But say y'all was right. What business would that be of yours?
You being a writer and all?"
"You know and I know that I'm not a writer."
"Ah do? Ah don't know any such thing. You told me you was a writer." The cornpone accent had gotten thicker. I didn't know if it was the real one coming through under duress or a fake one getting faker. Actually I couldn't see that it mattered much.
"Yeah, and you hollered to Doerr and he looked me up and we both know I'm a private cop."
"How about that?" Maynard raised both eyebrows. "A private detective. That still leaves the question, though, Spenser. What is your interest?"
"I would like you to stop blackmailing the Rabbs."
"And if ah was blackmailing them, and ah stopped, what would ah get out of that?"
"Well, I'd be grateful."
From his post by the sliding door, Lester said, "Shit," drawing it out into a two-syllable word.
"Anything besides that?" Maynard said.
"I'll help you with Frank Doerr."
Lester said, "Shit," again. This time in three syllables.
"Well, Spenser, that's awful kind of you, but there's some things wrong with it all. One, ah don't much give a rat's ass for your gratitude, you know? And number two, ah don't figure, even if ah was having trouble with Frank Doerr, that you'd be the one ah'd ask to help me. And of course, number three, ah'm not blackmailing anybody. Am I, Lester?"
Lester shook his head no.
"So, ah guess you wasted some time coming up here.
Interesting to know about you being a detective, though. Isn't that interesting, Lester?"
Lester nodded his head yes. From the radio on the sun deck the disk jockey was yelling about a "rock classic."
I said, "Yall seem to be takin' the short view." Christ, now he had me doing it.
"Why do you say so?"
"Because you have only a short-term solution. How long will Marty Rabb pitch? Five more years. You think that when he's through with baseball, Doerr will be through with you? Doerr will feed on you till you die."
"I can handle Doerr," Lester said. He didn't get too much variety into the conversation.
"Lester," I said, "you can't handle Doerr. Handling Doerr is different from beating up some tourist in a bar or breaking bricks with your bare hand. Wally Hogg is a professional tough guy. You are an amateur. He would blow you away like a midsummer dandelion."
Lester said, "Shit." You find a line that works for you, I suppose you ought to stick with it.
Maynard said, "If these people are so tough, Spenser, what makes you think you can help?"
"Because I'm a professional too, Bucko, and that means I know what I can do and also what I can't do. It means I don't walk around thinking I can go up against the likes of Frank Doerr, head-on, without getting my body creased. It means I know how to even things up a bit. It means I know what I'm doing and you two clowns don't."
"You don't look so frigging tough to me," Lester said.
"That's the difference between you and me, Lester.
Aside from our taste in music. I don't worry about how things look. You do. I don't have to prove whether I'm tough. You do.
You'll say something like that to Wally the Hog and he'll shoot you three times or so in your nose, while you're posing and blowing bubbles."
Lester had gone into the stance, legs bent, left fist forward, right drawn back, clenched palms up, a little like the old pictures of the great John L. "Why don't you try me, you mother?"
I stood up. "Lester, let me show you something," I said.
And brought my gun out and aimed it at his forehead. "This is a thirty-eight caliber Colt detective special. If I pull the trigger, your mastery of the martial arts will be of very little use to you."
Maynard said, "Now, Spenser..."
Lester looked at the gun.
"Now put that thing down, Spenser," Maynard said.
"Lester. Y'all just relax over there."
Lester said, "If you didn't have that gun."
"But that's the point, Les, baby, I do have the gun.
Wally Hogg has a gun. You don't have a gun. Professionals are the people with the guns who get them out first."
"Now relax, y'all, just relax," Maynard said.
"You won't always have that gun, Spenser."
"See, boy, see what a baby you are," I said. "You're wrong again. I will always have the gun. You'd forget the gun, you wouldn't have it where you could get at it, but I will always have it."
"Lester," Maynard said again. This time loud. "Y'all just settle down. You hear me. Now you settle down. Ah don't want no more of this."
Lester eased out of his attack stance and leaned back against the doorjamb, but he kept his eyes on me and one of the eyelids seemed to flicker as he stared. I put the gun away.
I said to Maynard, "You keep him away from me or I will hurt him badly."
"Now, Spenser," Maynard said. "Lester excites kind of prompt, but he's not a fool. Right, Lester?"
Lester didn't speak. I noticed that there was a glisten of sweat on Maynard's upper lip. "Suppose ah was interested in joining forces with you," Maynard said. "What would be your plan? How would you keep Doerr from coming around and killing me?"
"I'd tell him that right now we call off the scheme and end the blackmail and he's out some bread, but no one's incriminated. If he causes trouble, it'll mean the cops, and then someone will be incriminated. And it'll be him, because we've stashed evidence where the cops will find it if anything happens to you."
