24

Shiloh appeared nonchalant, and O’Leary knew that his demeanor was a front. The pimp had never before been to the Claddagh Pub and had to be as anxious as a sewer rat in a bright light. O’Leary had not said a word since Shiloh shuffled into the office.

“Shy, how you doing?”

“Okay. We haven’t seen each other this much in years, Jimmy.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth? I was over at the Chelsea docks a few nights back collecting some money owed to me.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Probably nothing. However, I think you may have something I need.”

“What could I have that you’d need?”

“Information.”

“We been over this before. I don’t know anything except what I told you about the missing whores.”

“What do you know about illegal immigrants?”

“You need some landscaping done?”

“Don’t fuck around, Shy. I was on a ship that looked like it was set up for more than cargo. Now, you being black and all, I would think you’d have some feelings about slavery.”

“If it’s white slavery, I’d say it’s about time.”

O’Leary slammed his fist on the top of his desk. “Don’t yank my fucking chain, Shy. I’ve got word someone is importing women—the younger the better!”

Shiloh snapped back in his chair. He had never seen O’Leary this incensed. “This is too big even for you, Jimmy.”

“Really? Enlighten me, please.”

“This has been going on since the Soviet Union crashed. The economy over there was shit, and someone started recruiting girls—some as young as twelve and thirteen. They promise the young ones foster homes, the older ones jobs—husbands even. Anyway, here we are twenty years later, and it’s still going on. Matter of fact, it’s turned into big business for the Russian mob. They fly the girls into Mexico, and then they bring them in from there. If they’re destined for here they bring them by ship. If they’re going down South or out to LA, they use coyotes1 to smuggle them over the border with the Mexicans. Don’t you just love the shit out of NAFTA?”

“Only none of the promises are kept,” O’Leary interjected.

O’Leary lit a cigarette as the pimp continued talking. “The one about jobs is—only they aren’t secretaries to rich and powerful men as promised.”

“Let me see if I can fill in the blanks here. They’re forcing them to pay off their fare by being whores . . .”

“It wouldn’t be bad if that was all. Now this is all hearsay, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I heard they’ve even done some pornos and at least one snuff film.”

“Snuff films are a myth—there’s never been one that was proven to be real.”

“Hey, you want to know what I heard, and that’s one of the things going around.”

“Are any of these girls being forced onto the streets?”

“Hell no. They keep them in special cribs around the country. We aren’t talking fifty-buck blow jobs and no-tell-hotel quickies here. These girls, at least the lookers, are reserved for some powerful high-rollers.”

“Do you know if any of these places are local?”

“There aren’t any in Boston itself—although I believe there’s one close by, possibly on the Cape. They like them outside the city in remote areas. Like I said, the clientele ain’t the type that wants to be seen coming and going at a whorehouse.”

“Names, Shiloh. I need names if you got them.”

“Man, you shouldn’t stick your nose into this—like I said, it’s too fucking big even for you.”

“How big?”

“Nationally, they bring in about fourteen thousand girls a year—of that maybe five or six hundred a year will end up from New York north.”

“No goddamned way they can be bringing in that much flesh and staying below the radar.”

“If the people behind it control the radar, any number is possible.”

“You saying the government is involved?”

“Not officially, but people in high places are making a shitload of money.”

“Who’s the local guy?”

“Again, this is all street talk. I don’t know how reliable it is. But one name keeps coming up: D. Everette Halsey.”

“Halsey?”

“Yup, the same guy you hired when you beat the rap on those gangbangers that killed Latisha Washington.”

_________________

O’Leary and Winter entered a plush office. It was three times larger than Jimmy’s at the Claddagh Pub. Bookcases full of expensive matched-binding books lined two of the walls. Through the huge window behind D. Everette Halsey’s desk, they saw an impressive view of the water traffic in Boston Harbor and planes landing and taking off at Logan Airport. Halsey sat behind his huge maple desk, looking as regal and puffed up as a French king at court. His suit probably cost more than the average worker made in six months, and even though Halsey was sitting, not a single wrinkle was visible in the fabric.

O’Leary dropped into one of the overstuffed armchairs that fronted the desk. “Nice view.”

Winter moved beyond the desk and stood between the lawyer and his window.

Halsey cast an uncomfortable glance at Winter and then turned back to O’Leary. “I guess. I’m so busy that I don’t get much chance to enjoy it.”

O’Leary nodded even though he did not believe a word Halsey said. The man was vain if nothing else. If he were not the best criminal attorney in New England, he would not have a single friend in Boston. O’Leary thought he was an overpriced piece of fluff. Halsey was not a man to waste time unless it was billable time. His reputation was that he had never in his life pled a case out of court; there was not enough money in it.

“You want to have your boy move? He’s blocking my light.”

“Gonna look awfully fucking funny,” Winter said.

Halsey spun around in his chair. “What is?”

