Devine's Providence: A Novel Read online

  We pulled apart and I knew she felt the nothingness too. I looked over at the thug out of the corner of my eye but he was looking away.

  “You look ridiculous, in those glasses at night,” I said.

  “Want me to take them off?” she said. “Show off my black eye? I’m sure you’ll become real popular, real quick, sitting here with me.”

  I nodded toward our target table. Mr. Gold was getting up and leaving, but he left a folded up piece of paper on the table between them. After a beat, Mr. Ugly picked it up without looking, put it in his pocket, and left in the opposite direction, continuing down the sidewalk of Atwells Ave.

  “Time to go,” I said, standing up. Chelsea held onto my arm.

  “Harry,” she said, “are we…good?”

  I sighed.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t let you go through with whatever you’re planning. You know that, right?”

  “I know you wouldn’t,” she said. “That’s what I like about you.”

  “Let’s just see what this guy’s up to. He may lead us to some answers.”

  “You should really be in a hospital by now.”

  “I’ll be fine for a bit,” I said. “If we can at least find out who hired him, we’ll have a little more information to hand over to the feds.”

  Chelsea didn’t agree, but she didn’t protest either.

  We walked after the thug, with me leaning on Chelsea a bit for support. It looked as romantic as every other couple strolling the Ave, but for me it was more out of necessity. We managed to not get too far behind, and was able to keep track of him in the crowd.

  Until, that is, we approached a cross street where a cop was directing traffic around pedestrians. The thug made it across the street, but the cop stopped us just as we were about to cross, letting the piled up cars drive by first.

  Naturally, the cops that took first pick for this kind of easy overtime detail were the older cops that have been on the job the longest. Like since I was.

  “Harry!” said the cop when he recognized me. “How are you, buddy? Geez louise, I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age!”

  “Hey…pal,” I said. Between the pain, and all of the attacks on my senses that Federal Hill threw at me, my brain was as good as mush. I could not think of this guy’s name.

  “What are you up to, Harry? Enjoying the night?”

  “Sure are, but really just trying to get home—”

  “I tell ya, where does the time go? You know Lisa’s pregnant? I’m gonna be a grandpa!”

  I had already lost sight of the thug.

  “That’s great, buddy. I’d love to catch up, but we really—”

  “Oh! Did you hear Bill’s retiring? And he always said he never would, can you believe that?”

  “I don’t know who Bill is, but good for him. Now excuse us—”

  “Ha! Same old Harry. What a card!” He turned to Chelsea. “Isn’t he a card? Why, I remember this one time—”

  “WE NEED TO GO!”

  My shouting cut him off mid-sentence. He looked hurt, but I was too worked up to care.

  “Yeah, of course, Harry,” he said stoically. “Let me just stop these cars for you.”

  Just then his police radio crackled to life.

  “Attention all units, 10-35 reported at Fratelli Brothers Deli on Atwells, multiple victims. Proceed with caution.”

  He waved us across the street, responding softly into the transmitter on his shoulder. As we passed, he grabbed my arm.

  “It was good to see you, Harry,” he said slowly. His smile was gone, and he spoke with an earnest, quiet tone. “I’m sorry I caught you on a bad night.”

  I mumbled an apology back but we were quickly across the street and resuming our lookout for Mr. Ugly.

  “What’s a 10-35?” asked Chelsea.

  “Criminal homicide,” I said.

  “Multiple victims? Did you hear that?”

  I nodded, but didn’t want to think of what that meant for Slim. Not good, no matter what. Teddy Rocco not surviving the night wouldn’t be a surprise, something I felt a reluctant pang of guilt about. But as far as I knew, Slim was in good standing with the Commission; they wouldn’t have knocked him off for no reason. And they most definitely wouldn’t have left the bodies behind. Someone likely got to the deli before the bosses.

  Someone investigating, oh I don’t know, a bunch of guys screaming and fighting, perhaps?

