About Violence

Chapter Three

[Sorry to be a day late. Computer problems. I had to fire up an old laptop and rework an early draft.]

 I probably dozed a little but came awake when the car slowed and stopped. We were somewhere pretty far south on Dot Ave in the neighborhood around Talbot Ave and Ashmont Street. I didn’t catch the name of the street, but then, I didn’t really care much, either. I didn’t plan on ever coming back.

We were in front of a smallish home for the neighborhood, where two, three and four unit structures were the rule. This was a little house that had been badly converted into two, three room units some time ago and poorly maintained. The blue vinyl siding was an exhausted gray, and the fascia board had torn away from the soffit along twenty feet of the roof edge. They’d have to have that fixed soon, or squirrels would move in. It looked like they were already too late. At some point someone had made an effort at a maintenance free yard, so the space between the front door and the sidewalk, about ten feet, was covered with crushed reddish stone. No one had done any sort of upkeep for years, though, unless the owner was fond of landscaping with sumac and was allergic to paint.

“This the place?”

Chaz nodded. Rico’s jaw was set and it looked like he’d chip his teeth if he didn’t lighten up a little.

“Okay.” I said. “Let’s go say ‘Hi’ and see what’s up.”

The carpentry was offensive. The front steps were cheap, pressure treated white pine just thrown together, and the front porch, which I could tell had once been a real beauty, was badly neglected. It was made of some exotic hardwood no longer available, and was scraped and splintered and multiple layers of paint came through. A tragedy.

I walked up first, followed by Chaz. Rico, reluctant, even from the rear. I rapped on the door. After a moment of silence we could hear shuffling and the slap slap of approaching  feet.  Locks were tumbled. Bolts thrown.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice. Tired, heavy Spanish accent.

“Rico and company,” I said when no one else seemed inclined to answer. “I think we’re here to help.”

The door opened and I was face to face with a woman who was about 55 years old and 55 inches tall, which is not very old, but not very tall at all. In fairness, she was likely all of five feet, but she had a sort of power and serious air about her, like someone who had suffered greatly, and emerged on the far side polished and with a fine edge. She seemed like someone accustomed to suffering without complaint and butchery without sentiment. Her eyes were dark, like wet, icy pebbles.

She wore a pair of sweatpants about two sizes too large that swirled around her legs like Hammer pants and were cinched at her armpits, but I couldn’t see the knots she used beneath her vintage Celtics t-shirt. Parrish-00. (He was just great with Bird and company in the 80s. Those were the days.) She was wearing knee high Burberry rain boots. I have no idea why. Maybe she rides dressage in her off time.

My instinct was to just step aside and allow Rico or Chaz to handle it, but I was in front and it seemed proper to not appear to recoil. I put out my hand as if I were just selling Bibles.

“Hello. My name is Frank. This is Chaz, and Rico. We are here to help, I think.”

She gave me a strained smile, and then looked past me to Rico. Many words were exchanged in whatever dialect they spoke. I felt like an idiot, because I understood none of what was said.

We were standing in a very clean, if simple, paneled living room. The place was spotless, though the brown corduroy sofa and matching armchair were well worn. The carpet was an unbound piece of wall to wall cut to size. It was pure white. On the wall to left were framed pictures of Jesus, Mary, and the Pope. Beyond was the doorway to the kitchen. Someone was rattling pans. To the right there was a flight of stairs.

“My cousin is upstairs,” Rico told me. “This is Luce. She is a Santeras.”

“Fine with me,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. “Let’s go upstairs and take a look, eh?”

Luce put her hand on my arm and spoke a soliloquy, again in a language I did not understand. I was a variation of Spanish, but nothing I could follow.

“She is worried for you,” Rico said. “She said you are not a believer and will be unguarded by her protectors, the eggun, and the Orichas. You will be on your own. Unguarded.”

I shrugged. “Alrighty then. Let’s do this.”

