Dirty Deeds Read online

  Tracing him back through my network is never easy, because it’s purposely setup so no one can find information. When I need to find this information, however, it is just as hard to move up the line. I spend a lot of money to cut loose ends and pay the right people off to walk away or forget they saw something, and most of them have no idea it was my money greasing a palm and keeping them silent.

  Marisa was busy trying to get as much intel as possible on the kid, who’d truly dropped off the face of the earth. I didn’t know if a rival of Chenzo had the kid, or Chenzo had him stashed, or the FBI was even now questioning the kid, or an infinite number of possibilities, all bad for me.

  Miami was too hot and a jaunt to the Keys before a flight to anywhere north was in the cards over the next week or so. I never liked to plan anything too far in advance. The fun was surprising myself.

  Next month I’d be doing a card show in San Diego, a small one near the military base. Some of my best customers were Navy SEALs. You’d think they were all a bunch of adrenaline junkies, but some of them liked to relax and collect some cards.

  Despite what I might have intimated, if I did more than one of these jobs a year it was a surprise. I’d once gone twenty-two months without a job about ten years ago, my longest stretch. The baseball cards kept me out of trouble and with a constant flow of money in and out.

  Marisa was officially my webmaster for the buying and selling of the sports stuff, and she did an excellent job of it. Most days she talked way over my head with what she was doing when it came to online stuff. I just saw money adding to my bank account and every now and then I’d spend some or skim some off the top in cash and hide it. Old habits and all that shit.

  My phone rang, waking me from a late morning nap. Yeah, I was officially getting old. It was Marisa.

  “I think I located the son. He was found off the coast of Massachusetts about two hours ago. I paid off a detective and two uniformed cops who discovered the body on a beach. Matches the description. They can sit on it for twelve hours before they have to start the process,” Marisa said.

  “He drowned?”

  “Technically. The four bullets in his body didn’t kill him, but they would have eventually. They think he was in the water about six hours. Luckily he wasn’t dumped into the ocean and drifted too far,” she said.

  “Whoever did it wanted the kid to be found,” I said. This was a message, but I didn’t know who it was for. Chenzo? Me? Something completely unrelated? Now, with the kid dead, I had no idea how I’d get information.

  “I’ve located the address he was living right before this,” Marisa said.

  “Send it to me and book a flight.”

  “I already have. Check your burner phone,” Marisa said. There was a pause on her end.

  “What?”

  “This kid, as you keep calling him. . . he wasn’t much younger than me. I’ve figured out I was the first one you’d saved on your own. Was he the second?”

  I hesitated. You never wanted to give out information that could come back later and bite you on the ass, or get someone else in a bad position if someone bad came looking for an answer. With Marisa I assumed she’d already figured out the answer to most questions she asked.

  “Yes. Little Chenzo was the second job I did.”

  “He was named William. Will Black. He has a rap sheet a mile long. Drug addict. He’s been living on the streets since he was twelve. Damn fine musician from what I’ve pieced together. He was a nightmare for the parents and they gave up on the kid. They let him go and never bothered to tell anyone. I think they somehow knew there was a problem with the adoption,” Marisa said.

  “I need their address as well,” I said. Marisa did great work and I had no doubt I was ahead of everyone else so far. I was hoping the kid dying had nothing to do with the rumors of who he was, and it was a drug-related death. Maybe it would solve a few things if I could keep it under wraps and keep it quiet.

  “There’s another hitch,” Marisa said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Sister Patricia had a visitor this morning. He asked way too many questions. He said he’d be back with a search warrant for her records,” Marisa said.

  “Damn Keane.” He wouldn’t find anything but Sister Patricia was getting older and I knew she had a few others helping her now in her advanced age. I knew I should’ve switched the adoption agency years ago, but I had a soft spot for the woman. I knew she’d taken care of my own move as a baby. I told you I wasn’t all bad. But if someone she was working with now was privy to what I was doing or even suspected, they might slip and tell the FBI.

