Cold Service

by Robert B. Parker

"All of a sudden there's lots of blood and Bohdan is down," I said. "And you're right. Nobody and nothing."

  "Same lawyer come to see him 'fore he changed his story?" Hawk said.

  "Quirk says yes."

  "Bunch of dumb foreigners, they got some reach," Hawk said.

  "They knew when the exercise was over. So they knew when the corridor would be crowded. And they had a guy there ready and able to cut Bohdan's throat."

  "And they knew which guards going to be on the scene," Hawk said. "They knew they'd cooperate."

  "You're not cynically suggesting," I said, "that the keepers are sometimes as corruptible as the kept?"

  "Jug is its own place. Got no connection with how people live anywhere else. Everybody in the jug a prisoner. The guards just get to go home nights."

  "Well," I said, "it's not like we're surprised."

  "Nope."

  "Leaves us four more," I said.

  "If Bohdan was telling the truth."

  "Instead of lying about some friends of his to get himself a deal?" I said.

  "Hard to trust people these days," Hawk said.

  "In which case," I said, "instead of killing him because they didn't trust him, they might have killed him because he framed them."

  "Need to know," Hawk said.

  "Well, we got a list," I said.

  "And we'll be checking it twice," Hawk said.

  9

  SUSAN HAD SPENT the better part of two days making a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. Obviously she was exhausted, so I agreed to cook the rest of the meal, which I began at nine Thanksgiving morning. Susan sat at the kitchen table and drank a cup of coffee. "If you hadn't forced yourself upon me," Susan said, "you could have begun preparations much earlier."

  "I know," I said. "But after dinner I'd have been too full to force myself upon you."

  "Oh good," Susan said. "I can rest easy."

  I had the small turkey all rinsed and patted dry.

  "Will you make that stuffing with the apples and onions and little cut-up sausages?"

  "Yes."

  I had coffee, too, and drank some.

  "Would you like to look at my pie again?" Susan said.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "The pumpkin pie."

  She got up and walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. The pumpkin pie was on the top shelf.

  "Ta-da," Susan said.

  "Did you really take two days on that thing?"

  "Don't call her that thing, " she said. "What if she hears you."

  "She looks worth every moment spent on her."

  Susan went back to her seat at the table. I sliced up eight small breakfast sausage links into my stuffing mix.

  "What is Hawk doing for Thanksgiving?" Susan said.

  "I don't know," I said. "I don't think he's got much appetite yet."

  Pearl got her front feet onto the kitchen counter next to me and pushed her nose into the stuffing mix. I put her back on the floor.

  "How'd she know the recipe called for dog slobber," I said.

  "What recipe wouldn't," Susan said.

  Pearl walked over and rested her head on the table beside Susan and gave a gimlet eye to the plate of buttermilk biscuits I had made for us to nibble. Susan broke one in half, and handed one half to Pearl.

  "Whole-grain," she said to Pearl. "Healthful."

  Pearl sniffed it, accepted it carefully in her mouth, and took it into the living room and onto the couch. Susan put a minute dollop of honey on the other half and popped it into her mouth.

  When she had chewed and swallowed and drunk some coffee, she said, "Is he seeing Cecile?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did you ask?"

  "No."

  Susan smiled and shook her head.

  "Amazing," she said.

  "What?"

  I peeled two Granny Smith apples and cored them and sliced the remains into my stuffing.

  "He has risked his life for you and you for him."

  I turned on the water faucet and began to peel onions in the stream of descending water so they wouldn't make me cry. I didn't want Susan thinking I was a sissy.

  "And," Susan said, "you are planning to risk it again."

  "Prudently," I said.

  "And you don't even ask him what his plans are for Thanksgiving, or if he's spending it with anyone."

  I had the first onion peeled. Pearl padded back in from the living room and sat near Susan and looked hopeful. I put the onion on the cutting board and turned and leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at Susan.

  "I was walking along the river with Hawk, couple of weeks ago," I said. "And he remarked that life in prison had no connection with how people live anywhere else."

