Vineyard Shadows Read online

  “Not a good idea,” said the medic. “The docs don't need you cluttering up the examining room. You can drive up in your own car.”

  “He's right,” said Zee, and I knew he was, so I shut my mouth and let them take her and Diana away.

  I looked around then and saw that Dom Agganis and Olive Otero of the State Police were there, along with Edgartown's cops and Manny Fonseca. I was the only one who didn't know what had happened.

  Dom Agganis and Tony D'Agostine told me.

  I didn't know what to say or think.

  Manny Fonseca stepped closer. “I heard the shots from the club, and when Zee didn't show up for her lesson, I got worried and came here. Jesus, J.W., I couldn't believe my eyes. One guy dead, and the other all shot up. Couple of Boston hoods and she got 'em both. Five shots, five hits. Christ almighty!”

  I began to come back to earth. “Who were they?” I asked Dom Agganis. “What were they doing here?”

  “A couple of enforcers from Charlestown,” said Agganis. “The dead one was Pat Logan. They call him— called him, I guess you'd better make that—‘The Pilot.’ Pat ‘The Pilot’ Logan. Not because he was a pilot, you understand, but because he had the same name as the airport up in Boston. The other guy is Howie Trucker. I just ran a check on them. They both started young, then got into the business of robbing armored cars. It's traditional employment for the hoods in Charlestown, as you may know. Every up-and-coming wanna-be mobster does it or wants to. On the side, these two were muscle for hire. You ever hear of either of them?”

  “No.”

  “I thought maybe you had dealings with them when you were on the Boston PD.”

  I thought back, then shook my head. “No. I've never known anybody from Charlestown.”

  “Just thought I'd ask. Anyway, they told your wife they were looking for a guy. I'm guessing that the guy crossed somebody and they were supposed to find him. Pat and Howie thought he was here at your house. He wasn't. They made a mistake.”

  “A big one for them,” said Tony. He looked at Manny. “Jesus, Manny, you sure as hell taught Zee how to shoot!”

  Manny said nothing.

  “If they'd just taken her word for it that the guy wasn't here, none of this would have happened,” said Olive Otero. “But they had to get tough.” She shrugged. “Too bad for them.”

  Olive didn't look like she was about to shed any tears for Pat “The Pilot” or Howie Trucker.

  My eyes found Zee's flight bag, which was back on the hood of her Jeep. Olive Otero noticed my look.

  “We've taken your wife's pistol, since there's been a homicide. She may get it back later.”

  I nodded. It was standard procedure. “Sure. But why would two Charlestown hoods come here to our house? What made them think the guy was here?”

  The cops exchanged glances. “Zee said she asked them that,” said Tony. “They told her the guy's wife had told them he was here.” Tony cocked his head to one side.

  It made no sense to me. “The guy's wife? Like I told you, I don't know anybody in Charlestown. How could anybody in Charlestown even know where we live?”

  “Maybe the guy and his wife don't live in Charlestown,” said Agganis sensibly.

  I obviously wasn't thinking very well. Being stupid wasn't going to help me a bit. I took a breath and pulled myself together. “What's the guy's name? Who were they looking for?”

  “They were after a fella named Tom Rimini,” said Agganis, studying me as he spoke. “Ever heard of him?”

  Time stopped, then started again.

  “What's the matter, J.W.? You okay?” Tony D'Agostine's voice sounded far away.

  “Tom Rimini?” asked my voice.

  “Yeah,” said Dom Agganis. “You know the guy?”

  I shook my head, more confused than before. “I never met him but I know of a man with that name. But I don't see how it could be him.”

  “If he's one of the slimeballs, I never heard of him,” said Olive Otero. “But then I never heard of most of the scum in this state.”

  Officer Olive Otero was not my favorite cop. We had never hit it off. But I couldn't argue with her this time.

  “The guy I'm thinking of isn't in the mob,” I said. “He's a schoolteacher in Boston.” I looked down into Olive's eyes. “My ex-wife married him after she left me.”

  Olive let that sink in. She had hard eyes. She said: “Left you, did she? And took up with this other guy?”

