Thursday's Child (28 page)

“Yeah, right,” Robert said, still studying the map.

Beau just stood there for a moment, then he sighed. “I'm going to bed.”

“Good idea.”

He undressed silently, crawled into the bed, and pulled the sheet up over his head, blocking out the light.

After a moment, Robert folded the map. He switched off the lamp, stripped to his shorts by the outside light coming in through the window, and got into his bed. “By the way,” he said then, “thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” Beau replied.

There was a pause and then they both started to laugh.

21

1

Gar had to do a little hard-core detective work to find LaVerne Boyd Ratigliano.

He checked the phone book, found a listing for an L.B. Ratigliano, and took a chance. This was the way things happened for TV dicks, with only an hour (less commercial time) to solve a case, but he didn't often get so lucky.

The address in the phone book proved to be a small wood-frame house in an Italian section of Brooklyn. He parked his rented car in front of the house and got out. A child's red wagon blocked the sidewalk and a small yipping dog protested his approach from the front window.

Before he could even ring the bell, the door was yanked open. A tired-looking young woman in blue jeans and a T-shirt, with a baby balanced on one hip, was standing there glaring at him. “You're a cop, right? And you want to ask me questions about my brother Danny. Am I right?”

“I would like to talk to you about Danny, yes,” Gar said, neatly evading the issue of whether or not he was a cop. “Your brother's life could depend upon it.”

“Right,” she said sarcastically. “Well, you might as well come in.” She kicked the door open with one foot.

Gar stepped into the hallway and was immediately charged by the little white dog. The dog skidded to a stop and began to sniff vigorously at his pant leg. “Yes, that's right,” Gar said, bending to pat him. “I have a dog, too.”

“Get outta here,” LaVerne said, and the dog took off.

They walked into a small cluttered living room that smelled of sour milk and wet diapers. LaVerne dropped onto a worn stuffed chair and waved at the couch.

Gar cleared a space in the clean, unfolded laundry and several days' worth of newspapers. He sat and propped the cane next to his leg. “About Danny,” he said.

“Ah, yeah, about Danny. Let me tell you about that SOB. He just keeps getting into trouble. I thought maybe spending all that time in prison would help, but I guess it hasn't.” The baby let out a sudden shriek and she shoved a none-too-clean pacifier into its mouth. “For years I worried about Danny, I really did. But it didn't do him any good and it did me all kinds of bad. Now I've got problems of my own. Two kids and a no-good husband doing time for dealing. So I've got no more time to worry about Danny anymore. Understand?”

Gar nodded. “I can understand how you feel.” Since there was an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table, he figured she wouldn't object if he smoked, so he lit up. “You do know, then, that he's in town?”

“Oh, sure. This was the first place he came. But I wouldn't have him here. Not with kids around. Danny's a bad influence.”

Gar decided that if he was ever going to get past the soap opera, he had to be blunt. “I think a hitman may be in town to kill Danny,” he said flatly.

She stared at him. “You're kidding, right?”

“No. This is not a joke. And whatever you think about Danny, he is your brother. You don't want to see him dead, do you?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Then I need your help. Do you know where I can find him?”

“No. He was just sort of moving around.”

“Will he be coming back here, do you think?”

She shrugged. “God, I don't know.”

Gar cursed to himself. “Okay,” he said. “How about any friends?”

“Danny was away a long time. I don't know whether he has any friends left.”

“Just one name,” Gar said, almost pleading.

She thought for a moment, then her face cleared. “Try Billy McNeer,” she said. “They used to run around together.”

“You have an address for this McNeer?”

It took some time searching, during which time Gar and the baby sat staring at one another. The baby's eyes looked wiser than its mother's. LaVerne finally produced a page torn from a child's writing tablet, upon which she had scribbled an address.

Gar thanked her.

She just shrugged and walked him to the door. “Danny told me he'd have some money for me soon,” she said suddenly. “That can only mean he's up to something. And when Danny does anything around here, McNeer is always in on it. They're real close.”

