Robert B. Parker's Blind Spot

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  “Friends are friends. Business is business and I’m becoming a liability to his. Look at it this way, Lorraine, even if Mike would have trouble hurting me, Joe Breen would jump at the chance,” he said, playing on Lorraine’s uncontained animosity toward Joe. “And when I settle down and I know I’m safe, I’ll get word to you. If you want to come make a life with me, I’ll be there waiting.”

  Not a word of what he’d told Lorraine was true. He wasn’t headed to Mexico or Belize. And the biggest lie of all was that he would ask her to come make a life with him. In fact, he was going to make Lorraine’s life pretty tough for the next few weeks. Once he got far enough away from Paradise, he would call Mike Frazetta, confess his betrayal, and say his good-byes. Once that call was made, he had no doubt Lorraine would repeat to Mike the lies about Mexico and Belize. Mike might not believe the lies. He would have to spend time checking them out, just in case. Any time and effort Mike spent following the lies would give Vic more of a cushion. He almost felt bad about lying to her, about using Lorraine this way. Almost. Sure, Mike had a temper on him and he might smack Lorraine around a little bit. That would be a pity, but this was Vic’s ass on the line here and he meant to save it, no matter who got hurt in the process. It’s too late to worry about it now, he thought, approaching Dee’s room. As he moved down the hallway, he couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of finally nailing her.

  For a year, he had lusted after her almost nonstop and had beaten himself up for not closing the deal that one time he had a chance. He guessed he understood now that Kayla had been the only obstacle for the both of them. Dee hadn’t been able to bring herself to betray her friend. Until Dee had come along and in spite of his serial infidelity, Vic had always been careful never to sleep with any of Kayla’s inner circle of friends. Not out of honor, but for self-preservation. As both Lorraine and Dee would soon discover, Vic had a highly developed instinct for self-preservation and very little in the way of honor.

  As he rapped lightly on her door, Vic tried imagining how Dee would be dressed when she answered. Would she be coy, done up in something only slightly provocative? Would she make him work for it? Or would she be like Lorraine, dressed for sex, in garters, black seamed stockings, nosebleed stilettos, and a satiny bustier? No, that wouldn’t be her style. Nude, he decided. She’d be waiting for him on the other side of the door nude. That was more her style. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t answering the door. She was stripping down, dabbing a drop of that crushed spice perfume behind her knees. He rapped on the door again, this time with a little more urgency. He smiled to himself, thinking that being with Dee would be the perfect farewell gift to himself. He just wished she would answer the door.

  62

  The kids were asleep in their car seats. Sharon rode up front with Jesse. He thought Sharon looked better than when she was working. She had showered and made herself up, done her hair. She had on a nice red-and-white floral-print dress that showed too much cleavage and was maybe a few inches too short. She smelled of raw patchouli, which, in small doses, Jesse didn’t mind. Oddly, though, Sharon didn’t seem as relieved as he thought she should be now that she was free of Spider forever. If anything, she was unsettled, fidgety, wringing her hands in her lap. She asked if she could smoke. He shook his head. She didn’t seem real pleased about that, either.

  “Did you get the kids something to eat?”

  “Yeah, we had a nice breakfast and some lunch at Denny’s.” She reached into her bag and pulled out some crumpled bills. “Here’s what’s left. There’s some change, too.”

  “Keep it.”

  “I don’t want no charity.”

  “It’s not charity. Buy Hector some flowers or something,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. She stuffed the bills back in her bag.

  “Reaper acted like I thought he would,” Jesse said. “Are both kids his?”

  “Cassie’s his,” Sharon said, looking over her left shoulder at the little blond girl. “Johnny is another guy’s. Asshole took off on me when he found out I was knocked up. But Reaper took to Johnny and Johnny loved Reaper. Both kids did. He was real good with them.”

  “Then why’d you break up with Reaper?”

  “I didn’t. Spider wanted me for his own.”

  “And that was okay with Reaper?”

  “Club rules. Reaper was a probie then. You want in, whatever’s yours is theirs. At least they didn’t make me do all of them. I heard some gangs are like that. Spider was okay at first.”

  “But you weren’t in the club. You didn’t have to play by their rules.”

  She laughed, but it had nothing to do with joy. “I needed somebody to look after me and my kids. What have I got? My father was on me twice a week since before I was thirteen. I ran away and didn’t even finish ninth grade. I got a crappy job in a shithole diner in a shithole town. You do what you gotta do.”

  Jesse wished this was the first time he heard a story like Sharon’s, but it wasn’t. Not nearly. He had heard versions of this story from the day he got on the job in L.A. In Compton, in East L.A., the players and the gangs had different names. When he got to Paradise the names changed again. Sometimes the abused girls had rich fathers or Mob-connected fathers. When he was younger he used to have trouble believing the extent people would go just to belong and others just to escape. Sometimes they were the same thing. Not much surprised Jesse anymore.

  “When we get back to my place, I’ll get one of the neighbors to watch the kids for a few hours. We’ll have some beers or something and I’ll take care of you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Don’t you think I’m pretty?” she said, wounded.

  “Today especially, yes.”

  “But you still won’t—”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you like sex?”

