“How do you know?” Paul said.
“He tried to hire Hawk,” I said.
“Aren’t you scared?” Paul said.
“Yes. But like I said, there’s nothing to be done about that, so I don’t spend much time thinking about it.”
“I’m scared,” Susan said.
“Me too,” Paul said.
“Okay, we all are. They’re not after you. You just happened to be there.”
Susan said, “One of the things I’m scared for is you.” She was cutting celery up into a stainless-steel bowl that already contained white meat tuna fish. I reached across from the kitchen table and patted her hip.
“I got what I needed on Patty Giacomin this past weekend in New York.”
Paul said, “What was it?”
I said, “This is tough. She went to New York each month to pick up strange men in the bar at the hotel.”
Paul said, “Oh.”
“I thought about not telling you that,” I said. “But whatever we are doing, it doesn’t work well on lying.”
Paul nodded. Susan frowned. “There’s nothing illegal in that.”
“No, but Patty will bend to it. She won’t want to look at herself in that light. It wouldn’t help in custody or alimony fights, in the future. If any. It’s enough ammunition for me.”
Susan said, “Poor woman.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of tough to think about how desperate she was for whatever it was she thought she’d find. I don’t assume she found it, that way.”
“Promiscuity doesn’t have to be a sign of unhappiness in a woman,” Susan said.
“Once a month, in a distant city, with strangers, while drunk?”
Susan looked at Paul. “So why don’t we call the police about these men shooting at us?” she said.
“It would be hard to explain without bringing in Mel and Harry and such. I don’t want Mel in jail. I want him out earning money so he can support his kid and pay for his education and stuff.”
“Yes, I see that.” Susan mixed some mayonnaise into her tuna salad.
“I’ll stay with you tonight, and tomorrow I’ll see what I can do to wrap this thing up.”
“What are you going to do about the contract?” Paul said.
“I’ll probably have to talk with Harry about that,” I said.
Susan nodded. “I knew that would come.”
“You have a better thought?”
“No, it’s just you’re so predictable. You’re going to talk with him because he shot at us. If it had just been you.…” She shrugged.
“Well, I need to get him out of my way if we’re going to get Paul into dance school.”
Susan was putting tuna salad on whole-wheat bread. The coffee had stopped perking. Her shoulders were stiff and angry.
“I cannot let some gorilla shoot at you,” I said. “I cannot. It’s against the rules.”
Paul said, “What rules?”
Susan said, “His. Don’t ask him to explain them now. I can’t stand it.” She put the platter of sandwiches on the table and poured some coffee. “At least take Hawk with you,” she said. “Will you do that? At least take Hawk. You have Paul to think of too.” She took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and poured Paul a glass. “And me,” she said. Her hand shook slightly as she poured the milk.
“ ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much,’ ” I said, “ ‘loved I not honor more.’ ”
“Shit,” Susan said.
CHAPTER 31
Susan took Paul with her to work. “He can read in my office waiting room,” she said. “Until this is cleared up he won’t be safe alone and probably not with you.”
“It’ll be cleared up quick,” I said. “Next week, kid, we’ll be back working on the cabin.”
He nodded. Susan and Paul drove to the junior high school in her Bronco, the left side pocked with bullet holes. I followed in my MG. When I saw them safely inside, I drove back into Boston to my office. I needed time for sitting and thinking. I parked in my alley and went up the back stairs. When I got there, the door was ajar. I took out my gun and kicked it open.
A voice said, “Don’t shoot, babe, it’s Hawk.” He was sitting in my clients’ chair, tipped back against the wall out of the line of fire from the door. Hawk was never careless. I put the gun away.
“Didn’t know you had a key,” I said.
Hawk said, “Haw.”
I went around my desk and sat down. “Cotton raise the ante?”
“Naw, I just come by to hang out with you, you know. I got nothing to do and I get restless. You wasn’t at your apartment so I figured you’d come here.”
I said, “Somebody tried to hit me at Susan’s last night.”
“She okay?” he said.
“Yeah, but that’s not the gunny’s fault.”
“We gonna go see Cotton today,” Hawk said. His face was impassive but the lines around his mouth seemed a little deeper and his cheekbones seemed a little more prominent.
I looked at him for a minute. “Yeah,” I said. “We are.”
Hawk stood up. “May as well get an early start,” he said. I nodded. I took out my gun, spun the cylinder so there was a slug under the hammer, put a fresh slug in the chamber I usually kept empty under the hammer, and put the gun back on my hip. We went out. I locked the office door, and we went down the back stairs.
In the alley I said, “Where you parked?”
“Down front of your place,” Hawk said.
“I’m right here,” I said. “We’ll take mine.”
We got into the MG. Hawk pushed the passenger seat back further. “Cute,” he said. We drove down Berkeley and turned west onto Commonwealth. The trees were leafing and brownstone town houses were bright with early flowering.
As we went through Kenmore Square, Hawk said, “You gonna have to kill him.”
“Harry?”
“Uh-huh. You can’t scare him.”
I nodded.
“He near put a hole in Susan,” Hawk said.
