Chapter 7 6 All sinful saints
The Boston Police Department was about to face a public relations disaster, and Thomas was the first to be alerted by the ambulance driver.
When they strapped Joe on a wooden gurney and carried him into the back of the ambulance, the driver said, "You threw the kid off the roof?"
The heavy rain was falling, making everyone roar.
"He had these injuries on him before we got there," said Sergeant Michael Pooley, Thomas' assistant and driver.
"Really?" The ambulance driver looked at them one by one, the rain dripping from the black brim of the white peaked cap.
Even in the rain, Thomas could feel the heat rising in the alley, so he pointed to his son on the gurney. "This gentleman was involved in the murder of three police officers in New Hampshire."
Sergeant Pooley said, "Goddam, feeling better now?"
The ambulance driver was checking Joe's pulse, eyes on his watch. "I read the paper. That's what I do most of the time - sitting in this car, reading my paper. This kid is the one driving. When the cops were chasing him, they shot the other car. The cop car is blown to pieces." He put Joe's wrist back on his chest. "But he didn't fire the gun."
Thomas looked at Joe's face--cracked black lips, flattened nose, eyes swollen shut, one frontal bone caved in, eyes and ears and black blood clots at the corners of nose and mouth.Thomas' blood, his son.
"But if he hadn't robbed that bank," said Thomas, "they wouldn't have died."
"If the other cops didn't use their fucking submachine guns, they wouldn't be dead." The driver closed the door and looked at Poole and Thomas, who was surprised by the disgust in his eyes. "You guys probably just beat the kid to death. The question is, is he a murderer?"
Two police cars followed the ambulance and drove off into the night in all three vehicles.Thomas kept reminding himself to think of the man beaten up in the ambulance as "Joe."Because thinking of him as "my son" is just so crushing.His blood and flesh and blood, a lot of blood and a little flesh are left in this alley.
He asked Poole, "Have you notified that Abe White is wanted in the whole country?"
Pulley nodded. "There's also Loomis and Pence. I don't know the last name of the other Downey. We guess it's Downey Gishler, White's subordinate."
"Find Ji Shile first. Inform all units that there may be a woman in his car."
Pulley pointed with his chin. "Before the alley."
Thomas moved forward, Poole following.They joined the group of cops by the delivery door, and Thomas avoided looking at the puddle of Joe's blood on his right foot, profuse and bright red even in the rain.Instead, he turned his attention to his team leader, Steve Furman.
"Any news about that car?"
Furman flipped through his shorthand. "The scullery man said there was a Kole parked in the alley between 8:15 and 8:30. Then the scullery man said that car drove away and this Dodge came in instead."
When Thomas and his men rushed into the alley, those men were trying to drag Joe into the Dodge.
"Issuing the most wanted car in the world, we must first find the Cole," Thomas said. "It's Donny Gishler in the car. There's probably a woman in the back seat, Emma Gould. Steve, he's from the Gould family in Charleston, know who I mean?"
"Oh, yes," Furman said.
"She's Ollie Gould's daughter, not Berber's."
"it is good."
"Send someone over to her house in Union Street to make sure she's still in bed. Sergeant Pooley?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you seen this Donny Gishler?"
Pulley nodded. "He's about 170 centimeters tall and weighs 85 kilograms. He always wears a black woolen cap. The last time I saw him, he had a long mustache. The Sixteenth Precinct has his file According to."
"Send someone to get it. Also pass on his physical description to all units."
He looked at the pool of blood on the ground.There is a tooth in it.
He and his eldest son Aiden haven't spoken to each other for many years, but they occasionally receive letters from him, which only describe the current situation in a straightforward manner, without personal feelings.He didn't know where he lived, or even if he was dead or alive.As for the second son Connor, he was blinded during the police strike riot in 1919.Physically, he adjusted to his handicap with astonishing speed; but psychologically, his tendency to self-pity grew and he soon began drinking heavily.After being unable to drink himself to death, he turned to religion.But God's requirements for believers are obviously more than just a momentary enthusiasm for martyrdom, so he also gave up.Soon, he was admitted to the Abbotsford School for the blind and physically handicapped.They gave him a job as a coworker—a man who was the youngest assistant U.S. attorney ever to handle a death penalty prosecution in Massachusetts and is now a coworker—and he lived there, mopping floors he couldn't see .Every once in a while, the school would ask him to teach classes instead, but he turned them all down, citing that he was too shy.But none of Thomas' sons was shy.Connor just decided to exclude everyone who loved him - for him, the only one who loved him was his father.
Next came his younger son, who joined a criminal gang and hung out with whores, bootleggers, and gunmen.This life seems to bring glamor and opulence, both of which are rarely achieved.And now, because of his colleagues and Thomas' men, he might not survive the night.
Thomas stood in the rain, smelling nothing but his own stench.
"Find the girl," he said to Pooley and Furman.
A police patrol in Salem saw Donnie Gishler and Emma Gould.By the time the police chase was over, a total of nine patrol cars had joined, all of the small North Shore towns—Beverly, Peabody, Marblehead.A few cops saw a woman in the back of the car; a few didn't; one of them claimed he saw two or three young girls in the back, and it turned out he had been drinking.Donny Gishler forced two patrol cars off the road in the middle of the highway, wrecked both, and fired (but poorly) at the police, who fired back.
