Part 31 (1/2)

”Yes.”

I waited. We bore right past the Garden and North Station, past the ruins of what used to be the West End.

There was a single defiant three-decker remaining, surrounded by pavement, like the isolated tombstone of a neighborhood that disappeared.

”This Rugar, who affects gray all the time-so tacky-is a gunman. He works out of New York and he is very expensive and, hence, very exclusive.”

”Ever use him?” I said.

”I have Vinnie,” Gino said.

”Before you had Vinnie,” I said.

Gino smiled gently.

”His arrangement is simple. You pay nothing until it's done. Then you pay him promptly in full and in cash and he disappears. Once he commits to a project he stays on it until it is done, no matter how long it takes, no matter how far he has to travel. He guarantees results and he requests no payment until he gets them. Anyone who has dealt with him is not likely to try and, ah, renege on payment.

”And it prevents him from getting stung if the client turns out to be an undercover cop. He doesn't take money, he can just say he was humoring them and had no intention of killing anyone.”

We went past the old Registry building and the new Suffolk County jail, past the Charles River dam, and onto Storrow Drive, going west at a leisurely pace.

”Where do I find Rugar?” I said.

”One might be better not to find him,” Gino said.

”One might.”

Gino sort of smiled. If it was a smile. Whatever it was, it was devoid of warmth or humor.

”People who wish to hire him,” Gino said, ”see an attorney in New York who arranges a meeting.”

”And if the cops ever backtrack to him,” I said, ”he can claim that all his dealings with Rugar are privileged communication between a lawyer and his client.”

”You are an astute man,” Gino said.

”Yeah, and a swell dancer. How come you're telling me this?”

”Vinnie holds you in high regard.”

”Good employee relations?” I said.

Gino spread his hands. They looked like the hands of a violinist.

”You know the attorney?” I said.

”Not anymore,” Gino said.

”But the one you knew was a New York guy?” I said.

”Yes.”

”And you don't know who replaced him?”

”No.”

”No reason to think it wouldn't be a New York guy,” I said.

”No reason,” Gino said.

”Thanks,” I said.

”You're entirely welcome,” Gino said. ”Where would you like us to drop you off?”

The sublet had run out, I had my office back. ”My office is fine, corner of Berkeley and Boylston.”

”I know where your office is,” Gino said.

He leaned forward slightly.

”Did you hear that, Sammy?”

”Yes, sir,” Sammy said. ”Berkeley and Boylston.”

”While we drive you there, may I offer another thought? I'm a thoughtful man, and what I think is often valuable.”

”And your diction is tres elegant,” I said.

”Thank you. My dealings with Rugar remain my business. I have spent a long and successful life among very deadly people. If I were a fearful sort, I would fear Rugar more than anyone I've ever known. I advise you to stay away from him.”

”How's he compare with Vinnie?” I said.

”I would not ask Vinnie to go against him alone.”

Vinnie sat in the front seat looking at the coeds from Emerson College as we turned off Storrow Drive and onto Beacon Street. He didn't seem interested in our conversation. In fact, Vinnie wasn't interested in many things. What he could do was shoot. I had never met anyone I wouldn't send Vinnie up against-except maybe Hawk. Or me.

We went up Beacon to Clarendon, turned up to Boylston, and drove back down to Berkeley. Sammy pulled up and double parked outside my building.

I said, ”Thanks for the information, Mr. Fish.”

”And the advice,” Gino said. ”You would be wise to heed the advice.”

”And spend the rest of my life waiting for him to come back?”

”Perhaps he'll never learn that you survived,” Gino said.

Several drivers behind us blared their horns. Sammy ignored them.