I nodded. About a block short of Harry’s used-car lot I pulled in and parked in a loading zone. We got out.
Hawk said, “I think I might drift around back, case they see you coming.”
I said, “You know the place?”
“I been in there,” Hawk said.
I nodded. Hawk turned down a side street, and cut through an alley and disappeared. I walked straight up Commonwealth and into Harry’s office. Harry was at his desk. Shelley and two others were in the service bay. When I came in the door, Harry reached into the desk drawer for a gun. He got it out and half raised when I reached across the desk and slapped it out of his hand. Then I took him by the shirt front with both hands and yanked him out of his chair and frontward across the desk. Shelley yelled, “Hey,” from somewhere to my left and then I got a dark glimpse of Hawk between me and the sound of Shelley’s voice. I dragged Harry across the desk and slammed him against the far wall of the cinder-block office. He grunted. I pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back against it. He was kicking and clawing at me but I didn’t notice much. I shifted my right hand from his shirt to his throat and jammed him against the wall, holding him up by the throat with his feet off the floor.
“Which one shot at us last nightt?” I said.
Harry swatted at my face. I ignored it and leaned my hand in against his windpipe. “Which one?”
He pointed at Shelley. I dropped Harry and he slid down the wall and sat gasping on the floor. I turned toward Shelley. “If you can get past me,” I said, “Hawk won’t shoot. You’re out of here free.”
Shelley and two others stood motionless against the wall in the repair section. Hawk with his gun steady and relaxed stood in front of them. There were three pistols on the floor. Shelley looked at Hawk. Hawk shrugged. “Okay by me, Shell. You ain’t gonna make it by him anyway.”
“Yeah, if I win you shoot me.”
“You don’t try and I shoot you now,” Hawk said.
One
of the other two men was Buddy Hartman. I said to him, “Buddy, take your pal and beat it. You ever come near me or anyone I know, I’ll kill you.”
Buddy nodded. His companion was a lean, dark, handsome man with the dark-blue shadow of a recently shaven heavy beard. His companion nodded too and they went past me and out the door of the gas station and down the street, walking fast without looking back. Hawk shook his head. “Should have burned them,” he said.
Shelley stared after the two men who had gotten out. Then he lunged toward me, trying for the door. He weighed more than I did and the force of his lunge pushed me back against the doorjamb. I got a short uppercut in under his jaw and straightened him up with it slightly. Hawk leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed, the revolver still in his right hand. To my left, Harry Cotton was inching along toward his desk. I hit Shelley again under the jaw, and he stepped back and swung at me. I shrugged my shoulder up and took the punch on it. I hit Shelley four times, three lefts and a right in the face. He stumbled back, blood rushing from his nose. I hit him another flurry. He stumbled, waved an arm at me, and backed into Harry’s desk. His hands dropped. I hit him one big left hook and a haymaker right hand and he went backward over the desk and hit the swivel chair. It broke under his weight and he lay still on the floor with one foot still on the desk. Harry was trying to get the gun I’d knocked away from him. It was partly under Shelley’s body. I took a step around the desk and kicked Harry in the neck. He fell backward and made a swacking noise. I stood over him.
I said, “Never come near anybody I know. Never send anybody else. You understand me?”
Hawk said, “Ain’t good enough. You gotta kill him.”
“That right, Harry? Do I? Do I have to kill you?”
Harry shook his head. He made a croaking sound.
“You gotta kill him,” Hawk said.
I stepped away from Harry. “Remember what I told you,” I said.
Hawk said, “Spenser, you a goddamned fool.”
“I can’t kill a man lying there on the floor,” I said.
Hawk shook his head, spit through the open door into the repair bay, and shot Harry in the middle of the forehead.
“I can,” he said.
CHAPTER 32
Mel Giacomin’s office was on a side street just off Reading Square. It was a private home that had been remodeled as an office. The secretarial pool sat out front in a big open room, and Mel and a couple of other men had private offices down the hall. Past Mel’s office was the kitchen, which had been left intact, and there were cups and a box of doughnuts and instant coffee and Cremora on the kitchen table. Mel was in there drinking coffee when I showed up.
“What the hell do you want?” he said.
“Clever repartee,” I said.
“What?”
“I want to talk about fire insurance,” I said.
“I don’t want to sell you any.”
“It’s about fire insurance you’ve already sold, like to Elaine Brooks.”
Mel looked at me. He opened his mouth and closed it. “I didn’t.…” he started. “I …” A woman with red hair in a frizz came into the kitchen. She wore a lime-green sweater and a pair of white pants that had been tight when she was ten pounds lighter.
“Let’s talk in your office,” I said.
Giacomin nodded and I followed him next door. We went in. He shut the door.
“What do you want?” he said when he got behind his desk. He was wearing a tan glen plaid three-piece suit and a blue-figured tie and a white shirt with light tan-and-blue double stripes in it. The vest gapped two inches at the waist, revealing belt buckle and shirt.
“I’ll make it short,” I said. “I know the arson scam. And I can prove it.”
“What are you talking about?”
I took out the copy of my arson file memo and put it on his desk.
