Sixkill

by Robert B. Parker

  Someone came into my office, and I swiveled around to see who it was. It was Quirk, wearing a brown tweed cap and a tan raincoat.

  "Donuts?" I said.

  "Was hoping you'd have some," Quirk said.

  He took off his hat and coat, and hung them on the rack beside the door.

  "Settle for coffee," he said.

  "You know where it is," I said.

  He poured himself a cup and one for me, gave me mine, and sat down across the desk from me.

  "Just stopped by to see how things were going with Jumbo Nelson. They tell me you got canned."

  "Me and Rita both," I said. "Although technically she quit before he could fire her, I think. It's a little hard to say, and you have to give weight to the question of intent. Did he intend to fire her before she quit. Intent--"

  "Jesus Christ," Quirk said. "Whaddya know?"

  "I found out a lot," I said. "I may well bring some miscreant to justice before I'm through."

  "Did Jumbo do it?" Quirk said.

  "Haven't found that out yet," I said.

  "You got any idea?" Quirk said.

  "No."

  "What miscreants are you planning to bring to justice?"

  I told him what I'd learned from Mr. del Rio. Quirk listened, silently nodding occasionally.

  "Excellent," he said. "You're gonna clean things up in L.A. Just what I was hoping for."

  "It'll lead back to Jumbo," I said.

  Quirk leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. He slowly clasped his hands and raised them to his chin and held the position for a bit. Then he took in a big breath.

  "You're making a list," he said.

  "Everybody I've encountered in the, ah, investigation," I said.

  Quirk nodded, and put his hand out.

  "I see it?" he said.

  I handed him the list, and he looked at it for a while.

  "Didn't Jumbo have an agent?" Quirk said.

  "Yeah," I said. "Alice Something-or-other."

  I reached into my middle drawer and found the card she'd given me.

  "DeLauria," I said. "Alice DeLauria Inc., offices in Century City. She's not on my list?"

  "Nope."

  "You talked to her before?"

  "Nope."

  "But you remember her?" I said.

  "I do," Quirk said.

  "How come you did and I didn't?" I said.

  "Police captain," Quirk said.

  "Of course," I said.

  31

  Z AND I WERE on the Boston side of the river, early, running intervals on the floor of Harvard Stadium. A woman in tight black sweats and in-your-face red running shoes was running the stairs of the stadium.

  Z was watching her.

  "Good ass," Z said.

  "Absolutely is," I said. "But before you get in too deep. It belongs to the girl of my dreams."

  "Her?"

  "Main squeeze," I said.

  "That's Susan?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Holy Christ!" Z said.

  "My sentiments exactly," I said.

  "Sorry," Z said.

  "I often have the same reaction," I said.

  We reached the end zone and turned and sprinted the hundred.

  "That's really your girlfriend," Z said as we turned and started to walk back.

  "Amazing, isn't it?"

  "Did I hear she's a shrink?"

  "Yep."

  "From Harvard?"

  "She has a Ph.D. from Harvard," I said.

  "And she's with you?"

  "Every chance she gets," I said.

  "Why?" Z said.

  "Love makes strange bedfellows," I said.

  When she was through with the stadium stairs, Susan came down and joined us as we ran our last interval. She had no trouble keeping up. When we finished, we went to sit in the sun on the bottom row of stadium seats, and I introduced her to Z.

  She put out her hand. He shook it carefully.

  "How do you do, ma'am," Z said.

  "Susan," she said.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Susan looked at me.

  "Is he always this polite?" she said.

  "He's intimidated," I said.

  "Poor Injun boy," he said. "Off the reservation."

  "What kind of Indian are you?" Susan said.

  "Cree," Z said.

  "And where are Crees from?" Susan said.

  "You mean before Paleface steal our land."

  "Yes, that's what I meant," Susan said.

  "Northern plains," Z said.

  Susan looked at me.

  "Susan's geography is pretty well limited to Harvard Square," I said to Z.

  "Montana, Wyoming," Z said. "Saskatchewan, Alberta. Around there."

