"Ask Dave."
Their son sighed, still watching his hands. "Dad covered for me."
"Les," she exclaimed, "what've you done?"
"I had them collect all the dope, and I dropped it in a Dumpster near the town offices. That way, Steidle will have to stand for assaulting a police officer, probably with mitigating circumstances, but the cops can't nail him on the drugs. Not this time, anyway."
"But why?" she asked, dumbfounded.
Dave broke in harshly, "It was a deal, Mom. He let Craig off the hook so he wouldn't tell the cops Jeff and me were handling dope."
She put her hand on her forehead. "Jesus. So, what's going to happen?"
"Don't know," Lester answered her. "Time will tell. I told Steidle our story was that I came looking for Dave because I'd heard he might be at Steidle's from Natty Sherman, who was with me to get Jeff. Steidle denied Dave was there-despite his bike being outside-so we got into an argument, he pulled a knife, and I brought him down. Which is pretty much the truth, as far as it goes."
"But what about the drugs? What happens to them? Couldn't someone else end up with them?"
Here her husband looked shamefaced. "An anonymous phone call was made to the PD fifteen minutes ago, telling them where to find them. When we were pulling in, we heard on the scanner that they picked them up."
"That was taking a big chance, wasn't it?" she pushed.
His expression darkened. "That's hardly what's important here, is it?"
A strained silence filled the room.
"Why, honey?" she finally asked David. "Did we do something wrong?"
"No," he said reluctantly.
"We must've," Lester stated flatly. "Otherwise, why slap us in the face?"
Dave looked up. "I didn't."
"The hell you didn't. What the fuck do you think just happened?"
"Les," Susan said sharply.
But Lester paid her no attention. "We both bust our humps to feed you, clothe you, send you places on vacation. You got a computer, a new camera, CDs up the wazoo-"
"Thank you very much," Dave shouted at him, his face red and contorted. "And I make the beds and shovel snow and do the laundry. I'm the only kid I know who does the whole family's laundry, for Christ's sake. And why? Because I'm the only one who lives here most of the time."
"Your sister-" Lester began, but his wife stopped him with her hand.
"Wait. Hang on. This is important. Dave, is that really how you feel? Like you're living alone?"
Dave rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Mom, look around."
Spinney stiffened at his son's tone, but Susan grabbed his wrist to keep him quiet. "Go on."
"Dad and you are never here. Yeah, you feed us and send us on vacations and all the rest, but when was the last time we did anything together?"
"That's what you want?" Lester asked incredulously. "For us to go on vacation together?"
David looked like he'd been caught in a trap. "No. I mean. . No, not to Disney World or anything dumb. I just meant. . I don't know. Nothing. Stupid idea."
"I don't think so," Susan said quietly. "I know you wouldn't want to go to Disney World, but a family meal now and then wouldn't be so bad, would it? Or a trip to the movies?"
"You wouldn't like the movies I like."
Lester could see what was happening, even through his anger, disappointment, and fear. Wasn't that why he'd just put his job on the line? He swallowed hard and commented, "How do you know?"
* * *
Sam drove into Holyoke late in the afternoon, marveling once again at the contrast between this stained and beaten pile of asphalt and brick, and the green hills and sun-dappled waterways she'd just left in Vermont. It wasn't a fair comparison. It wasn't meant to be. Vermont had its blighted areas, just as Massachusetts had the Berkshires. But imagining her home as a pristine counterpoint to an urban combat zone helped in the attitudinal shift she needed to get herself back into Greta.
She parked in front of Johnny Rivera's large, shuttered apartment building, watched as always by the several men loitering near the entrance.
"Hey, boys," she said, recognizing two of them. She slammed her car door and crossed the sidewalk toward them. "Watch my car, okay? Unless one of you wants to wash it or something. There might be a bonus in it for you."
Most of them stared at her sullenly, but one of them actually laughed and said, "I don't think so, muchacha. I heard what a good time you gave Flaco. He's still walking with a limp."
"He deserved it," she said, stepping inside.
She took her time wending through the building's maze of staircases and corridors, still uncertain of the way. By now, she'd made the trip several times, but, as intended, it was still not easy, and slow going in any case, given the many holes in the walls she had to step through carefully.
She finally found herself in Rivera's outer sanctum, the windowless room with the armed guards, where she waited as usual as one of them announced her.
Rivera immediately appeared at the door beaming and waved her inside. "Good to see you. What a surprise. Everything's okay, right?"
He shut the door behind her and ushered her toward the couch. She took the chair next to his desk.
He laughed and sat where he'd been herding her. "Still playing with me, eh? Time will come. Nothing wrong up north?"
"No. Everything's fine. Manuel been complaining?"
Rivera shook his head forcefully. "No, no. He thinks you're great. You're not buying his vote somehow, are you?"
Christ, she thought. Give it a rest. "Just a blow job now and then."
He laughed a little too forcefully. "That is bad. You shouldn't do that to me. You want a drink?"
"No thanks. What I want is some cooperation, now that you're so happy with me."
He knit his eyebrows. "Cooperation? What d'you mean?"
"Things're getting going in Rutland. Manuel's moving product, I'm working on the local dealers. It's time you hand over your contact list so we can work on an overall strategy."
"So fast?" he said, smiling. "You haven't been there long. You must still have lots to do. We move too fast, we could lose everything."
"Meaning you don't trust me?"
He laughed. "Don't trust you? I'm sending you the goods, no? I'm paying you a bunch of money. Of course I trust you. But I'm not stupid, either. You have a business plan-very big, very impressive. But you're not the only one with brains. I think things are just great the way they are."
She frowned at him. "Torres is still moving product up there."
Rivera shrugged. "He's not the only one. I didn't put him out of business all the way. You have to be careful with a man's pride-something you wouldn't understand. Guys like him should be allowed to work a little. Otherwise they get mad, try to get even, and now you got a fight instead of dollars coming in. Dumb idea."
"Why did Hollowell get killed, then?"
"Why does anybody? You know who did that? I don't. People are saying Torres, but I don't see it that way. That's narrow thinking. Doesn't do any good. Till I'm told otherwise, he got killed 'cause he pissed somebody off. That's all."
"So, you're not going to give me those names? You're going to force me to duplicate our efforts, waste time and money, risk exposure to the cops, and maybe let the wrong people get in behind us, all because you claim you have brains? Get out and smell the roses, Johnny. When was the last time you left this building? You're like a rat in a steel box in here. You have no clue what's going on."
His face darkened during this outburst, and his eyes hardened. "Careful, girlie," he said threateningly, accentuating the second word. "You work for me. That means I do this"-he snapped his fingers-"and you're dead. That's all you need to know till I decide to tell you more."