  "He's probably right," Susan said.

  "He's nearly always right," I said. "Not because he knows everything. But because he never talks about things he doesn't know."

  "Not a bad idea," Susan said.

  "No," I said. "Quite a good one."

  "But what's that got to do with not knowing what he was doing for Thanksgiving?"

  "I digressed," I said. "And it misled you. Go back to the thing he said about prison."

  Susan poured herself half a cup of coffee and emptied in a packet of fake sugar.

  "Analogy," Susan said. "Hawk's world is not like anyone else's."

  I nodded.

  "So asking Hawk about Thanksgiving is like asking a fish about a bicycle," Susan said.

  "Or asking him about Cecile."

  "Does Cecile matter to him?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "But?"

  "But not the way you and I do."

  "Who does?" Susan said.

  "Good point," I said.

  "Do you understand him?"

  "Up to a point," I said.

  "And then?"

  "Hawk's black. He's been outnumbered all his life. I don't know, and probably can't know, quite what that's like."

  "Or what it took for him to become Hawk," Susan said.

  "And to keep being Hawk," I said. "He didn't choose a Hawk that's easy to maintain."

  "But if he doesn't maintain," Susan said, "he'll disappear."

  "He'd laugh at you for saying that."

  "Yes," Susan said. "But it doesn't mean it's not true."

  "Besides," I said. "You have a doctorate from Harvard and you live in Cambridge."

  "So I'm used to being laughed at," Susan said.

  10

  THE WEEK AFTER Christmas, Hawk and I were at the Harbor Health Club. Hawk had been doing twenty-pound curls and hundred-pound bench presses. And resting a lot between sets. Now he was on the bicycle, with the resistance set low and the sweat running down his face. "After the Gray Man shot you," Hawk said, "how long before you was a hundred percent?"

  "A year," I said.

  Hawk nodded. Henry Cimoli came over with a bottle of water and gave it to him.

  "Thin and flabby at the same time," Henry said. "Reminds me of my first wife."

  Henry walked over to me. His small body bulged out of his white T-shirt.

  "I could probably kick his ass now," Henry said. "Be my chance."

  I nodded.

  "Be wise to kill him if you do," I said.

  "I know," Henry said. "Eventually he'll get better."

  Hawk kept pedaling.

  "You so little," Hawk said, "you be punching me in the knee."

  "You're so scrawny," Henry said, "that would probably drop you."

  Hawk was struggling to keep his breathing normal.

  "You… ever knock… anybody down… when you… fighting?" Hawk said.

  "I knocked Willie Pep down once," Henry said.

  "He stay down?" Hawk said.

  "Not for long," Henry said. "It was the last punch I landed."

  Hawk got off the bike and sat on a bench, taking in air.

  "Doctor say you okay to work out?" Henry said.

  Hawk nodded.

  "He say do anything I can."

 
"Which ain't much," Henry said.

  "Yet," Hawk said.

  Henry nodded.

  "Yet," he said.

  Henry went away. I finished my set and sat down beside Hawk.

  "I have been collecting data," I said.

  Hawk wiped his face with a hand towel and nodded.

  "I have addresses for our four Ukrainians and for the two lawyers we know about."

  "Talk to any of them?"

  "No."

  "Good," Hawk said.

  "We could, though, if you want to," I said.

  "Ain't ready yet," Hawk said.

  "I could sort of protect you," I said. "Unless you annoyed me."

  Hawk shook his head.

  "Got to wait," Hawk said.

  "I could ask Vinnie to join us," I said.

  "Can't have no one protecting me," Hawk said.

  I spent a little time thinking about that.

  Then I said, "No, you can't."

  11

  IN MID-MARCH I was sitting in my office, invoicing clients. It was tedious, but it reminded me of why I did what I did. Outside my window the sun was shining. It wasn't spring yet, but the snow was beginning to decay, and the sour smell of long-buried leaves bore the gentle promise of milder times. Hawk came in. He took off his coat and folded it and put it on my client chair. He took the big.44 Mag off his belt and laid it on top of the coat. Then he dropped to the floor and did ten push-ups with his right arm and another ten with his left. Then he stood.

