Dark Harbor (35 page)

Chapter Seventy-three

F
INN’S VOICE WAS HOARSE
from the screaming, and the pain had sapped him of almost all of his strength. “Nick,” was all he was able to say.

Nick Williams took a few steps forward so Finn could see him. “Yes, Finn. It’s me.”

“I don’t understand,” Finn stammered. “What about Preston?”

“Preston has nothing to do with this,” Williams said, smiling. “He’s actually the sanctimonious prick he pretends to be. He’d never let his precious reputation be sullied by becoming involved with anything that shades over even the technical limits of the law.”

“But how did you know how to—”

“Find you? It wasn’t that difficult, really. You told Preston you couldn’t work on the settlement, so Preston called me to ask me to pick up the slack. When I asked him what happened to you, he said you had some personal business to attend to, and if I ran into you at the office, I wasn’t to bother you.”

Finn breathed deeply. Preston hadn’t betrayed him. At least, not on purpose.

“You believe that?” Williams said. “He was worried I might bother you.” He laughed. “A little ironic given the circumstances, don’t you think?”

Finn looked at McGuire, who was intently watching the interplay between the two lawyers. Then he turned back to Williams. “So what now?” he asked.

“That all depends on you, Finn,” Williams replied. “You have some choices here.”

“Really?” Finn was doubtful. “You want to tell me what they are?”

Williams tapped McGuire on the shoulder and beckoned him away. The two pulled back beyond the point where Finn could see, and while he couldn’t make out their words, he could hear them whispering angrily to each other. When they returned, Nick pulled up a chair and sat down next to Finn. “Okay, Finn,” he said, “let’s lay out the possibilities. Your first option is to continue with your obstinacy, in which case I’m sure Tony will continue to ruin any chance you have of ever playing the piano.” He nodded toward the twisted wreckage of Finn’s left hand.

Finn forced himself to look down at his fingers, taking in the damage that had already been done. The pain was so excruciating that it no longer seemed limited to his fingers. The entire side of his body was racked with an agony he’d never known before. “What’s my second option?” he asked after a moment.

Williams hesitated, looking back at McGuire before he answered. “You could join us,” he said at last.

Had he not been in such intense pain, Finn would have had to stifle a laugh of his own. “Join you?” he asked incredulously.

Williams nodded. “

Why should I believe you’d make it that easy?”

Williams’s expression became earnest. “I know much more about you than you might think, Finn. I’ve done my homework. You and I have more in common than you’d ever believe.”

Finn’s breathing labored against the pain. “I’m listening.”

“I grew up in Somerville—in the rough part of Somerville. My father was a drunk who used to drive a delivery truck in between beating the hell out of my mother and me. At nine years old I thought it was a blessing when he ran over a kid and got sent upstate to Walpole. Mom and I went onto welfare, and it didn’t take long before I was hanging out in the local gangs, running drugs and numbers for the Winter Hill crew.” He paused for effect. “Sound familiar?”

“It’s making me homesick,” Finn replied, gritting his teeth against the pain. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that by the time I was fifteen, it was pretty clear I was eventually headed to jail or to the morgue, just like you. But then a funny, fortuitous thing happened. I met Tony McGuire.” He gave a nod back to McGuire.

“He told me I was wasting my time. He told me I was smarter than everyone I was running with, and that if I ever really wanted to make anything of myself in the organization, I had to use my head. As it turns out, he was right. Then he made me a deal. He told me that if I was willing to work hard, he’d front me the money to go to city college.”

Finn looked back at the shadowy figure of McGuire. “I never would have pegged you as Santa Claus,” he said.

McGuire glared back at him. “You better learn to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut,” he said.

Williams shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. He wasn’t trying to do me a favor; he was doing himself a favor. He’s a goddamned genius, whether you believe it or not. You see, he was thinking big—and thinking ahead. He recognized that the various gangs in Boston had plenty of muscle, which was fine for running drugs, and extorting money from liquor stores. But he also knew that the real money was in big business—and that was a cash cow the gangs hadn’t even thought of milking. The only problem was access. He had no access. To find a way in, he didn’t need more brainless soldiers, he needed MBAs and CPAs … and lawyers.

“When I got out of college, he paid my way through law school, then used his connections to get me a job at Howery, Black. Since then, I’ve used the information at my disposal to get him on the inside of some of the biggest businesses and deals in Boston. And there are a dozen others just like me across different industries doing the same thing. We’re not talking about millions of dollars, Finn, we’re talking about
billions
of dollars. Tony has a hand in every major construction project from the Big Dig to the rebuilding at Ground Zero. He controls trucking and shipping and security up and down the East Coast, and we get a cut of all of it. I’m telling you, he’s the smartest man you’ll ever meet.”

