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“You’re what?” Big Lou said. We were sitting in a booth at his restaurant in the North End. I was finally trying the tiramisu. I wasn’t sure about the world’s best, but it was pretty darn good.
“How can you be working with Eddie Garavito?” he said before I had an opportunity to swallow the tiramisu and answer.
“It appears we have a common interest,” I said.
Big Lou snorted. “I find it hard to imagine you have any common interest with a guy like Eddie Garavito.”
“I sometimes have a common interest with you.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Hold the phone a minute.” Big Lou held up his pudgy little hand. “I may have some business interests I don’t disclose to the government, but I’m no thug like Garavito. I certainly don’t go around killing people.”
“Word on the street not that long ago is you would beat your own grandmother if she owed you money.”
“Vicious lies,” he said.
“Or stories you planted to gain street cred?” I said.
“No comment.”
“Have you ever heard the saying about the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“Sure,” he said. “An old proverb or something.”
“From around the fourth century BC,” I said.
“Whoopdido,” Big Lou said as he waved his little hand around. His Rolex slid around on his tiny wrist.
“Listen, I don’t like the idea of cooperating with Garavito. In fact, it makes me ill thinking about it. But I don’t see another alternative at the moment.”
“Not one that doesn’t get you killed,” Big Lou said.
“So, you see my dilemma?”
I took another bite of tiramisu.
Big Lou peered up at me. He looked like a puppy waiting for praise. “What ya think of the tiramisu?”
“It’s very good,” I said, wiping my mouth with the cloth napkin.
The restaurant sound system kicked on in preparation for the upcoming lunch crowd. Dean Martin was singing That’s Amore.
“Saying pizza pie is redundant,” I observed.
“Huh?” Big Lou said.
I took a sip of water and said, “The word pizza is Italian for pie. Saying pizza pie is like saying pie pie. Redundant.”
“I don’t get how your mind works,” Big Lou said to me.
“Few do,” I said. “But I have to admit Dino sounds good singing it.”
“I loved the old Martin and Lewis movies,” he said.
Little John walked over and seismic activity registered for the North End. He had on a button-down black shirt with a black leather tie. They matched his black slacks and a black leather jacket. He probably couldn’t see his own feet, but I could confirm he was also wearing black shoes.
“Little John,” I said with a nod of my head.
“How ya doin’, Drew?” he replied in his baritone voice. His bald head reflected the light from the ceiling.
“Rosie wants to know if she should start the pasta,” Little John said to Big Lou.
Big Lou glanced at his Rolex. “Yeah, tell her to go ahead and start the pasta.”
Little John nodded and headed back toward the kitchen.
“You don’t have him watching the door?” I said.
“I feel safe with you here.”
“What makes you think I’d protect you?”
“It’s in our common interest,” he said. “I am a useful source of information to aid in your investigative services.”
“And in the case I am working on now, Eddie Garavito has provided a useful source of information.”
“Must be some damn good information. Especially seein’ how he was just lookin’ to bump you off.”
“Does the name Mercado mean anything to you?” I asked.
Big Lou’s small eyes grew large. Like the pizza pies, redundant as they are, Dean Martin sings about. “Been a while since I heard that name.” He let out a low whistle. “He’s really bad news, Drew.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I said.
Big Lou leaned forward and rested his arms on the white and red checkered tablecloth. “You think Garavito is a bad man.” He shook his head. “Nothing compared to Mercado.”
I had polished off the tiramisu and sat back in the booth. “What can you tell me?”
“As you are aware, Garavito is one of the most dangerous guys in Boston. A ruthless killer when he needs to be. But the violence is measured. Eye for an Eye.”
I crossed my arms. “And Mercado?”
“Bat shit crazy,” Big Lou said. “He was abused as a kid. It scrambled his brains or somethin’. Fell in with a gang. Became their enforcer. He developed a taste for killing the members of rival gangs.” Big Lou sat back and spread his arms apart. “Pretty soon not even his own gang could control him.”
“What happened after that?” I said.
Big Lou shrugged. “Nobody really knows. Lots of rumors, but few facts. All I really know is that he left Boston over a decade ago. He hasn’t been seen from around here since.”
“Until now,” I said. “Garavito says Mercado was seen in town recently. The timeline and MO match the killings in my case.”
Big Lou let out a deep sigh and shook his head slowly. “Drew, you don’t want to go up against this guy.”
“You are warning about that too much lately.”
“I meant it with Garavito. Fortunately for you he’s decided Mercado is the real threat. But whether you got Garavito on your side with this or not, Mercado is a very dangerous man. Violent and crazy are a bad combination.”
“Downright lethal,” I said.
A song in Italian was now playing. I only knew a few words, but I liked the tune. It had that old-world feel of family, friends, and good wine.
“Do you know who might know more about him” I asked. “Maybe where I can find him?”
Big Lou shook his head. “No. I hadn’t even heard about him being back in Boston until you told me just now.” He paused a beat. “And even if I did, I’m not sure I would tell you.”
“See, despite your resistance, I’m growing on you. Don’t worry, it happens to the best of them.”
Big Lou ignored my comment. He hopped out of the booth and looked at me. “Let Garavito take care of Mercado.”
“I can’t do that,” I said.
“Because Garavito will kill him?”
I nodded.
“You and your ethics,” he said. “It just might get you killed.”
“I want to see him go away for the rest of his natural life. I want him to spend every day thinking about why he’s locked away. I want him to know who put him there.”
“I don’t know if Mercado thinks like that. Like I said, he’s crazy.”
“All the same,” I said. “I can’t let Garavito go around killing people.”
“You may not get a say in that.”
“He and I have an agreement.”
“If you say so,” Big Lou said.
“Too much heat for him,” I said. “Staties and the Feds are involved.”
“Be careful, Drew,” he said. “And the tiramisu is on the house.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Big Lou nodded and began greeting the lunch crowd. I watched him work the room for a few minutes. He offered lots of smiles and back slaps. He was a little guy with a big personality.
I had every reason to believe Big Lou was right about Mercado. But I never quit a case. I certainly wasn’t stepping aside to allow Boston’s criminal underworld solve it for me. One way or another, I knew the only direction this was heading was toward a confrontation with Mercado.
I’d be ready. I hoped that would be enough.