Deadly Diamonds (10 page)

The calm voice of the Irishman simply said, “Ten. It's all over.”

Salviti watched with tears streaming from his eyes and saliva running from his mouth as the Irishman pulled the pin and threw the grenade down beside him. Salviti fell flat on the ground whimpering. I closed my eyes and counted the three seconds to the explosion.

When I got to five seconds and was still breathing, I opened my eyes to see the Irishman walk over and pick up the grenade from where it landed beside Salviti. He took a cigarette from his shirt pocket, pressed a switch on the grenade and lit the cigarette from the little flame that came out of the top of it.

It took me ten seconds to adjust to the idea that I was not going to die in that alley. Salviti just lay on the ground blubbering.

“I don't know how you knew I'd be here, Burke, but you're my guardian angel.”

“I don't know about the angel part, but I've been keeping an eye on you. I've said it before. You've got rocks like boulders, but they'll put you in the grave if you don't pick a better grade of companion.”

“Why? Why did you do it? I don't mean anything to you.”

“Well now, you could be wrong about that. Either you or your partner might yet do me some good.”

He threw me the hand grenade/cigarette lighter. “You can keep this as a souvenir. It's from the joke shop on Bromfield Street. Now take a walk to the end of the alley and wait for me. I've got business with Salviti.”

He reached down with both hands and grabbed fistfuls of the back of Salviti's coat. He lifted him off the ground like a sack of potatoes and plastered his well-padded body against the brick wall. He turned back to me.

“Go on, Knight. End of the alley, and don't look back. This won't take long.”

“What are you going to—?”

“If you want to see Lex Devlin one more time, go. End of the alley.”

It was pointless to argue, and pointless to stay. I walked slowly. By the time I got to the opening of the alley on School Street, I heard Burke's fast footsteps behind me. He passed me and called me to follow him at a run.

We reached a Ford Crown Vic parked on Cambridge Street. He jumped into the driver's side. I took the passenger side. There wasn't a word spoken while he hit speeds through incipient rush hour traffic toward Route 1 that would have blanched a Boston driver.

We were cruising through Saugus at somewhere between seventy and ninety before the silence was broken.

“Could you tell me what the hell we're doing, Burke. At least tell me if you've got me kidnapped or what.”

He broke a brief smile. “You really don't know if you're afoot or on horseback, do you, Knight?”

“If you mean I don't have a clue about what this whole nightmare's about, it's the first thing I've heard that's made sense.”

He just drove and thought for the next ten seconds. Finally, without slackening the pace, he spoke. “Then maybe it's time you were let into the game.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The darkened row of cabins that were the Seaborn Motel could have passed at that moment for the Bates Motel. Burke cruised the Crown Vic onto the grass of an adjoining vacant lot.

I knew enough to whisper. “What's the plan, Burke?”

“The plan is for you to keep your mouth shut and stay two feet behind me. Come on.”

We passed silently through the darkness, hugging the fronts of cabins that all joined each other until we reached the one that gave off a thin line of light at the shaded window. I could see Burke put his ear to the door to check for voices and then quickly scan the surroundings.

He put his mouth to my ear. Still, I could barely hear him. “There are two of them. Follow this to the letter, Knight. You're going in that cabin next door. No lights. You're going to count ten seconds. Find the biggest chair you can lift. When you hit ten, throw the chair with everything you've got in that skinny body of yours against the wall it shares with this cabin. Have you got that?”

I just nodded. He moved silently to the next cabin. I was on his heels. I could see him slip something out of his pocket to pry open the door.

“In with you, Knight. Start counting now.”

The open door caught just enough scant beams of light from cars on Route 1 to outline the furniture. I was up to the count of “three” when I found a solid wooden chair that I could lift over my head. Between “five” and “seven” the thought flashed through my mind that this is one hell of a sketchy plan to hang our lives on, but nothing better suggested itself.

I hauled back at “nine” with my elbows cocked and the chair held high. On “ten” I said, “God help us,” and threw the chair with every ounce of force I could put into it. The glass in a picture frame shattered, and the two of the legs drove holes through the thin wall into the next cabin.

There wasn't a fraction of a second between the crash of the chair and the sound of the front door of the lighted cabin next door being kicked off its hinges. Another fraction of a second and the deafening staccato bursts of automatic weapon fire filled the silence.

I ran to the door of the cabin next door. The bullet-punctured bodies of two men I didn't know lay at odd angles on the floor, but the only point of interest to me was the slumped body of Lex Devlin tied to a chair in the center of the room.

I ran to him, praying for any sign of life. Burke was already there, feeling under the jaw for a pulse. In seconds, he was hitting the emergency number on the cabin phone. My hopes rose when I heard him call for an ambulance and EMTs.

Together we cut the ropes and gently laid Mr. Devlin on the bed. His face was white as a sheet, and I could barely hear sounds of spasmodic breathing. There were no signs of injury on his face. Whatever they did to him must have been to the body.

It was less than five minutes before the sirens wailed and an ambulance ground to a stop by the door. The EMTs were professionals. They worked like a team at double time. Within three minutes of their arrival, Mr. Devlin was in the white wagon with oxygen and intravenous going, and gadgets I couldn't identify taking readings of heaven knows what.

I jumped into the ambulance without asking and just hovered out of the way while the tires threw stones on the driveway to Route 1. The siren and lights went full bore to clear the way for what I thanked God was clearly a Boston driver at the wheel.

