Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn by Ace Atkins

Author:Ace Atkins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780399170850
Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons
Published: 2016-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

29

On the way home, I dropped by the Engine 8/Ladder 1 firehouse in the North End. Jack McGee and another firefighter were unloading groceries from the back of a pickup truck. I helped them carry the load up to the second floor, making a couple trips down to the pickup truck on Hanover.

“You caught me at a bad time, Spenser,” Jack said. “I’m supposed to cook tonight.”

“How about I help,” I said. “And we talk.”

“You any good?” he said. “This is a tough crew.”

“Could Bobby Orr skate?”

“Go to it, chief,” McGee said. “I was going to make some hamburger steaks and mashed potatoes. But you can use anything we have in the galley.”

I sorted through the pantry and the commercial-size refrigerator, perused the newly arrived boxes and bags. I found several pounds of shrimp in the freezer, some white rice in the pantry, and many onions and peppers fresh from the store. I stood back, folded my arms across my chest, and nodded at McGee. “Can your boys take the spice?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “And if they can’t, the others will bust their balls.”

“How many?”

“We got eight, maybe nine.”

“You have six pounds of shrimp in the freezer,” I said. “I can add some vegetables and rice and make shrimp étouffée.”

McGee shrugged. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “What else do you need?”

“A bottle of Tabasco,” I said. “And a couple loaves of crusty bread.”

“I’ll send someone down to the Salumeria Italiana.”

I nodded. “Perfect.”

McGee tossed a very manly white apron to me and I wrapped it around my waist. I grabbed the shrimp and set them to thaw under running water. Placing a chopping board on the counter, I went to work on the onions, peppers, celery, and garlic. “You think they might have some green onions at the Salumeria?”

“We’ll get ’em,” he said. “What can I do?”

“Do you know how to make a roux?”

“What the fuck is that?”

“A Louisiana gravy.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I can try.”

I found a black skillet the size of a wagon wheel and set it on the burner. I took several sticks of butter from the refrigerator and olive oil and flour from the cabinet. I explained how you kept the burner on medium and stirred in a stick of butter with a little oil with a half-cup of flour. “Keep stirring it until it turns the color of toffee.”

“Whaddya want to talk to me about?”

“I just got back from a wake for Rob Featherstone.”

“Yeah,” McGee said. “I heard about Rob. He was a little odd, but a good egg, you know? He took care of me and the boys. He’d been a Spark for longer than I been a firemen.”

“His wife thinks he knew something about the arsons.”

McGee stopped stirring the butter. I could see it was beginning to burn and made the hand motion for him to continue. The smell of melting butter with the flour and spices wasn’t too bad. I wanted to crack open a cold beer, but drinking at the firehouse was a little frowned upon.

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