I wiped my hands and answered the phone by the third ring. Mary Ellen did not say hello.

She said, “What did you say to your daughter?”

I said, “Which one?”

“The only one who listens to you.”

“That’s not true. Susie listens to me. She just disagrees with everything I say. She takes after you in that regard. And I had a pretty good conversation recently with Sarah about her plan to go to Europe next summer.”

“What did you say to Matty?”

“When?”

“When you went to breakfast with them on Thanksgiving morning.”

“I don’t remember. We talked about a lot of things. Her sisters were there. Why don’t you ask them. They listen. They seem to remember every adjective that comes out of my mouth.”

“Susie said you told Matty she was old enough to make her own decisions now. Is that what you said.”

“Yes. Exactly. Precisely. I don’t remember. If Susie says so. She’s an excellent journalist.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking? Maybe I was thinking that Matty was thinking that very same thing already and nothing I said to the contrary would make any difference so I basically made it clear to her what it meant—what being old enough meant. Consequences. All of that. I’ve had the same conversation with each of the girls over the years. Sarah thought that it was all very funny. She said I used a lot of the very same words on her. Both Susie and Sarah sat there and listened without a peep. And they agreed, I might add. They both seemed very supportive.”

Mary Ellen paused in her assault. I could tell she was walking as she spoke. I heard traffic.

“Matty has never been as mature as her sisters.”

I said, “That’s what happens when you have three mothers and no father.”

She did not pause on that either.

“What brought this on?”

“She said she wanted to move out.”

“She said that!”

“In so many words.”

“And you told her she could?”

“No. I said it was her decision to make. She’s sixteen now. I told her she could quit school and get a job at the Stop and Shop. I said that her boyfriend—What’s his name?—could get a job too. Between the two of them they could probably afford something small in Somerville. She could start having babies. It would be tough, but she could handle it. Millions of people handle worse every day. Maybe when things settled down, she could pick up her education at night school. It would take a little longer but she could probably get her high school diploma by the time she was twenty. Then she could start night classes over at Bunker Hill Community College. I hear they’re pretty good. Of course, that would depend on What’s-His-Name and whether he would be willing to stay home and babysit. But, if he wanted to go to college too, then maybe she’d have to wait a few years more. By then, the kids would be older and she could take day courses while they were in school and What’s-His-Name was at work—“

Mary Ellen was having none of it.

“Oh, shut up! What did SHE say?”

“She thought it was all very funny. But SHE listened. I could tell she heard me. Especially the part when I pointed out that she might have to wait until she was as old as you are now before she could go to Europe like her sister Sarah.”

Mary Ellen blew a storm into her phone.

“You know what she did, don’t you? She had What’s-His-Name over for Thanksgiving Dinner. He holds his fork in his right hand and his knife in his left and never puts them down until his plate is empty. He talks with food in his mouth. He’s a Neanderthal!”

This entire conversation was conducted while Mary Ellen walked to work at the high school and I tried to fry a couple of eggs for Connie, who pretended to occupy himself with a book I had left on the table. But Connie doesn’t read unless he has to, so I knew he was listening.

When Mary Ellen abruptly hung up because she had reached the high school, and I put my phone down to grab a plate, Connie says, “You have any toast with that? You know, you’ve got more problems than your Matty to worry about. My boy Doug is getting serious about Sarah. I think this whole trip to Europe thing next summer is a ruse. I think it’s going to be a honeymoon.”

Connie had that right. I had already figured that much, but I hadn’t told Mary Ellen yet. I took my last two pieces of bread out of the bag and put them in the toaster, poured myself another cup of coffee, and sat down.

I said, “I’m not worried about Sarah. She’ll have the whole thing figured right down to the penny. I’d be worried about your boy Doug. Does he realize what he’s getting himself into?”

“No. Not a bit of it. He’s blind as a bat.”

“Just as well.”

Connie said, “And you’ve got some more problems.”

I said, “Not yet. Susie’s not getting married until she find’s someone who can afford the life style she’d like to become accustomed to.”

Connie sat back and swallowed, “I mean you. I got a call. You stepped on somebody’s toes.”

“Who?”

