Part 6 (2/2)

”We didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Darget.” His voice was calm, as it had been throughout the exchange with Ahearn. When Connie shook the man's hand, he could feel a ripple of anxiety.

”I know,” Connie said. He turned to the white man and extended his hand. ”I didn't get your name.”

”Rich Zardino.”

”Haven't I seen you guys at the gang intel meetings?”

The two men nodded. Not overly talkative. Upset by the exchange with Ahearn.

”I want to apologize for what just happened,” Connie said. ”Maybe you can help me. I'm investigating a shooting and these detectives offered to help me find a couple of witnesses. They weren't trying to give you a hard time. We just want to find these kids. We're concerned they may have guns.”

”We understand, Mr. Darget,” Luther said.

”Connie.”

”We don't want trouble with the police, either. But we'd lose our street credibility if we allowed the search. I didn't want to show up the officer in front of the young men, but I had to stand my ground.”

”Understood. These witnesses I'm looking for are not in any trouble. Do you know Michael Rogers or Ellis Thomas?”

”Sorry, I do not,” Luther said, maintaining a tone of formality.

Zardino shrugged his shoulders.

”Thanks for your help. Here's my card. I'll let the detectives know I'm all set. You can get back to doing your job.”

Connie shook their hands. Hopefully there wouldn't be any complaints filed with the Police Commissioner or with the DA.

CHAPTER 24.

Rich Zardino's hands were clenched as they walked back to the car. He didn't trust cops. He didn't trust anybody. Serving eight years of a life sentence had taught him that he had no friends. After his release and some bad press for the city, the mayor had offered him this job, a ”sorry we took eight years of your life” peace offering. Both he and Luther had done their time, innocent or not, and now they were committed to working for peace.

Zardino didn't want to throw it all away because of a confrontation with a couple of yahoo dt's. The dt's would badmouth him and Luther to other cops. Say they were teaching kids their const.i.tutional rights, helping them become better criminals. He knew the cops didn't trust them. To them, he and Luther would always be thugs, one bad decision away from a life sentence.

”You okay?” Rich Zardino asked Luther. Luther seemed startled by the question, like he was a million miles away. It had taken Luther awhile to warm up to him, an Italian guy from East Boston who had done state prison time for a murder he didn't commit. What would a guy like that have in common with the kids they were servicing, black and brown kids from Roxbury, Dorchester, and Mattapan? But they both knew it made for great press. A former g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger, a convicted felon who had found Christ teamed up with a wrongly-convicted white guy. The kind of stuff they made movies about.

Turned out he was pretty good at communicating with the kids. He was real, and that was all he needed for the kids to trust him, no matter the color of his skin.

”I'm upset those cops put us in that situation,” Luther said. ”The big guy could have shown us a little respect and it wouldn't have gone down like that.”

”Don't sweat it. It's over,” Zardino said. ”The police have a lot to lose if they file a report.”

”Maybe I should have handled it differently, let them search me, let them see that I'm clean.”

”Bull.” Zardino spat in the street. It was a dirty habit that drove his partner crazy. ”You did the right thing. How else are they going to learn to stand up for their rights?”

Luther was always stumping about setting an example. But tonight, no one had learned anything from the beef with the cops. Once the police left, the kids started imitating the p.i.s.sed-off cop, trying to high-five Luther for how he had handled them. That drove Luther nuts.

”Maybe I am am making them better criminals,” Luther said. ”But so are the police, by treating making them better criminals,” Luther said. ”But so are the police, by treating everyone everyone like a criminal. They're teaching them to distrust the police, to disrespect authority and to turn to the streets for support. At least what happened tonight was witnessed by a prosecutor.” like a criminal. They're teaching them to distrust the police, to disrespect authority and to turn to the streets for support. At least what happened tonight was witnessed by a prosecutor.”

”I don't trust that guy,” Zardino said.

”You don't trust any lawyers. I can't say I blame you after what you've been through.”

”I was watching him,” Zardino s.h.i.+fted and got comfortable against the car. ”He wasn't going to say nothing while the cops did their thing. When he found out who we were he realized it wouldn't look good. I saw the light go on in his head. That's the only reason he stepped in.”

”Maybe.”

”Definitely. I know guys like that. He had no problem with what the cops were doing until he thought it could come back and bite him. Then he's a peacemaker. Screw him. He's a lawyer. No, he's a prosecutor, an officer of the court, sworn to uphold the Const.i.tution. He shouldn't be letting dt's do things like that. He's as bad as they are.”

”He extended the olive branch to us. We might as well use him as an ally.”

”We need to watch our backs.”

”You really are one suspicious dude.”

”That's what happens when your friends set you up and send you to jail for a crime you had nothing to do with. I don't trust anyone except my mother.”

”Truth told, my boys forgot about me when I was upstate. No visits. No money in the canteen fund for chips, sodas and snacks. In the end, Richard, it's always just you and your mom. And the Lord.”

CHAPTER 25.

Alves saw her standing at the bus stop. She was always at the bus stop.

She wasn't too far away. Maybe a hundred yards. If he hurried, he could get to her in time. But his feet were heavy. He tried moving faster, his legs weren't responding. He had to close the gap between them.

Then the bus came around the corner, smoke billowing behind it. It was loud, without a m.u.f.fler. He called her name, but she couldn't hear him over the roar of the bus.

He had to get to her.

He was running now, but the bus was moving so fast. He called her name again. This time he couldn't even hear his own voice.

He watched as the bus stopped to let her on. He could see the driver and the pa.s.sengers.

He shouted her name one last time.

Alves stopped running. The driver watched Robyn Stokes, Alves's childhood friend, dressed in her hospital whites, as she climbed the steps. When she turned to find a seat, the driver looked over at him. It was a familiar face, the face of a former colleague, a man he didn't know too well, but had respected. The man who had murdered Robyn Stokes. The driver, Mitch Beaulieu, former a.s.sistant district attorney and murderer, pulled the bus away from the curb with Robyn and the rest of his doomed pa.s.sengers. Alves felt his hip, his back pocket, for a phone, a radio, his gun. Nothing. There was no way to stop the bus. Then he heard a loud bang.

Alves jerked forward in his chair. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming through the conference room windows. The noise Alves heard must have been a door out in the hall slamming.

It was getting harder to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he thought about his old friend Robyn. Killed three years before by a killer the press called the Blood Bath Killer. Left tubs full of water and blood. No bodies. He and Mooney had caught Robyn's killer, Mitch Beaulieu, but they never found her body. He owed Robyn and her mother one last thing. A Christian burial. A final resting place, a grave to cover with flowers.

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