by Chance(lit)
It went like that for maybe forty minutes more. Me asking questions. Shirley answering, and Ventura sitting like a mean toad giving me the stone stare. At the end of the forty minutes it was clear that Anthony had no reason to take off, and every reason to stay home and drink champagne from Shirley's slipper. Except that Anthony was gone.
Being a trained investigator, I smelled a rat.
CHAPTER 2
Susan and I were running up and down the steps at the Harvard Stadium late on a Sunday afternoon. At the top of section 7, we paused for a moment to breathe. We were the only ones in the stadium. On the circular track out back of the stadium a few people were jogging. At the far end of the athletic complex, where, across the road, the Charles River curved in one of its big rolling bends, there was a pickup soccer game in progress. Susan wore glistening black spandex tights and a luminescent green top. Her thick dark hair was held off her forehead by a green sweatband, and there were green highlights on her state-of-the-art sneakers.
Her thigh muscles moved smoothly under the spandex, there was ' clear muscle definition in the backs of her arms, and sweat glistened on her face. If I hadn't already done so in a guidance office in Smithfield twenty years ago, I would have fallen in love with her right there.
"I don't get why you agreed to look for whatsisname," Susan said.
"Anthony Meeker," I said.
"Julius Venture's son-in-law."
"Yes," Susan said, "him. How come?"
We started down the stairs again. It was late September, still pleasant. Along the river the leaves had begun to turn but not very many of them and not very much. The white-lined turf on the football field below us was as green as if it were May.
"It's my profession," I said.
"A job that Hawk turned down? Where the employer tells you you'll get in trouble if you investigate?"
We reached the bottom step and turned and started up section 6.
"Hawk didn't turn it down," I said.
"He said he'd do it if I would."
"His reasoning being?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him."
"But you know him. What would you hypothesize?"
"That it wasn't his kind of work, but if he could get me to do the boring investigation stuff, he'd hang around, maybe hit somebody, and pick up half a fee."
"But don't you think that Mr. Ventura is lying to you?"
"Oh sure," I said.
"And is he not dangerous?"
"He employs dangerous people," I said.
"Do you think the investigation stuff is boring?"
"No."
We were at the top of section 4. East of us I could see the two big towers in Back Bay, not very far from my office. My quadriceps were beginning to feel shaky, but Susan showed no signs of slowing down, and of course I couldn't stop before she did death before dishonor. We turned and headed back down.
"That's part of it, isn't it?" Susan said.
"That I don't find the investigation stuff boring?"
"Yes. You're simply curious. There's a hidden truth in the case.
You want to find it out."
I shrugged, which is more awkward than you might think, if you're running down your 1000th stadium step.
"The other part is you can't bear to be told what to do. When Mr. Ventura warned you that you couldn't do A, B, or C, he sealed the deal."
I shrugged again. I was getting the hang of it.
"I'm in the business of selling brains and balls," I said.
"And most people value the latter."
"Lucky for you," Susan murmured.
I ignored her.
"And it is not good for the business if people perceive me as someone who can be scared off of something."
We turned and started back up. My quads were beginning to feel as if they were made of lemon Jell-0. Perspiration was soaking through the back of Susan's top. She was the most elegant person I had ever known, and she sweated like a horse.
"It wouldn't matter," she said. I heard no sound of exhaustion in her voice. Her breath was still even.
"Even if it were good for business you couldn't let someone chase you off."
Shrugging was even harder going up the stairs. I was concentrating on getting one foot then the other up each step now. I was starting to tie up. I could never understand how the quads could
turn to jelly and then knot. At the top of the stairs Susan stopped and rested her forearms on the retaining wall and looked out at the traffic below us on Western Ave.
"I've had it," she said.
"Time to stop."
"So soon?" I said.
"Ah, frailty, thy name is woman."
She didn't say anything, but she looked at me the way she does, out of the corner of her eyes, and I knew she knew the truth. We walked together around the top level of the stadium, as the light began to fade.
"When will you talk to Hawk?" Susan said.
"Henry says he's out of town."
"So, what's your first move?" Susan said.
"I was thinking of patting you on the backside, and whispering "Hey, cutie, how about it?"
" "That's effective," Susan said.
"I mean the business with the missing husband. What are you going to do first?"
"Deposit Ventura's check," I said.
"See if it clears."
"And if it does?"
"Then I'll have to come up with a plan," I said.
"Besides patting me on the backside."
