“Okay, psychiatry boasts as many turkeys as any other business, maybe more. But the kinds of things you’re talking about aren’t relevant. Those things come from asking psychiatrists to do what they aren’t equipped to do. Good ones know that, I think. Good ones know that what they can do is help people work out problems. I don’t think they are very good at curing schizophrenia or deciding whether someone is legally sane. That’s bullshit. But they might be quite useful in helping you get over defining yourself in your husband’s terms, or helping your husband get over defining himself in Cotton Mather’s terms.”
“Cotton Mather?”
“Yeah, you know, the old Puritan ethic.”
“Oh, that Cotton Mather. You do read the books, don’t you?”
“I got a lotta time,” I said. The timer buzzed and I twirled out a strand of spaghetti and tried it. “Al dente,” I said. “His brother Sam used to play for the Red Sox.” The spaghetti was done, I turned it into a colander, emptied the pan, shook the colander to drain the spaghetti, turned it back into the pan, added a little butter and some Parmesean cheese and tossed it.
“You made that up.”
“What?”
“About Al Dente’s brother.”
“Nope, truth. Sam Dente used to play with the Sox about thirty years ago. Infielder. Left-handed batter.” The spaghetti sauce was bubbling. I poured it into a big gravy boat and put two big heaps of spaghetti on two plates. I poured the salad dressing over the salad, tossed it and set everything on the kitchen counter. “Silverware in the drawer there,” I said. I got some Gallo Burgundy in a half-gallon bottle and two wine glasses out of the cupboard.
We sat at the counter and ate and drank. “Did you make the spaghetti sauce?” she said.
“Yeah. A secret recipe I got off the back of the tomato paste can.”
“And the salad dressing? Is there honey in it?”
“Yep. Got that from my mother.”
She shook her head. “Fighter, lover, gourmet cook? Amazing.”
“Nope. I’ll take the fighter, lover, but the gourmet cook is a sexist remark.”
“Why?”
“If you’d cooked this no one would say you were a gourmet cook. It’s because I’m a man. A man who cooks and is interested in it is called a gourmet. A woman is called a housewife. Now eat the goddamned spaghetti,” I said. She did. Me too.
Chapter 23
I slept on the couch. A triumph once more of virtue over tumescence. I was up and showered and away before Pam Shepard woke up. At 10:00 A.M. I was having coffee with King Powers’ man Macey in the Holiday Inn in Hyannis.
“Care for some fruit?” Macey said.
“No thanks. The coffee will do. When can you deliver the guns?”
“Tomorrow maybe, day after for sure.”
“What you got?”
“M2 carbines, in perfect condition, one hundred rounds apiece.”
“How many?”
“Four hundred and fifty.”
“Jesus Christ, that’s more than two bills apiece.”
Macey shrugged. “Ammo’s included, don’t forget.”
“Christ, you can pick’em up in the gun shop for less than half that.”
“Four hundred and fifty of them? M2s?”
“There’s that,” I said. “Buta hundred grand for four hundred and fifty pieces. I don’t think my people will like that.”
“You came to us, Spence. You asked us. Remember.” I loved being called Spence. “And remember there’s thirty thousand out for your share.”
“Which you’re keeping.”
“Hey, Spence, it’s owed us. We wouldn’t be long in business if we didn’t demand financial responsibility from our clients. We didn’t go to Harvey either. He came to us. Just like you. You don’t like the deal, you’re free to make another one someplace else. Just see to it that Harvey comes up with the thirty thousand dollars he owes us. Which, incidentally, will increase as of Monday.”
“Oh yeah, you private-service firms seem to work on an escalated interest scale, don’t you.”
Macey smiled and shrugged and spread his hands. “What can I tell you, Spence? We have our methods and we attract clients. We must be doing something right.” He folded his arms. “You want the guns or don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then we have a deal. When do you wish to take delivery? I can guarantee day after tomorrow.” He checked his calendar watch. “The twenty-seventh. Sooner is iffy.”
“The twenty-seventh is fine.”