The second floor was one large room lit by two fluorescent shop lights. At some point someone had taken a stab at renovating the attic. They’d hung drywall and taped the seams, and put down a plywood floor, but that is as far as they’d gotten. There were four dormers, one on each wall, and a window in each. In the center of the room was a wrought iron bed, and lashed to the bed with sash cord was a woman. The room smelled, but just faintly, like a pot of assholes and old socks simmering in hot sauce in a distant room.

Rico and Chaz remained at the top of the stairs. I walked over and stood beside the bed, and looked down at her.

She appeared to be thirty, maybe thirty-five years old and was probably pretty when she was all cleaned up, but she wasn’t pretty just then. Her hair was stringy and matted in places, and she was wearing a filthy pink sweat suit. Rope burns on her wrists had scabbed over. Her lips were dry and cracked and she seemed to be sleeping.

“How long has she been tied up?”

No one answered.

“Rico,” I said. “How long have they had her tied up?”

Rico mumbled something to Luce and she muttered something back.

“Nine days,” he said.

“You do understand that that is a little bit illegal, right? You can’t just leave a person tied to a bed for a week. Even in Dorchester.”

Rico just waved that point away like he was batting a fly. “What could they do? She would have hurt herself.”

I’m not a psychiatrist. I knew there was plenty of crazy on the menu in this particular restaurant, but I couldn’t be sure on which plate it would turn up.

“I’m going to wake her up.”

Rico cringed and shrank away as if I’d said, “I’m going to cut the blue wire. Maybe the red.”

I gave her shoulder a slight shake. “Hey. Hey. Rise and shine.”

Her eyes popped open and she stared at me. There was no confusion in her eyes, no surprise at finding a stranger looking down at her. She seemed to be, after me, the calmest person in the room.

“What the hell is going on here?” I asked her.

“Untie me.” She spoke English.

“I can, but maybe you can tell me why they tied you up in the first place.”

“Drugs,” she said.

There was a bustle at the top of the stairs and four men appeared. They were all short and muscled, with bandy legs and thick black hair. They appeared to be related, ranging in age from early twenties to late forties. One was carrying a tray and on the tray was a bowl of some sort of soup, a small loaf of bread, and an aluminum pitcher. The man carrying the tray spoke to Rico, again in the dialect I did not understand. Rico replied. The man replied.

“Drugs?” I asked the young woman on the bed. “What sort of drugs?”

She didn’t answer.

“What was that about?” I asked Rico.

“They want to know why you are here. I told them you are here as my guest, on my invitation, and are only here to help.”

“Okay. So I’m here. What’s the plan? They intend to keep her tied up forever? What’s the end game?”

Rico gave me a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“When is she okay? What are they waiting to see that will indicate she has recovered enough to be released?”

“Ah. I see.” Rico spoke to Luce and the man carrying the tray. There seemed to be many questions, back and forth, but very few direct answers. “They don’t know,” Rico said to me. “They say the curse is strong and the demon powerful. They are afraid.”

“What are they afraid of?”

“Her.” Rico said.

The eight of us stood there in the attic bedroom, around a young woman tied to bed. I pulled out my phone. Kelly answered on the second ring.

“What’s up?”

“I need a breath of sanity,” I said. “I’m in an attic somewhere in Dorchester standing over a woman tied to a bed.”

“Wow. She hot?”

“She may have been when she was tied up, nine days ago. She looks a little worse for the wear about now.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Yes.”

“Is she crazy?”

“I can’t tell. Everyone seems to be afraid of her and she hasn’t said much. She said something about drugs.”

“Think she’s a junkie?”

“I don’t think they’d go to this sort of extreme just to keep her off drugs. Something bigger is going on here.”

“Think she’s being drugged?”

“Possible, I suppose. I don’t know.”

Silence. Kelly was thinking.

“I don’t think you can just leave her there, Pope,” she said. “You can’t say with any certainty what is actually going on. For all we know grilled Aztec Virgin Hearts is a specialty of the house. At the very least, she is being held illegally. I’m no lawyer but that has got to be a good sized satchel full of felonies.”

“The people here seem to be scared to death of her.”

“So what? You aren’t.”

“They may not react well if I try to take her out of here.”