"Besides that."
"But not instead of," she said.
"No. Never instead of."
We stood quietly at the top of the old stadium, our forearms resting on the chest-high wall, our shoulders touching lightly, looking out at the declining autumn sun.
"You like that, don't you," Susan said.
"Walking into something and not knowing what you'll find."
"I like to see what develops," I said.
"See what's in there."
We had been together for twenty years, except for a brief mid-term hiatus. The excitement of being with her had never waned.
The twenty years simply deepened the resonance.
"And whatever develops, you assume you'll be able to manage it."
"So far so good," I said.
She put her hand on top of mine for a minute.
"Yes," she said.
"So far, very good."
CHAPTER 3
Two days later I found Hawk at the Harbor Health Club, in the boxing room, working on the heavy bag. He had on Reebok high tops, black sweats, and a black tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
In white script, across the front of the tee-shirt, was written, Yes, it's a black thing.
"Wow," I said, "militant."
"Dating a B.U. professor," Hawk said.
"Impresses the hell out of her."
He dug a left hook into the bag.
"Where you been?" I said.
"San Antonio. Hold the bag."
I leaned into the bag and held it still, which was not relaxing.
Hawk had a punch like a jackhammer, and the bag wanted to jump around and say beep beep.
"What were you doing in San Antonio?"
"Looking at the Alamo," Hawk said.
"Of course you were."
"Riverwalk's kind of nice there too," Hawk said. He was driving the left hook repetitively into the bag.
"Yeah. You want to talk to me about Anthony Meeker."
"Who?"
"Julius Ventura's son-in-law."
Hawk grinned and began to alternate three hooks, with one overhand right. The punches were so fast that the sound of them nearly ran together.
"And the cerebral daughter?"
"Shirley," I said.
"Imagine running off from Shirley," Hawk said.
I moved the bag a half step back from Hawk as he started the next combination, and he shuffled a half step forward and maintained the pattern. The reaction had been visceral. He may not have been con
scious that I'd moved the bag.
"You got a plan?" he said.
"What makes you think I'm going to do it?"
Hawk smiled and switched to an overhand lead, and a left cross pattern.
"How long I know you?" he said.
"Story smells like an old flounder," I said.
"Sure do," Hawk said.
"You in?" I said.
"Un huh."
"But only if I do it," I said.
"Un huh."
Hawk did three left hooks so fast that it felt almost like one big
one as I leaned on the bag. He followed with a right cross, and stepped back.
"You the dee-tective," Hawk said.
"I is just a fun-loving adventurer."
"So you want to watch?"
"Gig in San Antonio is finished. Got nothing going right now," Hawk said. He wiped the sweat off his face and naked scalp with one of the little white hand towels that Henry handed out as a perk.
"You sure to make Ventura mad. And it'll give me something to do."
"You put us together to see what would happen," I said.
Hawk looked pleased.
"All work and no play," Hawk said.
While I waited for Hawk to shower and change, I honed my observational skills by studying the tightness of the various leotards on the young professional women who made up most of Henry's clientele. It did not escape my attention that there was scant room for anything underneath. When he was through, Hawk went to Henry's office to retrieve his gun from a locked drawer in Henry's desk.
Henry weighed about 134 pounds, and 133 of it was muscle. He had gone twice with Willie Pep in his youth and done as well with Willie as I had with Joe Walcott. It showed on his face.
"That's the biggest fucking weapon I ever seen," Henry said.
"Got a lot of stopping power," Hawk said.
He shrugged into the shoulder rig, and slipped on a gray and black crinkle-finish warm-up jacket with bell sleeves and a standup collar. He checked his reflection in the window to see how the jacket hid the gun.
"Whyn't you get one of them new nines," Henry said.
"Fit nice under your coat, fire fifteen, sixteen rounds a clip."
Hawk made a minute adjustment to the drape of the jacket.
"Don't need fifteen rounds," Hawk said.
"What you carrying?" Henry said to me.
I opened my coat and showed him the short-barreled Smith & Wesson on my belt.
"That's all?"
"It's enough," I said.
"Most of the shooting I've ever had to do is from about five feet away and was over in one or two shots. A nine with fifteen rounds in the clip is heavy to carry. I got one, and I bring it if I think I'll need it. Got a three fifty-seven too, and a twelve-gauge shotgun and a forty-four-caliber rifle. But for walking around, the thirty-eight is fine."
"Well," Henry said.