  "Am I to gather that you're ready?" I said.

  "I am."

  Hawk put the.44 back in its holster and put his coat back on.

  "Now?" I said.

  "Un-huh."

  "You got a plan?"

  "Start with Tony," Hawk said.

  "Marcus?" I said.

  "Want to find out what's been going on since they shot me."

  "And Tony will know," I said.

  " 'Course he will," Hawk said.

  "His interests are the same as ours," I said. "He could help."

  "He will," Hawk said. "If we need him."

  I heaved a big sigh.

  "Back down to the ghetto again," I said.

  "Good for you," Hawk said. "Give you a chance to be a minority."

  "I like you," I said. "I am a minority."

  "Just 'cause I recovered," Hawk said. "Don't get sloppy and emotional."

  "My car or yours?" I said.

  "I be embarrassed to show up at Tony's place in your ride."

  Tony Marcus had an office in the back of a restaurant and nightclub at the edge of the South End, which had been called Buddy's Fox. Then Tony hired a marketing consultant and the place was now called Ebony & Ivory.

  "Swell name," I said as Hawk parked across the street. "Implies elegant racial intermingling."

  "Except you the only ivory I ever seen in there," Hawk said.

  There were booths along both walls, a bar across the back, and a narrow corridor to the right of the bar that led to washrooms and Tony's office. In a booth near the door, Junior and Ty Bop looked at us when we came in. Ty Bop was drinking coffee. Junior simply sat. Neither of them said anything. The patrons ignored us. The bartender nodded as we walked by.

  "Hawk, my man," Tony Marcus said when we went into his office. "You are looking buff."

  "Lost that unhealthy pallor," I said. "Hasn't he?"

  "And you ain't," Tony said to me.

  I grinned.

  "I back in business," Hawk said. "Want to talk about the Ukrainians."

  "Figured the time would come," Tony said. " 'Less you died."

  "Time has come," Hawk said. "What you know?"

  "I know they here," Tony said. "I know they costing me money. I know the connection runs back to Brooklyn, and probably back to Ukraine, wherever the fuck that is."

  "Even further than Brooklyn," I said.

  "You not a candy cane," Hawk said to Tony. "Whyn't you chase them out."

  "They don't come at you direct, man. They pressure a pimp, or one bookie, or a guy doing drugs in one neighborhood. When the one guy cracks they move in big, and then to get them out you got a damned war. It costs you money. The cops come looking. The feds get involved. Prosecutors are RICO this and conspiracy that. It's still easier to work around them."

  "You think they stop?" Hawk said.

  "No," Tony said. "They want it all."

  "So you going to have to step up sooner or later," Hawk said.

  "They also pretty bad," Tony said.

  "That so?" Hawk said.

  "You should know," Tony said.

  "Why Gillespie come to me?" Hawk said. "Why didn't you protect him?"

  Tony looked at the ceiling above his desk for a while. He had short salt-and-pepper hair and a big moustache. He had on a tie, as he always did. His shirt was immaculate. His suit fit him perfectly. He was even a little soft around the neck as befits a successful middle-aged executive.

  "Luther and I were, ah, in disagreement," Tony said.

  "You thought he holding out on you?" Hawk said.

  "I did."

  "So you left him on his own?" Hawk said.

  "I did."

  "Mistake," Hawk said.

  Tony nodded.

  "But I cut a guy off, I can't go bailing him out later, you unnerstand. I do that, pretty soon everybody be trying to fuck with me and I have to do some major bang bang."

  "Many of the people they've moved in on been in disfavor?" I said.

  "Disfavor." Tony shook his head. "Man, you white folks do talk funny."

  "Were they?" Hawk said.

  "Couple were," Tony said. "Some of the others weren't mine."

  "I thought they were all yours," I said.

  Tony smiled.

  "They were going to be," he said.

  Hawk took out the paper on which I had typed the names of the four Ukrainians that Bohdan had named.

