Shallow Graves

many of these do you have?“
    The small shrug again. “Six, seven. But that there’s the real one.“
    I couldn’t help but grin at him. “People underestimate you a lot, Primo?“
    That got the half-smile. “Just once, usually.“
    “Primo, what’s the license number on your car?“
    “That ain’t on there.“
    “I know. I want the plate of the car we’re going for a ride in.“ *
    He ratded it off, no more hesitation.
    “I’m going to make some calls, Primo. Then I’ll decide whether we’re taking a ride.“
    Zuppone and his coat made themselves more comfortable in the chair.
    I dialed the Boston police, making a point to ask for “Homicide“ and “Lieutenant Robert Murphy“ instead of Holt. Murphy wasn’t in, so I left Harry Mullen’s name and telephone number at Empire, then Zuppone’s name, address, and plate number. Then I called my answering service and left the same information with them.
    When I hung up, Zuppone said, “You want to call your friend, the assistant D.A., we got time.“
    I spoke to the half-smile. “That’s okay. She needs you, she’ll find you.“
    Zuppone said, “You carrying?“
    “At least one.“
    He said, “Okay. Let’s go.“
    I said, “What if I’d said no?“
    “What, about carrying?“
    “Yeah.“
    The leather squeaked its last as he got up. “I wouldn’t have believed you.“

    “This road’s a fucking disgrace, ain’t it?“
    We were driving out of the city on the Southeast Expressway, more typically known as the Distressway. Originally named after Boston mayor “Honey Fitz“ Fitzgerald, his famous descendants should be ashamed of its current condition.
    Zuppone continued. “I was one of the Kennedy kids there, I’d kick in a coupla bucks from the trust fund, get these potholes fixed.“
    The holes were more like craters, but Zuppone’s Lincoln Continental ate them up, just a slight “whump“ noise from the tires.
    “We were in my Prelude, our heads’d be through the moon roof by now.“
    Zuppone rolled the toothpick. “Never could see them foreign jobs, myself. Uncle of mine had a Lincoln back in the fifties, and I always promised myself one.“ He caressed the wheel lovingly. “And the stereo system’s dynamite. Watch.“
    Or listen. When we’d gotten in the car, his starting the engine brought some soft, soio piano music. Now Zuppone pressed a few buttons that made the sound bounce all over the cabin, front to back and side to side.
    I said, “That a radio station?“
    “Uh-unh. Tape, but it’s a homemade jobbie, forty-five minutes a side, so you don’t have to change it so often.“
    “Easy listening.“
    Zuppone glanced at me, to see if I were kidding. “George Winston.“
    “Never heard of him.“
    “Guy records for Windham Hill, New Age stuff.“
    “Hot tubs and healing crystals?“
    “I gotta tell you, I don’t know from nothing about the philosophy side of the shit. I just know, I put in the tape, and I feel good, you know?“
    We rode for a while, Zuppone taking the Route 3 prong instead of 128. The traffic petered out, but he kept the Lincoln at a steady fifty-five, the tires barely slapping the junctions of the asphalt in a way you felt rather than heard over the music. The leather upholstery was the same color as Primo’s coat and supple to the point of buttery. But a cold softness, not the way I’d want my last car ride to feel.
    Zuppone picked up the telephone nestled between us and hit a button. After no more than one ring, he said, “It’s Primo... Yeah... Ten minutes... Right.“
    He hung up, looked at me. “You were in Vietnam , right?“
    I said, “Right.“
    “One of the people you’re going to meet, he was there, too. Let him talk about it, he wants to, but don’t like... encourage him, okay?“
    My turn to look at Zuppone. “Okay.“
    He noticed me looking and shrugged. “You made it easy on me, coming along. I make it easy on you. One hand and the other, you know?“
    “Can you tell me where we’re heading?“
    The toothpick changed sides again. “You ain’t figured it out yet?“
    I thought back to Sinead Fagan being emphatic about not discussing “family“ with Mau Tim Dani. “I figure the super at an apartment building this morning called the owners, and now I’m going to meet them.“
    Zuppone nodded. “You’re close.“

    We left Route 3 and started winding through suburban intersections with three gas stations and a convenience store on the corners. After a couple of