"What about the money I owe him, Ah mean hypothetically?"
"You've paid that off long ago if Doerr got any bread down at all on Rabb's pitching."
"But maybe Doerr will want more, and ah don't have it."
"It'll be my job to convince him not to want more."
"That's it. That's the part ah want to know," Maynard said, and his face looked very moist. "How you going to convince him of anything?"
"I don't know. Appeal to his business sense. Dropping the scheme is a lot less trouble than sticking to it. He can pick up dough a lot of other ways. You and Rabb aren't the only goobers in the patch."
Maynard took a deep breath. The top forty played on outside on the deck. Lester glared at me from the doorjamb.
Whitecaps continued to pattern the bay. Maynard shook his head. "Not good enough, Spenser. What you say may be so, but right now ah'm not getting hurt. And what you say makes getting hurt more likely."
"I can handle Doerr, Bucky." Lester sounded almost plaintive from the doorjamb.
"Maybe yes, maybe no, Lester. You couldn't have handled Spenser here, if it had been for real. Ah'm saying right now, no. Ah'm not going to take the chance. Things have worked out so far."
"But it's different now, Buck," I said. "I'm in it now.
And I'm going to poke around and aggravate the hornets. It's not safe anymore to go along with the program."
"Maybe that's true too," Maynard said. "But ah got a choice between you and Frank Doerr, and right now ah'm betting on Frank Doerr. But ah'll tell you this. If you come up with something better than you have, ah'm willing to listen."
He had me. Maybe if I were he, I'd go that way too.
"Lester," Maynard said, "show Mr. Spenser out."
I shook my head. "I'll show myself out. I want Lester to stay there. Mad, like he is, he might slam the door on my foot."
Maynard nodded. There was a little drip of sweat at the tip of his beaky little canary nose. It was the last thing I saw as I backed out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE AQUARIUM IS NEAR Harbor Towers, and I walked to it. Inside, it was nearly empty at midday, dark and cool and unconnected with the city outside. I went up the spiral walkway around it and watched the fish glide in silent pattern around and around the tank, swimming at different strata, sharks and groupers and turtles and fish I didn't know in the clear water. They were oblivious of me and seemed oblivious of each other as they sw
am in a kind of implacable order around and around the tank. The spiral walk was open and the rest of the aquarium was spacious. Below the flat pool, bottom lit and cool green, silhouetted other, smaller fish, black and quick in the bright water.
A small group of children, perhaps a second-grade class on a field trip, came in, shepherded by a plump little nun with horn-rimmed glasses. After a fast inspection of the fish, the children ignored them and began to enjoy the building and the space as if the real occasion for the visit was not the fish but the feel of the aquarium. The kids ran up and down the spiral and looked over the balcony and yelled at each other from above and below. The nun made no serious attempt to shush them, and the open space and the darkness seemed to absorb the noise. It was still nearly quiet.
I stood and stared in through the six-inch-thick glass windows of the tank and watched the sharks, small, well fed, and without threat, as they glided in their endless circle. I had screwed up the situation. I knew that. I had made Frank Doerr mad and Doerr was a cuckoo. Maynard was right not to buy what I was selling. Doerr wouldn't let Maynard off the hook and he wouldn't bargain with me. Maybe he never would have, but his honor was at stake now and he'd die before he let me talk him into, or scare him into, doing anything.
A small boy pushed in front of me to stare through the glass. His belt was too long, I noticed, and the surplus had been tucked through his belt loops halfway around his body.
Another kid joined him and I found myself being moved away from the fish tank. Kids already know how to block out, I thought. I walked off the spiral and looked at the penguins on the first balcony. They were the false note in the place. There was no glass wall, no separation between us except six feet of space. The smell of fish and, I supposed, penguin was rank and uninsulated. I didn't like it. The silent fish in the lucid water were fantasy. The smelly penguins were real.
I went on back down the spiral and out into the bright hot day that met me with a clang as I came out of the aquarium. I could put Doerr and Maynard away by going to the cops. But that would humiliate Linda Rabb and probably get Marty Rabb barred from baseball. I could disarm Doerr and Maynard by getting Linda to make a public confession. But that would have the same results. The top was down on my car and the seats were hot and uncomfortable when I got in. I couldn't shake Maynard loose from Doerr. Doerr was the key and I had handled him wrong. If I got near him again, he'd try to kill me. It made negotiations difficult.
Back to the Rabbs. The lobby attendant called up, and Marty Rabb was waiting for me at the apartment door. His face was white, and the hinge muscles of his jaw were bunched.
"You sonovabitch," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"Maybe," I said, "but that won't help."
"What do you want now, plant a bug in our bedroom maybe?"
"I don't want to talk about it out in the corridor."
