Brutality (48 page)

She opted for a space at the far corner of the lot and retrieved a bag from the trunk before ducking into her car once more. Fina couldn’t see anyone nearby, so she took a dirty-blond wig out of the bag and pulled it over her own hair. The wig had cost a fortune, but it was worth every penny. No one could tell that it wasn’t her own hair, and it completely masked Fina’s real identity. She was a little creeped out that it was made of human hair, but she did all kinds of creepy things in the line of duty. A quick glance in her visor mirror ensured that her new mane was securely in place.

A moment after stepping into the sweet-smelling shop, Fina spotted him, which wasn’t hard since he was the largest and only black man in the place. He was sitting at a table near the window, his legs splayed. She kept an eye on him while waiting in line, and by the time she put in her order for a glazed donut and a hot chocolate, she was convinced it was Darren Segretti, but not her bomber.

Just to be sure, Fina borrowed the key to the ladies’ room, the route to which led right by Darren. Up close, his nose looked different from the surveillance photo, and though he was tall, he wasn’t broad like the man she was looking for. He gave her the once-over on her way by, but he wasn’t expecting a dark blond with respectably sized breasts. He was waiting for a brunette with huge boobs, like the fake picture she’d posted, and she certainly didn’t fit the bill.

Back in her car, Fina felt a little guilty for standing the guy up, but got over it quickly. Darren had friended a stranger and had arranged to meet her the next day at Dunkin’ Donuts for a date. There was no way the guy had wholesome fun in mind.

—

A
fter a moderate crawl on Route 16, Fina picked up 1A at Bell Circle and drove north to Lynn. It was twenty minutes of gas stations, more Dunkin’ Donuts, car dealerships, and defunct racetracks before Fina pulled into a large lot on the water. It was on the early side for dinner, but there were already two dozen cars parked there. The neon sign for the Galley was festooned with garlands and a large wreath, and an illuminated Santa stood guard next to the entrance despite it being mid-January. Fina had been here before—twice for a case and the other times for the outstanding fried clams. She did another quick check on her hair before making the cold trek to the entrance.

Inside, the space consisted of a large square bar and two separate dining areas, one of which was sunken down a few steps. Lobster traps and buoys hung from the ceiling, and the plastic placemats featured a glossary of nautical flags. It was kitschy, but it was also real. There were still people in the area who made their living from the sea.

Fina climbed onto a bar stool and took stock. There was a smattering of patrons, including some older guys on the other side of the bar, a young couple a few seats away, and a few solitary drinkers. There were no black guys, but that didn’t mean Zack Lawrence wasn’t going to show.

Fina had worked out her approach on the ride up and decided that she wouldn’t identify herself as the man’s Facebook friend. She suspected that her bait-and-switch with the photos might annoy him, which was no way to start a relationship. Instead, she would try to make him feel better about being stood up—if he showed.

“Bud Light, please. In a bottle,” Fina told the bartender, a woman who’d seen better days. Her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her mouth bore the telltale wrinkles of a smoker. The lighting wasn’t very forgiving, but even if she were lit like Elizabeth Taylor, the woman would look sallow.

A couple of minutes later, a young black man Fina recognized as her Facebook friend Zack walked into the bar. She examined him out of the corner of her eye, which wasn’t hard to do since he was a giant. Fina guessed he was about six feet five inches and 260 pounds. He was wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, which didn’t do much to hide his belly. Fina couldn’t be 100 percent sure, but she felt confident this was the man who had incinerated her car. A frisson of excitement ran up her spine.

Fina pulled out her phone and scrolled through her messages rather than strike up any conversations. She was certain that one of her bar mates would do the honors before too long, providing her an opening for approaching Zack. That was one of the odd things about local watering holes during non-prime hours; they were often a curious mix of people who didn’t want to talk to anyone and people who wanted nothing more than a friendly ear. They made for odd bedfellows.

Two stools away from Fina, in the opposite direction from Zack, was a skinny young man with a mustache wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a down vest. He was talking, but it was unclear if he was addressing his fellow patrons or the TV tuned to ESPN.

