I shoved the wallet into the waistband of John’s pants and removed my hand, began searching my pockets. Beside me, John chuckled very softly.
He held the wallet out to Largeant and smiled for my benefit. “Here you are, Officer.”
Largeant opened it as a crowd began to gather. They’d been on the perimeter the whole time, but now it was really getting interesting and they closed in from either side of us. A few were the Messengers we’d seen earlier, all wide-eyed and gee-gosh-golly about this example of late-twentieth-century decadence happening right in front of them. Two men getting rousted on Beacon Street, another sure sign of the apocalypse.
Others were office workers or folks who’d been out walking their dogs or having coffee at the Starbucks fifty yards away. Some had come from the perpetual line out in front of Cheers, presumably deciding that they could take out a second mortgage to buy a beer anytime, but this was special.
And then there were a few I didn’t like seeing at all. Men, well dressed, coats closed over their waists, eyes like pinpoints bearing down on me. Sprung from the same pods as Manny. They stood on the edges of the crowd, spread out so that they surrounded me whether I headed up toward Arlington, down toward Charles, or across to the Garden. Mean-looking, serious men.
Largeant handed John’s wallet back and John gave me another little smile as he placed it in his front pants pocket.
“Now you, sir.”
I handed him my wallet and he opened it, shone his flashlight on it. As inconspicuously as possible, John tried to crane his neck around to get a look, but Largeant snapped it shut too quickly.
I caught John’s eye and smiled myself. Better luck next time, shithead.
“There you go, Mr. Kenzie,” Largeant said and I felt several of my internal organs drop into my stomach. He handed me back the wallet as John Byrne beamed a grin the size of Rhode Island, then mouthed “Kenzie” to himself with a satisfied nod.
I felt like weeping.
And then I looked out on Beacon and saw the one thing that hadn’t depressed me in the last five minutes—Angie idling by the Garden in our brown Crown Victoria. The car interior was dark, but I could see the coal of her cigarette every time she brought it to her lips.
“Mr. Kenzie?” a voice said softly.
It was Largeant and he was looking up at me like a puppy and I suddenly felt pure dread because I had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“I’d just like to shake your hand, sir.”
“No, no,” I said, a sick smile on my face.
“Go on,” John said gleefully. “Shake the man’s hand!”
“Please, sir. It would be an honor to shake the hand of the man who brought down those skells Arujo and Glynn.”
John Byrne raised an eyebrow at me.
I shook Largeant’s hand even though I wanted to coldcock the stupid bastard. “My pleasure,” I managed.
Largeant was smiling and nodding and rippling all over. “You know who this is?” he said to the crowd.
“No, tell us!”
I turned my head, saw Manny standing on the landing above me, a smile even bigger than John’s on his face.
“This,” Largeant said, “is Patrick Kenzie, the private detective who helped catch that serial killer Gerry Glynn and his partner. The hero who saved that woman and her baby in Dorchester back in November? You remember?”
And a few people clapped.
But none as loud as Manny and John Byrne.
I resisted the urge to drop my head into my hands and cry.
“Here’s my card.” Largeant pressed it into my hand. “Any time, you know, you want to hang out or you need help on a case, you just pick up the phone, Mr. Kenzie.”
Any time I need help on a case. Right. Thanks.
The crowd was dispersing now that they were reasonably sure no one was going to get shot. All except for the men with the buttoned-up coats and the stony faces—they stepped aside for the other onlookers to leave and kept their eyes on me.
Manny came down the steps to the sidewalk, stood beside me, leaned in close to my ear.
“Hi,” he said.
Largeant said, “Well, I guess you have to get your friend to the hospital and I have to get over there.” He gestured in the direction of the Arlington Street corner. He clapped my shoulder with his hand. “A real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kenzie.”
“Sure,” I said as Manny took a step closer to me.
“G’night.” Largeant turned and stepped out onto Beacon, began to cross.
Manny clapped his hand on my shoulder. “A real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kenzie.”
“Officer Largeant,” I called, and Manny dropped his hand.
Largeant turned, looked back at me.
“Wait up.” I walked to the curb, and two pituitary cases stepped in front of me for a moment. Then one of them glanced over my shoulder, made a face, and then both parted grudgingly. I stepped between them and out onto Beacon.
“Yeah, Mr. Kenzie?” Largeant seemed confused.
“I thought I’d join you, see if any of my buddies are at the scene.” I nodded in the direction of Arlington.
“What about your friend, Mr. Kenzie?”
I looked back at Manny and John. They had their heads cocked, waiting for my answer.
“Manny,” I called. “You sure you’ll take him?”
Manny said, “I—”
“I guess your car is faster than walking. You’re right.”
“Oh,” Largeant said, “he’s got a car.”
“Nice one, too. Ain’t that right, Manny?”
“Cherry,” Manny said with a tight smile.
“Well,” Largeant said.
“Well,” I said, “Manny, you best get going. Good luck, John.” I waved.
Largeant said, “So, Mr. Kenzie, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Gerry Glynn. How’d you—”
The Crown Victoria slid up behind us.
“My ride!” I said.
Largeant turned and looked at the car.
“Hey, Officer Largeant,” I said, “give me a call sometime. Really, it’s been great. Have a good one. Best of luck.” I opened the passenger door. “Keep up the good work. Hope everything works out. Bye-bye.”
I slid in, shut the door.
“Drive,” I said.
“Pushy, pushy,” Angie said.
We pulled away from Largeant and Manny and John and the Pods and turned left on Arlington, past the three patrol cars parked in front of Grief Release’s corporate offices, their lights bouncing off the windows like ice afire.