Killing Them Softly (Cogan's Trade Movie Tie-in Edition)

for a change.”
    â€œHe was drinking his drink through them little plastic things you’re supposed to steer them with,” Gill said. “Those little green and white things.”
    â€œYeah,” Cogan said. He set his coffee cup down. “Where’s the fuckin’ car?”
    â€œAround the side,” Gill said. “I thought you said—”
    â€œNever mind what you thought I said,” Cogan said. “Move your big dumb ass. The guy’s going home.”
    â€œI don’t get it,” Gill said.
    â€œNeither’s he, tonight,” Cogan said. “Never again, either. Come on, for Christ sake, we’re gonna get home early for a change.”
    The yellow 4-4-2 trailed Trattman’s tan Coupe de Ville through eight consecutive green lights on Commonwealth Avenue, westbound. Cogan rode in the back,sitting behind the driver’s seat. He kept his hands down, out of sight.
    â€œJesus,” Gill said, “he’s pretty good at this. He hits them all, just’s they turn.”
    â€œHe knows the speed,” Cogan said. “They’re set for nineteen or twenty miles an hour, I think it is. Something like that. He does it all the time, for Christ sake. He oughta.”
    â€œJack,” Gill said, “what if, what if he hasn’t gotta stop?”
    â€œWe’ll take him home and put him to fuckin’ bed then,” Cogan said. “Just keep after him, Kenny, and remember what I told you about thinking. Don’t worry about nothing. Just you change lanes now and then and everything’ll be all right.”
    On the long hill at the synagogue, the Cadillac swung into the right lane and the brake lights came on as it approached the intersection of Chestnut Hill Avenue. The traffic light was red. A streetcar moved west toward Lake Street beyond the intersection.
    â€œMiddle lane, Kenny,” Cogan said. “There’s three lanes, it goes to three lanes up here. Take the middle.” He began to straighten up in the back seat. He leaned over and cranked down the right rear passenger window with his left hand.
    The 4-4-2 approached the Cadillac quickly off the left rear.
    â€œRight up even,” Cogan said, “nice and smooth.”
    The traffic light remained red. There were no other cars. The traffic lights on Chestnut Hill Avenue turned yellow.
    â€œRight up next to him,” Cogan said. “Then a little bit ahead. Put me right next to him, Kenny. Atta boy.”
    Gill stopped the 4-4-2 with the open right rearwindow even with the driver’s window of the Cadillac. Trattman looked lazily at the car. He looked back at the traffic light.
    Cogan ran the 30-06 Savage semi-automatic rifle out the rear window of the 4-4-2 and fired five times. The first bullet crazed Trattman’s window. Trattman lurched off to the right and was snubbed up abruptly. Cogan said: “Good for you, Markie, always wear your seat belt.”
    The Cadillac started to creep forward as Cogan finished firing, Trattman bent forward at an angle over the passenger seat. When Gill swung the 4-4-2 left on Chestnut Hill Avenue, the Cadillac was halfway across; it ran up against the curbstone as the lights in the apartments at the intersection started to come on.

R USSELL, CARRYING A BROWN-PAPER BAG , came out of the Arlington Street MBTA station just before six o’clock and turned off Arlington at St. James. At the newsstand on the corner the old man was cutting wire on bundles of the
Globe
. Two men in business suits waited in a light green Ford sedan at the newsstand, the passenger with his head and left hand out of the window, offering change. The driver watched Russell turn right on St. James. Holding the microphone in his right hand, the driver spoke into it: “All units, this is unit three. He finally made it.”
    Russell crossed the street, pausing for a Greyhound bus to pull into the terminal parking lot, in from Bangor. The driver of the third Yellow Cab in line at the terminal spoke into his microphone: “Unit four to all units. I got him now. He’s on the sidewalk. He’s about to enter the station.”
    The light green Ford started moving toward the next intersection. It turned right at Stuart Street and went the wrong way up behind the terminal.
    In the station a man in a light blue private security force uniform stood at the top of the stairs, his back to the doors, watching the reflection of the