F
INN SAT OUTSIDE
at a small harborside restaurant on the shore of Boston’s North End. A light breeze brushed back his hair as he sipped a Budweiser on the back deck of the bistro, looking out at the Boston skyline. He loved this time of year. Always had. It was only four-thirty, but already the October sun was low on the horizon and cast a watery orange glow on the city. He breathed in deeply and could taste the crisp leaves, ripened to the point of decay, as they mixed with the salt air. To Finn, the renewal had begun.
He didn’t hear her when she joined him. She slipped into the chair next to his without a word, and waited for him to speak first. The waitress arrived before either of them had worked up a notion of what to say.
“What would you like?” the waitress asked Flaherty.
“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.”
The waitress headed back into the bar, leaving them alone again in silence. It was Flaherty who finally broke the stalemate.
“It’s been more than a month, and you never returned my phone calls,” she said.
Finn bristled. “I gave my statement at the police station the day after everything went down. You weren’t there. I figured that if you needed to talk to me for the investigation, you’d have sent someone to pick me up.”
“I wasn’t calling about the investigation,” Flaherty said, sighing.
Finn took a sip of his beer. “I know.”
Another extended silence set in. Out on the water, a racing sloop drifted by, tacking gracefully upriver as if nothing had changed in the city for three hundred years.
“I’m sorry,” Finn said at last. “I had a lot of things to work through on my own before I could really deal with anyone else’s questions.”
Flaherty looked at him. “Were you successful?”
Finn shrugged. “Tough to say. I still have a bunch of things to think about.” He paused and thought about what to say next. “I fought my way out of the projects, and I thought once I made it into the real world, I wouldn’t have to deal with all the shit that goes on there—the cruelty, and the anger, and the viciousness. It turns out I was wrong. I didn’t escape anything. Even some of the people I cared most about were screwed up.”
“Like Natalie?” Flaherty asked.
“For starters,” Finn admitted.
Flaherty let him catch his breath while she considered her next question. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”
He blew out his breath contemplatively. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “And no.” Flaherty looked inquisitively at him, and he continued. “It’s hard to explain, even to myself. She was a fantasy to me—an ideal. She was everything I always wanted but could never have. She was smart, and beautiful, and successful, and funny. I think I believed she’d somehow make me better—happy, even.”
Flaherty thought about that. “I’m not sure anyone can fill in a part of us that’s missing. They can only help us live with the things that are hardest.”
“I guess I found that out the hard way,” Finn said. He looked off into the distance, toward the south where Fort Independence jutted out from the shoreline like a sentry. Flaherty followed his gaze, and seemed to know what he was thinking.
“I’m sorry about Tigh,” she said.
“Yeah,” Finn responded. “Me too.” He looked down at the table, lost in thought. “When we were running together in Charlestown, he was the most feared guy in the neighborhood. I saw him do awful things to people—really brutal things. But even then, there was a part of him that was fighting against it. I think that’s why he understood why I had to get out. In the end, he saved us all.”
Flaherty nodded. “Nothing is ever exactly what it seems to be,” she said, echoing Kozlowski’s warning. She gave Finn an embarrassed smile. “I learned that about you the hard way.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You have every right to hate me.”
Finn took another sip of his beer. “How could you have known? McGuire was pulling all the strings with such skill that he had everyone fooled.”
“It’s nice of you to say, but it doesn’t stop the guilt.”
“Don’t bother with guilt,” Finn said. “It’s a waste of energy.”
Flaherty smiled. “You sound like my old partner.”
“How is the Polish prodigy doing?” Finn asked.
“Ornery as ever.” Flaherty laughed. “He’s being forced to retire because of his arm—it’ll never fully heal—and he keeps threatening a lawsuit. I think the brass would be willing to go to court just to keep him off the force and out of their hair.”
“What will he do?”
“What do all old cops like Kozlowski do? He’ll get a private investigator’s license and start causing real problems.”