At 9:50 p.m., Donny Gishler's Kohl crashed off the road in the heavy rain.At that time, the police and the robbers were chasing each other on Ocean Boulevard next to Lady Bay in Marblehead Township. It may be because the police shot lucky and hit Keishler's tire, but in the heavy rain at forty miles per hour, it was more likely because of the tire. Too worn out to blow up.On that section of Ocean Avenue, the section of the avenue is very small, but the section of the ocean is vast and boundless.The three-wheeled Cole left the road and swerved off the shoulder with all its tires in the air.The car, with two windows shot through, fell into the sea eight feet away. The car sank completely before most of the police officers got out of the car.
A patrolman from Beverly, Louis Burry, immediately took off his coat and dived into the water in his undershirt. It was very dark, and although some people thought of turning the headlights of all patrol cars on the sea, it was useless.Louis Berry dived into the frigid water four times, and spent a day in the hospital due to hypothermia, but still did not find his car.
Just after two o'clock in the afternoon the next day, the diver found the car, and Ji Shile was still sitting in the driver's seat.A broken piece of the steering wheel was lodged in his armpit, and the gear lever was in his groin.But that wasn't what killed him.Police fired more than fifty shots that night, one of which hit the back of the head.Even if the tire hadn't blown out, the car would have fallen into the water.
They found a silver headband and silver feather on top of the car, but no other evidence of Emma Gould's presence.
About ten minutes after the firefight between the police and three gangsters behind the Steller Hotel, it entered the fog of the city's history.Although no one was shot, there were not many shots fired at all during the commotion.The three gangsters were lucky enough to leave the alley just as the crowd was leaving the restaurant for the Colony and Plymouth Theatres.The reenactment of "The Flower Girl" has sold out the box office for three consecutive weeks at the Colonial Theater, while "The Hero of the Western Ruffian" performed at the Plymouth Theater aroused the anger of the "New England Guardians", and dozens of people came to protest , are unattractive, disgruntled, rambunctious women, but the protests only make the drama more compelling.These women shouting loudly in front of the theater is not only good for the theater box office, but also a godsend for gang members.When the three gangsters rushed out of the alley, the police who chased them were not far behind, but when the protesting women of the "Guardian of New England" saw the guns, they pointed and screamed and shouted.Several couples who were about to go to the theater slammed awkwardly to the door of the store to take cover. At the same time, when the drizzle suddenly turned into a torrential rain, a private car driver swerved sharply in his employer's Pierce Silver Arrow and crashed into it. lamp post.By the time the policemen came to their senses, three gangsters had robbed a car on Piedmont Street and disappeared into the pouring rain. The headline "Styler Shootout" is news.The story started off simple - a shootout between the hero cop and the cop-killer gangster, subduing and arresting one person.But things quickly became more complicated.Oscar Fayette, an ambulance driver, pointed out that the arrested gangster was severely beaten by the police and may not live tomorrow.Just after twelve o'clock that night, various newspapers on Washington Street circulated unconfirmed rumors that a car crashed into Lady Bay in Marblehead at high speed and sank to the bottom of the sea in less than a minute. A woman was found locked in the car. Then it was revealed that one of the gangsters involved in the Steyer shootout was businessman Abel White.Before that, Abel White held an enviable position in Boston society, and it was known that he might be making, and seemed to be distributing, bootleg alcohol, probably outlaws.Everyone took it for granted that he was engaged in illegal activities, but most also believed that he was not involved in the street riots that are currently affecting major cities.Abel White was seen as a "good" bootlegger.Just kindly offering a harmless crime, he wears a conspicuous off-white suit and can talk to a bunch of people in a social setting about his war heroics and his time as a policeman.But after the Steyler shootout (the owner of the Steyler Hotel tried unsuccessfully to change the names of the newspapers), that view faded.Police issued an arrest warrant for Abe White.Sentenced or not, his days of intimate association with noble people were over.That was the end of the obscenities and thrills that circulated in the drawing-rooms and banqueting halls of the Beacon Hill mansion. Then came the bad luck that befell Deputy Superintendent Thomas Coughlin.He was once regarded as the favorite candidate for the police chief, and he is also likely to enter the state legislature.The next day's evening paper published news that the gangster arrested by the police and beaten on the spot turned out to be Coughlin's own son. How difficult it is to teach children of good conduct in the age of crime.But then Billy Kelleher, a columnist for the Boston Observer, revealed that he had run into Joseph Coughlin on the steps of the Steyer Hotel.It was Kelleher who called the police that night, and he got to the alley just in time to see Thomas Coughlin deliver his son to his men for beatings.The general public couldn't bear the disgust when they heard about it—it's one thing to fail to teach your child well, but it's another thing to order someone to beat him into a coma. When Thomas was called to the police headquarters to meet the chief, he knew he would never be stationed in this office. Commissioner Herb Wilson stood behind his desk and pointed to Thomas at a chair.After Wilson's predecessor, Edwin Upton Curtis, who had wreaked havoc on the Boston Police