  Susan smiled and nodded just as if she knew where those places were. I knew, and she knew I knew, that she didn't know which direction north was.

  "Do you speak Cree?" Susan said.

  Z rattled off an answer in Cree.

  "Oh, good," Susan said. "I like that the language stays alive."

  "Mother could speak," Z said.

  "You were close to her?" Susan said.

  "No," Z said.

  "Either of your parents?" Susan said.

  "Drunks," Z said.

  "Would you prefer to be called a Native American?" Susan said.

  "No," Z said. "We're not natives, no more than you. Just come here sooner from someplace else."

  Susan nodded.

  "My date, here, has promised me breakfast. Care to join us?"

  "Breakfast?" Z said. "It's quarter of one."

  "I never eat before I work out," Susan said. "It's a great diner in Watertown. Close."

  "No, thank you, ma'am," Z said. "Ate breakfast already."

  He stood.

  "Nice meeting you," Z said.

  "And you," Susan said.

  Z turned and headed off across the stadium. We watched him go.

  "My goodness," Susan said.

  "Most I've ever heard him speak," I said. "Christ, he was even sort of humorous."

  "Not only did he talk," Susan said. "He sounded rather like you."

  "You think?"

  "I do," she said.

  "Who better?" I said.

  "No one, if your goal is to be a wiseass."

  I grinned at her.

  "What better?" I said.

  "He looks good," Susan said.

  "And," I said, "he admired your tush."

  "See, he's very nice."

  "Every straight male alive admires your tush," I said. "Not all of them are nice."

  "Well, it's a nice trait," Susan said. "Z seemed very ill at ease."

  "Yes."

  "Is he that way with all women, or just Harvard-educated Jewesses?" Susan said.

  "I think it's because he isn't going to have sex with you," I said.

  "Why not?" Susan said.

  "Because you're with me," I said.

  "Oh, good," Susan said. "I'd hate to think he didn't want to."

  "The straight male populace of the known world wants to," I said.

  "Are you saying he only knows how to relate to women if they are prospective sex partners?"

  "Be my guess," I said.

  "And men?"

  "Prospective adversaries," I said.

  "And you know this how?"

  "Because I know stuff," I said.

  "You're so certain," Susan said. "How come you're so certain?"

  "In the barren days before I met you," I said, "I might have had a touch of that."

  "I'm shocked," Susan said. "Shocked, I tell you."

  "Let's go eat," I said.

  32

  I CALLED A COP I knew in L.A. named Samuelson.

  "Calling to see how it's going with a Boston guy as chief," I said.

  "Best cop I ever worked for," Samuelson said. "Whaddya want?"

  "I'm calling to inquire as to your well-being, and you're giving me 'Whaddya want'?"

  "Correct," Samuelson
said.

  "Ever make captain?" I said.

  "Yes."

  "Makes me proud," I said, "just to know you."

  "Will you get to the favor you want me to do you," Samuelson said.

  "You think I'd only call because I needed a favor?" I said.

  "Correct."

  "That's cynical," I said.

  "You think being a cop for thirty years is going to make me idealistic?" Samuelson said.

  "Didn't you join the force in order to protect and serve?" I said.

  "Sanitation department wasn't hiring," Samuelson said. "Whaddya want?"

  "I'm interested in finding out whatever I can about a woman named Alice DeLauria," I said. "Jumbo Nelson's agent."

  "Has her own agency," Samuelson said. "Alice DeLauria Inc."

  "Ah, you know her."

  "Her old man is to the Anglo Mob in L.A. what your pal del Rio is to the Latino Mob."

  "His name DeLauria?"

  "No," Samuelson said. "His name is Nicky Fellscroft. She's married to one of his associates, guy named Stephano DeLauria."

  "He a hood?"

  "Stephano? You bet. He's Nicky's enforcer."

  "Any good?" I said.

  "World-class," Samuelson said.

  "And Alice DeLauria?"

  "Close family," Samuelson said.

  "She's in the business."

  "Sure is. We've never been able to get anything that'll stand in court."