“And where do you wish to take delivery?”
“Doesn’t matter. You got a spot?”
“Yes. Do you know the market terminal in Chelsea?”
“Yeah.”
“There, day after tomorrow at six A.M. There are a lot of trucks loading and unloading at that time. No one will pay us any mind. Your principals have a truck?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. We’ve got a deal. You going to be there with your people?”
“Yeah.”
“I won’t be. But you should have ready for the man in charge one hundred thousand dollars in cash. Go to the restaurant there in the market center. You know where it is.” I nodded. “Have a cup of coffee or whatever. You’ll be contacted.”
“No good,” I said.
“Why not?”
“King’s got to deliver them himself.”
“Why?”
“My people want to do business with the principals. They don’t like working through me. They might want to do more business and they want to deal direct.”
“Perhaps I can go.”
“No. It’s gotta be King. They want to be sure they don’t get burned. They figure doing business with the boss is like earnest money. If he does it himself they figure it’ll go right, there won’t be anything sour, like selling us ten crates of lead pipe. Or shooting us and taking the money and going away. They figure King wouldn’t want to be involved in that kind of goings-on himself. Too much risk. So, King delivers personally or it’s no deal.”
“Mr. Powers doesn’t like being told what to do,” Macey said.
“Me either, but we been reasonable, and you’re getting your price. He can bend on this one.”
“I can assure you there will be no contrivances or double dealing on this. This is an on-the-table, straight-ahead business deal.”
“That’s good to know, Macey. And I believe you’cause I’m here looking into your sincere brown eyes but my clients, they’re not here. They don’t know how sincere you are and they don’t trust you. Even after I mentioned how you been to college and everything.”
“How about we just cancel the whole thing and foreclose on Harvey.”
“We go to the cops.”
“And Harvey explains why he needed all that money we advanced him?”
“Better than explaining to you people why he can’t pay.”
“That would be a bad mistake.”
“Yeah, maybe, but it would be a bad one for you too. Even if you wasted Harvey you’d have the fuzzy-wuzzies following you around and you’d have me mad at you and trying to get you busted and for what? All because King was too lazy to get up one morning for a six o’clock appointment?”
Macey looked at me for maybe thirty seconds.
“You don’t want to maneuver me and Harv into a place where we got no options. You don’t want to make the law look more attractive than you guys. You don’t want to arrange something where Harv’s got nothing to lose by talking to the D.A. My people are adamant on this. They are interested in doing business with the man. And you ain’t him. King is the man.”
Macey said, “I’ll check with him. I’m not authorized to commit him to something like this.”
“You’re not authorized to zip your fly without asking King. We both know that, preppy. Call him.” Macey looked at me another thirty seconds. Then he got up and went into the next room.
He was gone maybe fifteen minutes. I drank my coffee and admired
my Adidas Varsities, in rust-colored suede. Excellent for tennis, jogging and avoiding injury through flight. I poured another cup of coffee from the room service thermos pitcher. It was not hot. I left the cup on the table and went to the window and looked down at the pool. It was as blue as heaven and full of people, largely young ones, splashing and swimming and diving. A lot of flesh was darkening on beach chairs around the pool and some of it was pleasant to see. I should probably call Susan. I hadn’t been back last night. Maybe she’d be worried. I should have called her last night. Hard to keep everything in my head sometimes. Pam Shepard and Harvey and Rose and Jane and King Powers and Hawk, and the New Bedford cops and getting it to work. And the tumescence. There was that to deal with too. A girl with long straight blond hair appeared from under one of the sun umbrellas wearing a bikini so brief as to seem pointless. I was looking at her closely when Macey came back into the room.
“King okayed it.”
“Say, isn’t that good,” I said. “Not only is he a King but he’s a Prince. Right, Macey?”
“He wasn’t easy to persuade, Spence. You’ve got me to thank for this deal. He was going to have you blown away when I first told him what you wanted.”
“And you saved me. Macey, you’ve put it all together today, kid.”