Department, died of a heart attack in 1922, Wilson succeeded him as chief. "Sit down, Tom." Thomas Coughlin hated being called "Tom," the brevity, the affectation of intimacy. He sits. "How is your son?" Chief Wilson asked him. "Still in a coma." Wilson nodded, and exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "The longer he's unconscious, Tom, the more of a saint he's going to be." Wilson gazed at him across the table. "You look bad. Did you get enough sleep?" Thomas shook his head. "Since..." He spent the past two nights by his son's hospital bed, counting his sins and praying to a God he barely believed in.The doctor told him that even if Joe could wake up, he might have suffered brain damage.Thomas, in a fit of rage—the kind of blazing rage that scares his father, his wife, and his three sons—ordered his men to beat his son with batons.Now he imagines his shame like a knife set in hot coals until the steel turns black and curls of black smoke curl around the edge, and then the point plunges into his belly below the breastbone, moving around inside him, Cut and cut until he couldn't see or breathe. "Any news about the other two, Brother Bartolo?" asked the Chief. "I thought you already knew." Wilson shook his head. "I've been in budget meetings all morning." "Just got the telex. They've got Paolo Bartolo." "Who are they?" "Vermont State Police." "Is it alive?" Thomas shook his head.For some reason they may never understand, Paul Bartolo's car was stuffed with cans of ham; not just the back seat, but the front passenger's footrest.A state trooper tried to pull him over when he ran a red light on South Main Street in St. Albans, Vermont (about fifteen miles from the Canadian border).Paul ran away.The trooper pursued, joined by other troopers, and finally cornered Paul's car off the road near a dairy farm in Enosburg Falls. It was a bright spring afternoon, and police are still not sure whether Paul had a gun drawn when he got out of the car.It is possible that his hand reached for the belt.It's also possible that he's just too slow to raise his hands.But the brothers had shot and killed State Trooper Jacob Zober on a similar road, so the Vermont troopers didn't dare take the risk.Each police officer fired at least two shots. "How many police officers were supporting?" Wilson asked. "I believe seven." "How many times did the gangster get shot?" "I heard that it was eleven shots. We will have to wait for the autopsy to confirm." "And what about Dion Bartolo?" "Probably hid in Montreal, or thereabouts. Dion was always smarter than his brother, and Paul was less able to hide from the limelight." The chief took a sheet from a small stack of papers on the table and put it on another stack.He looked out the window at the spire of the customs building a few blocks away, and for a moment seemed to be in a trance. "When you walk out of this office, the ranks can't be the same again, Tom. You understand that?" "Yes, I understand." Thomas looked around. For the past ten years, he had been longing to be in this office, but now he didn't feel any sense of loss. "If I demote you to captain, I will have to let you manage a sub-bureau." "But you wouldn't do that." "That's right." The director leaned forward and clasped his hands. "Now you can concentrate on praying for your son, Thomas, because your career is going downhill." "She's not dead," said Jo. He woke up four hours ago.Thomas arrived at Massachusetts General Hospital ten minutes after receiving the doctor's call, bringing his lawyer, Jack DeJarvis, with him.De Jarvis was a little old man, and his woolen suit was always the most forgettable color-bark brown, wet sand gray, or black that seemed to have faded from too much sun.His tie was usually the same color as his suit, his shirt had a yellowed collar, and when he wore his hat, it always looked too big and fell over his ears.Jack DeJarvis looked like a docile sheep, and he has looked that way for most of his life for more than thirty years, but no one who knew him was foolish enough to believe that appearance.He was the best criminal defense attorney in Boston, by a wide margin.Over the years, Jack DeJarvis had broken at least two dozen of the well-documented cases that Thomas had brought to the DA.Some people say that when Jack De Jarvis dies and goes to heaven, he will save all his former clients from hell one by one. Several doctors spent two hours examining Joe, during which time Thomas and De Jarvis waited in the corridor, and a young patrolman stood guard at the door of the ward. "I can't get him off the hook," DeJarvis said. "I know this." "But don't worry, the crime of second-degree murder is a joke, and the prosecutor knows it himself. But the son still has to go to jail." "how long?" De Jarvis shrugged. "Ten years, I think." "At Charleston State Penitentiary?" Thomas shook his head. "Then when he gets out of prison, the whole person will be finished." "Three cops are dead, Thomas." "But he didn't kill people." "That's why he won't get the death penalty. If it wasn't your son, but someone else, you'd want him in prison for twenty years." "But he's my son." The doctors came out of the ward. One of them stopped to talk to Thomas. "It's not known what his skull was made of, but we guess it wasn't bone." "what?" "He's fine. No intracranial hemorrhage, no memory loss, no speech impairment. He's got a broken nose and half of his ribs, and he's going to have hematuria for a while, but I don't see any brain damage." Thomas and Jack DeJarvis came into the room and sat by Joe's bed, watching them through Joe's swollen black eyes. "I was wrong," Thomas said. "Big mistake. Besides, of course, I have no excuses." Jo parted her black lips, staggered with stitches. "Do you think they shouldn't hit me?" Thomas nodded. "right." "Dad, have you become soft-hearted towards me?" Thomas shook his head. "I should have done it myself." Joe let out a chuckle through his nose. "I don't intend to be disrespectful, Dad, I'm glad it was your men who did it. If it were