  "One reason being that no one will testify against DeLauria's wife," I said.

  "Or Nicky's daughter," Samuelson said.

  "So how come she works as an actors' agent?"

  "How many actors you figure she represents," Samuelson said.

  "One?" I said.

  "Correct."

  "Jumbo?" I said.

  "Correct," Samuelson said.

  "She's his keeper," I said.

  "That's right."

  "You know why?" I said.

  "Mob money is invested in him."

  "I know," I said. "Can you prove it?"

  "No," Samuelson said.

  "I can't prove it, either," I said.

  "But you know about the Mob money," Samuelson said.

  "They invest in Jumbo's films," I said. "Wash dirty money, and make a profit, too."

  "And you know that how?"

  "You're not my only friend in Los Angeles," I said.

  "Lucky for you," Samuelson said. "You working the Jumbo Nelson thing in Boston."

  "I am," I said.

  "Who you working for?"

  "I'm sort of pro bono at the moment," I said.

  "He kill her?" Samuelson said.

  "I don't know," I said. "Homicide commander in Boston has his doubts."

  "I'll pay attention," Samuelson said. "Anything passes me, might be useful, I'll let you know."

  "Back at you," I said.

  "Good," Samuelson said. "Be nice to arrest somebody."

  "Always is," I said.

  33

  THE BIG WINDOWSin Rita Fiore's top-floor corner office gave a grand overlook of everyone who worked at lower altitudes.

  "Above it all," I said.

  Rita smiled.

  "And yet still a woman of the people," she said.

  "I've heard that," I said.

  "For an okay time, call Rita?"

  "I read it somewhere," I said. "I want to talk with Jumbo Nelson alone."

  "Most people don't," Rita said.

  "I know," I said. "But I do. And I don't want to have to fight with his bodyguard, or outwit his agent, or work around his lawyer."

  "And you want me to help with that?" Rita said.

  "Yes," I said. "Do you think, despite your recent estrangement, that you could get Jumbo to come see you alone."

  Rita began to smile.

  "We both know how to get Jumbo here alone," she said.

  "Could you stand it?"

  "I believe I could," she said. "As long as I don't actually have to be alone with him."

  "That would be your choice," I said.

  "I'm friendly," Rita said. "But not desperate."

  "Jumbo would be a good working definition," I said, "of desperate."

  "Maybe hopeless," Rita said. "Can you fill me in?"

  "Seems fair," I said. "Since you're prepared to sacrifice your virginity for me."

  "A," Rita said, "I am not letting Jumbo Nelson within ten feet of my virginity, and B, I sacrificed it long ago, for two pina coladas and a half-hour of fun in the backseat of a Buick."

  "Girls gone wild," I said.

  "And the tradition lives on," Rita said. "Fill me in."

  I told her what I knew about Jumbo's Mob connections, about Silver and Ratoff, Alex and Augie, AABeau Film Partners, Alice DeLauria, Nicky Fellscroft, and Stephano DeLauria.

  "Wow," Rita said.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "You've been a busy beaver. . . ." Rita paused and smiled. "If I may use the term."

  "No one better qualified," I said.

  "You know a lot," she said. "About this whole business."

  "I do."

  "And how is it helping your case?"

  "Gives me more people to talk with," I said.

  "And what does it tell you about Jumbo?" Rita said. "Did he? Or didn't he?"

  "No idea," I said.

  "So you're going to try and get him alone and sandbag him with all you know and hope it shakes something loose," Rita said.

  "I am."

  "Mind if I sit in?"

  "No, maybe you can help," I said.

  "Maybe," Rita said, and leaned forward and spoke into her intercom.

  "Margie," she said. "Get me Jumbo Nelson on the phone, please."

  Then she sat back and smiled.

  "You expect to get him just like that?" I said.

  "Watch," Rita said.

  In about five minutes, Margie's voice over the intercom said, "Mr. Nelson on line one."

  "Thanks, Margie," Rita said, and picked up.

  "Jumbo," she said. "Thank you so much for taking my call."

