“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I kind of figure this stuff out as I go along.”

“What if they put you in prison?”

I laughed. “That won’t happen.”

“How do you know?” he said. “They can do whatever they like. You go against them and you’ll end up in Walpole. My uncle is in Walpole now. But he should be. He killed a guy.”

I shook my head. “But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You think that freakin’ matters?”

“Scali and Callahan and these cops pick on kids because they can’t fight back,” I said. “They target kids from families without money. Or families who don’t even speak English. They’re cowards. Besides, unlike most kids, I have a very good attorney.”

Jake nodded. We walked through the historical displays or fabric, wooden spindles, and mannequins wearing very uncomfortable-looking uniforms of old. A light sleet tapped on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, Hawk was waiting for me in a nice warm car he stole for the day.

“Jeez,” he said. “For your sake, I hope your attorney is tough.”

“The judges better start wearing cups under their robes,” I said. “She knows right where to hit them.”

31

You get this thing figured out, babe?” Hawk said.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Now we can head back to Boston and have dinner at Rialto. I hear Jody has a special with scallops tonight.”

“Haw.”

“Or we can kick around Blackburn a bit,” I said. “See what’s shaking.”

“Might get both of us in the clink.”

“That’s why we are incognito,” I said. “Forward thinking to steal this luxury vehicle.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he said. “Borrowed it from one of my neighbors.”

“I always knew that was the way it worked on Beacon Hill,” I said. “Just take the closest car. Wouldn’t want anyone inconvenienced.”

“May have a fresh car, but we do stand out.”

“Hard to be this handsome.”

“And be this big and black,” Hawk said. “If you hadn’t noticed, I kind of put the black in Blackburn.”

I smiled. Hawk started the car. It was a nice car, leather seats, push-button ignition. The engine ran so quiet, I couldn’t even tell it was running. Hawk’s taste was exquisite. He wore black leather gloves and a matching cap. I had on my trusted Navy peacoat and Dodgers cap. The day was cold and gray, and about perfect for a field trip to an old mill town.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Both judges are in court. Let’s drive up to Lawrence and I’ll buy you lunch.”

“How you make my heart pitter-patter,” Hawk said. “Lunch in Lawrence.”

“Better than sticking around here,” I said. “And then we’ll head back and see what’s going on with Callahan and Scali.”

“You don’t think the cops on the lookout for you?” he said. “Probably watching both houses in case you show up.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or perhaps they believe they’ve taught me a lesson.”

“Don’t they know your forehead is four inches thick?”

“Trade secret,” I said, knocking on my brow.

We drove up to Lawrence, had a nice lunch, and returned to Blackburn by late afternoon. We followed Scali home. We drove past the Callahan place. I checked out Beth Golnick’s place, but no one was home. We drove back to Boston.

The next morning there was a hard snow. We headed back to Blackburn.

Again, nothing.

The third day was indeed a charm. Hawk had grown tired of our routine, no more pleased with sojourns to Lawrence than he’d been spending the day in Blackburn. We followed Scali as he left the courthouse, and this time he did not return home. He crossed the half-frozen Merrimack and took I-93 south. Hawk hung a few cars back. Hawk could follow a car down a back highway in Arizona without anyone noticing. And in traffic, he could really work his hidden art. On the third day, we had a third car. This one was a Lexus.

“You ever think about stealing a Hyundai?”

“Nope,” he said.

“You people really do like flashy cars.”

“Almost stole me a pink Cadillac,” Hawk said. “We could drive around Blackburn blaring some Curtis Mayfield from the speakers.”

“Anytime.”

“Okay,” Hawk said. “Where’s Scali headed now?”

Scali braked to a quick stop and took an illegal and very sloppy U-turn. But I guess when you’re a local and crooked judge, you can make a few traffic infractions. He headed back a block or two north on I-93 and pulled into the parking lot of the IHOP.

“Aha,” I said.

“Been here before.”

“Yep.”

“You eat here?”

“God, no,” I said.

“Good,” Hawk said. “’Cause there’s a limit to the shit I’ll do for you.”

Hawk found a parking spot with a good vantage point in a neighboring parking lot. He killed the lights but kept the engine and the heater running. The radio was tuned to a local jazz station. Mingus and his Pork Pie Hat.

“Now what?”

“We see who shows up,” I said.

“You private detectives sho’ do have some powerful smarts.”

A few minutes later, the honorable Judge Callahan showed up in a Lincoln and met up at the table with Scali. And twenty minutes later, a thick, beefy guy in a zipped leather jacket and jeans hopped out of a tow truck and walked inside to take a seat at the table. He looked to be in his forties and had a disreputable nose and close-cropped black hair.

“You know him?” Hawk said.

“Nope.”

“I do.”

“Jackie DeMarco?”

“None other, babe.”

The men read off their menus, snapped them shut, and all laughed together at the table. “Pals,” I said, turning on the windshield wipers to clear away the ice.

“Warms a man’s heart,” Hawk said.

32

I met Sheila Yates and Megan Mullen the next day at Peet’s Coffee & Tea in Harvard Square. We sat inside, huddled around a small table in the very back. I drank coffee with only a little sugar and abstained from the scones and muffins they sold. As I sipped the nearly black coffee and watched others devouring sugary pastries, I marveled at my restraint. Had we been at Kane’s in Saugus, all bets would be off.

“They’re going to let your son go,” Megan said.

Megan Mullen removed her ski hat and set her leather satchel on the floor. A lot of people were crammed into the space. It was eighteen degrees outside. The windows were all frosted and a lot of snow and ice had been tracked inside.

Sheila put a hand to her mouth and made a little squeal. Her hair was bright and big that morning. As always, she wore quite a bit of perfume. Several bracelets jangled from her wrist.

“And they will expunge the charge,” Megan said. “That was a condition of our appeal.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Sheila said. “When?”

“Next Friday,” Megan said. “Dillon will be taken off the island and out-processed at the Blackburn juvenile detention center.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

She reached out and squeezed my arm. I instinctively flexed a bit. I couldn’t help but show off. Megan didn’t speak while she added a couple packets of fake sugar to her coffee and stirred. She stared down at the coffee. “Of course, there’s more to it.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “They want me out of Blackburn by sundown.”

“Did you speak to Rita already?”

I nodded.