you, my life might not be saved." Thomas smiled. "So you don't hate me anymore?" "As far as I can remember, this is the first time in ten years that I like you." Jo tried to lift her head from the pillow, but failed. "Where are the Emmas?" Jack DeJarvis tried to speak, but Thomas stopped him by shaking his hand.He looked firmly into his son's face and told him what had happened in Marblehead. Joe listened in silence for a while, thinking over and over again.Then he said in despair, "She's not dead." "Son, she died. Although the police rushed to rescue her that night, Donny Ji Shile made it clear that he would rather die than be captured alive. Once she got in that car, she was doomed to die." "There's no body," Joe said. "So she's not dead." "Joseph, half of the passengers on the Titanic did not find their bodies, but those poor people are indeed dead." "I won't believe it." "No, still can't accept it?" "the same." "Not far." Thomas shook his head. "We have pieced together some of the circumstances of that night. She was Abe White's mistress. She betrayed you." "Exactly," said Joe. "and then?" Joe was all smiles. "I don't care. I'm crazy about her." "Madness is not love," her father said. "Then what else?" "crazy." "I don't intend to be disrespectful, Dad, I have witnessed your eighteen-year marriage with my own eyes, and that is not love." "Yeah," his father agreed, "you're right. So I'm good at it." He sighed. "Love or not, she's dead anyway. Just like your mother, may God rest her in peace." Joe said, "What about Abel?" Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. "It's gone." Jack DeJarvis said, "But there are rumors that he is negotiating with the police to come back and surrender." Thomas turned to look at him, and De Jarvis nodded. "Who are you?" Joe asked De Jarvis. De Jarvis held out his hand. "I'm Jack DeJarvis." For the first time since Thomas and Jack entered the ward, Joe's swollen eyes opened that wide. "Damn," he said. "I've heard of you." "I've heard about you, too," DeJarvis said. "Unfortunately, the whole state has heard of you. On the other hand, your father's worst decision may turn out to be the luckiest thing you've ever done." "How?" Thomas asked. "You made him a victim by letting your guys beat him badly. Prosecutors wouldn't want to prosecute him. He would still prosecute, but very reluctantly." "The Attorney General is Bundland now, isn't it?" Joe asked. De Jarvis nodded. "You know him?" "I've heard of it," said Joe, horror on his bruised face. "Thomas," De Jarvis asked, watching him warily, "you know Bundland, don't you?" Thomas said, "Yes, I do." Kevin Bundland married a famous daughter of Beacon Hill, and had three beautiful daughters. One of them recently married into the famous Logy family, which became a great event in the social circle.Bundland was a tireless champion of Prohibition and fearlessly opposed all forms of evil.Those evils, he declared, were the work of the underclasses and inferior peoples who had poured into this great land during the last seventy years.The immigrants in the past 70 years are mainly Irish and Italians, so the meaning of Bondeland is not difficult to understand.When he runs for governor in a few years, his patrons in Beacon Hill and the Back Bay will know he's the right man. Bundland's secretary led Thomas into his office on Corby Street, closing the door behind him as he left.Bundland, who had been standing by the window, turned his head and looked at Thomas unemotionally. "I've been waiting for you." Ten years ago, Thomas met Kevin Bundland when he was leading a tour of a hostel.Bundland was accompanied by several bottles of champagne and a naked young Mexican man.As a result, after investigation, it was found that, in addition to prostitution, the man was also a member of the "Northern Alliance" led by Poncho, and was wanted by the Mexican government for treason.Thomas deported the revolutionary, then had Bundland's name expunged from the arrest log. "Well, here I am," Thomas said. "You did a great job of turning your son from a criminal into a victim. Are you really that clever, Deputy Chief Superintendent?" "No one is that smart," Thomas said. Bondland shook his head. "Not necessarily. You might be one of the few who do. Tell him to plead guilty. Three cops died in that small town. Their funerals will be on the front pages tomorrow. I know, maybe there is also the crime of negligence and endangerment, then I will recommend serving twelve years in prison." "Twelve years?" "Three policemen dead, that's a light deal, Thomas." "Five years." "what?" "Five years," said Thomas. "Impossible." Bondelan shook his head. Thomas sat still in his chair. Bondland shook his head again. Thomas crossed his legs. Bondland said, "Listen to me." Thomas lifted his head slightly. "Let me explain a concept or two to you, Deputy Chief Superintendent." "Chief Inspector." "what?" "I was demoted to chief inspector yesterday." There was no smile on Bondelin's lips, but a smile flashed across his eyes, fleetingly. "Then I don't need to say more about the concept I was going to explain." "I had no concept or delusions," Thomas said. "I'm a practical guy." He took a photo from his pocket and put it on Bundland's desk. Boundland looked down at the photograph.A faded red door with the number twenty-nine marked in the center.It was the door of a townhouse in the Back Bay.The smile that had just flashed across Bondelan's eyes now turned to the opposite. Thomas put a finger on Bundland's table. "As long as I hand over the picture, you will be transferred within an hour for buying prostitution. I know you are raising money to run for governor now, and I will make your coffers more rich. People with deep pockets, can Beat everyone." Thomas put his hat on.Pressed the top of the hat until he was sure it was on. Bondelin looked at the photograph on his desk. "I'll figure it out." "Finding a way isn't enough for me." "I'm just alone, too." "Five years," Thomas said. "You can only put him in prison for five years."
