Taming a Sea Horse

by Robert B. Parker

  The guy with the Red Sox baseball hat tossed his gun in the river.

  The guy Hawk had decked made a groaning noise and shifted from facedown to his side. The second gunnie threw his piece into the Charles. Hawk walked over behind the Subaru and picked up the double-barrel. He started to throw it in the river, and stopped and looked at it a moment. Then he gave an approving nod and walked to his Jaguar. He opened the trunk and put the shotgun in and closed the trunk and locked it.

  "Nice weapon," he said.

  "Lie facedown on the ground," I said to the two shooters. "Hands behind your head." They did it. The shotgun man was on his hands and knees. I reached down and helped him to his feet. He was frowning with pain. "What's your name?" I said.

  "Bernie," he said.

  "'My Attorney, Bernie,' " I said.

  "Huh?"

  "It's a Dave Frishberg song," I said.

  "We were just going to warn you," Bernie said.

  "Un huh."

  "We weren't going to clip you, man. Ask them." He gestured at the two men on the ground. "We were just supposed to tell you to lay off."

  "And you was planning to speak to him through the shotgun," Hawk said, "which was why you was pointing it at him."

  "Who sent you?" I said. "I know it's a corny question, but I can't think of how else to ask."

  "Just a guy," Bernie said. "Guy I don't know. Just said he wanted you told to stop bothering Mr. Lehman."

  "Honest to God?" I said. "Probably ran into him at the Athenaeum while you were researching Increase Mather."

  "Just met him in a bar, is all," Bernie said. I slapped him with my open left hand full across the face. It rocked him and he took a step back and then steadied himself, blinking his eyes and staring at me. His headache must have been a starburst.

  "Who was it sent you?" I said.

  "Hey, man, shit," Bernie said. And I rattled his head with another openhanded slap.

  "Better tell him," Hawk said, "'fore you make him mad."

  Bernie shook his head and stopped with half a shake. I put the gun under my arm and slapped him left hand right hand left hand right hand as hard and as fast as I could. He got his hands up and protected his face. So I slapped him on the side of the head, keeping the pace. When he moved his hands to protect his head, I slapped his face.

  "They'll, they'll… they'll kill me," he said.

  I stopped.

  Bernie had his eyes clenched shut. He nodded, his face red from the slapping. His lip was bleeding.

  "They'll find out," he said. His eyes still shut, he dropped his hands a little farther and I slapped him again.

  "Stop it, man, stop it," he said.

  "Who sent you," I said. "You tell me and you walk away."

  Hawk said, "You getting tired? Want me to hit him awhile?"

  "Another couple of minutes," I said.

  "Jacky Wax," Bernie said.

  I looked at Hawk. "John Weatherwax," I said.

  Hawk said, "Un huh. Which means Mr. Milo."

  "Well," I said, "aren't we in the big leagues."

  Hawk nodded. "Funny they send people from the farm system," he said.

  "I'm offended," I said.

  "Don't blame you," Hawk said. "Want me to shoot them?"

  "No," I said, "not this time. I want them to go tell Jacky Wax to tell Mr. Milo that I want to know who Warren is and it might be easier if somebody just told me."

  "They know I told they'll kill me," Bernie said.

  "Phrase it any way you like," I said. "Hit the ground."

  Bernie got prone beside his helpers.

  I reached into my car and came out with a newly purchased can of Krylon maroon spray paint. I carefully spray-painted the hair of the two shooters.

  "Be interesting," I said to Hawk, "to hear them explain this one."

  "Punk," Hawk said. "They can claim they going punk."

  "They did that long ago," I said.

  Hawk went and got in his jag. He pressed a button and the windows rolled down silently. "Maybe next time they send major leaguers," he said.

  "Should I get a different color paint?" I said.

  Hawk chuckled. "Increase Mather?" he said.

  "Hell," I said, "he's easy. How about `My Attorney, Bernie'?"

  Hawk eased the Jag into gear.

  "Never knew somebody knew more stuff that didn't matter," he said. He backed the Jaguar out.

  "What else is there to know," I said. But Hawk was already rolling and didn't hear me. I followed him.

  30

  The next morning Hawk and I went to see Perry Lehman.