“What’s the alternative? If you call the police there is going to be a shitstorm, and it is going to fall on their heads. They will all go to jail, most likely, and for a very long time. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. I have to take her out of here. I can’t bring her to the hospital, though, because they’ll take one look at her and call the police themselves.”

Rico was listening to our conversation and his eyes went wide. “You can’t!” he said.

“I’ll call you back,” I said to Kelly and put the phone in my pocket. “What else can we do?” I said to Rico. “Look at the situation. If we don’t cut her loose and get her out of here, everyone here is going to go to jail, including you and me. If we take her to a hospital, same result. I’m open to suggestions, but I only see a couple of ways that this plays out.”

Rico was in a panic. Beads of sweat stood out on his lip and his hands were shaking.

“Look,” I said. “Think about it. You said she is your cousin. If something happens to her, can it be tied to you?”

“She’s not really my cousin cousin. She’s just from the same village. But I own this house. It is not in my name, but I pay for it.”

“Well, there you go. I’m going to take a wild guess here and say it is possible that there are a number of people in law enforcement who would love a reason to lock your ass away. We can walk away from this, but I don’t see that ending well for you. Let’s just get her out of here. Best all around.”

Rico turned and talked to the group. Their eyes went wide and their mouths fell open. Peppered throughout his speech were references to los federales, ICE, el DEA, policia. Then everyone was talking at once and it looked like someone had dropped a weasel in a henhouse.

“Ask them what they will do if we just leave her here. What is their plan?”

Rico began speaking to the group.

I gave her shoulder a shake again and her eyes opened.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to cut you loose and get you out of here.”

“Good.”

“Where do you want to go?”

She didn’t answer. She was listening to the chatter among the group.

Rico turned to me. “They do not know. Luce is a santera, but she is waiting for her babalawo to arrive. She said he will know what to do.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t help us much. When is this guy supposed to arrive?”

“They do not know.”

I walked over to the nearest window and looked down at the street. It was quiet. Nothing was happening. It was a beautiful fall evening. The moon was coming up. I was listening to my dad again. Do the math, Frank.

“Ok. Well, you brought me here to see what I see, right? To just look at this with a fresh set of eyes. It looks like this: If we just walk away and leave this woman tied to a bed, we are accessories to kidnapping and whatever else happens to her after we leave. I understand that there is some heavy religious stuff going on here. I don’t know enough about that to make any sort of a decision. I understand that these people think that they are helping her in some way, but—and trust me on this—the authorities will not see it that way if anything happens to her.”

“They do not want to harm her,” Rico said.

“I get that. It doesn’t matter. At the very least, we need to cut her loose. If she chooses to stay, she can stay. If she chooses to leave, she leaves. It’s that or call an ambulance, in which case we’ll be okay, but odds are Luce and her merry band will go to jail and then be deported. We clear on this?”

Rico grimaced and explained what I had said to the group. Whatever their religious leanings, they were not stupid and I could read their faces as they considered the implications. It didn’t seem like a particularly tough choice to me, but they had concerns I did not share. Eventually, I could see an agreement had been reached, but mouths were set and brows furrowed. They weren’t happy about it.

Rico looked at me and raised his hand quickly, like he was shaking liquid from his fingertips. “Release her.”

“I’m going to cut these ropes,” I said to the woman on the bed. “I’m going to start with your ankles, then I’ll cut your hands loose. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Don't do anything sudden or nutty. These people are wound up tight, and speaking strictly for me…if I feel you’re a threat I’ll pop you on the nose. Understand?”

She nodded.

I took the knife from my pocket and snapped it open. Everyone watched carefully, as if they expected me to suddenly plunge the knife into her chest. The sash cord was no match for the blade, and when her ankles were free she bent her knees and slid her feet out a few inches, flexing her toes.

I stepped to the head of the bed and cut her left hand loose first, then her right. She opened and closed her hands and flexed her biceps like a bodybuilder, curling both fists in toward her chest, but she made no effort to get up.

“You can get up,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. Her voice was clear, if a little scratchy, and her English had a very slight hint of an accent. She swung her legs off of the bed and sat on the edge, slouched with her dirty hair hanging over her face. “I need to use the bathroom. Then I need to get out of here. And then I need to use a phone and a computer. And then I need to shower.”