  I guarantee there are people scratching their heads right now wondering why I just don’t come clean to the Feds and explain what a wonderful thing I’m doing. I wish it were that simple.

  I learned from my predecessor and mentor how it would really work: a lot of pissed off really bad people would come after me, and the government wouldn’t be able to stop them. Hell, some of the government officials had been involved in this either as a payoff or, in a couple of cases, had a problem solved this way.

  That would be a major can of worms opened. The other downside would be whoever stepped in to take my place (and there would always be someone to take your place no matter how unique your skill set was) and they’d actually kill little kids.

  Think about it.

  It would be far easier to let Agent Keane into my dirty little secret, but the ramifications were too great if he didn’t play ball or thought he was helping by telling his bosses, who told their bosses, until it got to someone who I’d done a job for.

  I couldn’t take a chance.

  Marisa filled me in on the pertinent information: the cops I needed to get to as soon as possible, followed by the slum Will was living in before he died, and then his adoptive parents to see what I could shake up.

  So much for the Keys, but I was glad to be leaving Miami. I had nearly four weeks before I had to be in San Diego, and I thought I had enough time.

  I packed a bag quickly and was through the lobby and outside into the oppressive heat just as the car to take me to the airport arrived. I made a mental note to thank Marisa again and give her another raise.

  * * * * *

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Reggie Keane had been hustling me all these years, lulling me into a false sense of security before pouncing.

  When I stepped off the plane in Boston, Reggie was waiting for me with a smile.

  “What brings you to town, James?”

  “Want to catch a Red Sox game. I haven’t been to Fenway Park in a couple of years and since I have time to kill until my next card show, I decided to take a mini-vacation. What brings you to Boston?” I asked. I hoped he’d gotten lucky and someone had tipped him off I appeared on a flight when Marisa booked me and nothing more. If he was still in New York it would’ve been a much quicker jump to Boston to await my arrival.

  “Same. I’ve never been to Fenway. How about I join you?”

  I smiled. “I’ll get the tickets and you get the beer and hot dogs. Sound fair?”

  Reggie nodded. “The game starts at seven tonight. But I’m sure you already knew. What hotel are you staying at?”

  “Eliot Hotel on Commonwealth,” I said, knowing it was the best of the best. Over five hundred a night and more if you book last-second and have to make sure you get a luxury room.

  Agent Keane smiled. “I need to get a room.” He checked his watch. “It’s three now. I’ll pick you up at the hotel around six-fifteen.”

  “Great. I’m looking forward to it,” I lied. I excused myself to get my luggage. Keane walked off but I could see the sloppy tail following my every move. He’d be easy enough to shake when I was ready.

  I called Marisa and filled her in about Keane. She bought two tickets to the game on the third base side and told me the Tigers were in town. At least it would be a decent game on the field, and I’d have to bring my A game when talking with Reggie. This wasn�
��t going to be a social visit and two longtime buddies catching a game and drinking a couple of beers. Frankly, I was impressed with Reggie for being so bold and inviting himself to the game.

  I rented a car and immediately took off, losing my tail within two blocks. Boston was a great city to shake someone with the way the streets have been laid out, like a chaotic maze and no forethought to people getting around. I knew the city well and was heading east towards the beach and the cops, knowing I was going to cut it close if there was a glitch.

  I broke a few speeding laws on the way and might have driven on the median at one point when the fast lane was too slow for my tastes, but I didn’t get pulled over and I arrived at my destination ahead of my personal schedule.

  Two cops stood over the covered body and when I announced myself and slipped both a crisp hundred dollar bill extra for their troubles, they let me see the kid.

  He was dead. The last time I’d seen him was too long ago, and I had no idea if this was even him until the autopsy came back. I could see his waterlogged flesh on both arms had track marks, though. He was a junkie.

  “When will you be doing the write-up?” I asked.