“Read this,” I said.
He read it over quickly. I noticed that his lips moved very slightly as he read. Then his lips stopped. He was through reading it, but he kept staring down at the paper. Finally, without looking up, he said, “So?”
“So I got you,” I said.
He kept staring at the paper. “You tell the cops?”
“Not yet.”
“You tell anybody?”
“Don’t even think about that,” I said. “You don’t have a chance against me, and even if you did, note that you’re looking at a copy.”
“You want a piece of the action?”
I grinned, “Now you are catching on.”
“How much?”
“It’ll vary.”
He looked up. “What do you mean?”
“It means I want two things. I want you to stay away from your kid, and I want you to pay for his support, his schooling, whatever he needs.”
“Stay away?”
“Relinquish, leave alone, get off the back of, fill in your own phrase. I want him free of you.”
“And send him money?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing for you?”
“No.”
“How much I gotta send him?”
“Tuition, room, board, expenses.”
“How much will that be?”
“We’ll let you know.”
“I mean I’m not made of money, you know?”
I stood up and leaned over the desk. “Listen to me, Rat Shit, you’re talking like you could bargain. You can’t. You do what I say or you take a big fall. Two people died in one of those fires. Homicide in the commission of a felony is murder one.”
“I didn’t …”
I hit the desk with the palm of my hand and leaned a little closer so my face was about three inches from his. “Don’t bullshit, you keep saying didn’t to me and you’ll be down to Walpole doing the jailhouse rock for the rest of your goddamned life. Don’t didn’t me, creep.” Not bad, me and Kirk Douglas. I wondered if the palm slamming was overacting.
It wasn’t. He folded like a camp chair. “Okay, okay. Sure. I’ll go for it. It’s a good deal.”
“You bet your ass it’s a good deal,” I said. “And if you don’t stick to your end of it, you’ll boogie on down to Walpole faster than you can say first degree murder. And, I may stick my thumb in your eye before you leave.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. How much you want to start?”
“I’ll bill you,” I said. “And if you think when I leave you can call Harry Cotton and have me taken away, you are going to be disappointed.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Giacomin said.
“Bills are due upon receipt,” I said.
“Yeah, sure. On receipt.”
I straightened up and turned and walked out the door. I closed it behind me. I waited about thirty seconds then I opened it again. Giacomin was on the phone. When I looked in he hung up suddenly.
I nodded. “Rat shit like you is predictable,” I said. I leveled a forefinger at him. “Don’t mess with this, Melvin. Maybe it won’t be Walpole. Capital punishment is regaining favor.”
He sat and looked at me and said nothing. I left the door open this time and walked away without looking back.
I drove into Boston. Disco Stephen lived in Charles River Park and I still had Patty Giacomin to talk with. I parked on Blossom Street and walked down.
Patty Giacomin let me in. Stephen was there too in a faded Levi’s shirt and jeans, and artfully broken-in over-the-ankle moccasins with big leather stitching. There was a leather thong tight around his neck. He was sipping from an enormous brandy snifter.
“What do you want?” she said. She was carrying a snifter twin to Stephen’s.
“Christ, it must run in the family,” I said.
“What?”
“Clever repartee.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“We need to talk alone.”
“I have no secrets from Stephen.”
“I bet you do,” I
said. “I bet you don’t share too many of your adventures in the New York Hilton with Old Disco.”
Her head lifted a little. “I beg your pardon?” she said.
“Can we speak privately for about five minutes?”
She paused for a long time then she said, “Certainly, if you insist. Stephen? Could you?”
“Certainly,” he said. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
I let that pass.
When he was gone, she walked over to the window and looked down at the river. I walked with her. When we were as far as we could get from where Stephen could hear, she said softly, “You rotten bastard, what are you doing to me?”
“I’m telling you I know about how you used to go down to the New York Hilton once a month and screw whatever came by.”
“You rotten prick,” she said softly.
“Oh,” I said. “You’ve found out.”
She didn’t speak. Her face was very red. She drank some brandy.
I said, “I’ve made a deal with your husband on whom I also have the goods. He stays away from Paul and pays his bills, and I keep my mouth shut. I’m offering you an even better deal. You stay away from him and I keep my mouth shut. You don’t even have to pay any money.”
“What goods have you got on him?”
“Zero in on the important stuff, babe.”
“Well, what?”
“That’s not your problem. Your problem is whether you do what I ask or I start blabbing to the like of Disco Darling down the hall.”
“Don’t call him that. His name is Stephen,” she said.
“Will you stay away from the kid?”
“My own son?”
“That’s him, you’ve got the right one. Will you?
“What do you mean, stay away?”
“I mean let him go away to school, let him spend holidays with me, or where he wants to, make no attempt to claim custody or make him live with you or your husband.”
“My God, just so you won’t tell about one indiscretion?”
“Monthly indiscretions—random, promiscuous. Actually, probably neurotic. If I were you, I’d get some help. Also, if you don’t do what I say, you get not another penny from your husband, alimony, nothing.”
“How can you …”
Five Classic Spenser Mysteries Page 39