We reached a hospital where the waiting crew took charge without a wasted motion. Mr. Devlin was out of sight and into their good hands within what seemed like seconds. For the first time since I took that first step into Pi Alley, I took a normal inhale and exhale.

From that moment until the first rays of sunlight lit a horizon in the direction of Boston, I sat alone in the hospital waiting room with a notion I had never before considered—walking into those offices at 77 Franklin Street and not dropping in for morning coffee with my quasi-father/partner. Since that notion was more than I could face, I replaced it with the words that have often straightened my spine: “Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come follow me, and I will give you rest.”

Sometime toward dawn, I must have given in to exhaustion, because I woke to the gentle nudge of a man in pale-green hospital clothes.

“He's going to make it. Can you hear me?”

I could hear him, but I couldn't speak. He sat down beside me. “I have to ask you something. He had some strange welts on his body, but they'll heal. It's his heart. Has he had an attack before?”

I said to hell with the moisture coming out of my eyes and just focused on the question.

“Yes. About three years ago. He seemed to come out of it. He's a criminal trial lawyer. They make 'em tough.”

He nodded. “I think he'll come out of this one too, but he needs rest. I want to keep him here for a few days. Are you a relative?”

“As close as you can come to one. There are no others I know of. When can I see him?”

“Let's give him until tonight. He seems to have been through a lot. I want to keep him sedated for a while. We'll do everything we can.”

He was up and gone and hopefully back to “doing everything we can.” I felt totally washed over by relief, gratitude, and pure exhaustion. Everything ached, but there were things to do. First in line was a call to our faithful Tom Burns, with whom I figured we were running up a tab that would make the national debt seem like chump change. Clearly, the chance of a follow-up run-in with the boys from the North End was a major concern. I arranged with Tom for private security for Mr. Devlin with no fear of a leak as to his location.

The next step was one of human necessity. I checked into a local motel with three Big Macs, super-sized fries, and a mammoth Coke,
since I couldn't remember the last time sustenance had passed my lips. I left a call for five that evening and drifted into blessed unconsciousness.

I woke up to the call at five p.m. A quick shot of motel coffee with two Motrin for chasers got me back on the road. On the drive to the hospital, I checked in with my secretary, Julie, by cell phone.

“Michael, thank God. Are you all right?”

“Never better, Julie. Never better.”

If not the truth, at least it would stem the flow of oral chicken soup my mothering girl Friday would have unleashed through the phone.

“Is Mr. Devlin with you?”

“Sort of. Listen, Julie. Take this calmly. Mr. D. had a heart attack.”

“What—?”

“He's all right. He's being well taken care of. He just needs a few days' rest.”

“Where is he now?”

“Julie, I'm short of time. Check with his secretary, Lois, for any messages. Right now. I'll wait. Go.”

That last diversion was partly to avoid letting one more person in on Mr. D.'s whereabouts. I was also curious about any follow-ups by the company we were keeping the previous night. Julie was back in a minute.

“He had a lot of the usual calls. Lawyers, clients. The usual suspects.”

“Skip those. They can wait. Anything unusual?”

“Father Ryan called. Just to check in. Then this.”

“What's ‘this'?”

“Lois said someone with a rough Italian accent called three times. When she says he's not there, he just hangs up. Michael, is that anything?”

“No. Just a crank. They go with the territory. Listen, Julie, I want you to tell Lois that Mr. D. had a mild heart problem. Emphasize mild. He's recovering nicely. He'll be in touch with everyone in about
a week. That's all. Not one word more. Lois can use that to stall off calls. Got that?”

“Of course, but—”

“Next, on Mr. Devlin's private line. Call Father Ryan. Tell him personally about Mr. D. Emphasize he'll be fine. In the meantime, we're on top of his situation. Got that?”

“All right, but—”

“Last one. Tell Lois that if the Italian calls back, before he hangs up, tell him Mr. Devlin wants to meet. Ask him where and when. Don't mention the heart attack. Have you got all that?”

I could sense the temperature rising. “Michael, this is not nothing. This is something. What have you two gotten into?”

“Absolutely nothing that can't be handled by your following instructions to the letter. Gotta go, Julie. I'll be in touch.”

I soft walked into Mr. D.'s room in the ICU. He heard my approach and turned a weary, drawn, pasty-looking face toward me. Those eyes that could blaze and give palpitations to junior associates and assistant prosecutors looked soft and sedated, but the Irish smile was still quick on the trigger—a bit dreamy and faint, but I knew he knew me.

“How's the old warrior?”

“Fit, and as tough as the day I beat the school bully in the Charlestown schoolyard.”

“That was a sweet pair of bullies you took on last night.”

“I had them right where I wanted them. Another few minutes and they'd be pleading for mercy.”

“Right. You do draw a strange lot of companions.”

He just nodded. I thought he was drifting back to sleep, but he caught my eyes with his and I saw a trace of the old fire. “Truth told, I guess the Lone Ranger rode to my rescue again. Thank you, Michael.”

“Actually, more like Tonto. Last night's Lone Ranger is someone I hope you'll meet someday. One of our Irish countrymen.”

“What's he got to do with all this?”

“I haven't figured him out yet. We both owe him our lives. At least maybe a good dinner at the Top of the Hub.”

“Soon as I get out of here.”

I scanned the wires and tubes he had running in and out of everywhere.

“About that. I want a promise.”

The old eyebrows could still rise up at this reversal of roles.

“I want you out of sight and out of action till we can take them on together. I need that promise. Or else I may have to rough you up all over again.”

I didn't know how he'd take that, but he just started to laugh until his worked-over ribs cut it short.