21

Houston walked through the Claddagh Pub and directly to Jimmy’s office. He knocked on the door, and when he opened it, a cloud of smoke as thick as an early morning fog rolled out. He waved his hand in front of his face as if shooing flies, but the smoke just moved around. “Damn it, Jimmy, how can you breathe in this?”

“If it bothers you, stay the fuck out.”

“We got to talk. I need your help.”

Jimmy O appeared out of the smoke, much like Bela Lugosi’s Dracula appearing from the mist. He shut the door behind him, walked past Houston, and entered the bar. He surveyed the room and pointed to an empty booth in the rear.

Once they were seated, Jimmy said, “Okay, talk.”

“We keep hearing that this guy drives a fish truck. I want to check out the fish markets.”

“You don’t need me for that.”

“There’s too goddamned many of them for Anne and me to check alone. I need you to have your people canvass some for us.”

“What do I look like, your personnel department? I got my own businesses to run. I know that finding this kid is a big deal for you and Anne, but I already spent more time on it than I should have.”

Houston sat back. “I know you’re into all sorts of shit, Jimmy. But to the best of my knowledge, you’ve never been directly involved in the prostitution trade.”

“Human trafficking was never my thing. You run whores, you gotta recruit kids . . . and you know how I feel about that.”

“This guy doesn’t discriminate, Jimmy. He’s taken them in every race and age.” He took an envelope from his back pocket and took out a bundle of photos, which he fanned across the desk. He studied them for a second and then selected two—one of a young woman barely older than a child. “This is Martha Kahn. Her street name was Tia Del Rio. She’s believed to be one of his victims . . . and she was fourteen.”

Jimmy leaned back. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then sighed and said, “For someone who is on the other side of the fence, you sure as hell ask for a lot of favors. You do know, brother-in-law, that one day I’ll be coming to you to return some of them?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“You can bet that we will. Okay, I’ll do this much. I’ll give you Gordon and five guys for two days, no more.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stared at Houston. “You been back in town how long now?”

“Three days.”

“How’s Susie?”

“Susie?”

“You remember your daughter, my niece, don’t you?”

Houston’s face fell. He’d completely overlooked contacting his daughter. “Aw, shit . . .”

“Exactly . . .”

_________________

Winter parked beside the loading dock of one of Boston’s largest fish wholesalers. He had been questioning people all morning, asking if they knew of a truck fitting the description given by the hookers. Thus far, it had been an exercise in futility. He saw a man jump down from the dock and approach his Navigator.

“Sorry, pal, but you can’t park here. You need to use one of the parking garages.”

“I only need a minute. I’m trying to locate a guy, drives a big rig with a reefer box built on.”

“Lots of guys drive trucks like that.”

“This guy looks like he French kissed a brick wall at ninety miles an hour. The side of his head is fucked up.”

“There’s a guy with a fucked-up head who comes around from time to time.”

“What color is his truck?”

“It varies.”

Winter digested the information for a second. “It varies?” He parroted the man. “You mean he drives different trucks?”

“Nope, same truck—one time he’ll come by and it’s white. The next time it will be something else. Now that I think of it, I don’t think it’s ever been the same color on two consecutive trips.”

“You got a name for this guy or the company he drives for?”

“You a cop?”

“No, I’m just looking for this guy. I hear he sells a quality product and my boss wants to place an order.”

“His stuff is all right.” He seemed to swell up with pride when he said, “We don’t buy farm fish, only ocean caught.”

“He catches the fish himself?”

“I think he owns a boat, does some charter stuff, too—up the coast of Maine someplace.” The man started to look nervous. “Look, I’m not sure I should be telling you this.”

Winter reached into his back pocket, removed his wallet, and took out a hundred dollar bill. He offered it to the man. “This should help overcome your reservations—and maybe get me a name.”

The man glanced over each shoulder to see if anyone was around. When he was certain they were alone, he snatched the bill from Winter’s hand. “Be right back.”

The warehouseman returned in five minutes and handed Winter a piece of notepaper with a single name written on it. He turned, and before he could walk away, he looked back at Winter. “Looks like you wasted a hundred bucks.” He pointed to a truck entering the yard. “I believe that’s your guy right there.”

_________________

Fischer exited the O’Neil Tunnel at Purchase Street. He cursed the stopped traffic. Boston on a Friday afternoon was bad enough—throw in all the construction, and you had gridlock. He found himself thinking, The old man was right. He always said there are only two seasons in Boston—winter and road construction.

