Robert B Parker: The Jesse Stone Novels 1-5

by Robert B. Parker

  The heavyset man stepped forward and patted Crow down. When he was finished, he said something in Chinese.

  “You have gun,” Bo said.

  “Yes.”

  Bo shrugged.

  “No problem,” he said. “You have money?”

  “Not with me,” Crow said.

  “How you buy? No money?”

  “You got the blow?” Crow said.

  Bo smiled.

  “No with me,” he said.

  “How you sell, no blow?” Crow said.

  Bo shrugged.

  “Why you come?”

  “Thought I’d look at the product,” Crow said. “I like it, we’ll arrange something with money.”

  “You look-see blow?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You give gun to Vong,” Bo said.

  “Sure,” Crow said.

  He took the 9-mm Glock off his hip and handed it butt-first to Vong. Vong took it and dropped it in his side pocket.

  “We go,” Bo said.

  He went out the front door of the restaurant. Crow followed him, and Vong followed Crow. There was a parking lot next door. Bo walked straight to an old Dodge van with Chinese lettering on the side, and in English, hand painted below the Chinese characters were the words FINE PRODUCE. Bo unlocked the back door, climbed in the van, moved some crates around, and came up with a maroon athletic bag with gray lettering on the sides. He dragged the bag by its shoulder strap to the lip of the van bed and opened it. Inside were several kilos of white powder in transparent plastic bags.

  “Lemme try,” Crow said.

  Bo untwisted the plastic tie that closed one of the bags. Crow tasted it.

  “Been stepped on some,” he said.

  “Sure, but it’s good stuff. No cut and . . .” Bo rolled his eyes and pretended to fall over.

  “Yeah.”

  Crow picked up the plastic tie and closed the bag. Then he half turned and drove his right heel into Vong’s groin. As Vong bent over, he put both hands on Vong’s head and snapped his neck with one twist. Crow moved so quickly that Bo was only half out of the truck when Crow got a handful of his hair and yanked him all the way out and slammed his head against the car bumper. He let go of Bo’s hair and Bo fell face down on the asphalt. Without any hurry, Crow went to Vong’s body and took his Glock out of Vong’s pocket. He shot Vong between the already lifeless eyes, and then turned and put one bullet into the base of Bo’s skull. Then he put the cocaine back in the bag, zipped it up, picked up the bag, and walked out of the parking lot. There was an attendant in the booth, a thin black man with Rastafarian hair. He was crouching down, trying to hide. Crow walked to the booth and shot him in the head. Then he put his gun back in his holster and walked off down Tyler Street toward Kneeland Street, carrying the maroon Nike bag over his shoulder.

  Chapter 28

  Jesse stood off-camera on the news set at Channel 3 and watched Jenn expertly describing isobars and cold fronts and other things about which he knew she had no clue. She made confident sweeping hand gestures against an empty blue background. Jesse knew that somewhere between Jenn and the television audience the empty blue background acquired a weather map, though he didn’t know how. Nor did he care.

  The floor director counted her down.

  Jenn said, “Back to you, Tony.”

  When Tony Salt, the news anchor, replaced her on the monitors, Jenn came past the cameras with her finger to her lips, stood beside Jesse, and gave him a small bump with her hip. They stood silently until a commercial break, and then Jenn led them out through the heavy door into the corridor.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “A low-pressure area dominating our weather system?” Jesse said.

  Jenn smiled.

  “They write it. I read it,” she said and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Where shall we eat?”

  “Up to you,” Jesse said. “I usually have pizza.”

  “You know what I’d love?” Jenn said. “I’d love to have some fried clams at that little restaurant on the harbor in Paradise.”

  “The Gray Gull,” Jesse said.

  “Yes. Do you mind driving all the way back?”

  “No, of course not,” Jesse said.

  “Oh good. Let me get my purse and stuff, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Like I would, Jesse thought.

  He didn’t mind driving forty-five minutes back to Paradise. He would be alone with her. Jenn would sit sideways in the seat next to him, tuck her knees under her, and talk. He had always loved to listen to her talk. She didn’t even need to be talking to him. When they had been married, he used to enjoy listening to her talk on the car phone to her agent, her manager, casting directors, girlfriends, hairdressers.

  “It’s not really about telling people the weather,” she said, as they went north through the Callahan Tunnel. The rush hour was over and the traffic was light. “It’s about marketing the weather person as a way to market the station,” she said. “Otherwise the anchor could just tell you it was going to rain tomorrow as part of the newscast. But that’s not the point. There’s three of us, for Christ’s sake. Clark does noon and eleven. I do six, and Dinah does weekends. I visit schools and street fairs and do remotes from somebody’s lobby. That’s why I only do six, so they can market me.”

  “Long day for Clark?” Jesse said.

  Jenn nodded.

  “He loves it,” she said. “Gives him more air time.”

  “So why you?”

  “I got a better ass than Clark.”

  “I think that’s right,” Jesse said. “How about Dinah?”

  Jenn shrugged.

  “Girls with bad asses don’t get hired.”

  Jesse wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the road in front of him.

  “But she is the weekend weather girl, isn’t she,” Jenn said.

  And Jesse knew without looking just the way her eyes gleamed when she said it.

  Jesse took a deep breath and let it out audibly.

  “How’s Tony Salt,” he said. “Is it serious?”

  “Not yet.”

  Jesse felt the thickness in his chest. It began near the solar plexus and reached the lower part of his throat.

  “I don’t know, Jesse. I’m just dating. It’s not serious like you and me, if that’s bothering you.”

  “Could it get that serious?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t promise. I have to be able to see who I want to see, and tonight I want to see you.”

  “I haven’t spied on you again.”

  “Good.”

  Jenn didn’t say anything, though he was aware that she shifted in the seat so she could look at him more directly.

  “I’m ashamed of it,” Jesse said.

  Jenn nodded. “Knowledge is power,” she said.

  “That’s exactly the phrase my friend used when I told her.”

  “Your friend’s had psychotherapy,” Jenn said. “It’s a shrink thing to say. This the lawyer lady?”

  “No. It’s a woman named Marcy Campbell. She sells real estate.”

  “You fucking her?”

  “Yes.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, hell, Jenn, adults fuck, you know?”

  “Yep, I know. You love her?”

  “No. I like her. I like her a lot. But I don’t love her or her me.”

  Jenn didn’t say anything. Jesse drove a quarter way around Bell Circle and headed north past the dog track.

  “You think you’ll stake me out again?” Jenn said.

  “No. You have my word.”

  “It’s a human thing to do, Jesse.”

  “But not a useful thi
ng,” Jesse said.

  “No. I have to live my life and see who I wish to see and go where I wish to go and not be trapped in a single commitment.”

  “Forever?”

  “No, just until I don’t have to.”

  “You know when that will be?”

  “No. And pushing me on it is counterproductive.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t make you promises, Jesse. I can’t give you any guarantees. It scares me even to talk this much about it. But you have to remember that you and I are connected in a way that I’ve never been connected to anyone else.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a good basis,” Jesse said.

  “Yes, it is. I think it is possible to love other people too. I think people can love more than one person. On the other hand, so far, I haven’t.”

  “That’s encouraging too.”

  “I want to encourage you as much as I can, Jesse. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t lose me,” Jesse said.

  Chapter 29

  Mrs. Campbell was wearing a tailored brown suit with a vertical blue stripe. It was tight on her but tight in a good way, Macklin thought. It didn’t look like it was too small; it just fit her close.

  “Just wanted to be sure it would be okay to bring a couple of guys over. My contractor and maybe one of his people?”

  “Of course, Mr. Smith,” Mrs. Campbell said.

  “Harry.”

  Mrs. Campbell smiled. “People do it all the time, Harry. We realize it’s a large investment, and we encourage them to take their time, make sure they’re happy. Satisfied customers are our best marketing tool.”

  “I’ll bet most of your customers are satisfied,” Macklin said.

  Mrs. Campbell met his look. Her face looked a little flushed to him. He could smell her. Soap, shampoo, perfume.

  “Most,” she said.

  “May I call you Marcy?” Macklin said.

  “Please.”

  “Marcy, I’d like to try the restaurant on the island, and I hate to eat alone. You free for lunch?”

  “As a bird,” Marcy said.

  The restaurant was called Stiles’. They got a table by the big picture window and ordered drinks. Looking out at the ocean, Macklin could see what Freddie had meant. The sea burst in upon a random scatter of rust-colored boulders that littered the coast of the island in both directions. The water among the boulders was creamy with foam.

  Marcy had a glass of white wine. Macklin ordered a martini.

  “Be tough sailing off this side of the island,” Macklin said.

  “Certainly would be,” Marcy said. “It’s why the docking facilities are on the harbor side.”

  “Do any sailing?” Macklin said.

  “No.” Marcy smiled. “I’m a dry land girl, I’m afraid.”

  “Indoor sports, so to speak,” Macklin said.

  Again Marcy met his look. Her face still had a lot of color to it. Maybe she was just naturally high colored. And maybe he was going to get her. More than maybe. Faye would understand. Marcy Campbell would be useful. He’d understand if it were the other way.

  “So to speak,” Marcy said.

  They both smiled. The spray from the turmoil below them spattered up sporadically against the stained glass. The dark paneled dining room was nearly empty, and the people that were there spoke quietly.

  “What’s your husband do, Marcy?” Macklin said.

  “Ex-husband,” Marcy said.

  “Ah,” Macklin said.

  “Ah, indeed,” Marcy said. “How about yourself—how’d you make your money?”

  “Liquor stores, mostly,” Macklin said. “Couple banks.”

  “Always interests me,” Marcy said, “how some people have a knack for making money and others don’t. What’s your secret?”

  “Mostly it’s not caring if you do or don’t,” Macklin said. “Mostly you just got to enjoy the game. How about you—you enjoy real estate?”

  “Get to meet some interesting people,” Marcy said. “I like interesting people.”

  “And you enjoy the game?”

  “Very much,” Marcy said.

  They ordered lunch. Yeah, Macklin thought, I’ve got her. It was business, but that didn’t prevent him from getting that nice ratchety feeling he always got as he circled in on a woman he’d never slept with. Faye was always curious. How did you know? How can you tell? He watched Marcy as they ate lunch. When he told Faye about it, she’d want to know. What did you talk about? How did she act?

  After lunch they went back to the real estate office. When they went in, Macklin could feel the tension. They were alone together in a private place. Marcy turned and looked at him. He was silent, looking back at her. He knew it would happen. He could feel it spread through him.

  “What game are we playing now?” Marcy said.

  “I’m not sure,” Macklin said. “But I’m enjoying the hell out of it. You want to go someplace?”

  Marcy walked over to the front door and turned the lock. Then she went to the little picture window and closed the venetian blinds.

  “No need to go someplace,” Marcy said and sat down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her.

  “No need at all,” Macklin said.

  It had been a smart move to leave his gun in the car. He sat beside her.

  “You knew when you came in here, didn’t you?” Marcy said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How?”

  “Something about you,” Macklin said, “I can always tell.”

  “Me too,” Marcy said.

  “With men, it’s easy,” Macklin said.

  “Good point.”

  Naked beneath him on the couch, Marcy thought how much stronger he was than he looked with his clothes on. Like Jesse was. Above her, Macklin thought that she wasn’t better than Faye, but she was nearly as good. Like Faye, she moved a lot and was noisy. Nothing beats enthusiasm in a woman, Macklin thought. He loved Faye. But this hadn’t anything to do with Faye. It didn’t mean anything to him, and he knew it didn’t mean anything to Marcy. She was like him. She liked a good time. And then he let himself go and didn’t think about much of anything for a little while.

  Chapter 30

  It was nearly 7:30 and the sun was down when they settled in at the bar in the Gray Gull.

  “I’d like a martini,” Jenn said. “Up, extra olives.”

  “You got it,” Doc said. “Jesse?”

  “Black label and soda,” Jesse said. “Tall.”

  Doc put the drinks in front of them and put out a hand to Jenn.

  “I’m Doc,” he said.

  “Oops,” Jesse said. “Sorry, this is my, this is Jenn.”

  “Hi, Doc.”

  “Hello, Jenn.”

  It was almost fall, and the summer crowd had mostly left. There were several empty tables and four or five stools available at the bar. By 9:00, the place was nearly full. Jesse was trying to nurse his scotch.

  “Do you have to get up early?” Jenn said.

  “I should be at the station by nine,” Jesse said. “But I always get up early. Seven is sleeping in for me.”

  “Why do you get up so early?” Jenn said. “You didn’t used to.”

  “Don’t sleep well,” Jesse said.

  “Well, I think we should go,” Jenn said.

  “Okay.”

  Jesse paid the bar bill, left twenty percent for Doc, and walked out behind Jenn. Several people recognized her and stared covertly.

  In the car, Jenn said, “It’s a long ride back to Boston, Jesse. I think I should stay with you.”

  “Okay,” Jesse said.
r />   What did “with” mean? He stifled the question. Let it play out, he thought.

  His condominium was only five minutes from the Gray Gull. Inside, Jenn went straight to the living room and opened the French doors onto the little deck over the water.

  “I love this view,” she said.

  Jesse went and stood beside her on the deck. House lights were scattered brightly against the solid blackness of Paradise Neck. The salt sea smell of the harbor was strong.

  “Funny how different this ocean seems,” Jenn said.

  “Maybe we’re different,” Jesse said.

  “That would be nice.”

  Jesse felt compressed by the tension between them. He wondered if Jenn even felt it. She seemed perfectly in possession of herself. They were quiet. Jesse stood next to her, not touching her. Except for the sound of the ocean moving below them, the silence was crystalline. Maybe I can’t stand this, Jesse thought. Maybe I need a drink. To his left, the head of the harbor was darkened by Stiles Island where barely any lights showed. Everything faces the ocean, Jesse thought. Got their back to the town. He didn’t look at Jenn, though he felt her next to him the way he felt the pull of gravity.

  “Jesse,” she said.

  He turned. She had turned toward him. Her face was raised to him. Subtly, beneath the heavy ocean smell, he could smell her perfume. He opened his arms, and she pressed against him. He kissed her. She opened her mouth and kissed him back. He was conscious of his breath surging in his lungs, of the blood moving through the intricate riparian patterns of his arteries and veins, the electricity tracing his nerves and muscles. They began to fumble at each other’s clothes. Jenn broke away long enough to gasp, “Living room.” She pressed her mouth against his again as they stumbled into the living room. They went to the carpet and made love there. It was all visceral. Whatever sounds they made were inarticulate. In the darkness, hours after they had begun, they paused long enough to go into Jesse’s bedroom.

  Jesse woke up in bright sunshine. He was lying on his back. Jenn was beside him, still asleep, in the crook of his arm, with her head on his chest. He looked at his wrist. His watch wasn’t there. He looked over at the alarm clock on the bureau. It was 10:40. He had not slept much past dawn since he’d come east. Actually, as he thought about it, he had not slept past dawn since Jenn started fucking Elliot whatsisname. Maybe he should have killed Elliott. He always regretted that he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he could have. He had shot people and maybe he would again. But just walk up and shoot him? Had he done so, he would never be lying here in the mid-morning sunshine, with Jenn naked beside him. He had been right not to . . . but he knew, and he smiled secretly in the still room at the knowledge, that there would always be, in one small compartment of his soul, the regret that he hadn’t. The seagulls were loud. The harbor smell was assertive. The French doors were still open.