  "Tell Mr. Lehman that I need to talk," I told the doorman. "I'm sure we can straighten this out."

  The doorman went inside. When he came back out he said, "Miss Coolidge says she'll see you."

  "It's a start," I said.

  Hawk was looking at the doorman without expression, but in the blank and placid gaze there was somehow amusement. The doorman felt it and looked at Hawk.

  "Fine threads," Hawk said.

  The doorman opened the door and we went in. Same oak waiting room, same decanter of port. Gretchen Coolidge was waiting for us.

  "What is it you wish?" she said.

  "This is, my associate, Hawk," I said. "Hawk, this is Gretchen Coolidge."

  Hawk nodded and smiled.

  Gretchen said, "How do you do," and then turned toward me and said, "What is it you want now?" and then made a tiny sideways flicker of a glance at Hawk.

  "I'm hoping for rapprochement," I said.

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yes, I have compelling evidence that Perry Lehman's life is in danger and I need to warn him of it and suggest a solution."

  "Mr. Spenser," she said, "what on earth are you trying to do now?"

  "Gretchen," I said, "observe this face. Look at these wide-spaced intelligent eyes. Is this a man who would deceive you?"

  "Or could," Hawk murmured.

  I ignored him. Gretchen gave him another covert eye flicker.

  "Mr. Spenser. We are trying to run an honest business here. You have disrupted that with threats and intimidation on behalf of God knows who or what and driven Mr. Lehman and myself to near distraction. Now you want me to believe that you can prevent the execution of a death threat on the same person you've been harassing?"

  "Distraction?" I said. "By golly, that's pretty good. I had hoped at best for annoyance, but distraction…" I whistled silently.

  "I don't find any of this funny," Gretchen said.

  "Lot of people tell me that," I said. "But this is on the level. The way things are developing there's a very real risk to Mr. Lehman." She stared at me for a moment.

  Hawk said, "This business so legitimate, how come when Spenser start harassing you you don't call the cops."

  "Our membership is entitled to privacy and not to police and press presence, Mr., ah, Hawk."

  Hawk nodded. "'Course," he said, and smiled at her.

  She held her gaze on him for a moment and then turned her face sharply back at me. "This is probably another harassment ploy," she said.

  I didn't say anything.

  "But I cannot take it upon myself to dismiss it as such, as no doubt you fully anticipated. May I have the details before I inform Mr. Lehman?"

  I shook my head. "I don't think Perry would like me telling anyone but him the details."

  She tightened her lips. "Of course," she said. "Again it's a ploy I can't really reject." She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm afraid you've forced my hand, Mr. Spenser. Please have a seat while I inform Mr. Lehman."

  She turned and went out through the big oaken door opposite the entrance. Hawk and I declined a seat and stood alone in the waiting room.

  "Businesslike," Hawk said.

  "Yes," I said, "she's very professional."

  "Lots of professionals here,` Hawk said.

  "Sort of," I said.

  "We gonna paint Perry's head or what," Hawk said.

  "I'm going to outwit him,"
I said. "And while I am you're going to keep the Royal African bodyguard from kicking me to death."

  "The brother at the door did look dandy in his costume," Hawk said.

  "They all do," I said. "Neocolonial chic." "Embarrassing," Hawk said.

  It was maybe ten minutes before Gretchen came back and told us we could see Perry Lehman. In the elevator I caught her peeking at Hawk sideways out of a narrow corner of her right eye.

  Lehman was in his rooftop garden. Near him Charles Jackson was standing at parade rest, in uniform. There were two other security attendants across the pool. Hawk took it in as we walked toward Lehman's desk and gave me his expressionless look of amusement.

  "You think a mechanical hippo gonna come out of that pool and scare us?" he said. Lehman was sitting behind his desk. Not lounging.

  "Don't try anything," he said. "I'm telling you right now there's three men here and I can get a dozen more in thirty seconds. So don't try a single thing, you understand?" There was a glass of champagne half drunk beside him, a bottle in the silver ice bucket near his desk. Jackson showed no flicker of recognition or connection.

  I said, "Perry we came to help you, not hurt you."

  "You're trying to help me right out of fucking business," he said. "What's this shit about my life being in danger?"