  “Like is the wrong word.”

  “Then what’s wrong? I’m real good.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said.

  “Don’t you like women?”

  “Look, Sharon, I didn’t do what I did because I wanted to sleep with you.”

  “Why, then?”

  “Because it was right.”

  She snorted. “Right. What does that even mean?”

  “Good question.”

  “But you know what’s right?”

  “Not always, but I almost always know what’s wrong,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a woman being passed around between a bunch of men like she had no say in things.”

  She snorted again but didn’t say anything.

  “What was that for?” he said.

  “Women are always getting passed around between a bunch of men. That don’t change, no matter what. I don’t have much school, but it don’t take a genius in history to see that. At least what Satan’s Whores did was out in the open and nobody was pretending it was something else.”

  Jesse kept quiet the rest of the way until they got to Hector’s apartment in Helton.

  “This is your stop,” Jesse said and clicked the door locks open.

  Sharon didn’t move immediately. It was like she was thinking of something to say.

  “I want you to come in,” she said. “Not because I owe it to you or nothing but because I like you.”

  He turned to look at her. “No, Sharon. I’m honored, but no.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jesse Stone. Between you and Hector, maybe there’s some hope for people like me.”

  She leaned over and kissed Jesse on the cheek, then she slid out. Jesse got out, too, and unhitched the car seats after Sharon had brought her kids inside. He was walking back to get into the car when Sharon called after him.

  He stopped and went back onto the sidewalk.

  “I keep forgetting. Things have been so crazy betwe
en Spider and Hector and everything,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “When you came to Burt’s that first time, we was talking about that older guy and his lawyer. Remember?”

  “Sure.”

  “What I wanted to tell you was that there was somebody else that came in and sat with them for a few minutes. He made them real uncomfortable when he showed up. You could tell they all didn’t like each other. I thought the guy with the pipe was going to blow a gasket. You waitress long enough, you notice stuff like that. I didn’t hear it, but I think they even yelled at each other some.”

  “Can you describe him, the guy who came in?”

  “He was about your age. Handsome, too. Carried himself like he was somebody. Do you know what I mean? His hair was turning gray, but silvery gray, not all washed-out or nothing. He had a nice smile that musta made his dentist pretty freakin’ rich and he was dressed well, even though the sun was barely up.”

  “Vic,” Jesse said to himself.

  “What?”

  “If you saw a photo of this guy, would you recognize him?”

  “Sure I would.”

  Jesse took out his phone and tapped Vic’s name into Google. He got a ton of hits, but the only site he was interested in was the one that showed photographs of Vic. Jesse turned the screen around to Sharon.

  “This the guy?”

  She nodded without hesitating a beat. “That’s him.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Thanks.” She hugged Jesse tight.

  As he drove away, Jesse wanted to think that Sharon and her kids would be all right now that Spider had been dealt with. One thing police work and his relationship with Jenn had taught him was that people don’t change easily, and not at all if they don’t work at it. Sure, Sharon had it tough and had got mixed up with a lot of the wrong people, but not all of it had just happened to her. A lot of it had been because of the bad choices she’d made. Rescuing her from a bad situation wasn’t going to alter her decision-making. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time when he wouldn’t be there to fix things. Somewhere deep down inside, he knew the answer.

  63

  Joe Breen was sitting in the front seat of his GTO across the street from the hotel. He was bored out of his mind and was really unhappy about it. He guessed that wasn’t so unusual for him. He’d been a miserable, violent fuck his whole life. Life was a matter of survival. Any day you made it through without someone pissing on you was a good day. That was about it. He never gave life much thought beyond that. He never gave much thought to anything. All thinking ever did for Joe Breen was make him more miserable. But since the night he killed that girl, since the night he met Moira, he’d been doing a lot of thinking.

  He wondered if there was life beyond Mike Frazetta. If there was a chance for a life with Moira. When he’d think about settling down with Moira, his first instinct was to mock himself. You foolish fucker. She’s likely back at your house, laughing up her sleeve at you. But she hadn’t run. She hadn’t cleaned him out. She genuinely seemed to want to take care of him. In the mornings when they’d get up, she would talk to him about how hard life was back in Ireland. How it was the place where she was from but that it was never much of a home to her. How she had always yearned for a man to build a home and life around. That was the startling thing: She had fallen even more deeply for him than he had for her. He had always hated that expression about pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. He hated it because he couldn’t understand the concept. His life could never be confused with a dream. And though he hadn’t yet pinched himself, he was tempted.

  Dreaming of a life with Moira had its dark side. For when he thought of a happy life, of Moira’s pale and lovely face, it came at a price. The price was the haunting image of Martina Penworth’s nude, lifeless body tumbling out of Ben Salter’s bed and onto the hardwood floor. The thud she made when she hit echoed in his ears. It twisted up his guts. Joe Breen had heard the sound of falling bodies many times. Some dead. Some not. When the dead hit a hard surface they made a sound like no other, for they were completely at the sway of gravity. They did not tense to self-protect. There was always that hollow thud. And no thud had gutted him like the sound the girl’s body had made. He had never wanted redemption before. He never wanted forgiveness. Now, he thought, there would be no moving forward without it. That presented a major problem. Joe Breen hadn’t the slightest notion of how to pay the bill for a commodity so precious as a young girl’s life.

