”You can’t prove any of that.“
”Not right now, I can’t. But I know some things and I’m going to tell them to Healy and he’s going to prove it.“
”What do you know?“
”I know that you know that Croft is wanted in Tacoma, and that you knew it six years ago. Now that’s not much for starters. But I bet if we start pulling on that little loose end, after a while there may be a whole weave we can ravel out.
You learned that little bit of business, and you used it to blackmail Croft. Maybe you got suspicious of the way he just drifted in here; maybe he confided in you; I don’t know.
But I’ll bet you had the whole cesspool all worked out in your head and were just waiting for a middleman. And plop, into your lap dropped Croft. So he dealt with Harroway and you dealt with him. And nobody else knew anything about it. Until Harroway got a crush on a goddamned runaway and screwed up the whole thing.“
Trask was still looking straight at me.
”And then you get Croft right in your own jail. Merry Christmas, from me and Healy. And you figured, okay, this is the only way they can get me. If he’s gone, I’m safe. Did it bother you to strangle him like that with the necktie? Did he croak and kick trying to breathe? How you going to explain not taking his tie away from him?“
Trask kept looking without a word.
”I feel mean about it. I think Croft wasn’t that bad a guy and he made a mistake that was motivated by a decent impulse and it destroyed him, and you used it to make him a goddamned pimp and then you killed him. I feel really mean about that part, you cold-blooded sonova bitch.
Because I delivered him to you. And Healy will feel mean about it because he did too. And we will nail your ass for it.
You can believe that. We only know a little, and we’ll have to guess a lot, but we will have you for it.“
Trask said, ”Not if you don’t tell anybody. It’s a sweet setup. Or it was. I could pass on a few of the profits to you.
Maybe you could even recruit a new manager for the girls and take Croft’s job yourself. Or maybe we could cut out the middleman; you could combine the jobs. Maybe you don’t have the drug contacts, but the girls are better revenue in this town anyway.“
I leaned forward a little and spit in his face. He flushed red and the pearl-handled General Patton forty-five came out. ”All right, smart guy. If you don’t want coin, maybe there’s another way.“ He wiped my saliva away with the back of his hand. His sun-bleached blond eyebrows looked hite against his red face. ”You come in here, tried to spring Croft, pulled a gun, I shot you in self-defense, and Croft sees it’s no use hoping anymore and hangs himself.“
I laughed. ”Oh, good, even though the state cop who put him here told you to hold Croft for me. Even though I’m here five minutes after a Boston dick named Quirk tells me about your request for info on Croft six years ago. What a mammoth intellect you are, Trask. How the hell did you figure out this hustle by yourself anyway?“
Trask said, ”Yeah, you think you’re so goddamned smart; you’ll he dead and I’ll be gone and we’ll see who’s so goddamned smart then.“
I threw the cup of coffee in his face and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went over the counter and skidded along the floor. Trask started to get up, and I was on my feet in front of him. ”Go for it,“ I said. ”Get up and try and get by me and go for the gun, you piece of garbage.“ He half rose from the chair and then sat down. ”I’m not moving,“ he said.
I turned and walked away from him. At the door I picked up his gun. A Colt, single-action, six-inch barrel. I threw it through the glass front window.
”I’ll be in touch with Healy,“ I said. ”And he’ll be in touch with you. Start running, you sonova bitch.“
I walked out and left the door open behind me.
A MAJOR LEAGUE PITCHER’S IN TROUBLE, AND SPENSER’S ON THE CASE—PLAYING FOR MORTAL STAKES.
It was drizzly rainy along the Charles. I ran along the esplanade with my mind on other things and it took a lot longer to do my three miles. It always does if you don’t concentrate. I was on the curb by Arlington Street looking to dash across Storrow Drive and head home when a black Ford with a little antenna on the roof pulled alongside and Frank Belson stuck his head out the window on the passenger side and said, ”Get in.“
I got in the back seat and we pulled away. ”Drive around for a while, Billy,“ Belson said to the other cop, and we headed west toward Allston.
Belson was leaning forward trying to light a cigar butt with the lighter from the dashboard. When he got it going, he shifted around, put his left arm on the back of the front seat and looked at me.
”I got a snitch tells me that Frank Doerr’s going to blow you up.“
”Frank personally?“
”That’s what the snitch says. Says you roughed Frank up yesterday and he took it personally.“ Belson was thin, with tight skin and a dark beard shaved close. ”Marty thought you oughta know.“
We stayed left where the river curved and drove out Soldiers Field Road, past the ‘BZ radio tower.
”I thought Wally Hogg did that kind of work for Doerr.“
”He does,“ Belson said. ”But this one he’s gonna do himself.“
”If he can,“ I said.
”That aren’t to say he might not have Wally around to hold you still,“ Belson said.
Billy U-turned over the safety island and headed back in toward town. He was young and stylish with a thick