  "Miss Manners have a contract out on you," Hawk said.

  Charles Jackson's face moved slightly as if it wanted to smile and then went back into its stony palace-guard mask.

  "What'd he say?" Lehman spoke to me. He didn't look at Hawk.

  "We need to talk, Perry. You mind the guards hearing what we say?"

  "I'm not giving up my guards," he said. His hand hovered near the corner of his desk. Probably the panic button for the other dozen men.

  "Okay," I said. I sat down in one of the chairs near the desk and crossed my legs. Relaxed, nonthreatening.

  Gretchen was standing to Lehman's right. Now that the focus had shifted she was looking more openly at Hawk.

  "Or Miss Coolidge?" I said.

  "Stop fucking around," Lehman said. "You got something to say, say it and then, haul your ass out of here."

  "Asses," I said. "There's two of us."

  "What is it?"

  "'Yesterday some of the heavy hitters came after me. Three guys working for Jacky Wax, who, as we all know, is with Mr. Milo."

  "I don't know nothing about any of that."

  "Doubtless," I said. "Anyway, they were not heavy-enough hitters. With the help of my associate"-I nodded at Hawk. He smiled modestly-"I was able to thwart them and send them back to Jacky with their hair painted maroon."

  Jackson had trouble with his face again. Lehman said, "What? What the fuck you talking about?"

  "Your owners tried to hit me to keep me from looking into Warren, and they failed badly."

  "I told you, I don't know anything about that. What's it got to do with me being in danger." Lehman drank more champagne. When he put the glass down, Jackson stepped forward and filled it for him.

  "Well, think about it for a minute, Perry. Somebody very badly doesn't want me to find out about old Warren."

  "I don't know any fucking Warren," Lehinan said.

  "Of course not," I said. "But if you did, then the people who didn't want me to find out about Warren could think about going two ways."

  Lehman frowned and drank his champagne and looked at Gretchen Coolidge. "Guy's crazy, Gretch, guy's off his fucking nut, you know?"

  Gretchen nodded. "They could kill me," I said. "Which would be very effective. But they've tried and it worked out badly for them. Doesn't mean they won't try again, but my associate and I are a hard nut to crack and they may choose to crack an easier one."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning maybe they'll kill you."

  Lehman opened his mouth and closed it without speaking.

  "And Miss Coolidge," I said.

  Gretchen's expression didn't change. Lehman looked quickly at Charles Jackson.

  "See how it would work?" I said. "Just pretend for a minute Mr. Milo doesn't want me to know who Warren is, and he's having trouble getting me to stop asking. If he clips you and Miss Coolidge I got no one left to ask. He doesn't have to make me stop."

  The faint sound of the pool filter was all that broke the silence in the room. I looked at Lehman. Hawk looked at nothing. Charles Jackson looked at Hawk. He didn't seem afraid of Hawk, which was a mistake.

  Lehman picked up his champagne glass and emptied it and put it down. He jerked his head toward the door. "Out," he said. "You said what you had to say, now take a hike."

  "Hard as nails," I said to Hawk.

  "Tough as a nickel steak," Hawk said.

  Lehman waggled his thumb toward the door.

  "Go on," he said, "walk out of here while you still can."

  "Don't say I didn't warn you," I said. Hawk glanced at me, and then turned, as I did, and walked toward the door.

  "Show them out, Gretch," Lehman said. "You two go with her." He gestured to the rncn across the pool. "Make sure the nosy bastards aren't snooping around in here."

  Charles Jackson poured more champagne in Lehman's glass.

  "Nosy bastards," Lehman said.

  Gretchen Coolidge opened the door and we went out. The two guards came behind us and Grctchen brought up the rear. No one said anything until we got to the front door.

  "Ms. Coolidge," I said, "believe me, I don't want to see anyone get hurt. If you know something tell me now, before it's too late."

  Her face was stiff and her movements angular.

  "Good day, Mr. Spenser," she said, and nodded at Hawk, and closed the door and we went out.

  "'Don't say I didn't warn you'?" Hawk said.

  I shrugged.

  "'Tell me now 'fore it too late'?" he said.

  "So I was a little schmaltzy," I said.