Finn looked down at his hand. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not rushing to join his fan club.”

Williams smiled, almost apologetically. “Admittedly, many of the old methods are in his heart and soul, but his head is focused on business. Trust me, we’re going to be bigger than all but the biggest companies in the Fortune 500.”

“So if things are going so well, why do you need me?”

“We don’t need you,” Williams said. “We
want
you. I had one of Tony’s acquaintances get me access to your police file— very impressive. And talking to some of our friends in Charlestown, it seems you made quite a reputation for yourself.”

“That was a long time ago,” Finn pointed out.

“Come on, Finn. Guys like us never really change our spots. I’ve seen that same viciousness at the law firm—in the way you rip witnesses to shreds, or handle cases for the partners. You’re a take-no-prisoners kind of guy. It’s a more genteel world, but your instincts are still there. Plus, you’re smart, and you’ve got some of the best trial skills I’ve ever seen. A guy like you could be a huge asset to the organization.”

Finn glared at him. “Do you really think I could join you, knowing you killed Natalie?”

Williams threw his hands in the air. “Oh please, Finn. Let’s not go there, okay? Natalie wasn’t exactly a saint—you know it as well as I do. Do you know what her first thought was when she found out about the Huron payroll scam? Do you?” He looked at Finn, who was afraid to hear the answer. “She was trying to figure out how she could use the information to make partner early!”

Finn looked confused until Williams continued: “Like you, she assumed Preston was involved, and she was trying to figure out how to blackmail him. She would have blown everything for us, so I had to stop her.” He laughed. “She actually asked if I’d help her with the blackmail because she had no idea I was involved with Huron.”

“Why would she go to you?” Finn asked, still trying to avoid the truth.

“Because she and I had been sleeping together for months. It was lucky for me too, otherwise she might have gone straight to Preston, and it would have caused serious problems.” He actually looked proud of himself.

“Once she was dead, I called Tony to help me take care of the body. I was just planning on dumping her, but Tony came up with the plan to make it look like she was another of Little Jack’s victims. He has a guy on the payroll who’s very good with a knife.”

“The knife you planted at my apartment,” Finn surmised.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Williams admitted. “You just wouldn’t give up, so we needed to take care of you. The cops were already looking at you as a suspect, so we figured this would kill two birds with one stone. I was going to put in an anonymous call to the police, but then that Flaherty woman actually found the knife on her own, so I didn’t need to bother. But, you see, if you start working with us, we can make those allegations go away.”

“Like you made the Tannery lawsuit go away?”

Nick nodded. “In the end, Mrs. Tannery decided that protecting her daughter’s life was a higher priority than investigating her husband’s death. We were pretty sure that would be an easy decision for any parent.” He shook his head in disgust. “I spent weeks combing through Natalie’s files, trying to figure out how she discovered what was going on.”

“The names were in the files I had,” Finn pointed out.

“I was guessing. That’s why I offered to take them off your hands, but I still couldn’t find anything.”

“You only took the ones I hadn’t looked at yet. The notes were in a different set of folders that I’d already gone through.”

Nick Williams nodded in understanding. “I guess that was bad luck for both of us … unless you’re willing to be smart.” He looked at Finn hopefully. “What do you say? Partner?”

“You’re scum, Nick. You know that, don’t you?”

“Good God, Finn, don’t throw away your one chance to walk away from all this. Not for the memory of someone like Natalie Caldwell, and not out of some misplaced pity for a widow who’s going to be a millionaire anyway! Don’t you realize how big this thing is? It goes higher than you could even imagine, and you can be a part of that, don’t you see?”

“All I have to do is play ball?”

Finn caught Williams looking back at McGuire. “That’s right,” Williams said after a moment.

Finn looked at his coworker. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you, Nick? You killed Natalie. You had Bostick killed. You scared Amy Tannery into settling her case against Huron. And now you’re offering me the world on a silver platter.”

Williams was silent. “There’s only one problem. You’re right, I
was
very much like you once. But that also means I know how your mind works. It all sounds so good, but I know
I’d
never have let someone with all the information I have simply walk free, no matter what. The only way you can be sure that your plans are safe is to make sure I never leave here alive.” He looked straight at Williams, searching his eyes for the truth.

“Is that a chance you really want to take, Finn?”

“Let me put it to you this way, Nick. Fuck you, and fuck your offer. Just make sure you keep looking over your shoulder.”