  “You know how it is,” I said. “I was a cop and she got tired of being scared all the time, wondering every night if I was going to come home, so she married a guy who didn't have to carry a pistol to work: another teacher she met at school. Tom Rimini. I think he teaches social studies.”

  Carla had been unhappy even before I'd gotten shot, but the shot was the last straw; she'd seen me through most of my rehab, but as soon as she was sure that I was going to be okay, she had told me she was divorcing me. I didn't argue. She told me she'd met a sweet man named Tom Rimini. She hoped I'd find a woman who could love me. I wished her well. When I got out of the hospital, I took a disability pension, sold the house in Somerville, and moved to the Vineyard. It took a while for me to get over Carla, because I don't love easily or stop loving easily.

  And now, years later, Tom Rimini had returned to my life.

  “Why do you suppose somebody would send a couple of hoods after a schoolteacher?” asked Olive.

  “I don't know.”

  “And why would his wife tell them he was here?” she went on. “She still mad at you after all this time, Mr. Jackson?”

  I shook my head.

  “Zee said they talked to Rimini's wife just like they were talking to Zee,” Dom Agganis reminded her. “That means they slapped her around some, maybe beat her up good, maybe threatened her kids. Most people would tell them what they wanted to know.”

  “Well, where's Rimini, then? He's sure not here.” Olive looked at me. “You sure you don't know nothing about this? If you do, you'd be smart to speak up now. Whoever sent these two down here may decide to send somebody else to do the job right. Somebody with more brains.”

  My temper rose, but I pushed it down. “I haven't seen my ex-wife in years, and I never met Rimini. But if some gang boss is after him, it's probably because Rimini owes him money or is under his skin in some other way. Howie Trucker probably knows. I think we should have a talk with him.”

  “Not we,” said Olive. “Not you, for sure. Just the cops. We don't need any civilians underfoot.”

  Anger moved my tongue. “You couldn't get information out of an encyclopedia, Olive!”

  She shoved her face up toward mine. “You interfere with this criminal investigation and I'll have your ass in jail so fast it'll make your head spin!”

  Dom Agganis stepped between us. “Now take it easy. Both of you back off. Starting with you, Officer Otero.” She glared at him, hesitated, then stepped away. “You, too, J.W.,” said Agganis. “We're all on the same side, here, remember.”

  I turned away. As I did, I heard Joshua's voice: “Pa! Pa! Can I get out now?”

  Good grief, I'd forgotten all about him! I went to the Land Cruiser and opened the door.

  “You forgot the clams, Pa. We need to put them in some salt water so they can spit out their sand.”

  “You're right,” I said. More evidence that when violence and tragedy occur, the world keeps right on turning as if nothing unusual had happened. Probably, it hadn't.

  “Where'd they take Ma and Diana?”

  “She and your sister are up at the hospital. We'll go up and get them after we take care of the clams.”

  I went back to where Dom, Tony, and the others were still talking, and told them my plans.

  “We're about done here,” said Dom. “I'll have a wrecker come down and get the guys' car. If you think of anything that can help us, let me know.”

  “About this Rimini guy, for instance,” said Olive.

  I gave her a sour look and turned back to the
truck.

  Joshua and I got a pail of salt water down at the Sengekontacket landing, took it back to the house, and dumped our bucket of clams into it. Manny Fonseca was already gone, and most of the cops were drifting away.

  “We'll be talking with your wife again later,” said Agganis. “Get an official statement from her, maybe get some details she forgot.”

  “That new D.A. going to charge her with something?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows. I doubt it, though. From what I've heard and seen here, I'd say it's a pretty open-and-shut case of self-defense. I know one thing: any lawyer would love to defend her—beautiful housewife attacked by professional thugs and leaving them spread on the lawn. That's movie stuff!”

  Joshua and I got back into the old Toyota and drove to the hospital in Oak Bluffs. Zee worked in the emergency room, so when we came through the doors we were met by her colleagues and friends, including a doctor who looked like he belonged in high school.