  "Schmaltzy," Hawk said. "Man, you embarrassing me in front of the brothers."

  "They're not schmaltzy?" I said.

  "Good point," Hawk said. "How long you think he hold on 'fore he panic?"

  "Hard to say," I said. "If he doesn't panic quickly we'll go to plan B."

  "Plan B," Hawk said. "Man, you a hightech thug."

  31

  Lehman was tougher or slower or more full of illusion than I had thought. We waited three days and he didn't do anything to help us, so we went to plan B.

  Hawk came up with a late-model Cadillac sedan with doctored plates. I didn't ask him where he got it and he didn't say. We drove it mit to Chestnut Hill and parked it at the foot of Lehman's drive. We both wore ski masks. Hawk was in the driver's seat. I was in back with the windows down, and when Lehman's limousine slowed to turn into his yard I put my Smith & Wesson pump out the window and blasted three rounds of # 6 birdshot into the trunk and rear panel of the limo. Then Hawk slipped the Caddy into gear and we drove off,

  The birdshot would mess up the paint and scare Lehman without much risk of killing anybody and unless he knew more about pellet weight and muzzle velocity than I thought he did, he'd think someone tried to do him in.

  We left the Cadillac in the parking garage near Filene's in the Chestnut Hill Mall and climbed into my Subaru and headed back to Boston. To await developments. When we got to my office the developments had arrived already. There was a message on my answering machine that said I should call Perry Lehman whenever I got in, no matter what time. I could call him at his home or at the club, and both private numbers were on the tape.

  "Perry sound a little shaky," Hawk said.

  "If you thought Mr. Milo was having you killed wouldn't you be a little shaky?" I said.

  "No," Hawk said.

  "True," I said. "I withdraw the question."

  "'Sides," Hawk said, "I believe Mr. Milo is in fact trying to have you killed. You shaky?"

  "Only when no one's looking," I said.

  I dialed Lehman's home number. He answered himself.

  "Spenser," I said. "You called?"

  "Je
sus Christ, Spenser. They did it. They tried to hit me, all over a fucking banker, for crissake. It's a banker, named Warren Whitfield."

  "You okay?" I said.

  "Yeah, they missed, but you gotta let Mr. Milo know, Spenser. You gotta tell him you know it's Warren Whitfield."

  "Then he'll try to kill me instead of you," I said.

  "Man, it was your idea. You know how to do this kind of shit."

  "What bank does Warren work for?" I said.

  "He don't work for a bank, for crissake, he's the president. DePaul Federal. You gotta tell Mr. Milo."

  "And tell him how I know?"

  "Jesus, no, for fuck sake, why do you want to kill me?"

  "Okay," I said, "then you just sit tight and in a while the pressure will be off."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Sit tight," I said, and hung up.

  Almost immediately the phone rang again. I mak it off the hook and broke the connection and left it off the hook. I looked at Hawk.

  "Warren Whitfield," I said. "President of DePaul Federal."

  "Told you we in the bigs," Hawk said.

  "We are in fact," I said.

  "Now what,". Hawk said.

  "I suppose we got to talk with Warren," I said. "Ask him about Ginger, ask him if he knows where April is."

  "You wonder why Mr. Milo's interested in protecting the president of a bank," Hawk said.

  "They're both capitalists," I said.

  "You awful cynical for a romantic," Hawk said.

  "I'm not romantic about Mr. Milo," I said.

  "Glad there's something," Hawk said.

  Hawk went home. And I sat at my desk for a while with my feet up. The desk lamp was on but the rest of the office was dim. Outside, the Back Bay was quiet. And the light from the street was muted by the time it reached the window. I'd been following the sad track of a dead girl for too long. And the dead girl wasn't even who I was looking for. Maybe April was dead too. Maybe I'd been following a dead girl to find a dead girl. I looked at the backs of my hands. A couple of the knuckles on my left hand had been broken and healed a little larger. The hands were real, though, flesh and blood, alive. The pimp was dead too. Which pimp, I'd met so many lately. Rambeaux, the late Robert Rambeaux, reed man.

  Maybe they were all either pimps or whores. Maybe it was life's classifying principle, maybe I had seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker.