The redheaded kid with the gun snickered. The bald man told him to shut the fuck up.

“Youth,” I said.

“Your services are terminated in Blackburn,” he said.

“Yikes.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Push it. You have no idea the kinda people you’re pissing off.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “I have a pretty good idea of the people I’m pissing off. I have a list. Would you like me to write a note back to Mr. Talos?”

Baldy looked at me, eyes narrowing. He was learning or just looked confused. Of course, he probably always looked confused. But I don’t think he knew who I was talking about. I didn’t think the guy was good enough to feign ignorance. He was too good at conveying the real thing.

“Jimmy.”

The redheaded kid stood holding the gun. The senior gentleman with the gray curly hair pushed himself off the wall. They walked toward my desk.

“I know you,” I said, snapping my fingers at the old guy. “You were in the Mickey Mouse Club. You, Cubby, and Annette. Wow. Brings back some real memories.”

“I worked for Joe Broz,” he said. “The man hated your fucking guts.”

“And now he’s dead,” I said. “Who said there’s no such thing as karma?”

“He was a good man,” he said. “Open your mouth again and I’ll shoot you in the fucking nuts.”

“Hold on,” I said, reaching for my yellow legal pad and a pen. I did so with my left hand, using my right to open up the drawer. I awkwardly picked up the pen and reached into the drawer for my .357. “First off, stay out of Blackburn. Second, don’t open my mouth. Is there a third request?”

“Hey,” the redhead said. “He’s got it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the bald man said.

The boy had a gun but he held it loose by his right leg. The gray-headed thug began to reach into his jacket. I grabbed the Magnum and pointed it dead center of the main guy. I began to whistle a sad rendition of the Mickey Mouse Club song. I let go of the pen with my left hand and began to wave. “See you real soon.”

The big man with the shaved head swallowed. He stood there and breathed.

“You know me, Cubby,” I said. “Tell him this isn’t a bluff.”

“Nope,” the gray-headed man said.

“Stay out of Blackburn,” Baldy said.

I kept on whistling. “Why? Because we like you.”

“This guy is fucking nuts,” the redhead said. “Old dude is nuts.”

“Drop the gun, kid,” I said. My eyes flicked over each one of them. The kid smiled but soon the smile dropped. He let go of the automatic. It clattered to the floor.

“Now, all of you walk out the door and go away,” I said. “I’ll need to fumigate the place after you’re gone.”

The big man spit on my floor and tromped out. The gray-headed man smirked and winked at me before following. The kid stood like a deer in headlights, unsure whether to leave the gun or not. I leveled an unpleasant stare at him, gun in hand, as I heard the men’s heavy footsteps move down the hall.

He said, “Shit,” and turned and left.

When I spotted them on Berkeley getting into a large black SUV, I set the .357 on the table. I couldn’t see the tag number and knew I wasn’t fast enough to run down to my car and follow.

Besides, I knew they’d soon be back.

23

Susan and I went for another walk, this time in Cambridge. We had followed Mass Avenue from Linnaean Street, past the park and the Old Burying Grounds. A lot of the snow had melted in select spots, and you could see actual grass among the crooked tombstones. We crossed into Harvard Yard through the stately brick buildings and by the big bronze statue of John Harvard. It was dark, and the classroom and office lights made a checkerboard pattern in the dark.

Pearl did her business as soon as we walked under the iron gates, seeming to make sure not to desecrate the hallowed ground. We came out on Brattle Street and headed back from whence we came. On the return, I had the inspired idea to order a pizza with mushrooms and peppers.

I told Susan while we walked about what I’d learned about MCC and Minos Inc., and from Bill Barke. I mentioned a little about my run-in that afternoon with three men. I told her my funniest lines, but she didn’t laugh.

“They brought guns into your office.”

“They weren’t the first,” I said. “Won’t be the last.”

“But they threatened you.”

“Well,” I said. “Yeah. It’s what guys like that do.”

“And I’m sure you called the police?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t do any good,” I said. “I don’t know who they are. And I didn’t have much to offer the police.”

“You could call Quirk.”

“I use that contact sparingly.”

“When someone dies.”

“Always the best time for Quirk.”

We strolled for a little bit with Pearl. Pearl Two was about ninety-nine percent muscle, and had I decided to hook her up to a sled, we could’ve ridden in style to Susan’s. But I kept her on a tight leash, trying to look dignified in an old sweatsuit and watch cap. Susan had on black leggings and jogging shoes, and a big black puffy coat over a sweatshirt. She wore a slouchy gray hat like nobody’s business.

“When does Z get back?” she said.

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course, you could call Hawk.”

“The idea had crossed my mind,” I said. “But I don’t think a few knuckleheads merit reaching out to Hawk. He might make fun of me.”

“Is he in town?”

“Yep.”

“And when does the situation merit it?”

“If matters escalate.”

“What if they escalate without you knowing it?”

“These guys were semi-pro,” I said. “One of them had been a garbage collector for Joe Broz.”

“Who do they work for now?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Things aren’t as clear as they used to be. You used to know who was who and what crew they ran with. If you were Italian or Irish or black, that gave you a little idea of the neighborhood. But color, race, ethnicity is of little consequence anymore.”

“Progress.”

“Yep,” I said. “The hoods have finally integrated in Boston.”

“Whoopee,” Susan said.

“But if it were my guess, I hear there is a shake-up in the city. I think some of the men who shall remain nameless in Providence are setting up more branch offices in the North End.”

“Really?”

“That’s the word,” I said. “I heard it from a blind shoeshine man outside a Falafel King downtown.”

“That’s solid.”

“You bet.”

We walked farther up Commonwealth. The sidewalks were clean of ice and snow, and for a moment I realized spring would be here soon.

“Why would some hoods from the North End be involved with a judge in Blackburn?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“I’ll go with money,” I said. “When in doubt, go with the money.”

“And how is the boy?”

“On the island,” I said. “Megan Mullen thinks she can get the ruling overturned. But that’ll take some time.”

“Could you go out and see him?” she said. “See how he is?”

“I’d have to rent a boat and break into the facility,” I said. “I tried to have a friendly sit-down with the company CEO, but he was away from the office. I was shuffled off to a happy plump woman who spoke in platitudes. All further calls to the CEO were unreturned.”

“Has his mother seen him?”

“No.”

“Can she speak to him?”

“They talk once a week,” I said. “Phone calls are limited to fifteen minutes. They’re also monitored.”

“So she has really no idea how he’s doing.”

“Nope.”

“That must be horrible.”

“She’s pretty upset,” I said. “As you can imagine.”

We finally made it to Linnaean and walked up the steps of Susan’s Victorian, where she lived and kept her practice. Pearl jumped up the steps as if ready to repeat the entire walk. I held on to the bannister and stretched out my leg. There was a neat little sign by the front door that noted SUSAN SILVERMAN. PSYCHOTHERAPIST.