Mystic River

"Yeah, yeah." He took the 911 cassette tape out of the box.

"What's that?" Whitey said.

"Snoop Dogg."

"I thought he was dead."

"That's Tupac."

"Hard to keep up."

Sean placed the tape in the recorder on the corner of his desk and pressed play.

"Nine-one-one, police services. What is the nature of your emergency?"

Whitey stretched a rubber band over his finger and fired it at the ceiling fan.

"There's like this car with blood in it and, ah, the door's open, and, ah? "

"What's the location of the car?"

"In the Flats. By Pen Park. Me and my friend found it."

"Is there a street address?"

Whitey yawned into his fist and reached for another rubber band. Sean stood up and stretched, wondered what he had in the fridge for dinner.

"Sydney Street. There's blood in there and the door's open."

"What's your name, son?"

"He wants to know her name. Called me 'son.'"

"Son? I said your name. What's your name?"

"We're so fucking outta here, man. Good luck."

The connection broke and then the operator placed his call to Central Dispatch, and Sean shut the recorder off.

"I always thought Tupac had more of a rhythm section," Whitey said.

"It was Snoop. I told you."

Whitey yawned again. "Go home, kid. Okay?"

Sean nodded and popped the tape out of the recorder. He slid it back into its case and tossed it over Whitey's head into the box. He took his Glock and holster out of his top drawer and snapped the holster onto his belt.

"Her," he said.

"What?" Whitey looked over at him.

"The kid on the tape. He said, 'her name.' 'He wants to know her name.' Talking about the Marcus girl."

"Right," Whitey said. "Dead girl, you refer to her as a 'she.'"

"But how the hell's he know that?"

"Who?"

"The kid who made the call. How's he know the blood in that car came from a woman?"

Whitey's foot came off the desk and he looked at the box. He reached in and took out the tape. He flicked his wrist and Sean caught the tape in his hand.

"Play it again," Whitey said.

26

LOST IN SPACE

DAVE AND VAL passed through the city and drove over the Mystic River to this dive bar in Chelsea where the beer was cheap and cold and there wasn't much of a crowd, just a few old-timers who looked like they'd worked the waterfront their whole lives and four construction workers who were having an argument about someone named Betty who apparently had great tits but a bad attitude. The bar was tucked under the Tobin Bridge with its back against the Mystic, and it looked like it had been there going back several decades. Everyone knew Val and said their hellos. The owner, a skeletal guy with the blackest hair and the whitest skin, was named Huey. He worked the bar and gave them their first two rounds on the house.

Dave and Val shot pool for a while, and then settled into a booth with a pitcher and two shots. The small square windows fronting the street had turned from gold to indigo, the night having dropped in so quickly, Dave felt almost bullied by it. Val was actually a pretty easygoing guy when you got to know him. He told stories about prison and thefts that had gone awry, and they were all kind of scary, actually, but somehow Val made them funny, too. Dave found himself wondering what it must be like to be a guy like Val, utterly fearless and confident, and yet so damn small.

"This one time, back in the day, right? Jimmy's been sent up and we're still trying to hold our crew together. We haven't figured out yet that the only reason any of us are thieves is because Jimmy planned everything for us. All we had to do was listen to him and follow his orders and we'd be fine. But without him, we were morons. So, this one time, we take off this stamp collector. He's tied up in his office and me and my brother Nick and this kid Carson Leverett, who couldn't tie his own fucking shoes you didn't show him, we're going down in this elevator. And we're cool. We're wearing suits, looking like we fit in. This lady gets on the elevator and she gasps. Loud, too. And we don't know what's going on. We're looking respectable, right? I turn to Nick and he's looking at Carson Leverett because the fucking bonehead's still wearing his mask." Val slapped the table, laughing. "You believe that? He's got a Ronald Reagan mask, the big smiley one they used to sell? And he's wearing it."

"And you guys hadn't noticed?"

"No. That's the point," Val said. "We walked out of the office, and me and Nick took ours off, just assumed Carson did, too. Little shit happens like that on jobs all the time. 'Cause you're jumpy and you're stupid and you just want to get in the clear, and sometimes you miss the most obvious detail. It's staring you in the face, you can't see it." He chuckled again and threw back his shot. "That's why Jimmy was so missed. He thought of every detail. Like the way they say a good quarterback sees the whole field? Jimmy saw the whole field on a job. He saw everything that could possibly go wrong. Guy was a fucking genius."

"But he went straight."

"Sure," Val said, lighting a cigarette. "For Katie. And then for Annabeth. I don't think his heart's ever been in it, between you and me, but there you go. Sometimes, people grow up. My first wife said that was my problem? I couldn't grow up. I like the night too much. Day's just something you sleep through."

"I always thought it would be different," Dave said.

"What's that?"

"Being grown-up. You'd feel different, right? You'd feel grown-up. A man."

"You don't feel that way?"

Dave smiled. "Sometimes maybe. In glimpses. But most of the time I don't feel much different than I did when I was eighteen. I wake up a lot going, 'I got a kid? I got a wife?' How'd that happen?" Dave could feel his tongue thickening with the booze, his head getting that floating feel because he never had gotten that bite to eat. He felt a need to explain. To make Val see the guy he was and to like that guy. "I think I always figured one day it would be permanent. You know? One day you'd just wake up and feel grown-up. Feel like you had a handle on things the way fathers always did in those old TV shows."

"Ward Cleaver, like?" Val said.

"Yeah. Or even like those sheriffs, you know, James Arness, guys like that. They were men. Permanently."

Val nodded and sipped some beer. "Guy in prison says to me once, he says, 'Happiness comes in moments, and then it's gone until the next time. Could be years. But sadness'"? Val winked? "'sadness settles in.'" He stubbed out his cigarette. "I liked that guy. He was always saying cool shit. I'm going to get another shot. You?" Val stood.