  “She's just fine,” said a nurse. “They're both fine. That cut on your little girl's neck is just a scratch, really. Didn't even need stitches. And Zee's mostly got bruises. She'll be sore for a few days, but then she'll be good as new.”

  “She got shot. What about that?”

  “She was very lucky. It just dug a sort of groove along her ribs. A couple of inches to the right and it would have been a different story, but that didn't happen. You want to see her?”

  “Yes. Isn't she right here?”

  The boy doctor came over and put out a small hand. “I'm Dr. Stone. Your wife is down the hall. I want to keep an eye on her until tomorrow. Just a precaution in case she experiences delayed shock. She also took a pretty good hit to the stomach, and I'd like to monitor the results of that for a while. Your daughter can go home with you, though. Come on. I'll take you to them.”

  We followed him down the hall, and he led me to a room. Inside, Zee was propped up on the bed, reading Dr. Seuss to Diana, who was sitting beside her, looking at the pictures and making sure her mother got every word just right. Zee looked battered but beautiful. Her long, black hair was an ebony halo on the pillow.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Mom's reading The Cat,” said Diana with a big smile. Zee smiled, too. “I guess I'm here for the duration,” she said.

  “Just until tomorrow. It's just a precaution.”

  “I'd rather go home with you, but it's okay. Did the police tell you what happened?”

  “Yes. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry it happened. But you did the right thing.”

  She gave Diana a little push. “Get down, sweetie.”

  Diana and The Cat got off the bed and Zee put out her arms. I went over and got into them and she finally let herself cry and cry, cleaning the windows of her soul.

  — 3 —

  “I don't know if I'll ever get over this,” said Zee when she finished her cry and was wiping her nose and eyes with a tissue.

  “You will,” I said. “It's a hell of a thing to have to kill somebody, but you didn't have any choice.”

  “Maybe I did have a choice. I keep thinking that maybe I did and just didn't take it.” Her eyes were dark hollows in her battered face.

  I felt anger. “Don't even think it! When men come after women with fists and guns, they deserve to be shot. You're not guilty of anything. You protected yourself and you protected Diana. That's what you're supposed to do, and you did it. I'm just glad that you were lucky enough to have the pistol handy and that you know how to use it. I owe Manny Fonseca more than I'll ever be able to pay him.”

  She shook her head. “Killing is bad. It's always bad.”

  “It may always be bad, but some killings are worse than others. It would have been worse if you'd let them kill you and Diana. You made a good kill!”

  “What a terrible phrase: ‘a good kill.’ That makes me a good killer.”

  I was making things worse. “Look,” I said. “You're not a killer; you're a woman who shot two gunmen who had already beaten you, put a knife to our daughter's throat, and were about to do more of the same or worse. If another woman had done what you did, you'd be telling her what I'm telling you. You'd be right, and I'm right.”

  “I don't feel right.”

  I could understand that well enough. “You won't for a while,” I said. “It took me a long time to get over killing that woman in Boston, but I finally did. It'll happen to you, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it.”

  “But you were a cop and she was a thief and you didn't know it was a woman and you didn't shoot her until she shot you. I knew who I was shooting and I shot first.”

  “And a damned good thing, too. Pat Logan nearly got one into you anyway. When I cornered that woman in the alley that night, I'd have shot first if I'd known what she was going to do. You knew what those two guys were going to do.”

  “I thought I knew. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Tell me,” I said, angry at her for having such thoughts, “do you really think you were wrong? Now, here, do you think you were wrong? I sure as hell don't.”

  She held my hand for what seemed a long time, then squeezed it. “I don't know, but I know I don't like it.”

  “There's nothing to like about it,” I said, “but you did the right thing. Know that.” I kissed her. “I love you. And I thank you for saving yourself and Diana.”

  She put her arms around me.

  “Ma,” said Diana, who had been very patient. “We never finished The Cat.”

  Zee wiped her eyes again and smiled at her kid. “No, we didn't. Let's do that before you go home with your dad.”

  “I'll come up,” said Diana, and did that.

