Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)(57)

“I started to control my impulses just as soon as my knuckles stopped dragging on the ground.”

“These are our guys?” Glass said.

I nodded.

“Maybe if we make them nervous, at least they’ll stop burning the city,” Glass said.

“One would hope,” I said.





50


I caught Johnny Donovan at his office trailer in Southie, where he was polishing his cherry-red Chevy Blazer. I parked outside the meager gates and walked into the lot. He was wearing knee-high rubber boots and holding a dirty rag. Two teenage boys worked on the chrome wheels.

As I got closer, I noticed they were identical twins with blond hair and freckled faces. One of them toted a dirty bucket of suds. They looked up at me but continued to polish the chief’s vehicle. Nice to see dedication to such a good man like Johnny.

“Missed a spot, Johnny,” I said. “There’s bird crap on your windshield.”

Donovan just stood there, staring at me. He tossed the dirty rag onto the hood of the car and walked off into a tiny metal building. I looked at the boys. They continued to ignore me and furiously worked on the wheels. Spit and polish.

I followed Donovan into the trailer. He met me halfway, with maybe a foot between us.

“Get the f*ck outta here or I’m calling the cops.”

“I think that’s a grand idea,” I said. “Call them.”

His eyes flicked up and down. He didn’t say anything. I could hear the ragged breathing of a man not in very good shape. His skin was pasty and he had an unpleasant odor about him. Standing toe to toe made his troll-like features even more pronounced.

“My name is Spenser,” I said.

“I know who you are,” he said. “And what you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to frame me for burning that church,” he said. “You took the word of Featherstone before he killed himself. Guy had mental problems. Maybe you need to take a look at him. What kind of grown man plays with f*cking trains like some retard?”

“Hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head,” I said. “Twice.”

“Huh?”

“And I never said I was asking about the church.”

“You went out to bother Kevin Teehan at his place of work,” he said. “Featherstone never liked either of us. He couldn’t stand that we didn’t want to be Sparks. That we knew more than all those freaks combined. We support the firefighters on our own without all that silly club they’re into.”

“Teehan said he never met you.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said. “He never said that.”

“Yeah, I guess he needed help torching my building on Marlborough,” I said. “You set the alley while he set the fire by my door. Or was it the other way around? Maybe Zucco drove that white van?”

It was brief. But Donovan couldn’t help but grin. “You’re crazy,” he said. “Get outta my f*cking office.”

I looked out his small window to the concrete lot. The boys were working to clean off the windshield. They had a squeegee and Donovan’s dirty rag working over the glass. Their blond hair stuck up like straw, and they looked as if they’d arrived from Ireland a hundred years ago. The shirts and shorts they wore were threadbare. Their faces were filthy.

“Nice to have good help,” I said.

“So whatta you have?” Donovan said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his cut-off khakis. His V-neck white shirt rode up over his fattened, hairy belly. “Fucking nothing. Show me some evidence if you’re so damn good.”

“Nah, Mr. Firebug is too smart,” I said. “He’s a coward and crazy, but pretty smart. I just don’t know what’s in it for the three amigos. Fame and fortune?”

Something changed in his face. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. One of the twin boys ran into the office and told Donovan they were finished. Donovan reached into his pants and handed him a few bucks. The boy turned and left. I noted he was wearing a T-shirt that simply read FIRE RESCUE with a shamrock logo but no city and no department.

“You’ll never catch him,” Donovan said. “You or anyone in Arson. Damn right. This guy is good and he’s f*cking smart. He’ll keep burning this city until he gets the power people to pay attention. If you’d get your head outta your ass, you’ll see that we are all trying to help and find him.”

“Boston Fire doesn’t want your help.”

“They don’t want anyone’s help,” he said. He said it with so much force the veins bulged in his neck. “That’s their f*cking problem. They can’t see two feet in front of them. All that smoke has screwed up their vision.”

“Aha.”

He shook his head. “You’re looking at the wrong person,” he said. “I’d bleed for those guys.”

“I heard they reopened the case in Newton,” I said. “That family’s home you burned after you slapped a kid? I guess that was a misunderstanding, too.”

“You keep on pushing. This is f*cking harassment.”

“Where are those boys’ parents?” I said, nodding outside.

“Those kids work for me,” he said. “They needed some money. I do good in this neighborhood. People respect me.”