  I pushed the thought out of my head. That was something best dwelled upon on my own time, and I had too much to worry about already.

  There was no sign of our mark. After walking a couple of blocks, we stopped. I walked a few steps ahead of Chelsea and scanned the crowd in front of us.

  “It’s no use,” I said. “He’s long gone.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Chelsea from behind me. I turned around to see the very guy we were looking for. A big, smug grin was plastered to his face. He had one lumber-sized arm around Chelsea’s shoulders.

  “Looking for me?” he said.

  “Jesus,” I said. “How did you…”

  “Guess you didn’t get the message the first time,” he snarled. “But how lucky for me you brought along Providence’s most wanted here.”

  He gave a squeeze to Chelsea, her face squinting up with revolt. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her tighter. My hand clenched into a fist. The crowd kept walking past, skirting around us, dozens of people blissfully ignorant of what was going on.

  “Let her go,” I said. The thug let out a gravely laugh.

  “Or what?” he asked. “Nah, I’m calling the shots now. Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

  The pain in my abdomen was forgotten as adrenaline pumped through my body. I glared at the thug, wanting to knock his smirk right off his marred face. But Chelsea caught my gaze and shook her said.

  “Harry, don’t,” she said. “Let’s just go with him.”

  “Atta girl,” he said, leading her down the sidewalk.

  I rushed to catch up with them, walking on the other side of him. He put his hand on the back of my neck. I winced under the pressure, but he managed to still look like the three of us were strolling along in a friendly embrace. The crowd instinctively parted as they saw the big lug coming, as if he were Moses leading us to freedom.

  Or to slaughter.

  “I gotta hand it to you, Devine,” he said, chuckling. “I ain’t ever been thrown up on in the middle of a fight before.”

  “It’s my signature move,” I said dryly. “So watch it—I had sushi for lunch, and I’m not afraid to lose it.”

  He laughed politely.

  “That was really something. I was lucky the chief came along to check up on me when he did.”

  “The chief?” I said. “Wait…that was Delgado that knocked me out?”

  “Oops…you mean you didn’t see him?” he said. “He thought you did. Aw, son of a bitch. Ah, well. Not that it matters now, but yeah. I tell ya, I usually hate it when they hire me to do a job and then come along and watch over my shoulder. Don’t like being micromanaged. But I was glad he was there once you started blowing chunks in my face.”

  “So what’s the game here, friend?” I asked. “Turn us both over to the cops on some made-up charges? Stage our deaths to look like a robbery gone wrong? Or just bury us out in the middle of the woods?”

  “Don’t give him any ideas, would you Harry?” said Chelsea.

  The thug laughed again, and turned us down a narrow, empty alley in between two restaurants.

  “Oh, they got big ideas for you two,” he said. “And I am going to get a serious bonus for being the one to find youse. Especially the dame.”

  He led us halfway down the alley, turned over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking, and then threw us face forward against t
he brick wall.

  The forgotten pain of my stab wound came rushing back all at once.

  “Don’t move,” he growled. “Gotta make a phone call. Be good and I won’t have to hurt you.”

  He sounds like my father.

  I turned my head and looked at Chelsea. There was a rustling behind us as the thug fumbled with his cell phone.

  “What’s the plan?” whispered Chelsea.

  I shrugged. He was big and sturdy. And even though we outnumbered him, there wasn’t much we could do to get away. Especially in my state.

  “Yeah,” he was saying into the phone. “Gonna need a ride. Got some goods coming in.”

  Chelsea glanced back at him.

  I prayed she wasn’t going to try to do anything stupid. He must have caught her looking.

  “What’re you lookin’ at, princess? Eyes back on—oof!”

  The thug slammed face-first into the wall between us and collapsed to the ground. We turned around to see Zachetti behind us from where he had whapped the butt end of his gun over the thug’s head.

  “Took your sweet-ass time,” said Chelsea.

