Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of Tommy
The basement beneath the North End Terminal Building was a labyrinth of concrete pillars, discarded brewing equipment from the Prohibition era, and damp, cold air that smelled of rust and old river water.
In the center of a small, windowless room illuminated by a single hanging bulb, Tommy sat strapped to a heavy iron chair. His face was already swollen, his lip split from Frank Rossi's initial handling.
When the heavy steel door creaked open and Arthur Costello stepped into the light, Tommy visibly flinched, his entire body shaking so hard the iron chair rattled against the concrete floor.
"Arthur! Please, Arthur!" Tommy sobbed, his voice echoing frantically in the damp room. "I swear to God, I didn't know! I didn't know they were gonna hurt her!"
Arthur didn't speak. He walked calmly to a wooden table in the corner, picked up a pair of heavy leather work gloves, and pulled them on, finger by finger.
"Arthur, listen to me!" Tommy shrieked, the panic escalating as Arthur remained completely silent. "Two guys came to me three days ago! They had pictures of my sister! They knew where she went to school in Providence! They said if I didn't turn off the garage cameras at midnight and walk away from my post, they'd kill her!"
Arthur stepped toward the chair, his dark eyes vacant of any human warmth. He stopped two feet in front of Tommy, looking down at him with detached interest.
"Who were they, Tommy?" Arthur asked, his voice low and conversational.
"I don't know their real names! I swear!" Tommy cried, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on his cheeks. "The guy who talked to me... he had a heavy accent. New York. Italian, but not local. He drove a black Sedan with Rhode Island plates!"
Arthur turned to Frank, who was standing near the door with his arms crossed. "Check the traffic cameras on the Tobin Bridge between eleven PM and one AM. Look for Rhode Island plates on a black sedan."
"Already on it, boss," Frank replied.
Arthur turned back to Tommy. "Did you tell them what Clara was carrying?"
"No! I didn't even know what she had!" Tommy insisted, his voice cracking. "They just asked when the 'accountant lady' made her runs. They knew she came every quarter at midnight! They knew her route!"
Arthur took a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips. "You've worked for me for four years, Tommy. Your father worked for my father at the docks."
"I know, Arthur! I'm sorry! I was terrified for my sister!"
"If you had come to me," Arthur said softly, stepping closer until his boots touched Tommy's shoes, "I would have put ten men on your sister in Providence within an hour. She would have been safe. Clara would not have a shattered leg. And my business wouldn't be compromised."
"Please, Arthur... please..."
"You chose them over us," Arthur said smoothly. "You traded Clara's safety to buy your own peace of mind."
Arthur reached into his coat, pulled out his weapon, and raised it without hesitation.
"Arthur, no—!"
Thud.
The suppressed gunshot was surprisingly quiet, a muffled pop that barely echoed in the concrete room. Tommy slumped forward against his restraints, the light instantly vanishing from his eyes.
Arthur engaged the safety, slid the gun back into his holster, and stripped off the leather gloves, tossing them onto the corpse's lap.
"Clean this up," Arthur told Frank. "And get a team down to Providence immediately. Bring Tommy's sister to a safehouse in Maine. Put eyes on her until this is over. She didn't make her brother's choices, and I won't have her paying for them."
"Understood, boss," Frank said. "What's our next move on the drive?"
"If it was New York money," Arthur said, walking toward the heavy steel door, "that means the Moretti family is making a play for Boston. They’ve been eyeing our union contracts for two years. They think taking Clara's ledgers gives them the leverage to squeeze us out."
He stopped at the doorway, turning back to Frank.
"Call Paulie and the boys from East Boston. Tell them to arm up. We aren't just defending our territory anymore, Frank. They laid hands on Clara."
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Frank's eyes flashed with understanding. "How far do we go?"
Arthur’s expression turned into something ancient and terrifying. "Burn everything that bears the Moretti name. Every club, every warehouse, every front. Leave nothing standing until I have that silver drive back in my hands."