  "Know any of these?" Hawk said.

  Tony looked at the list.

  "Don't see no brothers on this list," Tony said.

  "Anybody you know?" Hawk said.

  "Man, they all got those fucking bohunk do-do names, you know? I can't tell one from another one."

  "Well, me and Spenser gonna be prowling around some of your neighborhoods," Hawk said. "You got any problem with that?"

  "Live and let live." Tony sat.

  "I think he means it's okay," I said to Hawk.

  "We be prowling either way," Hawk said.

  Tony smiled.

  "You want a drink?" he said. "On the house. People see whitey at the bar, justify the new name."

  "Like to help you out," I said. "But it's a little early."

  "Whoa," Tony said. "I remember the days when you'd drink paint remover at nine in the morning."

  "Never drank paint remover," I said.

  "And we proud of you for that," Hawk said.

  "Drop in anytime," Tony said.

  "Anything helpful," Hawk said to him, "you know where to find me."

  "Harbor Health Club. Leave a message with Henry."

  "Nice to be remembered," Hawk said.

  "Nothing to do with you," Tony said. "I don't forget much."

  Hawk stood. I stood with him. Tony stayed seated. Nobody shook hands.

  "Good luck," Tony said.

  "Got nothing to do with luck," Hawk said.

  12

  "WHAT DO YOU think of Tony's story?" I said. Hawk and I were sitting at the counter, having lunch, at the Town Diner in Watertown.

  "Well," Hawk said. "Bunch of white guys with funny names come pushing into Tony's territory, and Tony lets it slide."

  "Because he was mad at Gillespie?" I said. "And a couple of others?"

  "And because some of the people the white guys with funny names rousted didn't belong to Tony?"

  "There is no black crime in Boston that doesn't belong to Tony," I said.

  "How long you think Luther Gillespie last, he starts skimming on Tony?"

  "Not as long as he did," I
said. "Are you saying that Tony's story doesn't ring true."

  "I'm saying it's bullshit."

  "Maybe Tony's afraid of the Ukes," I said.

  "He ain't even afraid of you and me," Hawk said.

  "He is intrepid," I said.

  Hawk took a bite of his BLT and nodded while he chewed.

  "Something else going on," Hawk said when he'd swallowed.

  "Maybe they're cutting him in?" I said.

  "On what," Hawk said. "It's all his anyway. Why he willing to share it?"

  "We've ruled out fear," I said.

  Hawk nodded.

  "Tony ain't afraid," Hawk said.

  "And we've ruled out inattention."

  "What's the last thing you can think of, Tony didn't notice?"

  I was having apple pie for lunch. With cheese. I ate some and drank some coffee. Hawk was drinking orange juice. He asked for another glass.

  "Okay, we've ruled out inattention," I said.

  "How 'bout love?"

  Hawk smiled.

  "Okay, no love," I said. "That leaves greed."

  Hawk patted his mouth with his napkin.

  "It does."

  "But not just a cut of what he's already got," I said.

  "He keeps what he's got," Hawk said. "And he gets what somebody else got."

  "That would be Tony," I said. "So how does that work with the Ukrainians?"

  "Maybe Tony playing them."

  "Maybe they're playing him."

  "Likely they playing each other," Hawk said.

  "Likely," I said.

  We were quiet while we finished lunch. I had some more coffee. Hawk ate only half of his sandwich. I looked at it.

  "No good?" I said.

  "Excellent," Hawk said. "Just don't eat so much anymore."

  "Because they shot up your alimentary canal?" I said.

  "Something like that," Hawk said. "Like orange juice though."

  "Maybe you could write a diet book," I said.

  "The sniper diet?"

  "I could help you with the writing," I said, "being as I'm white and all."

  "We get to that, massa," Hawk said, "soon as we clean up the Ukrainians."

  "Be nice if we knew the connection."

  "Would be," Hawk said.

  "Got a guess?"

  "No."

  "What the hell is in it for Tony," I said.

  "Money," Hawk said.

  13