Star Chamber Brotherhood (36 page)

“Oh, no, no, no,” Werner burst out. “Not this. Not Sam…”

“Three plus one makes four,” Alvarez observed, counting the bodies. “The only one left is a woman. Sorry about that, boss. They had to be going at least sixty when they hit that concrete. Your man Sam must have wanted to kill Rocco awfully bad to do something like that.”

Chapter 20

Monday, May 20, 2029
Brookline, Massachusetts

The sun shone brightly and fleets of cumulus clouds sailed across the afternoon sky as Frank Werner exited the subway at Coolidge Corner Station. While he strolled down Harvard Street toward Carol Dodge’s apartment, the final list of his spirits inventory folded in his breast pocket, he heard the Red Sox double-header blaring from a radio atop a street vendor’s folding table. Spring had arrived late again in Boston, but despite the afternoon chill, one could no longer doubt that summer was coming soon.

Werner stepped lightly across Beacon Street and gazed into the distance. He was three blocks away from the apartment when he noticed smoke rising from the vacant lot next door. Once again, a diminutive tent city had been erected on the lot and a few dozen homeless squatters now gathered around trash fires blazing from fifty-five-gallon drums. As Werner approached, he steeled himself to withstand the baleful stares, jeers, and insults directed at the building’s rightful occupants and their visitors.
 

Unlike the wretched crowd of flood refugees who had huddled around the trash fires over the winter, this crew looked well fed, cocky, and organized. Nearly all were males in their twenties and thirties and some of them held cans of beer. At the rear of the lot, a late-model Chevy pickup truck dropped off multiple cases of soda, beer, and sandwiches. If these were indeed the homeless refugees who had camped out over the winter, they had picked up some deep-pocketed sponsors since then.

As if aware that Werner was a visitor and not a resident, the squatters left him alone until he was within a few meters of the entrance. Then a pair of toughs in faded Red Sox jackets blocked his path.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” the larger of the two warned. “It’s unsafe.”

“So what’s not safe about it?” Werner inquired mildly.

“Haven’t you heard?” the youth replied with a knowing look. “The City’s going to have it condemned.”

“Is that so? Funny, it doesn’t look all that bad.” Werner attempted to walk around them but the smaller of the two men stepped into his path.

“You live here?” the squatter challenged.

“No, just visiting. But thanks for the tip, anyway. I’ll be real careful.”
 

This time Werner stepped off the curb and made a wide arc around them to the entrance. They let him pass but he could still hear their mocking laughter as the door shut behind him.

Harriet Waterman was waiting for him when Werner entered the lobby. Locks clicked and chains rattled the moment he passed her door. It opened before he could reach the stairwell. Harriet stepped outside wearing a blue housecleaning smock over her customary jeans and oversized white t-shirt. She must have seen him coming through her kitchen window because she still wore the thick yellow rubber gloves he had often seen her use to clean ovens and sinks.

“Oh, Frank, I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaimed as she followed him to the stairs. “I’m warning all the tenants about the demonstrators. The Housing Authority thinks they may try to occupy the building tonight. I’ve called the police three times about it but they keep telling me they can’t do anything till someone commits a crime.”

“Do you mean you’re advising tenants to leave?” Werner asked.

“I honestly don’t know what to tell people anymore,” she answered, evidently realizing the risk of providing incorrect advice whether a tenant remained or not. “Some of these tenants are elderly. They could have a heart attack if someone tries to bash in their door. But if they leave, the place may be stripped bare by the time they get back. For someone like Carol with so many beautiful things, it must be a scary choice.”

“Thanks for the alert, Harriet. I’ll talk to Carol and see what we can come up with,” Werner replied, trying not to seem abrupt. “I’m sure she’ll let you know whatever she decides.”

“She has my number if she wants to talk,” Harriet added quickly as Werner started up the stairs.