Gar nodded and left her standing in the doorway.

This case was starting to remind him of those dolls—they were Russian, right?—where inside each doll was one even smaller, until you were left with a teeny final carved figure. To find Beau, he had to find Turchek. To find Turchek, he had to find Boyd. And now, to find Boyd, he apparently had to find Billy McNeer.

It made him tired just to think about it. He took a pain pill before driving away from LaVerne Boyd Ratigliano's house. So now he would go sit in front of McNeer's house. And hope that bastard Boyd would show up before too many hours passed.

2

The team of Boyd and McNeer was really pathetic.

Robert tossed a cigarette butt out the car window and watched the two men who were standing half a block away. To have Boyd this close and not do anything about it was making him feel very itchy.

“What are they doing anyway?” Beau asked finally.

Robert glanced at him. “Why, that's a couple of really dangerous outlaws, Tonto, and they're planning a major heist. Tonight they're going to hit that pharmacy. Uncle Pat gave them permission to do that. And then good old Unc told me. Or, he didn't
tell
me, exactly, but anyway that's what's going on. They're casing the joint and I'd be willing to bet that's exactly what they call it. ‘Say, Billy, let's go case the joint.' I can hear Boyd saying that over breakfast.” Robert shook his head. “Christ, I love it.”

Robert lit another cigarette. He was so damned keyed up that he was afraid of making a dumb mistake. Calm down, he told himself. Chill out.

Beau finished slurping the last of his Coke out of the paper cup. “So what's our plan?” he asked then.

Robert started the car. There was no use wasting more time watching these assholes. He knew damned well where they would be at midnight. “Our plan is to kill Danny Boyd,” he said. “And maybe Billy McNeer, just for being so fucking stupid.”

“Lemme have a cigarette to smoke while you're gone,” Beau said.

Robert glanced at him. “You're hooked on the damned things already, aren't you?”

Beau only shrugged and took the two cigarettes Robert held out to him.

They were parked around the corner from Dawson's Pharmacy in a quiet cul-de-sac. It was almost time for the two stooges, Boyd and McNeer, to show up, which meant that it was time for Robert to get into position. He was feeling good, except for the headache. Maybe things had been a little fucked up lately, but now he was back on track. Robert Turchek was cooking.

Beau had been pretty quiet all evening. Now he looked directly at Robert. “You sure this is the thing to do?” he asked.

“Will you fucking quit asking me that? Why don't you worry about your part in this? Can you handle it?”

“I told you a million times I used to drive the jeep we had back home. I think I can get this fucking thing around the corner to meet you.”

They both seemed to realize at the same moment that it was just nerves making them so short-tempered. Beau smiled and patted Robert on the arm. “Go do it,” he said. “And be careful.”

“Right.”

Robert got out of the car, carrying both the guns he'd bought from Corley. Hopefully, he would be able to get close enough to use the pistol. Boyd sure wouldn't be expecting him to turn up here. Of course, there was also McNeer to deal with.

Well, that turned out to be even easier than he had expected. McNeer's task, apparently, was to watch Boyd's ass. He did a piss-poor job of it, sitting behind the wheel of a great big old Lincoln and staring at the back door of the pharmacy.

Robert walked up to the driver's side of the car, stuck the pistol into the window and pulled the trigger.

So much for Boyd's backup.

The lock on the door of the pharmacy had been taped open, so all Robert had to do was slip inside and stand in the dark hallway.

Boyd, if he had heard the shot that killed his partner—and how could he have not?—must have decided that it was a car backfiring. So he was still inside, ripping off pills as fast as his dirty little hands could move.

Robert took a deep breath. In only moments, the man who had killed Andy would be dead. The pressure to avenge his brother's death would be off him and he could start thinking about other things. Like how to straighten up his life.

But now he had to kill Danny Boyd.

When Gar heard the shot from behind the pharmacy, he swore under his breath and stepped into the phone booth. Automatically, his finger hit 911. “Shots fired,” he said, then gave the address and hung up.