Two weeks later, a woman's forearm washed up on the beach in Nahan Township.Three days later, a fisherman off the coast of Lynn caught a femur bone in his net.The coroner determined that both thighbones and forearm belonged to the same woman - in her early twenties, probably of Nordic descent, with fair skin and freckles. The Massachusetts District Attorney charged Joseph Coughlin with armed robbery, and Joe pleaded guilty.He was sentenced to five years and four months. He knew she was alive. He knew it was because another possibility was too much for him.He believed she was alive, because otherwise he would feel naked and naked, and he would not be able to live. "She's dead," his father told him before he was moved from the Suffolk County Jail to Charleston State Prison. "No, she's not dead." "You can't make out what you're talking about." "Nobody saw her in the car when it went off the road." "In a car going fast in the rain, who can see? She was in the car, boy. The car went off the road. She fell into the sea and died." "Unless I see a dead body." "Aren't those body parts enough?" His father held up a hand apologetically.When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "How can you be reasonable?" "It doesn't make sense that she died. I know she's alive." The more Jo talked, the more she knew she was dead.He felt it, as he felt she loved him, even when she betrayed him.But if he admits that she is dead, if he faces this fact, what is left for him other than going to the most terrible prison in the Northeast for five years?No friends, no God, no family. "She's alive, Dad." His father watched him for a while. "What do you love about her?" "What did you say?" "What do you love about this woman?" Jo pondered over the words.At last he stuttered out a few barely fitting words. "The side of her in front of me is different from what she usually shows to others. I don't know how to say it, but it's the softer side." "You fall in love with a possibility, not a person." "how do you know?" His father held his head up. "When I was born, I wanted to fill the distance between your mother and me. Do you know this?" Joe said, "I know the distance between you." "Then you know how bad the plan is. We can't change people, Joseph. They're just the way they are, and they can never be changed." Joe said, "I don't believe it." "Don't believe it? Or don't want to believe it?" His father closed his eyes. "Every moment of life is luck." He opened his eyes, the corners of which were red. "Personal achievement depends on your luck - to be born at the right time, in the right place, with the right color of skin. To live long enough to be successful in the right place at the right time. That's right. , personal hard work and talent can make a difference, this is the key, and I have absolutely no objection. But luck is the basis of all life. Good luck or bad luck. Luck is life, life is luck. And the luck in the hands Will go away at any moment. Don't waste your energy for a woman who is not worth it at all." Joe clenched his jaw, but the words he said were, "You've got your luck, Dad." "Sometimes," his father said. "But sometimes luck gets you." They were silent for a while.Joe's heart never beat so hard.Pounding in his heart like a crazy fist.He felt like his heart was something foreign, maybe like a stray dog on a rainy night. His father looked at his watch, then put it back in his vest. "The first week in state prison, there's probably a guy who threatens you. The second week at the latest. You can see what he wants in his eyes, whether he says it or not. " Joe felt his mouth was dry. "Another guy--like a nice guy--will back you up on the playground or in the cafeteria. When he knocks the other guy off, he'll offer to protect you while you're in jail. Joe? Listen to me. You're going to hurt This is the man. You're going to hurt him so badly that he'll never recover from hurting you. You're going to destroy his elbow or his knee or both." Joe's heart skipped a beat in his throat. "Then they're going to let me go?" His father smiled nervously and seemed about to nod, but the smile faded away without nodding. "no, I can not." "Then how can I get them to let me go?" His father looked away for a moment, his jaw quivering.When he looked at Joe again, there were no tears in his eyes. "Nothing."
About ten minutes after the firefight between the police and three gangsters behind the Steller Hotel, it entered the fog of the city's history.Although no one was shot, there were not many shots fired at all during the commotion.The three gangsters were lucky enough to leave the alley just as the crowd was leaving the restaurant for the Colony and Plymouth Theatres.The reenactment of "The Flower Girl" has sold out the box office for three consecutive weeks at the Colonial Theater, while "The Hero of the Western Ruffian" performed at the Plymouth Theater aroused the anger of the "New England Guardians", and dozens of people came to protest , are unattractive, disgruntled, rambunctious women, but the protests only make the drama more compelling.These women shouting loudly in front of the theater is not only good for the theater box office, but also a godsend for gang members.When the three gangsters rushed out of the alley, the police who chased them were not far behind, but when the protesting women of the "Guardian of New England" saw the guns, they pointed and screamed and shouted.Several couples who were about to go to the theater slammed awkwardly to the door of the store to take cover. At the same time, when the drizzle suddenly turned into a torrential rain, a private car driver swerved sharply in his employer's Pierce Silver Arrow and crashed into it. lamp post.By the time the policemen came to their senses, three gangsters had robbed a car on Piedmont Street and disappeared into the pouring rain. The headline "Styler Shootout" is news.The story started off simple - a shootout between the hero cop and the cop-killer gangster, subduing and arresting one person.But things quickly became more complicated.Oscar Fayette, an ambulance driver, pointed out that the arrested gangster was severely beaten by the police and may not live tomorrow.Just after twelve o'clock that night, various newspapers on Washington Street circulated