“Driving?”
“All the way,” Jesse said.
“You got to be shitting me, mister.
Massachusetts?‘’
Jesse nodded.
“Massachusetts,” he said.
“Jeesus!”
The pump shut off and Jesse went into the tiny station pay.
There was some motor oil on a shelf. There was electronic cash register‘ on a tiny counter. There was a old Indian woman at the register in a red tee shirt that
“Harrah’s” printed across the
front in black letters. A was stuck in the corner of her mouth and she
‘uinted through the smoke as she took Jesse’s money and it up. The rest of the store was filled with stacked of cigarettes.
“Cigarettes?” she said.
“Don’t smoke.”
She shrugged. As Jesse pulled away from the pumps he see the two Indian men looking after him, talking Massachusetts! There was nothing else in the and scrub landscape but the station and the two
·.. The first time he met Jennifer she had blond hair. had played basketball for an hour at Sports Club LA, Magic sometimes worked out, against a bunch of college players and one guy who’d spent a couple years as the eleventh man on the Indiana Pacers. Showand dressed, he was drinking coffee at a table for two the snack bar during a crowded noontime when she if she could sit in the empty seat across from him. said she could. It was a big part of why he came to Club LA.
He didn’t really need to work out much·
At six feet and 175 it was as if he’d been born in shape and never really had to work at it. He’d been a poin guard at Fairfax High School, the only .white point guard in the conference, and he could climb a long rope hand over hand without usifig his feet. At the Academy he had been the fastest up the rope in his class. Mostly he came to Sports Club LA because he knew there would be many good-looking young women there in excellent physical condition, and he hoped to meet one. He played some handball, some basketball, and drank coffee in the snack bar where, had he wished to, he could have had a blended fruit-and-yogurt frappe or some green vegetable juice.
Jennifer set her tray down and smiled at him.
“My name’s Jennifer,” she said.
“Jesse Stone.”
“What are you having?” she said.
Her eyes were blue, the biggest eyes Jesse had ever seen, and the lashes were very long. She was wearing cobaltand-emerald spandex and her fingernails were painted blue.
“Coffee.”
“Wow,” Jennifer said. “Here in
the health food bar?”
Jesse smiled. Jennifer had some kind of sandwich with guacamole on whole wheat bread. When she took a bite the guacamole oozed out of the edges and dribbled on her chin. She giggled as she put the sandwich down and wiped her chin with a napkin. He liked the way she giggled. He liked the way she seemed unembarrassed by slobbering her sandwich on her chin. He liked the way her green headband held her hair back off her face. He liked the fact that her skin was too dark a tone for her blond hair, and he wondered momentarily wha her real color was.
“So, you in the business?” Jennifer said.
“I’m a police officer,” he said.
“Really?”
‘“Yes.”
“God, you don’t look‘ like
one.”
“What do I look like?” Jesse said.
“Like a producer, maybe, or an agent. You know, slim, good haircut, good casual clothes, the Oakley shades.”
Jesse smiled some more.
“You carry a gun?” Jennifer said.
“Sure.”
“Really?”
Jesse opened his coat and turned his body a little so that she could see the nine-millimeter pistol he wore behind his hip.
