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The Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge and TD Garden were lit up as I drove past them on my way to Logan to pick up Jessica. My phone rang and the Bluetooth took over my car's audio system, interrupting Aerosmith's Dream On. Steven Tyler was about to hit his high note.
Another unknown number. Or the same unknown number Crooked Nose had called me from the other night.
“Drew Patrick,” I said. “Private investigator for all seasons.”
“Cool it Chuckles.” It was definitely Crooked Nose.
I hadn't heard a clown reference in a while.
“Calling to check up on me?” I said.
“Have you considered our offer?”
I paused a beat. “Remind me,” I said, “what offer was that?”
“The one where you stop sticking your nose in where it don't belong and we let you live.”
“I always say live and let live.”
“Only if you’ve changed your mind,” he said.
“That would be a hard pass,” I said. “I wouldn't be worth the title on my business cards if I didn't actually investigate.”
“You sure about your answer?”
“I'm sure. Thanks for calling.”
“I was pretty ticked when you destroyed our tracking device,” he said.
I switched lanes to pass a slow-moving Honda Civic. I passed on the left and got back into the right lane in front of the Civic.
“I prefer to move about freely without being monitored,” I said. “But how much was it? I can send you a check.”
“You won't live long enough to write the check.”
The phone call disconnected. When the radio returned, Sting was belting out Roxanne.
A familiar Escalade pulled up to my left. The rear passenger window slid down and a gun barrel appeared. I hit the gas and rocketed forward. I left the Civic in my dust.
The Escalade sped up and pulled in behind me. I heard the pop as my rear window shattered. I instinctively ducked, but the bullet had already lodged into my glove box.
They got out from behind me and sped past. My phone rang again. I answered.
“That was your last warning,” Crooked Nose said. He hung up and I watched as the Escalade entered the Callahan Tunnel ahead of me.
I got strange looks from the other cars in the tunnel. The noise and exhaust from the traffic invaded my car through the broken window.
There would be no choice but to tell Jessica what was going on. Unless she was so jet lagged and missed the broken window and bullet hole in my glove box.
She didn't.
We had a long conversation on the ride back from the airport about my letting the State Police continue the investigation without my assistance. I should say Jessica had that conversation. I mostly listened. Then gave her the only answer she knew I would give.
“If you won't drop the case,” she said, “at least let Pinnacle back you up. Let me back you up.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay? Really? Just like that?”
“It seems the smart move,” I said.
Jessica was silent a beat. Then she said, “I honestly didn't think you would go for it.”
I glanced over at her and said, “Eddie Garavito isn't playing around.”