Read Among Thieves for Free Online

you.”
    “Suit yourself.” She lapsed back into silence.
    He drove on, going over the scene in his head. He was determined not to give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait.
Seventy-five percent clear rate or not, who the fuck was she?
“McAfee was wrong about one thing,” he said after a while, trying to sound conversational.
    She looked at him but said nothing.
    “Whoever did that wasn’t just settling a score. It wasn’t some simple beef with the North End boys, or even with the Salvadorans
     in MS-13.”
    “What makes you so sure?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “Too messy. Too involved. If the wops or a rival mick gang felt disrespected or was settling a score it
     would’ve been cleaner. They would’ve taken him out quickly and gotten the hell away. Double tap to the head—like they did
     to Bags—or maybe even a drive-by when he was out in the open. No way they’d spend the kind of time they needed to do the damage
     we saw back there. And if MS-13 wanted to make a point, they would have used machetes on him. It’s their thing.”
    She shrugged, as though the observations were beneath acknowledgment.
    “And Murphy knew the people who did it.”
    “People? How do you know it was more than one?”
    “Johnny Bags. It had to be more than one, and they had to know Murphy because of Bags.” He felt her lean toward him, and he
     continued. “Bags was Murphy’s bodyguard. That was his job for the past ten years. His only purpose in life. From what I hear
     he was no rocket scientist, but he was good at his job, and loyal to a fault. There’s no way someone gets that close to Murphy
     if they didn’t know him without Bags putting up one hell of a fight. Plus, whoever did this managed to get Johnny back into
     that corner of the garage voluntarily. The body wasn’t dragged—the blood pooled under his head where he fell, and there was
     no messy trail—so he died where he fell. He didn’t even get his gun out before he was shot. I can’t imagine Bags leaving Murphy
     alone and going back into that corner with someone he didn’t know. And once he was there, Murphy would have had time to run
     when he heard the gunshots, unless there was more than one guy there—so we know it wasn’t a single perp.”
    “What’s that tell you about who did this?” Sanchez asked.
    “Nothing for sure,” Stone admitted. “But I’d start by looking within Murphy’s own organization. Could either be someone above
     him who felt threatened for some reason—”
    “Which could only mean Ballick,” she pointed out.
    “Right, if the order came from above. But it could also be someone underneath him. Or maybe even someone on his level trying
     to move up. The organization’s been all fucked up for years. Ever since Bulger took off.”
    “Why torture him, then?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe there was a personal aspect to it. Or maybe they were trying to make it look like something
     it wasn’t. I’m just guessin’, though.”
    “And the message? ‘The Storm’? What’s your thought on that?”
    “I got no idea. Maybe it’s just adolescent bullshit. Some of these guys never get past the comic book stage. But it’s taking
     a risk to leave something that distinctive behind. Seems like there should be a better reason. Guys who do shit like what
     we saw back there usually aren’t holding on to reason too tightly, though.”
    She turned and looked out her window again. They had pulled past the Federal Courthouse down by the water and were crossing
     the Evelyn Moakley Bridge back into Boston, heading toward the Rose Kennedy Greenway, which wound through the city above the
     Big Dig. The bridge was named after the wife of Joe Moakley, a powerful congressman. The Greenway was named for Rose Kennedy,
     the mother of John, Bobby, and Teddy Kennedy. Only in Boston were public works named for the relatives of politicians. It
     said so much about the place.
    “So, what do you think?” he