  She sounded like one of those women in an erectile dysfunction commercial.

  "No, no, you're very sweet. . . . Listen, you know, you and I got off to a terrible start, but dammit, I don't know why we can't be friends. . . ."

  She giggled.

  "Well, actually, yes, that is the kind of friendship I mean. . . . No, me either. . . . But you are one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. . . ."

  She giggled again.

  "Define big any way you want to," she said. "Really? . . . What I was thinking was maybe we could spend an afternoon together that I'd remember all my life, you know? My afternoon with Jumbo Nelson . . . right here in my office . . . We have all that's required, a large couch, a private bar, a private bath, a lock on the door. . . . No, I'm serious. How many chances are there to make love with a movie star. . . . Yes, a lot of people tell me that . . . Oh, wonderful," she said. "How soon . . . Oh, perfect. Time for me to take a shower and shake us some martinis . . . Yes . . . Come right to my office. My secretary will be expecting you. . . . Not to worry, she knows the score. . . . Wonderful, I can't wait . . . You, too."

  She hung up and looked at me.

  "Being a hot broad has its advantages," I said.

  She spread her hands and gestured at the big office.

  "How do you think I got here," she said.

  "By being the best criminal litigator in the Commonwealth," I said.

  "And beyond," Rita said, "but a tight skirt don't hoit."

  "It certainly don't," I said.

  "And it doesn't do any harm, either," Rita said, "if people think I might discard it easily."

  "More easily maybe than you actually do," I said.

  Rita smiled.

  "I'm pretty easy," she said.

  "We all use what we've got," I said.

  "Like you don't? You know what you look like. You know perfectly well that half the women in the city would disrobe in a heartbeat if you simply glan
ced at them."

  "Now you tell me," I said.

  "I'll sit in on this if I may," Rita said.

  "Glad to have you," I said.

  "How you want to play the opening moments?" Rita said.

  "Margie will let him in," I said. "You'll be sitting on the edge of your desk with your legs crossed."

  "You like that," Rita said.

  "I do," I said. "So will Jumbo. I'll be behind the open door, and when Margie closes it behind him, I'll step out and lean on it."

  "And then?" Rita said.

  "We'll improvise," I said.

  34

  IT WAS TWO O'CLOCK in the afternoon, and through Rita's big windows the harbor looked a lot bluer than I knew it to be, when Margie ushered Jumbo into the room and closed the door behind him. Jumbo had a box of candy. Probably kept a store of candy for occasions like this. He started into the room. Margie closed the door, and I stepped behind him and stood with my back against it. He looked at me.

  "What the fuck?" he said.

  "Ah, yes," I said. "The ultimate question."

  Jumbo looked at Rita.

  "What's he doing here?" Jumbo said.

  "We want to talk," Rita said.

  "You fucking got me down here to talk?" Jumbo said.

  "I did," Rita said.

  "You lying bitch," Jumbo said.

  "Exactly," she said. "Sit down."

  Jumbo looked at the door and me standing in front of it. He and I both knew he couldn't get past me.

  "You fucking people are digging yourself a fucking hole you'll never get out of," he said.

  "I'll agree," Rita said, "that there's a hole being dug."

  "I'm telling you right now, you got no idea the trouble you're in," Jumbo said.

  Rita nodded.

  "Sit down," she said.

  Her voice was imperative. No curing erectile dysfunction now. Maybe causing some. Jumbo sat. He held the box of candy in his lap. Rita stood and walked around her desk and sat.

  "I'm not trying to put you in jail," I said. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to Dawn Lopata."

  "You can talk to my fucking lawyer about that," Jumbo said.

  "You know Zebulon Sixkill is working for me now," I said.

  It wasn't quite true. Henry had given him a job at the Harbor Health Club, handing out towels and bottles of water and checking people in. A condition of his employment being that he wear a tight white T-shirt. So I lied. It was nothing compared to the whopper Rita had recently told.

  "I don't care where he is or what he's doing," Jumbo said. "He's a freaking loser."