"But she fell in with the wrong crowd and turned into a hippie and dropped out. She got involved with drugs and sex and revolution. She had a fling with a black man and had a baby. She gave the baby away to some other hippies named Emily and Barry Gordon. Later, she killed Emily during a bank robbery because she was jealous of her. Then she came back home in a panic."
Sonny's chin rested on his chest. He had his hands folded across his stomach. There were liver spots. His eyes were expressionless beneath the drooping lids. It was like being stared at by a turtle.
"Fortunately, the FBI had an informant involved in the bank robbery and didn't want it known. So they buried it. The people in the bank didn't see who did the shooting. The FBI informant was out in the getaway car. So only three people knew who shot Emily. Bonnie, a white guy named Rob, and a black con named Abner Fancy, who called himself Shaka."
"If it's true, I know all this," Sonny said. His voice sounded thick to me and kind of hoarse. "If it's not true, why are you telling me?"
"I want you to know what I know," I said. "Rob, the white peacenik, got shot as a precautionary measure by Shaka. And you had Shaka killed because he was the only one who knew that Bonnie killed Emily."
Sonny seemed to drop his chin farther. But his gaze, now peering out from under his eyebrows, didn't falter. With his head down, I could see his pale scalp through the thin, white hair on top.
"And probably because he was a black ram, and he'd shtupped your white ewe."
"I don't know what the white ewe shit is all about," Sonny said. "But it don't matter. If what you're saying ain't true, then we got nothing to talk about. But say it is, then what?"
"That's what we have to work out. You got a granddaughter who doesn't know any of this and might not benefit from finding it out. She thinks she's the daughter of Emily and Barry Gordon. If she does find this stuff out, she shouldn't find it out in the context of her mother's trial for the murder of her stepmother, and her grandfather's trial for the murder of her father."
Bonnie sat completely still, staring at her father. It was a complicated look. Fear, dependence, maybe even affection, maybe some loathing, too.
"You can prove this?"
"That Bonnie killed Emily?" I said. "Hell, yes. But I don't see why I have to."
"Meaning?"
"Your daughter's been safely installed with the lovely and charming Ziggy. If I could nail you with it I would, but that's not likely. Nobody's nailed you yet."
For a moment, Sonny almost looked pleased. But he recovered and gave me more of the flinty stare.
"So here's the deal. You see to it that no one bothers Susan, and I forget about Bonnie."
"I could kill you," Sonny said.
"And Martin Quirk gets this whole story," I said. "You know Quirk?"
"I know him."
"Anything happens to Susan, he gets the whole story."
"I agree to this and Bonnie walks," Sonny said.
"She does," I said. "Ziggy is punishment enough."
Sonny looked at his daughter. His look was probably as complicated as hers had been, but Sonny was used to not showing much, and it was hard to tell.
"Daddy?" Bonnie said in the kind of plaintive little girl voice that only a woman in her late fifties could actually produce.
Sonny nodded slowly to himself. He looked at Bonnie some more. Then he looked at me.
"Deal," he said and stood up.
He looked at his daughter again. "Come on," he said.
She looked at me. I made a be-my-guest gesture with my hand. She hesitated another moment, glanced at Hawk, and stood.
"Before you go," I said. "Just an idle question?"
Sonny stood and waited.
"Evan Malone," I said. "The FBI guy, retired in New Hampshire."
"Yeah?"
"You know where he is?"
"Yeah."
"Will I ever find him?"
"No."
I nodded. Hawk reached over and opened the study door. Sonny looked at his daughter and jerked his head.
"Have a nice life," I said.
And the Karnofskys walked out.
62
I was sitting on the top step of the front porch, watching people walk by on Linnaean Street, with Susan next to me and Hawk on the other side of her. I was drinking Blue Moon Belgian White Ale from the bottle. Susan and Hawk sipped Iron Horse champagne from proper crystal. Taste varies. A woman with long, straight hair and no makeup walked by in a formless ankle-length tan floral-print dress. Pearl the Wonder Dog II bounded about inside Susan's front fence, deciding on a basis none of us understood whom to bark at ferociously and whom to ignore. She decided to bark at the woman in the dress.
"Why has she decided to bark at her?" I said.
"I think it's the dress," Susan said
"I say it the whole look," Hawk said.
"That's the Cambridge look," Susan said.
"If that's the Cambridge look," I said, "what do they think of your look?"
"They think I'm a ho," Susan said.
Pearl stood with her forefeet on the top of the fence, glaring alertly down the street in the direction the woman had gone. The fur was stiff between her shoulder blades.
"Maybe the bodyguards were superfluous," I said.
"Everybody like Ty-Bop and Junior hanging on your front porch?" Hawk said.
"This is a very liberal community," Susan said.
"So how many people cross the street when they pass by your house?" Hawk said.
"Everybody."
Hawk smiled and sipped some champagne. He looked at me. "Now lemme see I got you straight," he said. "You and me shoot up almost anybody that move in eastern Massachusetts, so's we can find out who killed Emily Gordon."
"We did," I said.
Hawk nodded thoughtfully.
" 'Cause you promise Paul and Daryl you would."
"Yes."
"Even though Daryl tell you she don't want you to no more."
"She did say that."
"And then you finally find out who done it, and you make a deal with her and her old man and you let her go."
"You want to spend the rest of your life guarding Susan?" I said.
"Depends what else I got goin'," Hawk said. "But I get your point. You going to tell Daryl?"
"I don't know."
"If they wasn't a threat to Susan, would you have busted Sonny's daughter?"
I thought about that for a moment.
"He wouldn't have," Susan said.
"Tha's right," Hawk said.
Pearl bounded up onto the porch and squeezed in between me and Susan and sat down and lapped the top of my beer bottle.
"It's cool," I said, "having people answer their own questions for me. Saves thinking."
"Which be a good thing in your case," Hawk said. "Being as how you got so little to spare."
"Fine," I said. "And why did I stay on the case?"
"It like sex," Hawk said. "Don't want to pull out 'fore you finished."
"Rich imagery," I said.
"He's right, though," Susan said. "You can't quit early."
"You should know," I said.
"I do," she said. "You have no way to know until you get to the end, what the end is going to be."
"You sound like Yogi Berra."
"When you get to the end, then you decide. But you have to get to the end. You have to know how it will turn out."
"Because?" I said.
"Because it's how you are," Susan said.
"Which is?"
"Weird," Hawk said.
I looked at Susan. "More or less," she said.
I drank some beer. Hawk poured some more champagne for himself and Susan. Pearl lapped some champagne out of Susan's glass and shook her head and sneezed.
"Now that we've settled that," I said, "maybe we could return to the subject of pulling out."
Susan looked at me and smiled her wonderfulness-with-a-touch-of-evil smile.
"Or perhaps, later on, the reve
rse," she said.
The End
Robert B Parker - Spenser 30 - Back Story Page 20