“You laugh, but I’m telling you it was a near thing. This better go smooth or King’ll do it. Take my word. He’ll do it, Spence.”
“Macey,” I said. “If you call me Spence again I’ll break your glasses.”
Chapter 24
It was eleven-twenty when I got back to my motel. There was a note on the bureau. “I’m walking on the beach,” it said. “Be back around lunchtime. Maybe I didn’t come home all night either.” I looked at my watch: 11:22. I called my service and left word for Rose to call me at the motel. At five past twelve she did.
“You know where the New England Produce Center is in Chelsea?” I said.
“No.”
“I’m going to tell you, so get a pencil and write it down.”
“I have one.”
I told her. “When you get there,” I said, “go to the restaurant and sit at the counter and have a cup of coffee. I’ll be there by quarter of six.”
“I want Pamela to be there as well.”
“Why?”
“I’ll trust you more if she’s there.”
“That’s sort of like using a sister,” I said.
“We use what we must. The cause requires it.”
“Always does,” I said.
“She’ll be there?”
“I’ll bring her with me.”
“We will be there, with our part of the bargain.”
“You’ll need a truck.”
“How large?”
“Not large, an Econoline van, something like that.”
“We’ll rent one. Will you help us load?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. See you there.” She hung up.
I wrote a note to Susan, told her I’d be back to take her to dinner, put twenty-seven X’s at the bottom and replaced the one she’d written me. Then I called New Bedford. Jackie Sylvia said he and McDermott would meet me at the Bristol County Court House on County Street.
They were there when I arrived, leaning on each side of a white pillar out front.
“Come on,” Sylvia said when I got out of the car. “We got to talk with Linhares.”
We went into the red brick courthouse, past the clerk’s office, up some stairs and into an office that said ANTON LINHARES, ASST.DIST. ATT., on the door. Linhares stood, came around the desk and shook hands with me when we went in. He was medium-size and trim with a neat Afro haircut, a dark three-piece suit and a white shirt with a black and red regimental stripe tie. His shoes looked like Gucci and his suit looked like Pierre Cardin and he looked like a future D.A. His handshake was firm and he smelled of after shave lotion. Canoe I bet.
“Sit down, Spenser, good to see you. Jackie and Rich have me wired in on the case. I don’t see any problem. When’s it going down?”
“Day after tomorrow,” I said, “at six in the morning, at the market terminal in Chelsea.”
“That Suffolk or Middlesex County?”
“Suffolk,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I used to work for the Suffolk County D.A. Everett’s Middlesex, Chelsea’s Suffolk.”
“Okay, I’m going to need some cooperation from Suffolk.” He looked at his wristwatch. It was big and had a luminous green face and you pressed a button to get the time displayed in digits. “That’s no sweat,” he said. “I’ll get Jim Clancy on the horn up there. He’ll go along.”
He leaned back in his swivel chair, cocked one foot up on a slightly open drawer and looked at me. “What’s the setup?” he said. I told him.
“So we set up around there ahead of time,” Sylvia said, “and when they are in the middle of the transaction …” He raised an open hand and clamped it shut.
Linhares nodded. “Right. We’ve got them no matter what part of the swap they’re in. One of them will have stolen money and the others will have stolen guns. I want to be there. I want part of this one.”
McDermott said. “We thought you might, Anton.” Linhares smiled without irritation. “I didn’t take this job to stay in it all my life.”
Sylvia said, “Yeah, but let’s make sure this doesn’t get leaked to the press before it happens.”
Linhares grinned again. “Gentlemen,” he said. He shook his head in friendly despair. “Gentlemen. How unkind.”
“Sylvia’s right,” I said. “These are very careful people. King Powers by habit. Rose and Jane by temperament. They’ll be very skittish.”
“Fair enough,” Linhares said. “Now what about your people. How you want to handle that?”
“I want them not to exist,” I said. “They can be referred to as two anonymous undercover operatives whose identity must be protected. Me too. If my name gets into this it may drag theirs in with it. They’re both clients.”
Linhares said, “I’ll need the names. Not to prosecute but to bury. If they get scooped up in the net I’ve got to know who to let go.”
I told him. “They’re related?” he said.
“Yeah, husband and wife.”
“And you put this thing together for them?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d Suffolk ever let you get away?”
“Hard to figure,” I said.
“Okay.” Linhares looked at his watch again. He liked pushing the button. “Jackie, you and Rich get up there tomorrow with Spenser here and set this thing up. I’ll call Jimmy Clancy and have him waiting for you.”
“We gotta check with the squad,” McDermott said.
“I’ll take care of that.” Linhares said. “I’ll call Sergeant Cruz and have you assigned to me for a couple of days. Manny and I are buddies.
He’ll go along. You get hold of Bobby Santos, he’ll go up with you tomorrow so he can brief me for the bust.” He reached over and punched an intercom on his phone and said into it, “Peggy, get me Jimmy Clancy up in the Suffolk D.A.’s office.” With one hand over the mouthpiece he said to me, “Good seeing you, Spenser. Nice job on this one.” And to Sylvia and McDermott, “You, too, guys, nice job all around.”
He took his hand away and said into the phone, “Jimmy, Anton Linhares. I got a live one for you, kid.”We got up and went out.
“Who’s this Santos?” I said to Jackie Sylvia.
“State dick, works out of this office. He’s okay. Wants to be public safety commissioner, but what the hell, nothing wrong with ambition. Right Rich?”
“I don’t know,” McDermott said. “I never had any. You want to ride up with us tomorrow, Spenser, or you want to meet us there?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said. “In Clancy’s office. About ten.”
“Catch you then,” Sylvia said. We reached my car. There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper. I took it out and slipped it i
nto the breast pocket of Sylvia’s maroon blazer. “Show me the kind of clout you got around here,” I said. “Fix that.” I got in the car. As I pulled away Sylvia took the ticket out of his pocket and tore it in two. As I pulled around the corner on County Street he was giving half to McDermott.
I was into the maze again and on my first pass at the Fairhaven Bridge I ended up going out Acushnet Street parallel to the river. There was a parking lot by the unemployment office and I pulled in to turn around. There was a long line at the unemployment office and a man with a pushcart and a striped umbrella was selling hot dogs, soft drinks, popcorn and peanuts. Festive.
I made the bridge on my second try, and headed back down the Cape. The sun was at my back now and ahead was maybe a swim, some tennis and supper. I hoped Susan hadn’t eaten. It was five-twenty when I got back to the motel. I spotted Susan’s Nova in the lot. When I unlocked the door to the room she was there. Sitting in front of the mirror with a piece of Kleenex in her hand, her hair up in big rollers, a lot of cream on her face, wearing a flowered robe and unlaced sneakers.
“Arrrgh,” I said.
“You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” she said, wiping at some of the cream with her Kleenex.
“Never mind that shit, lady,” I said, “what have you done with Susan Silverman?”
“It’s time you knew, sweetie, this is the real me.”
“Heavens,” I said.
“Does this mean it’s over?”
“No, but tell me the fake you will reappear in a while.”
“Twenty minutes,” she said, “I’ve made us reservations at the Coonamessett Inn for seven.”
“How about a swim first and then some tennis, or vice versa.”
“No. I just washed my hair. I don’t want to get it wet and sweaty. Or vice versa. Why don’t you swim while I conceal the real me. Then we can have a drink and a leisurely drive to the inn and you can explain yourself and where the hell you’ve been and what you’ve been doing and with or to whom, and that sort of thing.”
I swam for a half-hour. The pool was only about fifty feet long so I did a lot of turns, but it was a nice little workout and I went back to the room with the blood moving in my veins. Susan didn’t do anything to slow it down. The hair was unrolled and the robe and cream had disappeared. And she was wearing a pale sleeveless dress the color of an eggshell, and jade earrings. She was putting her lipstick on when I came in, leaning close to the mirror to make sure it was right.
Promised Land Page 15
