“I hate that guy’s guts.”

“I hate everything about him,” Dillon said. “I see him in my sleep with those purple glasses looking at me. He doesn’t care. Nobody listens. That’s just the way things are.”

“My dad will straighten it out,” the boy said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t steal anything.”

The wind came up hard off the harbor and quieted the teens for a moment. The boy could make out a long line of black rocks that protected the shore and beach and this whole damn place from floating away.

21

I met Bill Barke at the Davio’s on Arlington. He was already at the bar waiting for me, seated at the apex of the glass walls on the first floor. The bar was large and long, and within walking distance of my office. Before I sat down, I knew I’d get a lobster roll and a Harpoon draft.

Bill was about my age, with a thick head of graying hair and a mustache. He was a former college basketball player and stood a few inches taller than me. He wore glasses and a tailored suit. He was a self-made success who’d gone to a state school in Pennsylvania and had a good eye for solid character. I figured that’s why he liked me. Or perhaps it was that I’d helped him out a few years ago when a couple of thugs were trying to shake down a Boston charity he supported. Either way, we’d become friends. Just this Christmas he’d sent me a fruit basket.

“So you want to know about Bobby Talos?” He had a firm handshake and a good, knowing smile.

“Any friend of Bobby’s,” I said.

“I’m not his friend,” Bill said, smiling. “How do I put this? Talos is a real horse’s ass.”

“Any other part of the horse?”

“That part, too,” Bill said. “Especially. He took over the board of a nonprofit I respect and ran it into the ground. He was more about the party than what they supported. In one year, the charity dropped below fifty percent of contributions while expenditures had tripled.”

“Nice.”

“How about you?” Barke said. “How’d you cross paths with this son of a bitch?”

I told him about my client and Dillon Yates without mentioning the boy’s name. Most of Bill’s fund-raising work revolved around children, and he sat on the board of Jumpstart, one of the best. He listened intently as I told him a little about the situation in Blackburn and what I knew about the facility on Fortune Island.

“Talos built this place?” Barke said. “The island prison?”

“He didn’t just build it,” I said. “He owns it. Or his company, Minos Inc., does.”

“Private prisons,” Bill said. “They get our kids if we don’t get to them first.”

“Besides being a rich creep, what can you tell me?”

“Let’s order first,” Bill said. “It’s best to discuss creeps on a full stomach. You hungry?”

“Is this a trick question?”

Bill grinned. He ordered us both lobster rolls with fries and two draft beers. We drank the beer as Bill collected his thoughts. “I can make a few calls, but the overall consensus on Talos is that he does whatever needs to be done to get a project completed. With shopping malls, he has city council members, union bosses, and local thugs on speed dial.”

“That comes in handy.”

The lobster roll, even as judged by an advanced palate, was perfect. Emphasis on the lobster, not the mayo. The bread was spot-on.

“I knew his old man,” Bill said. “He was a creep, too. But he was less flashy about it. Bobby keeps a one-hundred-thirty-foot IAG Electra in a slip at the Boston Harbor Hotel.”

“That’s a boat?”

“That’s a yacht,” Bill said. “They’re bigger and nicer than any boat. I went to a party he was having out there a couple years ago. I was trying to make nice, as I thought I could influence Talos into doing the right thing on a few issues. I was at the party all of ten minutes when I saw things I ain’t never seen before.”

“Momma told you not to come.”

“You bet,” he said. “Just use your imagination. It was like a big frat party for a bunch of old fat guys.”

“Did they wear togas?” I said.

“No,” he said. “Thank God.”

“Do you know anyone who worked with him but has left the fold?” I said.

“No,” he said. “But I can ask around. You think he’s paying off this judge?”

“Yep.”

“That’ll be tough to prove,” Bill said. “I doubt they’re meeting in the Common exchanging sacks of cash.”

“You’d be surprised how sloppy people get.”

I was already half finished with the lobster roll and the beer. I tried to pace myself; I wanted to prolong the experience.

“How’s the knee?” Bill said.

“Better,” I said. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been working out at the Harbor Health Club,” Bill said. “To hear Cimoli tell it, you’re falling apart.”

“Ha,” I said. “I’ll be running again in a week. Henry’s just jealous. It’s a height thing.”

“Nobody gets out of this world without a little maintenance.”

I shrugged. I finished off the roll and drank the last of the beer.

“You want another?”

I shook my head. “Yes, but no.”

I reached for my wallet and Bill put his hand out. “On me, Spenser,” he said. “It’ll be nice for you to owe me for a change.”

“So noted.”

“Let me know what you hear about Talos,” he said. “In a town of some authentic creeps, he’s unique company to keep.”

22

When I returned to my office, I found three men waiting for me. They did not seem lost or in need of my sleuthing services. One was sitting in my chair with his feet up on my desk. Another had his back to the wall by my washbasin, and the other sat in a client chair, playing with his gun.

“You Spenser?” the man in my chair said.

“Jesus,” I said. “You come in and lean on a guy, at least you could read the lettering on the door. No, I’m Ted Lipshitz, CPA. Spenser is two doors down. But be careful. He doesn’t like illiterate dipshits putting their feet up on his desk.”

The man stood quick. Thatta boy, Spenser. Hurl the really tough insults.

He was a large man, as all leg breakers tend to be. He had a lean face and a square jaw. He had shaved his receding hair down to nearly nothing on his head and wore a black leather jacket, as did the other two guys in his crew.

“Nice jackets. Was Burlington having a sale?” I said. “Two-for-one Naugahyde?’

“I’ll cut to the chase,” the man said.

“Goody.”

I moved behind my desk and pushed in to a few inches of where he sat. He smiled, stood, and stepped back. The snug-fitting coat didn’t do much to conceal the gun he wore on his left side. I sat at the desk, flicking my eyes at the other two. The man with the gun was really more of a kid, with a freckled white face and red hair that only a mother from County Cork could love.

The man leaning against the washbasin had gray curly hair and wore dark sunglasses. He looked like a guy I may have met once. The man didn’t say anything. I edged forward, inching my hand under the desk, not far from the right-hand drawer.

“I’ll spell it out to you,” the bald guy said.

“Let me know if you need help.”

“Keep on being a wiseass and they’ll be cleaning you up off Berkeley Street with a mop.”

I nodded. “How about you say it one more time, slower. And squint your eyes. You’ll look tougher if you squint.”