Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)(23)

Kevin grabbed the paper bag and got out of the car. He walked to the west side of the building, close to Fargo. He found the wall Johnny had told him about, wood with tar paper and a pile of tires stacked eight feet high. All he had to do was light the match, get in the car, and roll on back to the first houses on Dot Ave. After all, if they didn’t show up at a fire, some of the Sparks would start to wonder.

Kevin’s heart raced and his hands shook as he set the bag next to the tire and struck the match. He got the cigarette going and ran back to the car. Two fires tonight. Johnny said they needed to do five or more tonight or it wasn’t worth squat. Really get the whole department hoppin’. From Southie to Charlestown and maybe over to Brighton. It would be beautiful, he said.

Soon they were headed back to Dot Ave, seeing flames and smelling the smoke from the triple-deckers. The scanner told them it was a working fire now. The chief had called for a second and third alarm by the time they parked a few blocks away. A ton of chatter on the scanner.

At the scene, Kevin and Johnny walked through the dozen or so Sparks watching the blaze and taking pictures. Kevin raised his hand over his eyes, seeing the two buildings burning hot and bright as promised. But also seeing a third house and an apartment building starting to smoke. It had spread. The buildings were too damn close.

Johnny saw it but didn’t seem to give a shit, talking with two jakes who’d just come out of the building sucking on oxygen. Johnny made some kind of joke and gave the boys a thumbs-up before walking away.

They stood around for the next half-hour before Kevin drove Johnny back to his own car. He’d left the red sedan parked inside a chain-link fence. The fence surrounding the little plot where he’d parked his security company trailer. The two sat there in the car, Johnny’s pit bull going nuts by the gate.

“You see them families?” Kevin said. “We should’ve been more careful. This was supposed to be political.”

“It is political,” Johnny said. “Everything is political.”

“But burning out families?” he said. “I saw ten people sitting on the curb. That old man sucking on oxygen. I don’t like how this went.”

“People have been hurt,” Johnny said. “More will have to get hurt for someone to do something.”

“Nobody’s gotten hurt,” Kevin said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Good night,” Johnny said. He got out and slammed the door.

Kevin sat there for a moment, listening to the dog bark over and over. When he began to start the car, he felt a hand on his wrist. He felt like his heart might leave his chest. It was Johnny, laughing at making him jump. “You know the best part?”

Kevin shook his head.

“Those jakes back there,” he said. “They thanked me. Thanked me for all the support. You know how that f*cking made me feel? It’s all gonna be worth it. You’ll see.”





19


After visiting the boys in Arson, I cracked my office windows that afternoon to the pleasant sound and smell of rain falling, and began to check messages. According to my service, I had eight calls from Cedar Junction, or as it’s more traditionally known, MCI Walpole.

Tommy the Torch had fine timing. I returned the call.

Prisoners don’t set their own hours, and I had time to walk down to Berkeley Street to buy a sub sandwich and chips. I made coffee and responded to a few e-mails. I ate most of the sub and cleaned off my desk. I paid a few bills. I checked the time. And then I called Susan. “Dr. Kildare here,” I said. “I’m calling to schedule in a sponge bath after a two o’clock lobotomy.”

“Are you performing your own?”

“You know ol’ Dr. Gillespie,” I said. “He’s pretty rough on me.”

“Do you have any references from after the war?”

“What can I say? I was born into the wrong era.”

I swung around and faced Berkeley. The young woman in the Houghton Mifflin Harcourt building was eating lunch at her desk, too. I offered a friendly wave in solidarity. This time she waved back.

“You better watch out,” I said. “Other women might appreciate my arcane references.”

“I doubt it.”

“Or my ability to produce a pizza later tonight.”

“Pizza sounds wonderful,” she said. “It’s been a hell of a day for shrinkage.”

“With peppers, onions, and black olives?”

She agreed and I hung up. I finished the last bit of the sub sandwich and poured some coffee. I sat at my desk and watched the rain fall for a long while.

At a quarter to five, Tommy Torch called. Actually, it was an automated voice who informed me I had a call from Cedar Junction and would I accept the charges.

“Gladly,” I said.

The automated voice didn’t understand. It asked me again.

“Yes,” I said.

Tommy was animated, talking fast but low into the mouthpiece. He informed me that if someone learned we spoke, that the gentleman might fashion his nuts into a keychain.

“Colorful,” I said.

“You unnerstand?”

“Nuts into a keychain,” I said. “That’s bad, right?”

“The guy we spoke of.”