He turned into the loading dock of the fish market and parked the truck. He was wary but no more than usual; being in the city always made him nervous and suspicious of everything and everyone. He searched his surroundings, looking for anyone who paid him more attention than he felt was warranted. It did not take him long to spot the man: a big sonuvabitch wearing black jeans and a similar colored T-shirt. The fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his chest, conforming to the man’s well-developed muscles.

Fischer climbed the steps to the loading dock, keeping the suspicious man in the corner of his eye. Like a feral cat at a picnic, he was curious about the man but still ready to bolt if he came too close. He stopped and stood on the edge of the dock, returning the man’s stare.

The observer was dangerous, and Fischer sensed it. Something—maybe some form of innate kinship—told him that this was someone who would have no hesitation to kill. The nosy man seemed to transmit menace.

“What you got?”

Fischer turned to see the purchasing agent standing behind him.

“Pollack, some haddock.”

“Fresh or farm?”

“Fresh.”

The purchasing agent pointed to a portable chalkboard and said, “There’s what we’re paying today.”

Fischer nodded and walked down the steps.

“Pull up to door twenty,” the purchasing agent shouted. “Loose or palletized?”

“What?” Fischer’s attention was still on the man across the parking lot.

“The load. Is it loose or on pallets?”

“Pallets.”

“Great, we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Fischer returned to the truck and backed up to the dock. When he stepped from the cab, the nosy man was beside the truck.

“You down from Maine?” the snoop asked.

“Yup.”

“What part?”

Fischer did not like being questioned and felt his face heat with anger. “The coast. I don’t see where it’s any of your business.”

“Hey, don’t get upset. I got some frozen food I need to get to Portland, and a truck like yours is ideal. I figured if you were dead-heading back, you might like to make a few extra bucks.”

“Well, you figured wrong.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, call me.” He handed Fischer a business card.

Fischer glanced at the card. The only thing printed on it was Gordon Winter and a phone number. “I won’t be changing my mind, now leave me alone.” He flipped the card over his shoulder and turned on his heel. He did not look back before climbing the stairs and disappearing into the warehouse.

_________________

Fischer kept one eye on the mirror, watching the meddlesome guy in the shiny black SUV behind him. There was no way he could pick up a woman tonight. He would have to wait until his next trip into Boston. It was evident that someone was looking for him. He was going to have to change a few things. He decided he would use the van on the next run. It disturbed him to know that after all this time he seemed to have attracted the interest of at least one somebody in Boston. As to how they had finally caught on to him, he was clueless. He had always been careful to pick up whores only—women about whom no one cared. Had he slipped up and finally taken one who had somebody that still cared enough to send people looking? He thought about Cheryl saying her family were fishers. If, as she said, her grandfather lived in North Carolina, she might have relatives who lived close by. He would get more information out of her once he got home.

You fucked it up again, you damned idiot!

“Shut up old man, I ain’t got time for you.”

In his rear-view mirror, Fischer saw the black SUV turn off, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Still, he kept checking behind to see if any cars kept reappearing. If the guy watching the market had been a cop, there would be others—cops are like snakes, always traveling in pairs.

Fischer wanted to settle back and enjoy the drive, but the old man’s incessant raving was bringing on a major headache.

If that friggin’ Jesus freak had given me one more half-wit like you, I coulda opened my own school for simpletons.

Fischer slid into the right lane. He was upset because he did his best thinking while behind the wheel, and he wanted to plan how he was going to change things; the old man’s constant badgering made it impossible.

Hey, dummy, how about first you do something with this truck?

Fischer snarled and tried to focus on the road. He slammed his fist on the console between the two seats; if anything pissed him off more than having the old man rave at him, it was when the bastard was right. He made a note to toss the truck’s stolen plates as soon as he got home.

I told you that you had to stop. Now it seems you took one that somebody still gives a fuck about. They’ll be closing in on you.

“Shut the fuck up, old man. I got enough to deal with without you ragging on me.”

Have it your way, Willard. But it’s only a matter of time now. I hope you don’t have any delusions that the woman—

“Her name’s Cheryl.”

Whatever. Don’t think for a second that she won’t turn on you like a rabid dog.

Fischer drove in silence. He thought, Maybe he’s right . . . maybe it’s time for me to deal with Cheryl and get another woman.