The Dead Soul by M. William Phelps Read Free Book Online

initiation, trying to find his place in Southie. Almost ten years later, Jake stood at roll call next to Mo, who viewed him then as the kid who’d made it out of Southie and fought like hell to make something of his life. It was a time when Mo respected the good in people. Throughout the years, as Jake grew into his role as a cop and stirred up the waters, Mo kept brass off his back. Jake looked up to Mo then. Mo taught him that solving cases was about how those on the street viewed you. No one, including the crooks who paid them, gave a shit about dirty cops. “ You don’t mess with things, most of all,” Mo once explained to Jake , “that are none of your business. Keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong, no matter what you think.”
    “I’m in deep here, Jake,” Mo said. There was a beggar’s distress to his gravelly voice. His demeanor had changed. “You’re going to either make me part of this case, or I need a favor from you. Your choice.” He paused. Then: “But you’re doing one or the other.”
    Jake wanted to walk away. Slam the door in Mo’s face. But something kept him there, listening, thinking. He walked closer to Mo. Those 3D pipes. How they kept going and going. Some things were forever.
    You got debts.
    “Mo, don’t take me down with you. Please.”
    “Sit, Jake. Let me explain.”
    “I’ll stand, Mo. Thanks. I really need to get going. One body’s turned into two.”
    A sparkle came into Mo’s eyes. He beamed. “Serial killer. Ah. You see, that’s what I’m talking about. You were born for this shit. I saw it in you back in the day. That fire is still there. After all these years. Listen to you.” Getting up, Mo walked over and grabbed his ex-apprentice by the back of the neck. They were almost nose to nose. Jake wasn’t moving for some reason. He stared at the floor. “You need to solve this case or you won’t sleep. Am I right?” Mo picked Jake’s head up. Looked him in the eyes. Slapped him gently on his right cheek. Grabbed his chin as if he were a boy. “It’s not about catching a killer. It’s about reinventing Jake Cooper. Showing them who you are. Proving you’re not like me.”
    Jake didn’t respond. The exchange reminded him of the last time he had spoken to his father—that tension between them, an uncomfortable uncertainty. Like Jake was talking to someone he didn’t know.
    “You need them to like you,” Mo said quietly. “You always needed people to like you, Jake.”
    Jake broke away. “I’m leaving, Mo. You’re not part of this case. Forget it.”
    Mo walked back behind his desk. Jake could hear him laughing under his breath.
    The idea that Mo needed his help made Jake’s insides burn. His temples throb. The teacher had become the student. How could a guy change so much? Fall so far from grace. What happened to Mo must have been the part of the movie Jake had slept through. Why was the guy drinking like this? Talking crazy? What had Jake missed?
    “I need to catch this sick bastard who cut the legs off this girl. And get him off the street, Mo. Don’t come in between that. This is about nailing a killer, not me owing you anything. Think of these girls.”
    Jake walked into the hallway.
    Mo relit his cigar, took a puff, then blew on the head to get it red hot. Ashes fluttered in the air around him like dust particles floating in a beam of sunshine. He looked at Jake. “You just keep an eye on that partner of yours, Detective Shaughnessy.” Mo was as serious as Jake had ever heard him. Dickie and Mo had a history, Jake understood. Neither would say much about it. They were partners once. Had a falling-out. That was the public side of it. Jake knew there was more—much more. “Make sure he keeps his Irish nose out of what’s none of his damn business,” Mo said. “You tell him that. He’ll know what I’m talking about. Don’t give me that bullshit you don’t know, either, Jake.”
    Jake turned. It was too much. Mo’s life was in