“What the fuck?”

“Don’t be angry,” I said. “We can do something about those roots.”

He started to close the door. I wedged my steel-toed Red Wing into the threshold. I aimed my .38 into his stomach. “How about you invite me inside,” I said. “I have so much to show you.”

“Hey,” he said, very loud.

“Keep it down,” I said. “This is a very special offer. Just for you.”

He tried to pull a gun. I punched him in the gut and took it away from him and marched him backward into the narrow hallway.

The antique floors had been stained very dark and recently sealed. The walls were Sheetrocked and newly painted. The rest of the house was empty besides a card table, some folding chairs, and a big green Celtics flag that said Believe in Boston.

I told Blondie to sit down.

Z and Hawk walked Hoodie into the room. His Bruins sweatshirt was covered in blood and he was holding his nose. Hawk did not tell him to sit. But he sat anyway. His hood was up, which made him look monkish and ridiculous for a man of his age.

“Money is in the kitchen,” Hawk said.

Z walked upstairs, gun drawn, and came back. He shook his head. “No kid,” he said. “Lots of dope.” Z headed into the kitchen and quickly returned, tossing the workout bag stuffed with Kinjo’s money onto the wooden floor.

“Where’s Akira?” I said.

“Who?” Blondie said.

Hoodie just shook his head and said, “Shit.”

I hit Blondie very hard in the mouth with an overhand right. He toppled from the chair and ended up on all fours. I kicked him hard in the gut and he fell onto his back. Hawk made a tsk-tsk gesture.

“My teeth,” Blondie said. “You knocked out my front teeth.”

“Do make it hard to whistle,” Hawk said.

I said, “Maybe the tooth fairy will come through.”

Blondie poised to get back on his feet. Hoodie stayed seated, wide-eyed and watching all three of us. Hawk had the man’s gun on his waist now. Hoodie just shook his head, attentive yet confused at what he was seeing. Z stood by the card table, arms folded across his chest.

“How about you?” I said to Hoodie.

“We ain’t got the kid,” Hoodie said. “We ain’t got the kid. Never fucking had the kid.”

He blurted it out as if he needed to push all the air from his lungs. Blondie got to his feet. He shook his head with great disappointment for his partner. Hoodie held on to his bleeding nose.

“Where’d your buddy go?” Z said.

“Getting some food,” Hoodie said. “You know, to celebrate.”

Z got down on one knee and pulled out bundles of cash in the bag. When he noted it was all there, he nodded at me.

“Did you ever have the kid?” I said.

No one said a word. Blondie spit on the ground and shook his head. He had a large gap where his two front teeth used to be. His mouth was very bloody. He stayed silent. Hoodie shook his head.

“I’m not convinced,” I said, turning to Hawk. “You?”

Hawk stepped up to Hoodie. Hoodie flinched and covered his head. Between his face and the front of his shirt he was a real mess. “Come on. Come on.”

Hawk feinted at him. Hoodie flinched and recoiled. Hawk stepped back.

“Shit,” Hawk said. “These boys aren’t worth the trouble.”

“Yep.”

There was a knock at the door. Z pushed Blondie into the seat next to his friend. I put a finger to my lips, only the sound of ragged breathing in the room and the soft clicking of rain against the glass. I looked through the peephole, pulled my S&W, and cracked open the door. I motioned to the juiced-up gorilla in the pink T-shirt who was using both hands to carry a box of Dunkin’ Donuts and a tray of coffees.

“Put it on the table.”

“What the fuck, man,” the gorilla said. “What the fuck?”

I took a nifty little .32 auto out of the front of his pants. I looked at Hawk.

“Little gun,” Hawk said. He held his .44 in his right hand.

Z pulled out another chair, gripped the man’s shoulder, and tried to force him to sit with his bleeding friends. Gorilla lunged at Z, and Z hit him very hard in the gut. Gorilla bent at the waist and tried to suck in a lot of air that wouldn’t come. He reached for his knees and Z knocked him on his ass.

Soon the trio sat before us in the folding chairs.

“I have an idea,” I said, pointing at each of them. “You cover your eyes, you cover your ears, and you cover your mouth.”

“We ain’t got the kid,” Hoodie said.

“We heard about it on the news,” Blondie said. “We figured it wouldn’t hurt no one. That nigger’s got a lot of money.”

Hawk whipped his head around and studied Blondie. He reached out and snatched a big handful of bleached hair. “Come again?”

“I don’t mean nothin’ by it,” Blondie said. “But the guy is a millionaire. He signed a freakin’ ten-million deal. So we get some. We’d never take a fucking kid.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Z walked over to the table and opened the donut box. Half glazed and half chocolate. He handed a coffee to me and one to Hawk. There were little packets of sugar and cream containers in a bag. I added some to the coffee.

“Silver lining to everything,” Z said.

I nodded. “How much dope is upstairs?”

“Not Tony Montana,” Z said. “But dealing near a playground won’t look good in court.”

I shook my head with disappointment at the morons in front of me. Z hoisted Kinjo’s cash up on his shoulder and made for the back door. I dialed Quirk and told him we had something the department might want to see. The juiced-up gorilla opened his mouth as if about to speak. But he seemed to think better of it and stayed quiet.

“What the hell?” Quirk said.

“Just pass along this address to the drug unit,” I said. “Consider it a gift.”

31

That evening, I returned to Chestnut Hill with Susan Silverman.

I had to tell Kinjo and Nicole that they’d been conned, and that, in fact, after four days, no one had contacted the family about Akira. He was simply missing.

“Will they talk with me?” Susan said.

“Worth a shot,” I said.

“Did the state police provide their own therapist?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And how did that go?”

“Not well,” I said. “Nicole Heywood unleashed a torrent of expletives.”

“And why will I do better?”

“Besides you being a hot Jewess with a taut, athletic body?”

“Yes.”

“Because, Suze, you’re damn good at this stuff.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I am.”

I had to park nearly a half-mile away because of the news crews and onlookers, sports fanatics and nutcases. Not to mention the probable assortment of Hare Krishnas, Moonies, and those who follow Glenn Beck.

Susan and I hiked up Heath Street, Susan with little effort. I with a little effort. Of course I had been up all night and had to talk some sense into some faux-kidnappers.

The cops all knew me. Even the press who didn’t know me greeted me on sight. Some kid across from the Heywoods had set up a lemonade stand. The hand-painted sign read a portion of the proceeds would go for a welcome-home party for Akira.

A young cop opened the front door and we walked into silence.

The large house was even more of a mess than before. Anytime you have that many cops in a mansion with free food, the results would be ugly. Lots of paper plates and foam coffee cups. More laptop computers on the glass table. More cops milling about outside. More phone lines trailing through the center of the house. Four televisions brought into the family room tuned to two news channels and two ESPN channels.

Kinjo was nowhere to be found. Lundquist looked up from where he sat with a couple of detectives. He looked less than enthused to see me.

I shook his hand. He greeted Susan warmly.

“Figured she might help a little.”