The bartender deposited Fina’s beer on the bar. “Do you want to see a menu?”

“Don’t need to. Fried clam platter with half onion rings, half fries, please.” She’d only had a few bites of her donut, and it was practically dinnertime.

The older woman submitted the order on her computer and walked back over to the men who were sitting on the opposite side of the bar. Their easy conversation suggested they were regulars. Fina turned her attention to one of the large TVs and watched a countdown of the previous weekend’s sports highlights. She glanced at Zack, whose eyes moved between the screen and the front door.

Ten minutes later, her clam platter emerged from the kitchen. Fina tipped her head down and inhaled the deep-fried scent. She smacked the ketchup bottle to dispense a pool next to her fries, then dipped a clam into the cardboard cup of tartar sauce. Zack looked at his watch and ordered a second beer. He seemed to know that he’d been stood up and was going to console himself with booze.

A few minutes after Fina started eating, the skinny man eased himself off his bar stool and tottered to the bathroom. When he returned, he approached Fina’s stool and studied her.

“Can I buy you a drinks?” he asked, slurring and stinking all at once.

“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t think so.” She wiped some grease off her fingers before picking up an onion ring.

“Why not?”

Fina looked at him. “Really? You really want to have that conversation?”

“I’m just offering to treat you right,” he said, his volume climbing. The whiskers on his chin and cheeks were patchy, suggesting a prolonged adolescence or lack of skill with a razor.

“Jimmy, leave her alone,” the bartender hollered from her spot on the other side of the bar.

Jimmy wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “I blame this on women’s lib.”

“As you should,” Fina said. “Another time, another era, I’d feel obligated to accept your offer.”

Zack guffawed from her other side.

“That’s not even why that should be that way so. If it was different, maybe then that would make no sense,” Jimmy declared, leaning toward her, giving Fina an unwelcome view of his pores.

“Jimmy,” Fina said firmly, “go away before I make you, and I can make you, believe me.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, stomping his feet, digging into the worn carpet.

Fina chewed a clam, preparing herself for battle, but then Zack heaved his large frame off his stool. He grabbed Jimmy from behind in a bear hug and deposited him on the other side of the bar. Jimmy made a weak verbal protest, but quickly settled into his new home. It was no wonder his protestations were weak; surrender was the only reasonable response to a man the size of a mountain.

“Thanks,” Fina said when Zack reclaimed his seat.

“No problem.” He picked up his beer and took a sip.

The bartender wandered over and asked Fina if she wanted another beer. She asked for a diet soda instead to wash the saturated fat through her arteries. The woman filled a glass from the soda dispenser and left a sad, flat specimen in front of Fina before returning to her cronies.

“I’m guessing Jimmy’s a regular,” Fina said, trailing a French fry through the ketchup.

“He’d sleep here if they let him,” Zack said, studying the TV screen.

Fina reached up to her ear lobe and surreptitiously tugged off her hoop earring and slipped it into her pocket. She let a few minutes go by before brushing the hair back from her face.

“Shoot,” she said at half volume. She glanced around the bar top and hopped off her stool.

“You okay?” Zack asked.

“I lost my earring.”

“What’s it look like?” he asked.

Fina showed the one still hanging from her other ear. “It’s a silver hoop. It shouldn’t be hard to see.”

He looked around by his feet. Fina retraced her steps toward the door, bent over, studying the floor. On her way back, she circled near Zack’s feet.

“This is so annoying. I just got them.” She walked a few stools beyond him and then back toward her own seat, her eyes trained on the floor. On the way past, she stole a glance at his feet. He was wearing white tube socks with a distinctive logo on the ankle.

Fina’s pulse quickened. She climbed back onto her stool and reached up to pull off the other earring. “I must have lost it someplace else.”

“That’s too bad,” Zack said.

Fina picked through the remaining French fries. She was on a lifelong quest to find the perfect fry: crispy and oily on the outside, but soft on the inside.

“You know,” she said to him, “you look familiar. Have we met before?”