unconfirmed rumors that a car crashed into Lady Bay in Marblehead at high speed and sank to the bottom of the sea in less than a minute. A woman was found locked in the car. Then it was revealed that one of the gangsters involved in the Steyer shootout was businessman Abel White.Before that, Abel White held an enviable position in Boston society, and it was known that he might be making, and seemed to be distributing, bootleg alcohol, probably outlaws.Everyone took it for granted that he was engaged in illegal activities, but most also believed that he was not involved in the street riots that are currently affecting major cities.Abel White was seen as a "good" bootlegger.Just kindly offering a harmless crime, he wears a conspicuous off-white suit and can talk to a bunch of people in a social setting about his war heroics and his time as a policeman.But after the Steyler shootout (the owner of the Steyler Hotel tried unsuccessfully to change the names of the newspapers), that view faded.Police issued an arrest warrant for Abe White.Sentenced or not, his days of intimate association with noble people were over.That was the end of the obscenities and thrills that circulated in the drawing-rooms and banqueting halls of the Beacon Hill mansion. Then came the bad luck that befell Deputy Superintendent Thomas Coughlin.He was once regarded as the favorite candidate for the police chief, and he is also likely to enter the state legislature.The next day's evening paper published news that the gangster arrested by the police and beaten on the spot turned out to be Coughlin's own son. How difficult it is to teach children of good conduct in the age of crime.But then Billy Kelleher, a columnist for the Boston Observer, revealed that he had run into Joseph Coughlin on the steps of the Steyer Hotel.It was Kelleher who called the police that night, and he got to the alley just in time to see Thomas Coughlin deliver his son to his men for beatings.The general public couldn't bear the disgust when they heard about it—it's one thing to fail to teach your child well, but it's another thing to order someone to beat him into a coma. When Thomas was called to the police headquarters to meet the chief, he knew he would never be stationed in this office. Commissioner Herb Wilson stood behind his desk and pointed to Thomas at a chair.After Wilson's predecessor, Edwin Upton Curtis, who had wreaked havoc on the Boston Police Department, died of a heart attack in 1922, Wilson succeeded him as chief. "Sit down, Tom." Thomas Coughlin hated being called "Tom," the brevity, the affectation of intimacy. He sits. "How is your son?" Chief Wilson asked him. "Still in a coma." Wilson nodded, and exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "The longer he's unconscious, Tom, the more of a saint he's going to be." Wilson gazed at him across the table. "You look bad. Did you get enough sleep?" Thomas shook his head. "Since..." He spent the past two nights by his son's hospital bed, counting his sins and praying to a God he barely believed in.The doctor told him that even if Joe could wake up, he might have suffered brain damage.Thomas, in a fit of rage—the kind of blazing rage that scares his father, his wife, and his three sons—ordered his men to beat his son with batons.Now he imagines his shame like a knife set in hot coals until the steel turns black and curls of black smoke curl around the edge, and then the point plunges into his belly below the breastbone, moving around inside him, Cut and cut until he couldn't see or breathe. "Any news about the other two, Brother Bartolo?" asked the Chief. "I thought you already knew." Wilson shook his head. "I've been in budget meetings all morning." "Just got the telex. They've got Paolo Bartolo." "Who are they?" "Vermont State Police." "Is it alive?" Thomas shook his head.For some reason they may never understand, Paul Bartolo's car was stuffed with cans of ham; not just the back seat, but the front passenger's footrest.A state trooper tried to pull him over when he ran a red light on South Main Street in St. Albans, Vermont (about fifteen miles from the Canadian border).Paul ran away.The trooper pursued, joined by other troopers, and finally cornered Paul's car off the road near a dairy farm in Enosburg Falls. It was a bright spring afternoon, and police are still not sure whether Paul had a gun drawn when he got out of the car.It is possible that his hand reached for the belt.It's also possible that he's just too slow to raise his hands.But the brothers had shot and killed State Trooper Jacob Zober on a similar road, so the Vermont troopers didn't dare take the risk.Each police officer fired at least two shots. "How many police officers were supporting?" Wilson asked. "I believe seven." "How many times did the gangster get shot?" "I heard that it was eleven shots. We will have to wait for the autopsy to confirm." "And what about Dion Bartolo?" "Probably hid in Montreal, or thereabouts. Dion was always smarter than his brother, and Paul was less able to hide from the limelight." The chief took a sheet from a small stack of papers on the table and put it on another stack.He looked out the window at the spire of the customs building a few blocks away, and for a moment seemed to be in a trance. "When you walk out of this office, the ranks can't be the same again, Tom. You understand that?" "Yes, I understand." Thomas looked around. For the past ten years, he had been longing to be in this office, but now he didn't feel any sense of loss. "If I demote you to captain, I will have to let you manage a sub-bureau." "But you wouldn't do that." "That's right." The director leaned forward and clasped his hands. "Now you can concentrate on praying for your son, Thomas, because your career is going downhill." "She's not dead," said Jo. He woke up four hours ago.Thomas arrived at Massachusetts General Hospital ten minutes after receiving the doctor's call, bringing his lawyer, Jack DeJarvis, with him.De Jarvis was a little old man, and his woolen suit was always the most forgettable color-bark brown, wet sand gray, or black that seemed to have faded from too much sun.His tie was usually the same color as his suit, his shirt had a yellowed collar, and when he wore his hat, it always