Though he still kept a key to Carol’s apartment, Werner knocked and waited for Carol to come to the door. When she did, she greeted him with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek.
 

“It was such a lovely surprise to get your call this morning, Frank. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” she gushed. Indeed, the effusive greeting was so uncharacteristic of Carol that he wondered if she were mocking him. Or, alternatively, if she had been drinking.

Then, to his surprise, Werner spotted Linda Holt seated on the living room sofa. Between their two teacups was a bottle of dark rum. Linda offered him a smile but said nothing until Carol led him into the room and pulled up a chair for him.

“Did Harriet intercept you on the way up?” Linda inquired playfully in lieu of a greeting.

“Would she be Harriet if she hadn’t?” he replied.

“You realize, don’t you, that she wants to take over Carol’s apartment? That awful woman is doing her level best to scare the daylights out of all the exempt tenants with her endless warnings about the squatters. And as soon as she can get them to leave, the Housing Authority will claim abandonment, revoke their exempt status, and reallocate the apartment to their political cronies.”

“Which would include Harriet’s needy relatives from Maine, I suppose,” Werner added.

“Apparently so. And, all the while, our blithe and trusting Carol, bless her heart, continues to knock herself out looking for a new job so she won’t be evicted. Except that the fix is in. It’s abundantly clear she won’t get a job until she gives up the flat.”

“Oh, just listen to the two of you!” Carol mocked. “Must you always be so conspiratorial?”

“And did or did you not receive an eviction notice last week?” Linda pressed.

“I most certainly did not!” Carol protested, her cheeks reddening. But Werner could see that it was a lie even before Linda stepped in to expose it.
 

“Don’t, Carol, please,” Linda responded gently, laying a comforting hand on her friend’s knee. “Even if all else fails, we must never stop speaking the truth to friends. The Medical Center received a copy. There’s no point in denying it.”

“Well, then, I did receive it,” Carol conceded, “but it’s not nearly as dire an event as you seem to think it is. These things always take more time than anyone expects and the order can be withdrawn if I get another job first.”

“If?” Linda objected. “Listen to yourself, Carol. You’re putting your property and your person in jeopardy every day you stay here. Why don’t you accept the hand that fate has dealt you? We could have a mover here tomorrow to pack your furniture into storage while you come to live with me. There’s plenty of room for all three of us. Now, what do you say to my generous offer?”

Carol Dodge’s eyes filled with tears. All at once she threw her arms around her friend’s neck and began to sob uncontrollably. When at last she recovered she accepted Werner’s handkerchief to dry her tears.

“I feel so defeated,” Carol confessed. “I’ve never failed like this before. I feel like there’s no place for me anymore.”

“Of course there’s a place for you, Carol,” Linda soothed. “You just have to stop going to the hardware store for milk. So start over. Try something radically different, something you’ve always wanted to do but didn’t dare try.”

“How about Concord?” Werner interjected. “I know a former teacher at Concord Academy who told me that the hospital out there is recruiting doctors and is desperate for pediatricians. Perhaps you could speak with him.”

“Concord? That’s so odd. Years ago Peter and I came very close to buying a house there. Of all the towns we looked at, Concord was by far my favorite.”

“Name a time and I’ll set it up for you,” Werner volunteered. “I know the man well. He taught my daughters.”

Carol’s eyes met Werner’s and a grin spread across her face.

“Really? You could do that for me?”

“Tomorrow, if you want,” he proposed. “Listen, here’s my suggestion. Why don’t you pack a small bag and stay at Linda’s tonight. I just ran into some of those demonstrators outside and, if they’re homeless refugees, I’m the President-for-Life. Somebody powerful appears to be backing them and, the more I think about it, Harriet may actually be right for a change. I smell trouble tonight.”
 

“But what about all my things?” Carol asked uneasily. “If they break in, they could make off with everything.”