Zack looked at her before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m Amy, by the way.”

“Zack.”

“Nice to meet you. Maybe I’ve seen you in here before,” Fina mused.

“Maybe.”

“Do you live here? In Lynn?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What about you?”

“Salem, but I work in Lynn. You know the building on the corner of Maple and Wexford? That’s where I work,” she said, naming the location of Scotty’s deposition. “It’s got a garage out back.”

Zack shook his head slowly. He picked up his beer and took a long swig. “I don’t know it.”

“Oh, well. I thought maybe that’s where I’ve seen you before.”

“I’ve never been there.” He drained his beer and stood up, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Fina watched as he pulled out a few bills and left them on the bar.

“It was nice meeting you,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you again one of these days.”

“Maybe,” he said, and grabbed his jacket. He lumbered up the stairs and pushed open the door, revealing the dark winter sky.

Fina gestured for her check and pressed her finger against the plate to capture the last crumbs of fried batter. Check in hand, she pulled out her wallet and placed fifty bucks on the counter. It was a generous tip, but it was important to leave a positive, memorable impression whenever possible.

It hadn’t been positive, but hopefully she’d made a memorable impression on Zack Lawrence.

—

I
’m in my car, but I’m not driving,” Fina insisted when Cristian came on the line. She’d pulled off the wig and was scratching her scalp with her free hand.

“Happy to hear it, but you didn’t need to call me to report that.”

“That’s the least of what I have to tell you,” Fina said. She was sitting in the parking lot of the Galley. “You ready?”

He sighed. “Just tell me.”

“I found the car bomber.” She beamed even though he couldn’t see her expression through the phone.

“Really?”

“Really. Get out a pen and paper, ’cause you’re going to want to write this down.”

There was some noise in the background. Fina imagined that Cristian was tucking the receiver into the crook of his neck, poised to take notes.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“His name is Zack Lawrence, and he lives in Lynn. He’s about six feet five inches and two hundred and sixty pounds. Somewhere around there.”

“Car? License plate?” Cristian asked.

“Jeez, you want it all. There can’t be more than one Zack Lawrence matching that description in Lynn, for goodness’ sakes!”

“How’d you find him, and what makes you so sure it’s him?”

“I found him by investigating, and I’m sure he’s the one who planted the bomb for a variety of reasons,” Fina said. She redirected the air vent away from her face.

“Such as?” Cristian asked a moment later. “I can’t pick the guy up based on your gut feelings.”

“He’s wearing the same socks that are in the photo, and those socks are only sold at three places in the state. He shops at one of those places, and when I mentioned the garage, he got jumpy.”

“When you mentioned the garage?” Cristian’s voice went up a notch. “You talked to the guy?”

“Of course I talked to the guy. I wanted to be sure before giving you his name. I wouldn’t want anyone to be falsely accused,” Fina said. “You know I take civil rights very seriously.”

“Where did you talk to him?”

“At the Galley in Lynn. It was a perfectly pleasant conversation, but he did hightail it out of here when I mentioned the garage.”

“So he’s gone?”

“Yes. I thought about following him, but I didn’t want to spook him too much.”

“That was very restrained of you.”

“I thought so, too.”

“You said ‘planted.’ You don’t think he built the device?”

“I’m not convinced he’s the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know he’s the guy from the garage.”

“You heading home now?” Cristian asked.

“That’s the plan,” she said.

“Want some company later?” he asked.

Fina looked toward the far corner of the parking lot, which ended abruptly at the water’s edge. The ocean looked inky. “Actually, tonight’s not a good night.”

“No problem. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Sure. Let me know as soon as you have something on this guy,” Fina implored.

“Right. Like you did?”

“You’re a better person than I am, Cristian. Everyone knows that.”

Fina hung up and sat for a moment, contemplating Cristian’s offer of company. She loved spending time with him, but she was surprised by the follow-up invitation so soon after their night together. She hoped Cindy hadn’t instilled in him a level of attentiveness that she’d have to undo.

Fina had enough on her plate.

—