“Your tombstone, when it reads, ‘Here lies a fat fuck killed by a boy.’”

Halsey began to rise to his feet.

“I’d stay put if I was you,” O’Leary said. He grinned as Winter stood his ground, glaring at Halsey, who dropped back into his chair.

Halsey tried to save face by staring Winter down for a few seconds. Once he felt that he had sufficiently regained his lordly image, he turned to O’Leary and said, “So, Jimmy, what brings you here? I doubt you came by to partake of the view.”

“I need a favor.”

Halsey looked surprised. “You surprise me. You’re in the business of granting favors, not asking for them.”

“Well, this time I’m the one in need.”

“You name it, Jimmy. If I can help, I’ll be glad to.”

“I got some business men coming into town . . . people who could be instrumental in making a lot of money for me. You get my drift?”

Halsey leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. O’Leary knew he had just appealed to Halsey where he lived—in his wallet. No doubt, any favor the lawyer did for him would be, in the long term, expensive.

“If what you’re about to ask is illegal, I can’t be a part of it.”

“Listen to what I need before you get all worked up, okay?”

“Alright, that’s the least I can do.”

“Fucking right,” O’Leary said. “After all, I made several monthly payments on your yacht last year.”

“Cheaper than twenty-five to life, and if I remember correctly, we were looking at multiple counts. Four or five wasn’t it?”

“I’m not complaining about it—just reminding you that I paid you a pretty hefty fee.”

Halsey smiled. “If I recall how it all turned out, I was worth every penny.”

“Come on, Everette, let’s stop the shit. I’m serious here.”

“Alright, what is it you need?”

“From time to time, you and I deal with some pretty high rollers.”

Halsey’s pig eyes bored into O’Leary. He listened intently.

“The guys I got coming to town,” O’Leary continued, “they like to be entertained. You understand where I’m coming from?”

“I think I know where you’re going. I’m not a pimp. I would think you’re in a better position to know them than I am.”

“Everybody’s a pimp if the price is right,” Winter said.

Halsey snapped back in his chair as if slapped.

“Who is this gentleman?” Halsey asked O’Leary.

“Someone you don’t want to fuck with. You’ll get hurt bad no matter how much money, influence, and power you got.”

“Really?”

“Really. See money and that other shit only works on people who got something to lose or people who want to live. Now Gordon here, he doesn’t give a damn about anything. He’ll come at you with a vengeance. He’ll get you, too, because he has this unique quality—he ain’t afraid of dying.”

Throughout O’Leary’s little speech, Winter remained stoic, giving Halsey as much attention as he would an ant on a sidewalk. O’Leary knew Halsey would come around the minute he saw Winter stare into the attorney’s eyes with his face expressionless. He almost smiled when he saw uncertainty on the lawyer’s face. He did smile when Halsey turned back to the front, avoiding Winter’s cold stare.

“Now, back to the business at hand,” O’Leary said. “I got a lot of contacts in this town, as you well know. My contacts tell me that you know ways that people with more money than morals can be entertained. My associates are interested.”

“I may know some people,” Halsey said, still trying to keep an eye on Winter without seeming obvious or showing how nervous he was.

O’Leary said, “See, Gordon, I told you ol’ Everette would be the man with the plan. My business associates have specific tastes: young white girls, attractive, and willing to do anything. Price is no object.”

Halsey looked suspicious. “You wired?”

“Me? Do I look like a fuckin’ radio station—Gordon, am I wired?”

“Don’t know, but you did have three cups of coffee this morning. That’s usually enough.”

O’Leary smiled like a used car salesman approaching a potential customer. “You want I should strip, Everette? I’ll do it—right here, right now. But when you see I ain’t wired, I’m gonna turn Gordon loose on your fat ass.”

Halsey began to sweat. “I believe you. Jesus, Jimmy, I got to be careful, too.”

“All bullshit aside, you gonna help me out?”

“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

O’Leary stood up. “I’m looking at a high eight-figure deal here, Everette. It could be as much as eighty, ninety mill. It would be worth, say, ten percent—might go as high as fifteen if the service is exemplary.”

O’Leary saw Halsey’s greed take over. The fat bastard had a calculator for a mind, and he was no doubt computing fifteen percent—no way Halsey would settle for the lesser price—of eight or nine million, especially if all he had to do was give up a name. “It may take a few days.”

“Well, don’t screw around. My people are due in town next weekend, and I’d like something arranged for that Saturday.”

“Where can I reach you?”

“You have my usual numbers.”

_________________

O’Leary and Winter walked out of the high-rise office building and onto Atlantic Avenue. The bright sun hurt their eyes, and they put on sunglasses.

“Think he’ll come through?” Winter asked.

“Halsey would sell his mother to a psycho for a shot at a million bucks. I got a hundred that says he’s on the phone right now.”

 

1 Coyote: Smuggler who brings illegal aliens from Mexico to the United States.