I shrugged. “Sounds like a good plan. Rico, are these people going to try to stop us?”

Rico shook his head. “No. No. They won’t.”

“Don’t hurt them,” the woman said softly, speaking only to me. I thought this was an odd thing for her to say after having been tied to a bed for nine days, but she’d been the one tied to the bed.

“Let’s go then.”

We made our way down the narrow stair in a ragged parade. Luce’s boots were a few sizes large and squeaked like a basketball game. Rico stopped in the living room and we all gathered in a loose group, like family members saying their goodbyes after a Thanksgiving dinner.

“Bano,” the woman said. Luce took her by the arm and they left the room. We all stood, waiting. They all looked like they expected to hear bloodcurdling screams at any moment. I was remembering a game I saw at the Garden in 1986, when Parrish, Bird, and McHale were all at the top of their game. Jordan had broken his foot early in the ’86 season, otherwise, Chicago would have been tough to beat. I wondered if Luce understood the history behind the jersey she was wearing. The 1986 Celtics…that was some real mojo, for sure.

Luce and the woman returned. She’d splashed some water on her face and pushed back her hair. It was a definite improvement, but I didn’t think they’d serve her at Bondir unless she cleaned up a bit more.

Luce looked worried, and she rattled off something to Rico. Rico responded, ticking points off on the fingers of his left hand as he spoke. He seemed forceful, but not angry. He didn’t raise his voice. Again, peppered throughout his soliloquy, I head “Ice”, and “federales”, and “policia’.  By the time he’d reached the forth point I could see that he had made a convincing case.

Luce took the woman by both hands and stared into her face. She said something that seemed like a prayer in a voice too low to make out, like a soft singsong hum, and then removed a necklace from her own neck and slipped it over the woman’s head.

I stood to one side and watched, thinking about what I’d make for dinner when I got home and wondering if Kelly would be coming, matching both possibilities against my memory of the contents of my refrigerator. Eventually Luce opened the front door and held it wide. Rico, Chaz, the woman, and I all stepped out into the front yard. No one came with us. The goodbyes had apparently all been said.

Chaz got in on the driver’s side and Rico on the passenger’s. I opened the door and helped the woman into the rear seat behind Rico and walked around to climb in behind Chaz. I noticed a black SUV with darkened windows three car lengths ahead. It hadn’t been there when I looked out the window a few minutes earlier. I didn’t mention it. If it mattered, I’d let Rico and Chaz know.

It took me a moment to adjust the seatbelt so I could breath.

“What is your name?” I asked the woman. Her head was resting on my shoulder. She was sound asleep.

“Sophia,” Rico said. “her name is Sophia.” He turned to Chaz and said, in the same dialect he’d used with Luce. “Something something highway.” I took this to mean, “Drive back on 93 and forget doing the cross city, side street drive we’d used to get here.” This was fine with me.

When we reached Gallivan Blvd I looked back and recognized the black SUV about two car lengths back. “Don’t turn,” I said to Chaz. “Stay on Dorchester until it turns into Adams.”

The light was green so we coasted across the boulevard. The black SUV was still behind us, three cars back now.

“Anyone you can think of who would be following us in a black Ford Explorer?”

“No,” Rico said. Chaz said nothing.

“Okay,” I said. “Probably nothing. Stay straight and bear right onto Randolph Avenue. Route 28. It’ll take us to the highway in Randolph.”

I leaned my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes and thought about what I had to do the next day. I had a door to hang in the morning, so I’d probably have to bring a selection of drill bits unless it was bored for a lockset already. I hadn’t told Mrs. Freemont what to buy because it seemed only fair she pick the door she wanted, so I didn’t know if she’d purchased a pre-hung or a slab, wood or hollow core. It didn’t matter. A slab was slightly harder to install, but a more interesting job.

I was nearly dozing when I felt the long swinging turn onto 93. I turned my head to look out the rear window. The black Ford was four cars back now, getting on the highway behind us.

“I think we’re being followed,” I said.

“Who?”