looked too big and fell over his ears.Jack DeJarvis looked like a docile sheep, and he has looked that way for most of his life for more than thirty years, but no one who knew him was foolish enough to believe that appearance.He was the best criminal defense attorney in Boston, by a wide margin.Over the years, Jack DeJarvis had broken at least two dozen of the well-documented cases that Thomas had brought to the DA.Some people say that when Jack De Jarvis dies and goes to heaven, he will save all his former clients from hell one by one. Several doctors spent two hours examining Joe, during which time Thomas and De Jarvis waited in the corridor, and a young patrolman stood guard at the door of the ward. "I can't get him off the hook," DeJarvis said. "I know this." "But don't worry, the crime of second-degree murder is a joke, and the prosecutor knows it himself. But the son still has to go to jail." "how long?" De Jarvis shrugged. "Ten years, I think." "At Charleston State Penitentiary?" Thomas shook his head. "Then when he gets out of prison, the whole person will be finished." "Three cops are dead, Thomas." "But he didn't kill people." "That's why he won't get the death penalty. If it wasn't your son, but someone else, you'd want him in prison for twenty years." "But he's my son." The doctors came out of the ward. One of them stopped to talk to Thomas. "It's not known what his skull was made of, but we guess it wasn't bone." "what?" "He's fine. No intracranial hemorrhage, no memory loss, no speech impairment. He's got a broken nose and half of his ribs, and he's going to have hematuria for a while, but I don't see any brain damage." Thomas and Jack DeJarvis came into the room and sat by Joe's bed, watching them through Joe's swollen black eyes. "I was wrong," Thomas said. "Big mistake. Besides, of course, I have no excuses." Jo parted her black lips, staggered with stitches. "Do you think they shouldn't hit me?" Thomas nodded. "right." "Dad, have you become soft-hearted towards me?" Thomas shook his head. "I should have done it myself." Joe let out a chuckle through his nose. "I don't intend to be disrespectful, Dad, I'm glad it was your men who did it. If it were you, my life might not be saved." Thomas smiled. "So you don't hate me anymore?" "As far as I can remember, this is the first time in ten years that I like you." Jo tried to lift her head from the pillow, but failed. "Where are the Emmas?" Jack DeJarvis tried to speak, but Thomas stopped him by shaking his hand.He looked firmly into his son's face and told him what had happened in Marblehead. Joe listened in silence for a while, thinking over and over again.Then he said in despair, "She's not dead." "Son, she died. Although the police rushed to rescue her that night, Donny Ji Shile made it clear that he would rather die than be captured alive. Once she got in that car, she was doomed to die." "There's no body," Joe said. "So she's not dead." "Joseph, half of the passengers on the Titanic did not find their bodies, but those poor people are indeed dead." "I won't believe it." "No, still can't accept it?" "the same." "Not far." Thomas shook his head. "We have pieced together some of the circumstances of that night. She was Abe White's mistress. She betrayed you." "Exactly," said Joe. "and then?" Joe was all smiles. "I don't care. I'm crazy about her." "Madness is not love," her father said. "Then what else?" "crazy." "I don't intend to be disrespectful, Dad, I have witnessed your eighteen-year marriage with my own eyes, and that is not love." "Yeah," his father agreed, "you're right. So I'm good at it." He sighed. "Love or not, she's dead anyway. Just like your mother, may God rest her in peace." Joe said, "What about Abel?" Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. "It's gone." Jack DeJarvis said, "But there are rumors that he is negotiating with the police to come back and surrender." Thomas turned to look at him, and De Jarvis nodded. "Who are you?" Joe asked De Jarvis. De Jarvis held out his hand. "I'm Jack DeJarvis." For the first time since Thomas and Jack entered the ward, Joe's swollen eyes opened that wide. "Damn," he said. "I've heard of you." "I've heard about you, too," DeJarvis said. "Unfortunately, the whole state has heard of you. On the other hand, your father's worst decision may turn out to be the luckiest thing you've ever done." "How?" Thomas asked. "You made him a victim by letting your guys beat him badly. Prosecutors wouldn't want to prosecute him. He would still prosecute, but very reluctantly." "The Attorney General is Bundland now, isn't it?" Joe asked. De Jarvis nodded. "You know him?" "I've heard of it," said Joe, horror on his bruised face. "Thomas," De Jarvis asked, watching him warily, "you know Bundland, don't you?" Thomas said, "Yes, I do." Kevin Bundland married a famous daughter of Beacon Hill, and had three beautiful daughters. One of them recently married into the famous Logy family, which became a great event in the social circle.Bundland was a tireless champion of Prohibition and fearlessly opposed all forms of evil.Those evils, he declared, were the work of the underclasses and inferior peoples who had poured into this great land during the last seventy years.The immigrants in the past 70 years are mainly Irish and Italians, so the meaning of Bondeland is not difficult to understand.When he runs for governor in a few years, his patrons in Beacon Hill and the Back Bay will know he's the right man. Bundland's secretary led Thomas into his office on Corby Street, closing the door behind him as he left.Bundland, who had been standing by the window, turned his head and looked at Thomas unemotionally. "I've been waiting for you." Ten years ago, Thomas met Kevin Bundland when he was leading a tour of a hostel.Bundland was accompanied by several bottles of champagne and a naked young Mexican man.As a result, after investigation, it was found that, in addition to prostitution, the man was also a member of the "Northern Alliance" led by Poncho, and was wanted by the Mexican government for treason.Thomas deported the revolutionary, then had Bundland's name expunged from the arrest log. "Well, here I am," Thomas said. "You did a great job of turning your son from a criminal into a victim. Are