  “How the hell were you able to sneak up on anyone?” I asked.

  “No, please,” he said, “enough with the fucking gratitude. It’s embarrassing.”

  The thug wasn’t completely out, just dazed. We grabbed his arms and I held them behind his back while Zachetti cuffed him.

  It took both of us to lift him to his feet and lead him out the back of the alley to Zachetti’s SUV. It took all three of us to throw him in the backseat and make sure his limbs were all contained inside before slamming the door.

  “Okay,” I said, leaning against the vehicle. “Now what the hell do we do?”

  “Get you to that hospital,” said Chelsea.

  “What about this goombah?” I asked.

  “He’s as good as arrested,” said Chelsea to Zachetti. “Can’t you just bring him in?”

  “That’s risky,” I said. “Chief Delgado hired him personally. We’ll have bigger targets on our back than we do already.”

  “Well we sure as fuck can’t just leave him in my car,” said Zachetti.

  “Just drive out and drop him somewhere?” I asked.

  “He probably has some more information,” said Chelsea. “About Marc’s murder. And maybe even the Temple connection.”

  “So, what then…” I said. “You want to interrogate him?”

  “Might be pretty useful,” she said.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” said Zachetti.

  “What else are we going to do?” I asked. “We’re stuck with him. May as well use him.”

  “Well we can’t risk taking him down to the War Room,” he said.

  “Agreed,” said Chelsea.

  I rubbed my chin.

  “I think I may have an idea,” I said, looking at Zachetti. “How about a drink?”

  Chelsea scoffed, but Zachetti nodded.

  “I think I know just the watering hole,” he said.

  Chapter 22

  SHAKEDOWN

  The back room of Rick’s Bar & Grille used to be the preferred gathering spot for cops before weddings, after wakes and most Wednesdays. When the cops left Rick’s, the life left the back room. Used mostly now for storage, the entire space was coated in a thick layer of dust, from the faded Boston Celtics pennants hanging over the small bar, to the sticky faux-wood café tables piled up on top of each other in the corner.

  Cobwebs were strewn outward from a disco ball in the center of the room, which was missing a good deal of its reflective tiles. A large jukebox sat dormant against the wall, the old kind with actual records selected from a robotic arm and placed on a real turntable. Strips of light made their way in from the yellow streetlights outside, through the metal bars on the wide and short windows high up on the walls, and onto the dingy green and once-white checkered tiles on the floor.

  Zachetti had gone in through the front, and soon appeared with Charlie the bartender in the alleyway out back to let us in. The thug hadn’t stayed dazed and confused for long, and we had to bind his legs together and gag him with a handkerchief to subdue his struggling. That had proved to be quite the ordeal, and had left the three of us winded.

  We somehow managed to get Mr. Ugly out of the SUV and onto a chair in the alleyway. Zachetti, with all of our help, carefully rearranged his cuffs behind his back to link him to the chair, and Charlie emerged with a handtruck for us to cart him inside.

  Just like Hannibal Lecter.

  We set him down in the middle of the room. Charlie wordlessly closed up the door behind us and flipped on the lights, before disappearing back into the main bar area. No questions, no comments. Routine police business, he must have figured. Zachetti emptied the thug’s pockets and placed his belongings on the bar. We stood out of earshot of our newly kidnapped guest.

  “Never thought I’d be in this situation again,” I said.

  “I’m telling you both right now,” said Zachetti, “I don’t like this. Not one bit. We keep digging this hole deeper and deeper.”

  “Just a little questioning,” I said, “then we’ll drop him somewhere and be on our way.”

  “On our way where, exactly?” he whispered hoarsely. “He’s going to get it back to Delgado that Chelsea’s here, that you’re still snooping around, and worst of all that I’m involved. This is a terrible idea, Harry, and you know it.”

  “We didn’t really have a choice, did we?” I said. “He got the drop on us. It’s either this, or he turned us all in anyway. We’d be as good as wearing cement shoes halfway between here and Nantucket by now.”

