The Shadow Box (70 page)

He could not ring Hector's cellular, giving his position
away, every time he saw a spade who might be Moon.
Hector would call if that one, or anyone, goes into the
Taylor House.

Moon, if Parker had to guess, was probably in New
York hanging around the Pierre. Or maybe he got Hobbs
by now.
If he's here, however, it would be lovely to catch
Moon and Fallon together. Two Polaroids. A million each.
He'd pour gasoline over Moon. Light him and let him run
through the Taylor House, setting the whole place on fire.
That would be a nice touch. Rast would probably—

Parker saw the black Mercedes creeping down through
the crowd. It did not have New York plates but that could
still be Fallon's car. He's a resident here now. He'd have
Massachusetts plates. Parker couldn't see the driver clearly
but he could very well be Fallon. One
...
no
...
two
other heads in there with him. It's Fallon all right, with
his guests from the airport. But the car wasn't turning. It was heading this way.

Oh
...

Oh, God damn them.

The low moan that started in Parker's chest came when
the Mercedes stopped at the dock. His first thought was
that they'd made him. There they were, it was definitely
Fallon, and his headlights are aimed straight at Childress's
boat. Somehow Fallon knows. And there's Yahya, totally
oblivious, his head still down between his knees.

Parker froze. His instinct was to wait, let Fallon make his move, then come in behind him, put a bullet through
his ear. Then he could pop a few caps at the crowd, get them yelling and screaming, get away in the confusion.

He sucked in a breath because now, climbing out the
other side, was a small man with wavy red hair. From the
photographs he'd seen, it could only be Doyle. He left his
wife to fly up here? What for? Doyle's no shooter and
he's damned sure not here to serve papers. The third man
in the car must be their muscle, maybe even a cop.

Parker realized that he couldn't get them all. He needed
a plan that had some chance of working. His brain was
so busy groping for options, try to sort smart from stupid,
he almost didn't notice that the girl on that sailboat was
waving a greeting at Fallon.

Parker forced himself to breathe slowly. The girl, the
young blond he'd admired, is being introduced to Doyle.
She's reaching down to shake his hand
...
no, to help him climb on board. But suddenly she freezes. She lets go of his hand and backs away from him as if she just
found out he has AIDS.

Doyle doesn't want to board anyway. He's gesturing
back toward the car where the third man, the muscle, is
out and has popped the trunk. Parker couldn't see him yet.
But now Doyle is pointing this way. Right at me, thought
Parker. He's turning and walking right at me.

Parker had nowhere to hide. He could only wait. He
watched as the girl hopped down from the boat and put
both her hands against Fallon's chest. Her expression
is...he
didn't know . . . sympathetic? How're you
doing? I missed you? Whatever it was, it was not, “Glad
you're back. Let's start blasting the fuckers in the boat
behind mine.” Maybe they don't know after all.

Parker lit a cigarette. It's good for looking casual. Doyle
glanced toward the glow of his lighter but no more than
that. No hesitation, no recognition, no interest. He seemed
to be heading toward one of the phones. Parker fished for
a quarter. He would take one of the phones, fake a call
of his own, listen to whatever Doyle was saying.

Dropping his coin, he punched out a random set of
numbers and listened to a recording say his call could not
be completed as dialed. By that time the lawyer had dialed
as well. Parker turned his back to the phone so that his free ear was on Doyle and his eyes could be on Fallon.

It was then he saw Johnny G. He could barely believe
it but there he was. Parker knew that he'd been had.

On the sidewalk, just across from Michael's inn, Moon
saw what looked like a domestic dispute. A big woman,
dressed in robe and slippers, had a smaller man by the
hair and was whaling on him, cussing him, trying to kick
him. The man broke away but tripped over a bike. She
got him again.

Moon slowed to a crawl, unwilling to get caught up in
this. But the woman, he realized, was black. The smaller
man was not. They seemed an unlikely couple. A prowler,
maybe? She caught him looking through her window?

The man tried to kick her and got wrenched off his feet.
Now he's yelling for help. And help must be coming, thought Moon, because she suddenly let out a yip and
swung to face whatever else was moving in on her. The violence of her move tore the little man free and sent him
toppling over a fence into someone's front garden. The
man hollered in pain. Branches were sticking to his back
and shoulders. He must have landed in thorns.

Moon saw no one else at first. Then he saw the shadow.
The shadow stepped out, almost to the sidewalk, and did
a nervous little dance between her and the man she'd just
flung to the brambles. He wasn't so sure how to handle
her either. Moon saw that his face was masked by a scarf.
Round his waist he wore some sort of tool belt. Moon's
thought was that they might be burglars
working the Water
Street inns.

But burglars don't like to go armed because it's twice as much time if they're caught. This one was armed. He
was pulling a knife from that tool belt. Knife, hell. He
was pulling a short Jap sword.

Moon wanted to shout, try to scare him off. But just
then the woman reached down for that bike. She lifted it
by the handle bars and seat and commenced to swing it
at the man all in black. The man dodged her, tried to slash
at her, but he couldn't reach past the wheels.

Crouched low, Moon broke into a silent run.

Parker said, “Take the call, Mom. I'll hold.”

He said this into his own dead phone and tried to look
bored as Doyle, not a foot away, punched out a credit
card number. But a cold, calm fury had enveloped him.

Those lying wop bastards had suckered him. Yeah,
well,
let them enjoy the moment because tonight, one way or the other, Fat Julie's little brother is going to die.

With that thought, he glanced back at the Mercedes,
half expecting to see Julie climbing out of it as well. Half
wishing that he would. But it's better this way. This way he'd have the satisfaction of calling him tomorrow or the next day, saying, “Yeah, fuckface, it was me killed your
little brother. Next
I'm
coming after your kids.”

Not that he'd bother to make good the threat. He'd be
in his new life. But that dago would never have another
day's peace.

Parker listened as Doyle called his wife. “You're
okay? . . . We're okay, we're with Michael now . . .
No
...
No, Moon's still in the hospital here, we'll go see him in the morning . . . Yeah, he's fine. Michael says he's
out of danger.”

Hospital? Here? Parker had no idea what that was about
but the words “out of danger” means it must have been
serious. Maybe he got burned trying to torch another
house, maybe another stroke. Either way, though, he's out
of the picture. That's too bad in one way. This could have
been a sweep.

Doyle finished with his wife. He made a second call to
someone named Eddie and said, “I'm glad I caught you.
Look, I need a sheet on someone.”

He said the name “Megan Cole” and spelled it. He
looked back toward her as he spoke. “Middle to late twen
ties, lives on a boat in Woods Hole, Mass. Here's the
registration number.”

Parker saw that he was reading a set of numbers and
letters off the front end of her boat. All the boats had them.

“Start with the Coast Guard,” Doyle was saying, “see
if the boat's in that name. I want credit history, priors, if
any,
and she's had some press so check that, too. Oh, and
she's supposed to have worked with the Massachusetts
State Police . . . never mind how . . . see what they say.
Also check with—”

He stopped short, gave a tired nod. Eddie must have
said, “Brendan, don't tell me my job.”

Eddie, Parker realized, must be a skip-tracer. All law
yers use them.

Why the girl was so important, why Doyle didn't see
m
to trust her, Parker didn't know. All he cared about at the
moment was that she had this boat, they were all going
to meet on it, and they had no clue that he was parked
just behind it.

But just now, for a second or two, he almost thought the girl had spotted him. She had climbed up into the
cockpit, handed two beers to Fallon who is huddled with
Johnny G., who is flipping through the pages of that note
book he carries.