  “Me, too,” said Joshua, who wasn't too old for another reading of The Cat. He climbed up the other side of the bed. It was a close fit for three, but they managed it.

  “While you're finishing the story,” I said, “I'm going to tend to some other business. I'll be back.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Zee.

  “Out. What will I do? Nothing.”

  Before she could say more, I left. I went back to the emergency room and found a nurse. There was a clipboard on the desk beside her. It had a ballpoint pen hooked to the board with a string.

  “I need to talk with the officer who's watching over Howard Trucker,” I said. “The man they brought in with gunshot wounds.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, you can't talk with Mr. Trucker, if that's what you have in mind.”

  “No, I just need to speak with the officer.”

  “Well, I guess that's all right.” She told me where they had Howie. “They're going to fly Mr. Trucker up to Boston as soon as the helicopter gets here,” she added. “He may lose an arm.”

  “A one-armed strong-arm man, eh?”

  “That's not funny, J.W.! I heard what he did to Zee, but he's still a human being, after all!”

  “Maybe.”

  She turned away and I snagged the clipboard and walked back down the hall.

  The room wasn't too far down the hall from Zee. There was a young Oak Bluffs cop seated on a chair beside the door. I didn't know him, which was good. With my clipboard in my hand, I walked up to him. I was in civvies, but that didn't make any difference in the M.V. hospital because half the doctors came to work in jeans and sandals. I looked at the clipboard and tried to form my face into that expressionless mask that physicians apparently learn in doctor school.

  “The helicopter is on its way,” I said, barely glancing at the cop. “I'll be in here a few minutes. If I'm still here when they land, let me know.” I offered him a thoughtful frown and went by him into the room. The young cop never said a word. I shut the door behind me.

  I'd half-expected to find a nurse or someone else in the room, but Howie was alone. He was not in good shape. He had tubes feeding into him and some sort of cast or wrapping on his right arm and his leg. There were wires leading from him to monitoring devices of various kinds. His eyes w
ere dull and his breathing was shallow. I figured they probably had him on painkillers, at least. I didn't think I had much time.

  I went to the bed and slapped his face. His bleary eyes came into focus. I leaned down.

  “Can you hear me, Howie?”

  A pause, then a nod. “Yeah.”

  “There's a helicopter coming to take you to a bigger hospital in Boston.”

  “Yeah. Good.”

  “But you won't be on it, Howie, unless you talk to me.”

  “Wha . . . whatta you mean?”

  I leaned closer. “I'm Jackson. I'm the husband.”

  Sudden fear widened his eyes.

  I held the ballpoint pen in front of those wide eyes. “You know what this is, Howie?”

  “Yeah. It's a pen. Whatta you want, for God's sake?”

  “I want to know who hired you to do this job. You tell me, and I walk out that door, and you fly up to Boston. You don't tell me, I'm going to jam this pen up your nose and into your brain. Now, who hired you?”

  Howie opened his mouth too wide. He had yelling instead of talking in mind. I covered his mouth with my hand and his eyes bulged.

  With my other hand, I put the point of the pen up his left nostril. “If you don't tell me, I'll find out some other way,” I said. I wiggled the pen and his nose began to bleed. “This is your last chance.” I took my hand away from his mouth and he gasped weakly for breath.

  “Sonny Whelen,” he said. “Sonny sent us. Don't kill me.”

  “Why is he after Tom Rimini?”

  “I don't know. He never said.”

  I wiggled the pen some more, and Howie's voice rose. “I swear it. He never said why! He just wanted Rimini!”

  “Why did you come to my house?”

  I didn't think Howie's eyes could get any bigger. “The woman, Rimini's wife, she told 'em! She said Rimini was here. She gave 'em the address. They roughed her up and she talked. Jesus, take that pen away. Don't kill me! Please!”

  I took the pen out of his nose. “If you're lying to me, I'll find you again,” I said.

  “I'm telling you the truth,” moaned Howie. “I swear to God!”

  I wondered what Howie's God thought of that oath. Not much more than I did, I guessed. I patted Howie's cheek, straigtened and walked out, shutting the door behind me.