“You know,” Crow said, “and I know, that you aren’t going to scare me off.”
Jesse nodded.
“I didn’t figure I would,” Jesse said. “But it was worth a try.”
“I don’t think that’s why you came to see me,” Crow said.
“Why did I?” Jesse said.
“You’re just trying to get little sense of what I’m like.”
“That why you came to see me, before?” Jesse said.
“Yeah.”
Jesse drank some coffee. Crow finished his omelet and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“So?” Jesse said after a time.
“So you know I’m not going away,” Crow said. “And I know you’re not going away.”
The tablecloth in front of Crow, Jesse noticed, was immaculate. No spills. No crumbs. It was as if no one had eaten there.
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “That’s about right.”
8.
He was a smallish man with gray curly hair, pink skin, and a bow tie.
“My name is Walter Carr,” he said. “I am a professor of urban studies at Taft University.”
Jesse nodded.
“This is Miriam Fiedler,” Carr said, “the executive director of the Westin Charitable Trust.”
Jesse said, “How do you do.”
Miriam Fiedler nodded. She was tall and lean and had horsey-looking teeth.
“And perhaps you know this gentleman,” Carr said. “Austin Blake?”
“We’ve not met,” Jesse said.
“I’m an attorney,” Blake said. “I’m along as a sort of informal consultant.”
“This is Molly Crane,” Jesse said, nodding at Molly, who sat in a straight chair to the right of his desk. Molly had a notebook in her lap.
“We are here representing a group of neighbors,” Carr said, “in order to call your attention to a problem.”
Jesse nodded.
“You are interested, Mr. Stone,” Miriam said, “I assume.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“As you may know,” Walter Carr said, “there is a plan being implemented to transform the former Crowne estate on Paradise Neck into an alternative school for disadvantaged students.”
“Mostly Latino,” Jesse said. “From Marshport.”