“You can’t mean that, Finn,” Williams insisted.

Suddenly McGuire walked out of the shadows. “Fuck this,” he said.

“No, Tony,” Williams protested. “We still need to know if there are copies of the list.”

“Bullshit.” McGuire pulled a 9mm pistol out from under his jacket. “There are no copies of the list. I can read it in his eyes.” He looked at Williams. “You gave it a try your way. Now we’re going to finish this.”

Williams considered McGuire with a look of resignation. “Fine,” he said at last. “He didn’t fall for it.” Then he turned to Finn. “Looks like Tony has made up his mind, Finn, so I guess I’ll just say my good-byes. But before you go, there’s something you should know about Natalie.” He smiled.

“What?” Finn spat.

“She was a cheap piece of ass. I know you already knew that, but I wanted to remind you. I let her believe I could help her make partner, and the little whore was all over me. That’s what she was about. I didn’t care what she thought, as long as she kept wriggling up and down on me the way she used to.” He looked at Finn. “I know you know what I’m talking about.”

Finn could feel his face burning as his rage grew.

“That’s right,” Williams said, “you remember.” He leaned in close to Finn and whispered to him. “Even after I realized I was going to have to kill her, I couldn’t resist fucking her one last time. I swear to God, the look in her face when she was tied up and she realized what I was going to do was the biggest turn-on I’ve ever known.” Williams was enjoying the memory of murdering Natalie, and it made Finn sick. Then he pulled away.

“Okay, Tony. I’m through with this piece of shit.”

McGuire pulled back on the barrel plate to cycle a round into the chamber, making an unmistakably sharp, definitive sound that Finn knew signaled the end of his life. Then he pointed the gun at Finn’s head. Finn closed his eyes and took one last breath.

That’s when he heard Tigh’s voice.

Chapter Seventy-four

“M
CGUIRE!”

Tigh’s voice boomed through the cold stone room, reverberating off the walls and making everyone there jump. McGuire’s hand recoiled, and it appeared for a moment that the startled muscles in his hand might inadvertently squeeze the trigger.

“McGuire!” Tigh shouted again. He could see from the arched doorway that he’d arrived just in time. Finn was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, brightly lit by a portable high-beam spotlight, like some grotesque work at a deranged performance artist’s opening. He looked bad. His white oxford shirt was stained a rusty magenta in the front, and his chin and neck were covered with drying blood. His left hand hung lifeless from the chair, and Tigh recognized instantly the distinctive quality of McGuire’s handiwork.

Standing around Finn, like voyeurs at an accident scene, were Tony McGuire, his bodyguard Henry Schmitt, and a respectable-looking man in an expensive, neatly pressed suit whom Tigh didn’t recognize. They were all looking at Tigh with a mixture of shock and anger.

“Tigh?” McGuire finally managed to spit out, sloughing off the moment’s paralysis. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I have to talk to you, Tony.” Tigh squared up his shoulders to send a subtle message that he wouldn’t budge until he’d been heard. He was by far the largest man in the room, and his presence made the space seem smaller. He’d long ago learned to use his size to his advantage.

McGuire waved his gun around the room, as if to say,
Can’t you see what we’re in the middle of here?
“It’ll have to wait, Tigh. Johnny should’ve never let you in to begin with.”

“Don’t blame Johnny, he did his best,” Tigh said with an edge in his voice that made his point clear. McGuire frowned and his eyes darkened. Tigh shrugged. “I had no choice, Tony. This is important—and it concerns him,” he said, nodding at Finn.

McGuire looked back and forth between Finn and Tigh as if making up his mind about something.

“Excuse me,” Nick Williams interrupted, his concern growing, “but who is this?” The question drew Tigh’s eyes away from McGuire and they came to rest on the lawyer. The power of Tigh’s glare was impossible to ignore, and Williams seemed to shrink from it involuntarily.

“He’s Tigh McCluen,” McGuire responded. “He runs some of our operations in Charlestown.” Williams grunted. “Tigh,” McGuire continued, “this is Nick Williams. He’s one of our lawyers.”

Williams scowled, and addressed Tigh in a lawyerly tone. “What is your business here, Mr. McCluen?”

Tigh continued to stare through Williams. “My business here is with Tony,” he said flatly. “As I said, I’ll talk to him alone.”

“We don’t have time for this kind of shit right now, Tigh,” McGuire said, exasperated.

“It’s important, Tony. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. And Johnny wouldn’t be in the hospital.”

McGuire looked from Williams to Tigh, and then glanced at Finn, still awaiting death under the spotlight in the middle of the room. Finally he lowered his gun and walked over to Tigh. “Fine,” he said. “But it had better be quick, and it had better be good.”