“No idea. Black SUV. Probably not a cop, unless you’ve done something to piss off the feds.”

“Why would they follow us? We’re just going home.”

“Sophia isn’t.” I said. “Unless you know where she lives. They aren’t following me. So, they are interested in you, or they are interested in her.”

“Who is?”

“Damned if I know, Rico. DEA? ICE? FBI? Why would they want you? You going to get busted tonight?”

Rico didn’t say anything. He looked straight ahead through the windshield. He was doing his own math. Had he screwed up? Had he been betrayed? Did he say the wrong thing to the wrong person on an unsecured line? A guilty conscious is an awful thing to haul around, particularly if you are afraid of what might happen as a result of the things you’ve done. Or so I’ve been told.

“Relax, Rico,” I said. “I may be mistaken and it’s just someone going the same way. If they stick with us, go back to the diner and drop me at my car. I’ll take Sophia in my car and you and Chaz drive away in this. At least then we’ll know who they are following.”

“Okay.” I got the impression that Rico was relieved that Sophia would soon be out of his car and immediate vicinity.

“Get off at Highland Ave and go through Newton. It’ll be too much of a coincidence if the Ford is still on us then.”

A few minutes later Chaz used his directional and eased over to the right and took the exit onto Highland Ave. He caught the first light on green, but had to stop at the Oak Street light after we’d crossed over the Charles River. There was no sign of the Ford behind us.

Rico peered into the rearview. “I don’t see them. Maybe it was just a mistake. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Maybe,” I said. “We’ll see.”

We drove with the traffic past the shops and fast food joints on Highland and Rico remained focused on the rearview.

“So, Rico,” I said. “What was the deal in Dorchester? Why was everyone afraid of Sophia?”

“They aren’t afraid of Sophia.” He said. “They adore Sophia. They are afraid of Ogo. Witchcraft. They are afraid of the curse and the demon they think she carries.”

“How did she get there? How did Luce find her and tie her to the bed?”

“That,” Rico said. “I do not know. The last time I saw Sophia she was still a girl in Santa Adela.”

“Where is that?”

“Cuba. I escaped twenty years ago.”

“And Sophia? When did she leave Cuba?”

“I do not know.”

“Luce and the four amigos. They also from Santa Adela?”

“Yes.”

“When did they come to the USA?”

“I do not know that, either. Fuck. That car is behind us again, I think.”

“Okay. We’ll just stick with the plan. Split up and see who they follow.”

Chaz stayed on the road until it became Center Street in Newton, and then bore to the right when we reached Washington Street. It was a bit after nine-thirty by then, so though there was still traffic, it was entirely passable and it made it difficult for our tail to avoid being spotted. Which didn’t matter, really, because he had been spotted already, though he couldn’t know that.

“Pike?” Chaz asked. First word I’d heard him speak.

“No,” I said. “Bear left on Charlesbank and we’ll drive along the river.”

Chaz did as instructed. We took the Soldier’s Field Road to the Fresh Pond Parkway, exited onto Brattle Street in Cambridge and continued on to Harvard Square. Chaz got onto Mass Ave and soon we were back in Somerville, pulling up at the coffee shop.

Sophia was still asleep. I gently shrugged my shoulder and she woke.

“What?”

“We’re getting out,” I said. “You’re with me.”

“Rico?”

Rico turned in his seat. “Go with Frank, chica. That is the safe thing to do.”

Through the corner of my eye I saw the black SUV pull into an empty spot about a block behind us.

“Drive around a little and then just go home,” I said. “They’ll either follow you or they will follow Sophia. We still won’t know what they are looking for, but at least we’ll know who they think will lead them there.”

Chaz nodded. I climbed out and Sophia slid across the seat and exited on my side. She was a bit of a wreck and I was glad that it was dark. She took my arm and leaned on me and we walked two car lengths to where I’d parked.

I live in Cambridge and do not have a driveway, so my cars usually double as urban assault vehicles. There is no point in driving a new vehicle knowing the value dropped the moment you left the lot, and then drops further every day with each pothole hit, each shopping cart that dings the door, every friendly bumper tap from someone trying to parallel park. For years I drove old, boxy cars, like 1979 Ford Fairmonts and bought them for less than $1000 each. I’d drive them until they died and then buy another. Kelly called them my “no design cars”.