  “As soon as you walk away we make the call. Do you know the kid or want to make a statement?”

  “I wasn’t here.” I gave them both a business card. “Do me a favor: when you notify the parents and they say it’s their son, I need to know they verified everything. Got it?”

  Both cops nodded. They knew I’d give them a few more bucks for their trouble, too.

  It might have been a wasted trip, but I didn’t think so. The cops would stay close to the body and no one would mess with it. As soon as the parents claimed him I could have a chat with them.

  I hadn’t planned on staying in Boston but I’d get an early jump in the morning and drive to New York. I called Marisa and told her to book me a bogus flight back to Miami in the late morning. I’d eat the ticket but get Keane off my back.

  Traffic was a bitch getting back into Boston but I made the hotel by five, parked and smiled when I saw my tail, waiting in the parking garage. He’d spent the last two hours sitting and stewing. I was sure he’d neglect to mention to Keane I’d shaken him with ease.

  I had enough time for a quick shower and a change into a pair of well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt with my faded Braves cap for good measure. I was in Boston, where my favorite team had started, so I felt comfortable wearing it. I never bothered unpacking the cap when I was in Philadelphia or Queens. Those fans would pour a beer on your head.

  By the time I got down to the lobby Reggie was waiting, watching the rich tourists or businessmen coming and going. He greeted me with a quick wave. I could see he was dressed casual for his style, with no tie on a button-down shirt and a pair of loose-fitting khaki pants. I could see he was unarmed, too. I knew I was no physical threat to him in his mind. He thought wrong, but it wasn’t like I’d break his arm unless I had to.

  Let’s stop again so I can reset and fill you in on a few things: I’m in my mid-forties, like I already said. I’m a bit overweight, like Marisa loves to point out. I don’t run unless absolutely necessary, and then usually for a pizza. I do all of my work by stealth and infinite patience when I’m working the job. I don’t carry a gun even though I own quite a few. I’m not an assassin. I think I said it before, but I’ll reiterate the point. I’m no killer, even though I have the greatest reputation for being one. But don’t cross me, because there are those who’ve done it in the past and while I haven’t killed anyone so far, the day was still young, as the saying goes.

  Did I touch on this before? It sucks getting old.

  FOUR

  Another aside before we continue.

  Sitting with Reggie, enjoying a cool summer night watching a baseball game and my mouth watering as I’m waiting for the hot dog guy to pass me a couple of good ones, I’m struck by the realization I’m not a calm as I’ve probably led some to believe.

  If I’m acting like I’m as cool as the other side of the pillow, it’s all an act.

  Despite the hunger, my stomach was roiling for another reason. I was nervous. Even though Keane and I had an odd and civil relationship, I had no doubt he was trying to trip me up with every innocuous question or comment. He was trying to feel me out, and after the last couple of days I knew his bumbling Keystone Cops routine was his way of getting me off my guard. It had worked. I stepped right into the Caruso office and nearly got crushed because of my own arrogance.

  Reggie Keane was in Boston for the same reason I was, and it didn’t look promising for me. I could throw a ton of money at the problem but in the end, he had the badge and the right.

  All I had was two delicious hot dogs and a cold beer, and baseball. I’d take it for tonight, but tomorrow I needed to move quickly. I shared a few hints about my past, most of them common knowledge he’d already know, and a few falsehoods to make him waste time checking to see if they were true.

  By the seventh inning stretch we were talking more about baseball than trying to trip one another up, and I was starting to relax. My bad.

  “I know you went and saw the kid on the beach. I know he’s someone who is supposed to be dead, and I also know Chenzo isn’t too happy about it,” Keane said after singing along to Neil Diamond together and finishing our third beers.

  I remained calm but I could feel the hot dogs trying to come back up in my stomach. I turned and looked for the beer guy or the hot dog guy or anyone who could distract me while I collected my thoughts, as jumbled as they were right now.

  I had to give Reggie credit: he’d thrown me a curveball and I was about to swing and miss.