  “Fucked,” said Zachetti. “This is all fucked. We should have just gone to the feds already.”

  “We’re going to have to now,” I said. “We’ll get what we can from the goon and then make the call. Then get me to a proper healthcare facility.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Chelsea.

  I stared at her incredulously.

  “Chelsea, we’ve run out of other options,” I said. “This is the final scene. We’re done after this. Game over.”

  “Give me just a few more days,” she said. “Please. We’re so close.”

  “Jesus Christ, Chelsea,” I said. “We don’t have a few more days! We’re out of time. Once we cut this guy loose, we’re officially on the run. All three of us. Probably all bunking together in Terry’s basement until further notice.”

  “What if…” she spoke hesitantly. Zachetti closed his eyes, as if he knew what she was going to say. “…What if we don’t cut him loose?”

  “Don’t cut him loose?” I said, “Chelsea, we can’t keep him back here forever. We’re lucky Charlie’s looking the other way just bringing him here at all.”

  Zachetti exhaled loudly through his nose, shaking his head, his eyes still closed.

  “Wait,” I said, “You don’t mean…fuck, Chelsea, we’re not killing anybody!”

  “It would get us out of a jam,” she said.

  “You cannot be serious,” I said, practically shouting. “How could you even consider that? We’re better than that!”

  “You don’t know that. Maybe we’re not. At least not me.”

  “We’d still be facing major trouble. You still have the entire city after you.”

  “It’ll buy us more time.”

  “I’m not taking someone’s life just to postpone the inevitable.”

  “Enough!” shouted Zachetti. The thug looked up at us. Zachetti lowered his voice again. “It’s been a wild ride, but this is where I get off. I’m out.”

  “What do you mean you’re out?” I asked.

  “I mean I’m done with this shit. I’m walking away right now.”

  “You’re in too deep to walk away now, Lieutenant,” said Chelsea.

  “
Like fuck I am. Fucking watch me. Look, Harry, I want to help, and I want justice, really I do. What happened to Winters is wrong. What’s happening in this whole fucking city is wrong. But this…this is too much. Assault, kidnapping, and now you’re talking murder? Fucking fuck this fuckity-fucking shit, you fucking fuck fuckers.”

  It was a lot of f-bombs, even for Zachetti, which was fucking saying something.

  I think he’s upset.

  “I got too much to lose,” he went on. “I can’t be wrapped up in this. Not anymore. I wish you both all the best. But please, leave me the fuck out of it.”

  He swung the connecting door open and left through the front bar.

  “Great,” I said. I stuck my finger in Chelsea’s face. “I’m not going to be a party to this much longer, either. This is a catch-and-release mission. Got it?”

  “Whatever,” she sighed. “Let’s see what we can find out, then we’ll talk about it later.”

  Good Lord. This woman does not give up.

  And to think, it was a quality of hers I had admired until I found myself at odds with it.

  I started going through the thug’s belongings. Chelsea went behind the bar and picked up a dusty Jameson bottle. She looked at the glassware but couldn’t find any clean, so she wiped off the neck and took a swig straight from the bottle.

  “Really?” I said.

  “It’s almost empty, anyway,” she shrugged. “What’d he have on him?”

  “Keys. Cell phone—locked. Wallet—name’s Bruce Cortona according to his license. And this.”

  I unfolded the piece of paper that had been handed off to him at the café on the Hill. There was a single name scrawled on it with an address underneath.

  “Shit,” I said. I held up the paper for Chelsea to see. She read the name aloud.

  “Theresa Prescott…oh my God, Terry?”

  I went over to Bruce and untied his gag. He immediately spat in my face. I backhanded his, but he laughed at the lack of effect.

  “All right, asshole” I said. “Time to talk.”

  “I ain’t saying nothing. You have no idea what you’re messing with.”

  I held up the paper with Terry’s name and address.