The light still shone in Finn’s eyes, preventing him from seeing beyond a short radius, so he couldn’t see Tigh, who was standing near the door. Tigh hoped that his friend would have enough sense to keep his mouth shut and let him handle the situation. He had tried to warn Finn before, and he had refused to listen. Now they had one chance for survival, and Tigh silently willed Finn to keep quiet.

McGuire reached Tigh at the far end of the room. “Well?” he asked.

Tigh leaned in to talk softly into McGuire’s ear, keeping a close watch on Schmitt, the bodyguard, who was shifting nervously on his feet. “I knew this man, growing up in Charlestown,” he whispered, “and there’s something you need to know about him.”

McGuire looked concerned for a moment, like he thought he might have missed some important piece of information about Finn—some intelligence that might come back to haunt him. “So?” he asked. “What is it?”

Tigh paused, letting the moment draw itself out as he watched the reactions of those around the room, gauging the level of danger each posed. Then he leaned in again to McGuire and whispered, “He’s a friend of mine.”

McGuire looked confused as he waited for Tigh to say more. “And?” he said after a moment.

“And he’s a very good friend of mine,” Tigh said, this time with emphasis.

Tigh’s explanation failed to wipe the look of bewilderment off McGuire’s face. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked, adopting a more aggressive posture as his annoyance grew.

“I’m trying to tell you that you can’t kill this man. I protect him.”

McGuire took a step back from Tigh and looked at him closely, trying to evaluate what the huge man had said. Then he gave a quiet laugh. “You’re full of shit, you know that?” He laughed again, harder this time, and shook his head, looking at the ground in disgust. “You really had me going for a minute there.”

Tigh moved in with lightning speed as McGuire’s head was down. He pulled out his gun and brought it up to McGuire’s temple, grabbing him around the neck as he did.

“What the fuck!” McGuire shouted. “Tigh, have you lost your goddamned mind?”

Tigh didn’t answer. He was busy swinging McGuire around so he provided a shield against Henry Schmitt, who’d pulled out his own gun and was taking aim. “Put it down!” Tigh yelled. Schmitt seemed confused and looked at McGuire for guidance. “Put it down!” Tigh yelled again. Then he spoke directly to McGuire. “Tell him to put it down, or I swear to Jesus I’ll blow a hole straight through your head, Tony.”

McGuire knew Tigh well enough to know he didn’t make idle threats. He made a hand motion to Schmitt to lower his gun. Schmitt put his arm down, but held on to the pistol.

“You too, Tony. Toss your gun toward the wall.” McGuire did as he was told.

Then McGuire spoke. “Now, everybody’s going to calm down here, and Tigh is going to stop this crazy shit, and we can all go back to being friends, right?” He looked at Tigh over his shoulder, but Tigh pressed the barrel of the gun harder to his head, turning it back around.

“Any minute now,” Tigh said, smiling. He looked at Schmitt. “Untie him,” he said, nodding at Finn. Once again, Schmitt looked uncertain, so Tigh pressed the gun even harder into McGuire’s temple. “Now!” he yelled.

Schmitt pulled out a switchblade, and in four quick movements he’d cut Finn’s plastic restraints, freeing him. Finn moved with evident difficulty, trying twice to stand without success.

“You just signed your own death warrant, Tigh!” McGuire yelled, ignoring the gun to his head. “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you?”

“Perhaps not,” Tigh said, “but there’s always the hope, isn’t there?” He was careful to keep McGuire between himself and Schmitt, who still hadn’t dropped his gun.

Suddenly Tigh heard another voice. “Hope sometimes fades quickly, Mr. McCluen. Let Tony go immediately.”

It was Nick Williams speaking, and Tigh turned into the barrel of a .357 Magnum revolver being pointed at his head from less than four feet away. He’d made a terrible miscalculation, Tigh realized instantly, by focusing only on McGuire and Schmitt. It never occurred to him that the lawyer would be armed. Because of his oversight, Williams had been able to maneuver into a position where he had a clear shot. Tigh knew he only had one chance.

“Have it your way,” he said, letting go of McGuire and diving to his left as he began firing his gun. He didn’t even bother to aim at anything in particular. He knew he couldn’t hit both Williams and Schmitt, so instead he just tried to get off as many shots as he could, filling the room, and the entire Castle, with explosion after explosion as the gun fired and the shots ricocheted off the stone walls, multiplying the cacophony.

He was sure he’d gotten off at least four shots before he felt the first bullet enter his chest.