“It takes longer than one night to loot an entire building,” Werner assured her. “Even a professional mover couldn’t do it. But, just to be on the safe side, when you leave, use the back door and don’t let anyone see you go. Especially ‘you know who.’ And don’t take anything larger than a shoulder bag, so they’ll think you’re coming back tonight.”

“We can each carry a bag,” Linda volunteered. “You should definitely bring the silver.”

“And if you want to leave a list for me on the kitchen table, I’ll come back after the Club closes and load a backpack for you. It ought to be quieter by then. If I see anything, I’ll be sure to call the police.”

“What a marvelous idea!” Linda declared. “Carol, why don’t you pack a bag for Frank right now? Will there be a safe place for it at the Club?”

“I’ll lock it in Jake’s office. It’s as good as Fort Knox.”

****

Frank Werner’s last night as proprietor of the Somerset Club bar passed without incident. Monday nights were generally slow and Werner was careful not to tell anyone other than Jake that he was selling the business or leaving the Club. He wanted no farewell party, no reminiscences, no attention whatsoever.

Just after eleven o’clock, Werner left Steve in charge while he took a break to visit Jake’s office. They had made all the arrangements earlier in the day, and Jake had drawn enough cash to pay Werner in full.

Upon seeing Werner enter the room, Hagopian removed a manila envelope from a file cabinet and laid it on his desk.
 

“Would you like to count it?” Hagopian asked with a bemused smile.

“Yes, but only to make you feel better, Jake. You know, I’m really not as simple-minded as I look. You’re getting a genuine steal at this price. Next week you’ll turn around and sell the club and the bar together for a fortune. You ought to thank me for this, Jake.”

“Oh, I do thank you. Very much indeed,” the old man replied jovially. “And, yes, I do happen to have a buyer willing to pay an attractive price for the Club. But that’s why I bought it in the first place. And it’s why I took a chance on you. I’m very happy that it worked out for both of us.”

“It did,” Werner agreed, picking up the envelope. “You’ve been a great friend, Jake. I’ll miss you.” Then he removed his inventory list from his breast pocket and slid it across the desk.

“So where will you go next?” Hagopian inquired.

“I’m thinking of opening a bar in Utah,” Werner mused. “With the Mormon Church gone, they’ve gone back to drinking out there, big-time. It could be a good place for a high-end watering hole. And I always did plan to go back there once I found my daughter.”

“
Why not? Those folks need their whiskey as much as everyone else, I suppose,” Hagopian mused.

“What’s more,” Werner confessed, “my girlfriend lost her apartment. Without a residence permit in town, I’d be out on the street again. I’m too old for camping, Jake. I want a place of my own.”

Werner opened the clasp on the envelope and laid four bundles of banknotes on the desk.

“You go ahead and count,” Jake urged. “I’ll pour.” And with that, Jake Hagopian reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and brought out a bottle of his cherished Armenian brandy and two heavy shot glasses.
 

****

The clock on the wall at the Somerset Club bar read fifteen minutes to midnight when Werner left Jake’s office and returned to his post behind the counter. The last patron had paid his tab and all the stools were empty. Since Steve had already finished cleaning the counters and sinks, Werner dismissed him and suggested that he pay a visit to Jake’s office the next morning to receive some good news about a possible promotion. Steve thanked him warmly and probed for further details but, as Werner would reveal none, the younger man offered Werner a vigorous handshake and set off for home.
 

A moment later, after putting his jiggers, shakers, strainers, and muddlers in their proper places on the shelf behind him, Werner turned around to find a nattily dressed middle-aged man occupying the barstool directly across from him.

The man wore a brown tweed sport coat and gray flannel trousers, his hunter-green knit tie clipped to his starched white shirt with a gold tie bar. He removed his olive loden hat and laid it on the stool beside him. It was Dave Lewis.

“Still time for a quick nightcap, bartender?” Lewis asked with a roguish smile.

“Sure, partner, name your poison,” Werner responded easily.

“How about a shot of your best bourbon.”