  As the gnawing frustration of that notion had taken hold of him, Joe Breen saw Lorraine Frazetta coming out the main lobby of Vic Prado’s hotel. Joe couldn’t believe it. Mike had told him that Lorraine was back in Lowell, visiting her old aunt. He had no love for Lorraine. She none for him. Joe was sure Mike, with all his money and power, could have done better . . . much better. Maybe even if he’d been a regular working stiff, he could have done better. Lorraine was pretty enough, if you liked her type. But as much as he hated Lorraine, Joe never once thought she had cheated on or would cheat on Mike. Not because she was afraid of Mike, though that would have been reason enough. It was because she had found out back in high school what could happen if you cheated and got caught. She’d grown up poor in Lowell like the rest of them and learned you didn’t risk the food on the table and the roof over your head without a really good reason.

  Then Joe realized if there was anyone Lorraine would betray Mike for, it was Vic. For years Joe had suspected that Lorraine still carried a torch for Vic, regretted betraying him. Joe reached into his pocket for his cell phone and caught Lorraine as she hesitated under the hotel sign, gave the valet her parking ticket, got in the car, and drove off. He made sure to get a good shot of her license plate as she drove away.

  When he was sure the coast was clear, Joe got out of the car and walked around the side of the hotel. He wasn’t big on subtlety, but he wasn’t as stupid as he looked or as people thought he was. Instead of trying to strong-arm the guy at the registration desk or pay him off, Joe went to where he was sure he would find some Mexicans smoking cigarettes during their breaks. Mexicans loved baseball, and he was sure one or more of them would have recognized Vic Prado. Once that happened, word would spread and they would notice every move he made inside the hotel.

  He found just what he was looking for around back of the hotel, behind the hotel kitchen. Some of the Mexicans were dressed in kitchen whites and aprons. Some were dressed in black slacks, maroon golf shirts, and black shoes. There were some women there, too. Some were waitresses and some were dressed in polyester maids’ outfits with white stockings and white shoes. Everyone but the kitchen help had little name tags on their chests.

  Joe held up two twenty-dollar bills. That got their attention.

  “Vic Prado,” he said. “Room number?”

  None of the hotel workers said anything. Joe didn’t hesitate. He took out another twenty and a young man in a waiter’s uniform stepped forward.

  “Six-eighteen.”

  Joe handed him the money. “Thanks, Mex.”

  “Miguel. Not Mexican. I’m from Guatemala,” he said, folding up the money and sticking it in his pocket.

  Breen shook his head. “I don’t care if you’re from Mars.” He took out two more twenties. “The woman in his room today . . . when did she get here and when did she leave?”

  Same thing. No one answered until he added another bill.

  A rotund woman with thick legs and a gap-toothed smile came to Joe.

  “She come last night. Stay all night. She leave twenty minute . . .” She struggled for the word. She turned to a friend and said something in Spanish. The friend answered in kind. “She left twenty minutes ago.” The housekeeper reached for the money, but Joe pulled it back.

  “And were they sleeping in separate beds this morning, do you know?” he said.

  This really conf
used the housekeeper, and she once again turned to her friend. They had a minute-long exchange, but this time it was the friend who spoke to Breen.

  “Rosa says she thinks the sheets will need a lot of washing. The woman was making a lot of moaning when Rosa tap on the door to clean the room. She says she wait until after this break.”

  Joe paid Rosa and gave the friend a twenty. As Joe turned to go, a hotel-management type in a dark suit accompanied by a security type approached him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the management type. “This is an area restricted to hotel personnel. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “No need, lad. I was going on my own.”

  Then the security guy made a really dumb mistake. He blocked Joe Breen’s path.

  “You’re not going anywhere until we find out why you were trespassing on hotel—”

  In a blur, Joe gave the security type a backhand to the throat. The security guy grabbed his neck, made choking noises, and dropped to his knees. Joe gave a hard-guy look at the management type, who threw up his palms in surrender and backed away. No one followed Joe as he left. But instead of the buzz he usually felt when physicality was called for, Joe felt cold inside.

  It was an unfamiliar feeling, as unfamiliar as the rest of the emotions he’d been experiencing lately. Deep down, though, he knew the cold he felt inside wasn’t about this latest bit of violence. It was about Lorraine Frazetta. Until about a week ago, Joe would have delighted in trashing Lorraine’s life. He could imagine watching as Mike confronted her with the video of her car pulling away from Vic’s hotel. Could imagine the panic in her eyes. Could imagine her fumbling for lies to tell. But as he got back in his car and pulled away, Joe felt no joy in the impending destruction of Lorraine’s life. Mike’s life would suffer, too. Joe told himself that it was really Mike he wanted to protect. That he was protecting himself, too, because he doubted Mike would thank him for bringing down his marriage. Joe knew it was a load of shite. The only person he didn’t want to protect in this was Vic Prado. That was his only regret in choosing to do what he was about to do. Once he got out of Paradise, he put the gas pedal to the floor.