“You buy cars that are just stupid,” she said, looking at one of the Fairmonts I’d driven well into the 2000s. “It’s like the executives said to the designer, ‘Hey, remember that car you drew in the 5th grade? Yeah, we want to build that!’”

Times changed, though, and I’d moved on to other makes and models, always old and always big, so I could move my tools and not worry about cosmetic damage. My car at the moment was a deep gray Volvo 940 wagon. The paint had been bleached by the sun, so it was a lighter gray on the hood and the roof, but the seats were leather and the radio worked. Mike kept the engine in good repair for me.

I unlocked the passenger door and helped Sophia get in.

“Put on the seat belt,” I said.

I climbed in on the driver’s side and made a show of doing a pre-drive ritual, like passive-aggressive people do when you are waiting to take their parking spot. I fiddled with the knobs and then put on my own belt. I started the car and adjusted the mirrors. It was all theater. I just wanted to get a good look at the black SUV. It was still there, idling with the lights off. It was difficult to be certain, but it looked like there were two people inside.

I put on my directional and pulled away. As I passed Chaz and Rico, I gave the horn a quick tap and waved. No reason to let the tail know he’d been spotted. Just a bunch of friends on their way home after leaving the bar. Nothing to see here.

I turned on the radio and looked for some music. Jazz was becoming increasingly rare, so I settled on some soft rock. Pink was singing about not being broken, just bent. I turned it way down. I like the song, it just wasn’t the time for a sing-along.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

Sophia had her head back against the rest and swiveled her face toward me. “Just tired,” she said. “And hungry. And dirty.”

I smiled. “I meant other than that.” She smiled too, just a tiny bit.

The point of the exercise at the moment was just to drive around and see who gets followed, so I took a left unto Central Street and headed into Somerville.

“Where are you taking me?” Sophia asked.

“That depends,” I said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere where there is food, and a shower, and a place to fall asleep. I need to make some calls, too. And get on the internet.”

“You can use my phone,” I said, reaching to my pocket.

“Probably better I don’t. It can wait.”

“Okay,” I said. That was interesting. Who might she be calling that would worry her about using my phone? “You have any place in mind?”

Sophia closed her eyes. “No.”

“Okay,” I said. “That limits our options. I guess we’re going to my place, then. You can get cleaned up and eat there.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, mi casa es su casa.”

She almost smiled again.

The black SUV was in my rearview mirror.

So the tail was on Sophia, not Rico. That was interesting. I could think of a number of reasons people might be following Rico, but not many for following a young woman rumored to be harboring a demon.

“Any reason people would be following you?” I asked.

“What people?”

“The people in the car that has been following you since we left Dorchester. You know who they are?”

Sophia shook her head.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll ask them.”

The SUV was still behind me a few car lengths. I turned left onto Summer Street. It is a quiet street most of the time, just wide enough for two cars to pass between the rows of parked cars. I stopped in the middle, put it in park

“Stay here,” I said and got out. There was no need to say anything. Sophia was asleep.

The driver of the SUV made the same left, saw my stopped car, and hit the brakes, momentarily confused. His options were limited. He could throw the car into reverse and back into the intersection, or he could attempt a seventeen point turn on the narrow street, or he could wait for my car to move. He chose to wait. That was silly. No one in Massachusetts would sit in their car behind another car blocking the street without laying on the horn.

I tapped on the driver’s side window. The driver was a heavy man in his late forties wearing a navy blue Member’s Only jacket zipped all the way up. He had a thin black moustache and pockmarked nose and forehead. Beside him, on the passenger’s side, was a younger man, probably in his late twenties, wearing a black running suit. I didn’t see any weapons.

The heavy man hit a button and his window rolled down.

“Nice jacket,” I said. “They still make those? I don’t think I’ve seen one in the wild since Larry Bird played The Garden.”

“Car trouble?” the fat man said. He, too, had an accent. I recognized his. Pure Revere. Old school Boston.

“No,” I said. “Car runs great. It’s a beauty. Over 200,000 miles and still runs like a champ.”

“You are blocking the road.”

“I am. I felt it important that we meet, since you’ve been following us since we left Dorchester.”

Both tried to be calm, but “Oh shit” registered on their faces anyway.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said. “You guys really weren’t that bad. I’m just good at it. I need to know why you’re so interested in where this lady goes, though. What’s the deal here?”

The fat guy answered. “We are not following you or anyone else. You are blocking the road.”

I was genuinely disappointed. He’d chosen to lie, and now it was going to be difficult to figure out what I was into.  I thought it over. There were a few ways this could go. I could just move the car and let them drive off, and then lose them on the streets of Somerville before going home. That would be easiest, and then after Sophia has taken a shower, had a bite to eat, and put on some less humiliating clothes, I could drive her to the airport or the train station or the nearest church. That was option one.

I could also just bring her back to the door of the SUV, introduce her, and see what happened. She might know who they were. The downside was: if they were thinking of kidnapping or killing her, it could go badly fast.

The third option was just to press it a little more and see where it went.

“Come on,” I said. “Why lie to me? I spotted you in Dorchester and here we are. Why insult my intelligence? All I’m asking is why you are following this woman. Simple question.”

The young guy in the running suit glared at me. He leaned over the console and his face was fully lit by the street light. His nose was flat at the bridge and he had a spider web of tiny scars at the corner of each eye. Boxer. Maybe a good one, but he’d been hit more than a few times.

“Move the car,” the boxer said.

“Who’s talking to you, snowflake?” I said. “I’m talking to your dad.”

That was all it took. The young guy exploded out of the passenger’s side and rushed me like a bully Mastiff. He stood with his chest puffed out, legs slightly apart, the right foot planted just behind the left. His arms were loose at his sides and though his fists weren’t clenched, his fingers were curled and halfway there. He seemed both loose and relaxed and wound tighter than a pocket watch. Were it a cartoon, he’d have been pawing the ground and curls of smoke would have been coming out of his nose. Every indication was that he knew what he was doing. There is an attitude, a posture and poise that surrounds trained fighters like an aura. Yet, he was young and reckless. Weren’t we all, once?

“The fuck you say?” he asked. It was like a hiss.

“I said I’m talking to your dad. Where are your manners?”

“He is not my father.”

“Really?” I said. I did a comic double take. “You sure?”

I watched it all happen in slow motion. The crack registered, his face clenched, his lips pulled back in a snarl exposing even white teeth. His left foot slid forward a bit and his right shoulder went back and up, cocking for what would no doubt be a devastating right.

So I kicked him in the balls. It was more like a pooch punt from the fifty than a boomer from the end zone, but the breath whooshed out of him and he fell to the ground, retching.

“You’ll be okay,” I said. “That’s going to hurt like hell for awhile, but you’ll be all right. Put some ice on it later. It helps. Use frozen peas. They work best.”

The fat man had not moved. He sat perfectly still, with both hands on the steering wheel. I left the kid to toss his dinner in the gutter and leaned against the car.

“He a good boxer?” I asked.

The fat man nodded. “Very good. Might even make pro.”

“I figured. He has the look. Right build and posture. It didn’t seem smart to square off.”

The fat man nodded again. “Yes. He would probably have killed you.”

I shrugged. What are you going to do? Someone is always trying to kill me; or, at least, trying to make me afraid that they are.

“All right, then. Why are you following the girl? I want to go home, but I need to know that much before I do.”

“I am afraid I can’t help you. I do not know.”

I wasn’t surprised. I indicated the boxer resting his forehead on the curb. “Does he know?”

The fat man shook his head. “He knows less than me, and all I know is someone with money wanted to know where she went, and where she is. I have a phone number. That’s it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Take Tyson home. Stop following us, okay?”

“Okay. You don’t want the phone number?” He sounded surprised.

“Nah. I wouldn’t call it and it would mean nothing to me. Probably a burner anyway.  I didn’t hurt the kid very badly. Stop somewhere and pick up a couple of bags of frozen peas. Those are best for packing a nut shot. In a day or two he’ll be good as new.”

“He might want to come looking for you,” The fat man said. His voice was laced with what I imagine was spooky threat and menace.

“My name is Frank Pope,” I said. “If he decides to even the score, remind him what happened here tonight and that there is no ref to stop the action out here. If he’s good, he might have a career. Stupid to risk his career on the street.”

The driver nodded. “True. I’ve said the same. He doesn’t listen.”

“He good enough to have a career in the ring?"

“I think so, yes." the driver said.

I put my hand on the kid’s back and leaned close to his ear. “You hear all of that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I heard you.”

“I have a lot of respect for professional fighters. Almost one myself a long time ago. The smart ones leave it in the ring and the gym. If you’re going to be great, you need your knees and elbows and eyes and all of your marbles. Don’t be a douche and lose any of that being dumb muscle or because someone pisses you off.”

He nodded. He didn’t look up. I hooked an arm under his right armpit and helped him to his feet. The passenger door was still open, so I dumped him in the seat and stood, holding the door.

“Think it over. If you choose to come after me, it isn’t Marquess of Queensbury.” I said.  “No shame in this. I’m sure you’re a great fighter, but no one ever kicked Oscar De La Hoya in the balls. So, don’t. Really. I don’t want to hurt you.  And don’t forget. Frozen peas.”

I slammed the door.

I got back into my car and Sophia was asleep again. I didn’t wake her, because there was no point. She wouldn’t know the guys in the SUV.  I took a left onto Belmont Street and the SUV continued on Summer. They were done for the night. I took the right onto Somerville Avenue and headed for home.

Sophia was out cold, so I stopped at the gas station on Massachusetts Avenue and bought a few bottles of water. I uncapped one, gave Sophia a nudge and handed it to her.

“It’s water,” I said.

She put the bottle to her lips.

I fingered the phone out of my pocket and called Kelly. Again, she answered on the first ring.

“ETA is about five minutes. I’ve got company.”

Kelly laughed. “So you’re bringing the demon home?”

“Nothing else I can do, I don’t think. She’s exhausted, starving, has no money whatsoever, and nowhere else to go.”

“Okay. What can I do?”

“She also has nothing but a dirty sweat suit. She’s about your size, I think. Something to sleep in? Maybe a pair of jeans and a t shirt for tomorrow?”

“Being your friend really sucks sometimes.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said. “I’ll take you shopping and replace any donations you make.”

“Fuck you, Frank. So, If I lend her a nightgown, is she going to poke holes in it with a crucifix or something?”

“Damn. That’s an image I could have done without. No. It looks like she’ll be sleeping.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in fifteen. You still suck.”

I found a place to park and helped Sophia out of the car. It was like handling a drunk. She wasn’t quite legless, but she was less than steady. I got an arm around her waist and helped her to the door. I was fiddling with my keys when it opened.

Kelly stepped out and got under Sophia’s other arm. Together we sort of guided her into the living room and into a chair.

“Poor kid,” Kelly said. “She drugged?”

“Maybe. She said something about drugs, but I never got the details. She may be just fried after a week of whatever these religious nuts were doing to her.”

“No demon?”

“None I’ve seen.”

“I’m right here,” Sophia said. “You can just ask me. I need to use the bathroom. And I need to take a shower.”

“I’ve got it,” Kelly said.

“I can walk.”

“Good,” Kelly said. “This way.”

Kelly reached to help Sophia up, but Sophia shrugged her off and followed her out of the room, shuffling her feet with her head drooping onto her chest. She looked like a sullen teenager. I heard the bathroom door close and a moment later Kelly was back.

“Okay. I was wrong. You were right to bring her here.”

“There was nothing else I could do.”

“Right. Well, I got a look at her. She’s got some bruises and scars I wouldn’t want to explain in the ER unless she rides motocross while practicing Kendo, and she’s obviously exhausted.”

“We’ll figure it out, Kel.” I said. “I couldn’t just dump her.”

“No shit,” Kelly said. “So make her something to eat. Me too, for that matter. It’s ten pm. Fucking feed us.”