Now he would find out about the response time of New York's boys in blue.

But he didn't have time to wait.

So far, at least, his plan was working perfectly. After spending almost four hours staking out McNeer's place, Billy finally showed up. And Danny Boyd was with him. Then it took more hours before they left the apartment again. Gar could tell they were up to something, just by the overly careful way McNeer drove through the dark streets.

They were ripping off drugs from Dawson's Pharmacy. Gar figured that the chances of Turchek's showing up were pretty good and the sound of the shot seemed to prove him right. For the rest of his plan to work, however, he had to find Beau. And the cops had to show up.

While he was waiting for them, Gar walked a wide circle around the pharmacy, looking for a parked car. There were several, but the ones he checked were all empty. He could just hear the faraway sound of a siren by the time he hit the small dead-end street that ran along one side of the pharmacy.

He saw the VW Rabbit and the dark shape of someone sitting behind the wheel. There wasn't any time to think about it or wait any longer. He walked as quickly as he could to the car and yanked the driver's door open.

Beau Epstein looked at him, startled. Then he swore and started crawling toward the passenger door. Gar grabbed one kicking leg and held on. “Stop it, Beau,” he said.

“Lemme go, you motherfucker,” Beau yelled. “Lemme go.” His free foot connected with Gar's stomach, and he was loose. The passenger door opened and Beau hit the ground running. He got about three steps from the car before Gar came around the front of the car, stuck his cane out, and tripped him flat. Beau fell heavily and Gar was on him in a minute.

They both heard a shot, then another, and then one more from inside the pharmacy. Beau froze for one instant, but then began to struggle again. He kicked and hit Gar, yelling obscenities in both English and Spanish. Gar couldn't really do anything except use his superior size and weight to try and subdue him.

At last, two squad cars roared up, lights and sirens in full operation. Cops jumped out, guns in hand.

“Don't shoot,” Gar said, breathing hard from the continuing struggle. “I'm a licensed investigator. This is a runaway juvenile. The shots came from inside the pharmacy there.”

One cop stayed where he was, while the others went to check it out.

“Beau,” Gar said. “I'm here to help you. Don't be afraid. It's all over now.”

Helpless now and finally quiet, Beau stared up at Gar. There were tears on his face. “Lemme go,” he whispered. “Please. Just be a good guy. I have to go.”

Gar shook his head. “Like I said, kid, it's all over. Any second now the cops will have Turchek in custody. You don't have to be afraid anymore.”

Beau didn't say anything as tears continued to roll down his cheeks and into the dirt.

3

Four hours later, Turchek still hadn't been seen and Beau still hadn't said anything. Somehow Turchek had managed to slip out of the pharmacy and evade the cops. All that was left were two more bodies: Billy McNeer in his car and Danny Boyd, shot three times, just inside the pharmacy door. None of the cops seemed particularly broken up about the sudden deaths of the two.

As for Beau, he just sat in the corner of the squad room, alternately gnawing on a hangnail and twisting the fringe on his leather vest, and ignoring everyone.

Gar spent most of those four hours talking hard and fast to the captain in charge, explaining what was going on and also explaining why he should be allowed to take that poor kid home. It didn't hurt that a picture of Beau, labeled
MISSING,
was hanging on the squad-room wall. Or that Saul Epstein was his grandfather. It was very much a plus that three members of Congress and one cabinet member had been called during those hours as well.

Strings were pulled. The powerful triumphed, as they always did. This time, Gar didn't care. He was pulling for money and power to do their stuff and finally they did. Finally he and Beau Epstein walked out of the police station. Gar kept a friendly but firm hand on Beau's shoulder as they left. Not that it seemed to matter. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him and he was now just a scared, sad kid, who kept wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve.

There were no seats available on a flight to Los Angeles until that night, so they checked into a hotel near La Guardia. Once they were safely inside the room, Gar relaxed a little. “Maybe I'll dial up some room service,” he said cheerfully. “Whattaya say, Beau?”