"I got a nine, and I like it."
"You safe without no gun, Henry," Hawk said.
"You so teeny anybody shoot at you, going to miss anyway."
"Just keep it in mind," Henry said, "I ever come after you."
Hawk and I went out, adequately armed, at least by our standards, and walked along the waterfront through a raw wind blowing off the harbor. When we got to the Boston Harbor Hotel we went in and sat in the lounge looking out at the harbor past the big cupola where the airport ferry docked. We ordered coffee.
Hawk said, "You doing decaf again?"
"Sure. It's good for me.... I like it."
"
"Course you do."
Hawk put his feet up on the low table in front of the couch we sat on. Outside, the airport ferry slid around the end of Rowe's Wharf and edged in to the cupola to unload passengers. The waitress warmed our cups. Hawk asked if she had a bakery basket.
She said she did and would be pleased to bring one.
The waitress returned with the bakery basket. There were scones and little corn muffins and some croissants, that were still warm. I had one.
"Goes great with decaf," I said.
Hawk was watching the people file off the ferry with their garment bags and briefcases. He shook his head, and picked up one of the small corn muffins, and popped it in his mouth. I drank some coffee. The ferry picked up a scattering of passengers and backed away from the dock, turning slowly when it was far enough out, sliding on the dark slick harbor water like a hurling stone.
"You think Anthony fooling around?" Hawk said.
"Shirley's a good argument for it," I said.
"I married to Shirley I wouldn't be fooling around with other women," Hawk said.
"I be serious about it. You think Julius wants him found so Shirley be happy?"
"Maybe," I said.
"Loving father," Hawk said.
"It's possible," I said.
"Hitler liked dogs."
The waitress was looking at Hawk from across the room. Hawk smiled at her. She smiled back at him.
"You figure Anthony took some of Julius's money?" Hawk said.
"Shirley said Anthony was in the financial end of the business."
"That both ends," Hawk said, "for Julius."
I nodded. Outside the window wall a seagull landed on one of the ornamental mooring posts, and tucked his wings up and turned his head in profile checking for the remnants of a bite-sized donut hole that someone might have dropped, or a stray French fry. Gulls were actually pretty good-looking birds. The problem was that there were so many of them, and they were so raucous and eager, that no one ever bothered to notice that they had nice proportions.
"I asked Shirley if Anthony gambled and she had an odd look, just a flicker, before she said no."
"Ordinary man woulda missed it," Hawk said.
"True," I said.
"And maybe he'd be right. It wasn't much."
"Think he might be a gambler?"
"If he was it would be a place to start," I said.
Hawk finished his coffee and looked up. The waitress was there, more alert than a seagull, and filled his cup. Hawk let his voice drop an octave or so and said, "Thank you." The waitress hovered for a moment, managed not to wiggle all over, and went away.
"And if he not a gambler?" Hawk said.
"Got no place to start."
"So he a gambler," Hawk said, "until we find something better."
"Maybe a gambler that fooled around on his wife."
"And took Julius Ventura's money," Hawk said.
"To do both."
"So not a smart gambler," I said.
"Maybe not even a live one," Hawk said.
"Except Julius's daughter wants him back."
"Maybe Julius had him chilled and then hired you and me to make it look good for the daughter."
"Not a bad thought," I said.
"But why hire you and me?"
"
"Cause we too good?"
"Yeah. There's lots of reputable private licenses around that could spend his money, look good, and find zip."
Hawk nodded.
"Yeah, he already killed Anthony he don't want us looking into it.
"Cause we going to find out he did it. And you being a Boy Scout, going to tell."
"So he must want him found," I said.
"But why us? Why not his own people?"
Hawk smiled.
"Impress the daughter," he said.
"Maybe. Maybe more than that."
"Like maybe the son-in-law done something Julius don't want his own people to find out?" Hawk said.
"You're pretty smart," I said, "for an aging Negro man."
"Sho'nuff," Hawk said.
CHAPTER 4
Lennie Seltzer was in his usual booth at the Tennessee Tavern on Mass Avenue. He was talking on a portable phone and sipping beer. A laptop computer sat on the table in front of him, the lid up, the screen blank. On the seat across from him in the booth a briefcase stood open. As I sat down Lennie nodded at me and made a small gesture with his free hand at the
bartender. I waited while Lennie listened to the phone. He didn't say anything. The bartender brought over a shot of Irish whisky and a draft beer.