“You know who. I got a call. Parkman’s wants to drop our account. I told them they had a contract. They said they’d pay it off. You know Parkman’s. It’s all union. They’re just using that for an excuse, though. Freddie, the business manager there, was out front. He wanted me to know. If I wanted to keep the account for the Hotel, I had to drop you from the payroll.”

Connie buttered his toast and carefully lifted an entire egg onto one piece with his knife.

I said, “And? You asked why, I assume.”

“I know why. He told me that right off. Something you did.” He was dragging the matter out. He chewed his egg too carefully. It was punishment. I waited. He swallowed. “You know a Fabian Lugano?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You should know better. You can’t deal with people like that. It’s their way or the highway…Actually, in his case, because he works for ‘Charlestown’ Charlie Norris, it could be under the highway.”

Now, at this point I thought several things. First, that I was going to need to make myself more valuable alive than dead. Second, I was going to have to make Mr. Lugano miserable and wish he never bothered with me. And third, that there was something more involved between Fabian Lugano and Desiree than I had imagined, and that was a failure of imagination on my own part I would have to deal with sooner than later.

I ignored the small stuff and asked, “Do you have anything on Charlie Norris?”

Connie shrugged. “Everybody does. He’s a bully with cunning and no brains. He’s an animal. He survives because he has something on everybody else.”

“Do you know anybody?”

“Sure. But you know that’s the hard way. You get involved that way. You don’t want to get involved unless you have to. It’s like moving a pile of dog shit with an ice cream stick.”

“Like what? You’re eating! How can you even imagine something like that when you’re eating?”

Connie looked surprised, eyes wide. “Imagine? I didn’t imagine it. My neighbor’s dog did it this morning. I had to carry it over piece by piece and drop it on the guy’s stoop. You ever carry a potato on a stick? Sure. We learned to do that in camp when we were kids. Remember?”

I think I sighed. Connie makes me sigh sometimes.

“So what’s the easy way? What do you think I should do?”

Connie swallowed his last piece of egg and toast and washed it down with more coffee.

“There is no easy way. It’s just a guess. Everything you do’ll be wrong, somehow. You make your decision and follow through. That’s all. It either works or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, you have to have plan ‘B.’ Just remember plan ‘B’ is the one where somebody gets killed.”

“I want plan ‘A.’”

“Okay.” He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he considered the situation. “You ever listen to the radio?”

“A little.”

“You listen to Denny Doyle?”

“The second basemen?”

“No, dunce. The radio guy.”

“No. I write in the mornings. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing now. You know. So I don’t have to work for you for the rest of my pitiful life.”

Connie shrugged. “Doyle has something on everyone. That’s his business. His talk show is number one in the morning because his newspaper column is the number one reading matter on Beacon Hill. He makes a living out of making them squirm. Mostly politicians. And Charlie Norris get’s what he wants because he’s connected on Beacon Hill. I’ve heard Doyle talk about it. See? Now. Your situation is nothing. It means nothing to nobody but you right now. And Norris doesn’t want a lot of dog shit on his stoop just because one of his dogs wandered over into somebody else’s yard. Right?”

“What does Doyle have to do with it?”

“He likes me.”

Everybody likes Connie. Almost.

I said, “Why?”

“I saved his ass. Somebody tried to bomb his car a couple of years ago.”

“The Dougherty thing?”

“Yeah. That guy. I’m the one who spotted it. Luck of the draw. I was the only one who wasn’t already working that night. So I ended up doing the overnight watch at the radio station on Morrissey Boulevard because Rickie Symms called in sick at the last minute. This was just after we got that contract. I didn’t know the building that well then. And the surveillance cameras weren’t working. Like a fuse was blown. Remember that trick? So I’m looking for trouble anyway. I stepped out for a smoke and see somebody over the fence in the parking lot. Denny Doyle gets to work before dawn to read the papers for his show. I know his car. I just went in and called the cops.”

I had heard about this before but I had forgotten part of the story.

“What happened to Rickie?”

Connie shrugged again. “I fired him. He thought I should give him a prize. Like I wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t called in sick. But I figured it was him that switched the fuses, even though they couldn’t prove it.”

“So what can Doyle do?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

I said, “And something else. Find out what section your friend with the Candy Shops sits in when he’s at the Garden.”

It would not have occurred to Connie to fire me as well. But that was what he should have done and saved himself a whole lot of trouble. That’s what I should have said.