you really that clever, Deputy Chief Superintendent?" "No one is that smart," Thomas said. Bondland shook his head. "Not necessarily. You might be one of the few who do. Tell him to plead guilty. Three cops died in that small town. Their funerals will be on the front pages tomorrow. I know, maybe there is also the crime of negligence and endangerment, then I will recommend serving twelve years in prison." "Twelve years?" "Three policemen dead, that's a light deal, Thomas." "Five years." "what?" "Five years," said Thomas. "Impossible." Bondelan shook his head. Thomas sat still in his chair. Bondland shook his head again. Thomas crossed his legs. Bondland said, "Listen to me." Thomas lifted his head slightly. "Let me explain a concept or two to you, Deputy Chief Superintendent." "Chief Inspector." "what?" "I was demoted to chief inspector yesterday." There was no smile on Bondelin's lips, but a smile flashed across his eyes, fleetingly. "Then I don't need to say more about the concept I was going to explain." "I had no concept or delusions," Thomas said. "I'm a practical guy." He took a photo from his pocket and put it on Bundland's desk. Boundland looked down at the photograph.A faded red door with the number twenty-nine marked in the center.It was the door of a townhouse in the Back Bay.The smile that had just flashed across Bondelan's eyes now turned to the opposite. Thomas put a finger on Bundland's table. "As long as I hand over the picture, you will be transferred within an hour for buying prostitution. I know you are raising money to run for governor now, and I will make your coffers more rich. People with deep pockets, can Beat everyone." Thomas put his hat on.Pressed the top of the hat until he was sure it was on. Bondelin looked at the photograph on his desk. "I'll figure it out." "Finding a way isn't enough for me." "I'm just alone, too." "Five years," Thomas said. "You can only put him in prison for five years."
Two weeks later, a woman's forearm washed up on the beach in Nahan Township.Three days later, a fisherman off the coast of Lynn caught a femur bone in his net.The coroner determined that both thighbones and forearm belonged to the same woman - in her early twenties, probably of Nordic descent, with fair skin and freckles. The Massachusetts District Attorney charged Joseph Coughlin with armed robbery, and Joe pleaded guilty.He was sentenced to five years and four months. He knew she was alive. He knew it was because another possibility was too much for him.He believed she was alive, because otherwise he would feel naked and naked, and he would not be able to live. "She's dead," his father told him before he was moved from the Suffolk County Jail to Charleston State Prison. "No, she's not dead." "You can't make out what you're talking about." "Nobody saw her in the car when it went off the road." "In a car going fast in the rain, who can see? She was in the car, boy. The car went off the road. She fell into the sea and died." "Unless I see a dead body." "Aren't those body parts enough?" His father held up a hand apologetically.When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "How can you be reasonable?" "It doesn't make sense that she died. I know she's alive." The more Jo talked, the more she knew she was dead.He felt it, as he felt she loved him, even when she betrayed him.But if he admits that she is dead, if he faces this fact, what is left for him other than going to the most terrible prison in the Northeast for five years?No friends, no God, no family. "She's alive, Dad." His father watched him for a while. "What do you love about her?" "What did you say?" "What do you love about this woman?" Jo pondered over the words.At last he stuttered out a few barely fitting words. "The side of her in front of me is different from what she usually shows to others. I don't know how to say it, but it's the softer side." "You fall in love with a possibility, not a person." "how do you know?" His father held his head up. "When I was born, I wanted to fill the distance between your mother and me. Do you know this?" Joe said, "I know the distance between you." "Then you know how bad the plan is. We can't change people, Joseph. They're just the way they are, and they can never be changed." Joe said, "I don't believe it." "Don't believe it? Or don't want to believe it?" His father closed his eyes. "Every moment of life is luck." He opened his eyes, the corners of which were red. "Personal achievement depends on your luck - to be born at the right time, in the right place, with the right color of skin. To live long enough to be successful in the right place at the right time. That's right. , personal hard work and talent can make a difference, this is the key, and I have absolutely no objection. But luck is the basis of all life. Good luck or bad luck. Luck is life, life is luck. And the luck in the hands Will go away at any moment. Don't waste your energy for a woman who is not worth it at all." Joe clenched his jaw, but the words he said were, "You've got your luck, Dad." "Sometimes," his father said. "But sometimes luck gets you." They were silent for a while.Joe's heart never beat so hard.Pounding in his heart like a crazy fist.He felt like his heart was something foreign, maybe like a stray dog on a rainy night. His father looked at his watch, then put it back in his vest. "The first week in state prison, there's probably a guy who threatens you. The second week at the latest. You can see what he wants in his eyes, whether he says it or not. " Joe felt his mouth was dry. "Another guy--like a nice guy--will back you up on the playground or in the cafeteria. When he knocks the other guy off, he'll offer to protect you while you're in jail. Joe? Listen to me. You're going to hurt This is the man. You're going to hurt him so badly that he'll never recover from hurting you. You're going to destroy his elbow or his knee or both." Joe's heart skipped a beat in his throat. "Then they're going to let me go?" His father smiled nervously and seemed about to nod, but the smile faded away without nodding. "no, I can not." "Then how can I get them to let me go?" His father looked away for a moment, his jaw quivering.When he looked at Joe again, there were no tears in his eyes. "Nothing."