Finn laughed. “That will be frightening, won’t it? I can’t imagine how dangerous he’ll be once he can start doing things his own way.”
“I know,” Flaherty said. “He could put the rest of us out of business.”
“I’m guessing he’s awfully proud of you, though,” Finn said, nudging Flaherty across the table. “Director of the Commonwealth Security Department, huh? Pretty impressive.”
Flaherty shrugged. “I think the new governor wanted to put some distance between himself and the old administration.”
“Can you blame him? I read the newspaper reports on what your investigation uncovered about Clarke. Turns out he was up to his armpits in McGuire’s shit, huh?”
“Maybe not his armpits, but his shoes were certainly covered with it. All he really did at first was take mob money for his campaign. That’s the thing about politicians, though, they can’t just get a ‘little’ dirty.”
“It’s like getting a little pregnant,” Finn agreed.
Flaherty nodded. “Once McGuire had his hooks into him, Clarke was helpless. He even supplied the information McGuire’s people needed to make Natalie look like one of Townsend’s victims.”
Finn thought about that for a moment. “Can you imagine how much more power McGuire would have had if Clarke had ever been elected president? I heard a rumor he was on his party’s short list before all of this.”
“I know. It’s more than a little scary to think about. That’s why the new governor thought it was so important to put as much distance between himself and Clarke. One way to do that was to hire the person credited with bringing Clarke down. For good or bad, I was the one the press focused on.”
“That’s being a little modest, isn’t it?” Finn pointed out. “You deserved most of the focus. Without you, the investigation would have ended the minute John Townsend was under arrest. And Clarke and McGuire would still be in business.”
“Maybe, but there were other people involved who didn’t get the recognition they deserved. Including you.” She looked out at the water. They were across the harbor from the spot where Stone had found Natalie floating by the embankment, her eyes still somehow vibrant and penetrating, hovering under a thin veil of water. It was such a waste. “So what are your plans now?” she asked Finn after a moment.
“I was offered a partnership at Howery, Black,” he said. “That’s great. I’m very happy for you.” Flaherty sounded disappointed.
“I turned it down,” Finn said.
She looked at him. “Why?”
“I don’t know, really,” he replied honestly. “Preston has been great throughout all of this. His friendship is probably the only positive thing that I’ve held on to as a result of this mess. But I’m not sure I can go back there. It feels like I’ve spent the last eight years doing other people’s work—handling cases for other lawyers’ clients. It’s a little like when I was young and working the streets in Charlestown; I was always doing someone else’s bidding. I’m tired of being a pawn.”
“What now, then?” Flaherty pushed.
Finn took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to start my own firm—hang out a shingle back in Charlestown and see what happens.”
“That’s a little risky, don’t you think?”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, it is,” he admitted. Then he looked back at her. “But I’m through playing it safe. Preston got the firm to agree to a generous severance package that will help get me started, and he’ll refer some clients to me as I get on my feet. If I’m ever going to be a really good lawyer, I’ve got to get out there on my own and get my hands dirty.”
Flaherty looked at Finn and decided she liked what she saw. She’d always been attracted to his humor, and his strength, and his intelligence, but now there was something more. There was a fire in Finn she’d only seen hints of before—a passion that had seemed muted and dampened. Now he seemed complete.
“I guess that just leaves us,” she commented after a minute.
He sipped his beer as he looked out at the water again. “I guess so,” he said noncommittally.
She was still looking at him. “Do you think there’s a chance for us?” she asked. As soon as the words left her mouth she held her breath.
He turned to look at her. Her dark hair shimmered in the waning light, and she looked beautiful. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Given our history, don’t you think that would be more than a little risky?”
She held his gaze for a moment or two. Then she reached out and put her hand over his. She could feel the strength of his fingers, and it felt comfortable to her—sturdy and reassuring. She looked out toward the water, but left her hand on his as she closed her eyes and smiled into the last rays of autumn. “I’m through playing it safe, too.”