  Instead, I said nothing. Like an idiot. I glanced at Reggie and he was smiling. He thought he finally had me.

  I took his arrogance and used it to get back in the game. There was no way this snide bastard was going to get the best of me.

  “I thought it was a friend of the family. Turns out it was just some drug addict washed up on the beach? Again, I know who Chenzo is, but so does half this stadium and we’re not even in New Jersey right now. The guy is a thug and a menace. Not something I deal with, unless he wants to buy a Babe Ruth card. Even then I try to get someone between us to do the deal. Unfortunately, in both our lines of work, we deal with people who aren’t necessarily good but they have money to spend,” I said.

  “They’re running DNA on this kid as we speak. As soon as it comes in I’ll get Chenzo to give up a sample as well. What do you think he’ll say when his kid, who’s been presumed dead for all these years, comes back?” Reggie was staring at me.

  I turned back to the game just as Ortiz came up for the Red Sox.

  “You’re chasing butterflies again, Reggie. I thought we were actually bonding tonight.”

  Ortiz swung and missed a slider inside. You never wanted to test Big Papi.

  “I need to know what your connection is to Chenzo. We’ve been trying to get this guy for years, and we always assumed he’d had his son killed. His alibi was way too convenient. With the wife butchered we thought it only a matter of time before the kid’s body showed up in a landfill or at least blood evidence in a junkyard. Now this. . . I know you killed the wife. Why let the kid go?”

  Next pitch to the batter was high and outside. Ball.

  “I didn’t do any of this. Don’t you get it? The real killer of Chenzo’s wife is still out there. It isn’t like he doesn’t have fifty guys who would gladly kill for him. I’m sure you know this.” I watched a ball in the dirt to Ortiz.

  “I’m getting closer. I’ll nail you. Word on the street is Chenzo wants to see you. That isn’t a coincidence, James. It would be really bad for you if Chenzo finds out the son has been alive this entire time and you’ve hidden him away for some odd reason. This kid is the heir to his illegal throne, and my gut tells me Chenzo ordered the hit on his wife and son all those years back. Did you go soft for some reason? See a little of the kid in yourself? Couldn’t take killing another child
?”

  Ortiz took another swinging strike.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Keane. If you had anything on me, anything, we wouldn’t be sitting in this stadium eating hot dogs and drinking beer like old friends. We’d be at the nearest police station awaiting a flight back to FBI headquarters so you could parade me around the office after all these years,” I said.

  “I can’t quite put a finger on you. Never could, as you know. You’ve run rings around me for years. Every big kidnapping has your name on it, though. I can feel it in my bones. Now I’m starting to wonder. . .”

  Ortiz hit a mammoth home run to straightaway center field and the crowd cheered. I had to stand and give props to the man as well.

  “You want another hot dog?” I asked Reggie when I sat back down. He was no longer making pretend he was watching the game.

  “I want answers,” Keane said.

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” I said.

  Keane shook his head. “Here’s the funny part: every few months, maybe two or three times a year, a celebrity or drug lord or millionaire has a child kidnapped. Blood is spilled at the scene at times, and maybe a ransom note is sent or a mysterious phone call asking for millions. Nothing ever comes of it, though. While the police are chasing a phantom, the kid vanishes into smoke. Never to be heard from again. No shallow graves. No fingers sent in bloody envelopes in the mail. No follow-up ransom calls or money requests. It’s all a sham, and I think I figured out what’s going on.”

  I put my hands at my sides as I sat because I could feel them start to shake.

  “Care to take a guess?” Reggie asked.

  “You’re doing pretty well up to this point. Why don’t you keep babbling while I enjoy the last couple of innings?” I nodded to the hot dog guy, my new best friend, and put up two fingers. “You want another dog?”

  “Sure,” Reggie said.

  I put up three fingers.

  Reggie handed me a twenty dollar bill. “My turn to pay.”