for one small extra service.”
“Um. W-What is it?”
“Don’t get tense.”
“Okay.”
“Forget about this gig. Don’t contact Phyllis again. Forget about me and the two women with me. We never met—this never happened. Delete any emails you have about this when you get home. Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“We do.”
“Then, kindly get the fuck out of here!”
The actor obliged, walking away pell-mell down Broad in the direction of South Station, presumably to catch the Red Line back to Cambridge.
“Okay, Null. You’re in charge of this shit show now,” Janis sighed. “Where to next?”
“You shouldn’t even have to ask that,” said Boyd in hollow tones. “It’s sort of obvious.”
“Who knows what goes on in this motherfucker’s head?”
“He gets predictable now and then, in his own unpredictable way,” Boyd said, almost sadly.
“I think we’ll be paying Phyllis a visit next. And when we finish with her, we’ll have a house to visit.”
“What’s in the house?” asked Janis tentatively.
Null smacked dry lips, lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring in robotic fashion, broke it with his index finger.
“What do you think?”