Marigolds, 30

30

“So, if you decide to work for anyone in this case, will it be the guy who owns the school? Bukovats’ boss?” Bevilaqua had spoken with Bukovats and briefly with Bo Boban at the school.

I moved the phone from my left ear to my right. “Armand, were you discrete? I promised that guy…”

“I figured that out, Finn. Don’t worry, but you might have said something to me.”

He was right.

“Bukovats thinks we were there because his name popped up on a INS computer somewhere.”

“OK, good.” I should have… What did you get from him?”

“He’s a very interesting guy, based on his CV and all. He thinks his immigration status is why he’s our guest and, as you said, the Balkans has taught him as the authorities we can do with him whatever we want. At present I see no reason to disabuse him of that idea. So, if we pick you up can you come down to ID him? No sense in proceeding unless and until you say officially he’s the guy who sent you to Portland.”

“Yup.”

“Can we do that right away?”

I gave him directions to Admiral’s Hill, showered, poured some French Roast into my travel mug which I would forget and went downstairs to await my ride. My cell rang.

“Fintan, this is Miljenko Boban.”

“Hey, Bo.”

“The state police were here. They took Ante away with them. They asked me some questions.”

“I know.”

“Is there a connection in their visit to me as far as…?”

“No, there isn’t. He has no idea. Listen I am about to tend to a detail or two. I’ll call you when I am done, OK?”

“Sure. Of course. I just don’t want Ante coming back looking for me.”

“I understand. He won’t. You can also tell the rest of your staff that they should not be concerned. Remind them to stay current with their papers. You know… give them a pep talk.”

“That’s a good idea. One or two of them are edgy.”

The state trooper sent to retrieve me, one Trooper Erika Frommer, was not very talkative.

“So, you’re Bev’s partner?” I asked as we descended the hill.

“He lets you call him that? Bev?”

“He does.”

Nothing. We drove to the airport and through the Ted Williams Tunnel. The South Boston Barracks was just on the other side of the harbor. In fact, although I did not know it until we arrived on Massport Haul Road, I could see it from my balcony.

It was the right Ante Bukovats. He sat alone hunched up on himself in a soundproof room. There was a pack of unfiltered cigarettes on the table. Bukovats was spinning them on the table. There was a no smoking sign on the wall. He squinted at his own reflection in the one-way mirror.

“Let’s go get a coffee, Finn. Let his nicotine jones eat at him for a while,” Bevilaqua said. “Thanks for making the trip, Trooper Frommer.”

“Sure, Trooper Bevilaqua.”

We took our coffee outside and sat on the harbor side of the building. This neighborhood, wrapped around Northern Avenue, with its fish piers, cruise ship docks, circus tents, and restaurants had enjoyed a rebirth as a tourist destination in the last ten years. Prior to that if you came here at night it was to go to either the No Name or Anthony’s Restaurants - or to look for your stolen car. I could see Admiral’s Hill and Logan Airport across the water.

“Here’s how I would like to do this,” Bev said. “Let him stew for a while thinking he has INS issues. By the smell of him and the color of his finger nails a couple of hours without a cigarette will be excruciating for him.”

“May I suggest you give him coffee, too?” I took a mouthful from the cup Trooper Frommer had given me. The small muscles surrounding my eyes began to fire in a random sequence. My lips retracted involuntarily over my teeth. “And make sure it’s this coffee.” It was strong from evaporation, bitter from too much heat, and old. “Caffeine, especially in the quantity present in this coffee, YIKES, JESUS, will exacerbate his nicotine problem.”

“Yeah, huh? Is that right? OK, then. This time of day until the shift changes no one wants it anyway. Trooper Frommer, will you bring a beverage to our guest? Put a sign on that pot so’s it doesn’t get dumped out, too, would you?”

Large aircraft came and went from Logan to our right. Fortunes came and went in the Financial District, just across the Fort Point Channel to our left.

“She new?”

“Yup, of the brand spankin’ variety.”

“She afraid of you?”

“Absolutely.”

“I think it upset her that I called you Bev.”

His chin hit his chest.

“When the fuck did you call me Bev? Who said you could call me Bev?”

“I just thought that…I’m, I’m…”

“Man, O’Keefe,” he raised his chin. “You are easier than she is.”

Air returned to my lungs, blood returned to my extremities and Trooper Frommer returned to the picnic table.

“As I was saying, this is how we’ll play this. Frommer, in about an hour you’ll go in with more coffee and a promise to see if you can’t get me to agree to a smoke break. Fifteen minutes later you’ll deliver the sad, sad news that I won’t allow it. Bring him more coffee, too.”

“OK,” Frommer said.

It should have been OK, Bev or OK ,Armand or OK, partner, but it was just OK. It sounded both unfinished and deferential. I hate deferential.

“Fintan, shortly thereafter you’ll walk in, look surprised, mumble something, and walk out. Then I’ll go in. We’ll see what shakes out.”