Read Online The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer by Rick Boyer - Free Book Online Page A

boxes. Joe stood up and came over to the desk. The
dog likewise went back to his bed and sank to his belly on the old
carpet. Sam opened a lower drawer in the desk and brought out an
empty shoulder holster, which he ducked into, then replaced his light
jacket. He slipped the big silver gun into its snug resting place
underneath his left armpit.
    "Johnny was the only one of us carried a piece.
Now I'm carryin' this one every day."
    He tapped the bulge under the jacket for emphasis.
    "Every day. " He shut and locked the big
safe.
    Joe's sternness gave way to a helpless look.
    "I assume you're licensed to carry, Sam. But be
careful. How long since you've fired that howitzer?"
    "Last month at the Deer Island range. It might
surprise you, Joe, but I pretty good with this ol' cannon. Here, you
want this logbook anymore?"
    We said no thanks, and told Sam how much we
appreciated his coming to Dependable's office on a Sunday. He and
Popeye led us out and then he turned and relocked the three big
deadbolts and reset the electronic intrusion device. He faced us.
    " I'm not kiddin'. I'm gonna have my ear to the
wire. I hear who did that to Johnny— they're dead. I don't care if
I go down with 'em. Got nobody waitin' for me . . . just like Johnny.
Don't care if they take me with 'em. They're dead."
    "See you, Sam. Sorry about Johnny."
    "One more time," said Joe. He squatted down
in front of Popeye. "Here boy. C'mon Popeye. Caaaaaa-mon!"
    The dog seemed as interested in Joe as he would be in
a snow shovel.
    Sam fastened the lead and walked the blocky beast
back to the motorcycle. As we drove off I heard the faint popping and
rumbling of the old bike starting up. Joe said the lab at
headquarters had some news.
    " Two items. One: there was evidence on the
corpse in the chimney that he was tortured. Cigarette burns on the
sole of his right foot."
    "Oh Christ."
    "Yeah. Two: the emergency room of Union Hospital
in Lynn treated— get this— an Italian fisherman for two amputated
fingers late Friday night. The guy could barely speak English.
Claimed he got his hand caught in a cable winch. Hah! You see how
clever that was? Know how many illegal aliens there are in our
fishing boats? Especially Portuguese down in New Bedford and Italians
on the North Shore? Records show the guy paid cash, had no I.D. Don't
you see how perfect it is?"
    "Very clever. About as foolproof as the gas
bomb. These guys are pros, or near it. I can just see that doctor who
was on call in Lynn. He's sewing up the hand and thinking, this poor,
poor fisherman. So far from home, working to support his starving
family in Ragusa. And if word gets out, they'll deport him."
    "Shit. It's enough to make me wish Sam does
catch up with them."
    "Think he will? And if he does, is he really
going to try to kill them?"
    "Oh yes indeed. Sam's
no pussycat, in case you didn't notice. He was a paratrooper in World
War Two and never got out of jump shape. He was a cop, like he said.
I guess he's good with a sidearm. Sure hope he doesn't get himself
killed. Whatever happens on this case, I'm keeping mum to Sam."
    * * *
    We drove up Mass. Ave. through Central Square, which
on a Sunday looked unrecognizably quiet and deserted.
    "Where are we headed?"
    "To the Fogg Museum," said Joe, driving
through a thicket of Dunkin' Donuts wrappers that fluttered in our
wake. "See if we can get any kind of line on that job Johnny did
Friday morning. Then we'll go home, okay?"
    " Fine. Except I think the Fogg's closed on
Sundays, like everything else in this state is, except bars."
    "Except bars. Right. The Irish influence no
doubt."
    The Fogg was closed. But Joe and I peered through the
glass of the Federal-style front door and saw the display screens for
the exhibit entitled "Renaissance Treasures of San Marino."
On the screens were mural-sized photos of that tiny republic
(reputedly the world's oldest as well as smallest) and its flag,
showing the three stone castle towers on three summits that mark