"I don't give a shit what you don't want. I don't want you in my goddamned house, stinking up the place."
"Look, kid, I feel lousy and I understand how you feel, and I don't blame you, but I need to talk and I can't do it out here in the hall with you yelling at me."
"You're lucky I'm yelling, you bastard. You're lucky I don't knock you on your ass."
Linda Rabb came to the door beside her husband. "Let him in, Marty," she said. "We're in trouble. Yelling won't change that. Neither will hitting him."
"The sonovabitch caused it. We were doing all right till he came sticking his goddamned nose into things."
"I caused it as much as he did, Marty. I'm the whore, not Spenser."
Rabb turned at her. "I don't want to hear you say that again," he said. "Not again. I won't have any talk like that in my house. I don't want my son hearing that kind of talk."
Linda Rabb's voice sounded as if she were tired. "Your son's not home, Marty; he's at nursery. You know that. Come in, Spenser." She pulled Rabb away from the door, holding his right arm in both her hands. I went in.
I sat on the edge of the sofa. Rabb didn't sit. He stood looking at me with his hands clenched. "Be goddamned careful what you say, Spenser. I want to belt you so bad I can feel it in my guts, and if you make one smart remark, I'm going to level you."
"Marty, you are the third person this morning who has offered to disassemble my body. You are also third in order of probable success. I can't throw a baseball like you can, but the odds are very good that I could put you in the hospital before you ever got a hand on me." I was getting sick of people yelling at me.
"You think so."
I was proud of myself. I didn't say, "I know so."
Linda Rabb let go of his arm and came around in front of him and put both her arms around his waist. "Stop it, Marty. Both of you, grow up. This isn't a playground where you little boys can prove to each other how tough you are.
This is our home and our future and little Marty and our life.
You can't handle every problem as if it were an arm-wrestling contest." Her voice was getting thicker and she pressed her face against Rabb's chest. I knew she was crying, and I bet it wasn't the first time today.
"But, Jesus Christ, Linda, a man's gotta--" She screamed at him, the voice muffled against his chest. "Shut up. Just shut up about a man's gotta."
I wished I smoked. It would have given me something to do with my hands. Rabb put his arms around his wife and rubbed the top of her head with his chin.
"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what in hell to do."
"Me either," I said. "But if you'd sit down, maybe we could figure something out."
Linda Rabb said, "Sit down, Marty," and pushed him away from her with both hands against his chest. He sat. She sat beside him, her head turned away, and wiped her eyes with a Kleenex.
"I don't know," Rabb said again. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together between his knees, staring at his thumbnails. Then he looked up at me.
"How much does Erskine know?" he said.
"Nothing. He had heard just the hint that something might not be square. He hired me to prove it was square. He wants to believe it's square and you're square."
"Yeah," Rabb said, "I'm square okay. You got any good ideas?"
"Your wife's told you what I said yesterday?" He nodded. "I've talked with Doerr and I've talked with Maynard.
Doerr won't let go of Maynard and Maynard won't let go of you. He's too scared."
"Maynard really is in debt to a loan shark?"
"Yes."
"I can't see anything else to do but keep on the way we have been," Rabb said.
"If you can stand it," I said.
"You can stand what you can't change," Rabb said.
"You got a better idea?"
"You could blow the whistle."
Linda Rabb had finished with her Kleenex and was looking at us again.
"Yes," she said.
"No," Rabb said.
"Marty," she said.
"No."
"Marty," she said again, "we can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't stand the guilt and watching how you feel every time you lose a game so they can make money."
"I don't always have to lose," he said. "Sometimes I give up a run or two for the inning pools."
"Don't quibble, Marty. You're in a funk for a week after every letter. You have lived too long believing in do-or-die for dear old Siwash. It's killing you and it's killing me."
"I'm not having your name blabbed all over the country. You want your kid to hear that kind of talk about his mother. Maybe we should show him the movie."
"It will pass, Marty. He's only three."
"And it'll make nice talk in the bullpen, you know. You want me to listen to those bastards laughing in the dugout when I go out to pitch? Or maybe that doesn't matter either because if it gets out that I been dumping games I won't be pitching anyway. You want that?"
"No, but I don't want this either, Marty."
"Yeah, well maybe you should have thought of that when you were spreading
your legs in New York."
I felt a jangle of shock in my solar plexus. Linda Rabb never flinched. She looked at her husband steadily. The silence hung between them. It was Rabb who broke it. "Jesus, honey, I'm sorry," he said and put his arms around her. She didn't pull away, but her body was as stiff and remote as a wire coat hanger and her eyes were focused on something far beyond the room as he held her.
"Jesus," he said again, "Jesus Christ, what is going to happen to us? What are we going to do?"
Robert B Parker - Spenser 03 - Mortal Stakes Page 14
