'I charge seventy-five dollars plus expenses.'
'Sounds reasonable enough, as long as your expenses aren't too high.'
Bernard Nelson stared across at her for a moment, and then he smiled.
'Miss Enders,' he said, 'that's seventy-five dollars an hour.'
'An hour?!'
'And starting from scratch, not even knowing if your brother's in Boston or not, looking for him's gonna take a hell of a lot of them.
It roughs out to about-'I just did the arithmetic. Tell me, are you working on anything now?'
'It may not look it, but the answer is yes. Several things.'
'At seventy-five dollars an hour?'
No more.'
'And how many hours do you think it might take to know whether or not you can find Scott?'
'Maybe fifty. Maybe a hundred. Finding someone is fifty percent legwork and fifty percent blind luck.
It's impossible to say.'
'I… I have some money, but not that kind.'
'I didn't think you did. Miss Enders, I'd like to help you. Really I would. Jim Rockford always gets cases from beautiful, interesting women, and I'd love to do the same. But I've got two kids in college and a mortgage the size of vada. You need someone who's very good at this business, who can do your job full, and who charges considerably less than the going rate. That person doesn't exist. And if you make too many compromises in who you hire, believe me, you'll just end up losing what money you do have, all for nothing.'
'I appreciate your candor,' Laura said, making no attempt to mask her discouragement'. 'What do you think I should do?'
'You could give up and wait.'
'Not a possibility.'
'Well, then, I suppose I could get you started in the right direction.
If you get anything like a lead, come on back and we'll talk.'
That would be a very kind thing for you to do.'
'Maybe. But I feel like helping you. Probably it's because you didn't complain about my cigar.'
'I wanted to.'
'I know. But listen now, and listen good. Before I tell you anything, I want to be sure you know that this ain't Missouri, and it ain't some paradise island in the Caribbean. It's a city. And in cities, more people are out to use you than to help you.'
'That's reassuring.'
'That's the way it is. You have a nice way about you. A nice, trusting way.'
'Thanks.'
'Don't thank me. In this business, that's a criticism, not a compliment. Do you get the point?'
'Yes,' Laura said briefly. 'I get the point.'
'Okay, then. To begin, I think you should have a poster made up.
Include the photo you told me about, plus any information you can think of about your brother. Offer-a reward for information that leads to finding him, but don't say how much. And don't go meeting anyone in a nonpublic place to hear what they have to say. Take — the photo to this guy, and tell him you're a friend of mine.' He wrote the name and address down. 'Get, oh, a thousand printed. Offer him a hundred less than anything he asks for, and then give him what he asked for in the first place if he'll deliver the poster in a day.'
'I've already figured that maneuver out,' Laura said. 'Where do you think I should distribute them?'
'Start with hotels and motels. And don't rely too heavily on the desk clerks or executives. Get to the housekeeping staff and to the hotel restaurants. Talk to people. Don't just shove the poster at them and leave. Next I'd hit the police precinct stations. Make sure they put it up on the wall someplace. Then stop by the papers. Take special pains to look real good when you go there. If you can interest some reporter, maybe they'll do a story and a picture. If nothing pans out, maybe it'll be worth shelling out some of that cash of yours for an ad.
Your brother drink?'
'Some, I guess.'
'Then try some of the downtown bars. Scott sounds like a downtown kind of guy. Also, hit the computer stores, just in case he's still in that line of work. Oh, and the hospitals. Especially the emergency rooms.
Go to every one of them, even in the suburbs.
Again, do whatever you have to, to ensure that your poster ends up on the wall and not in the trash.'
Laura felt dizzy as she scribbled down Nellson's suggestions.
'This is going to be some job,' she said.
'It could be worse.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. You could be paying seventy-five dollars an hour to get it done.
Get a good map of the city, and keep track not only of where you've been, but where you're going. If you want to bring your map up here, I'll mark off the parts of town you're to stay away from.
It's okay to take cabs around, but I want you to keep the doors locked.
A few cabbies-not many, but some-have a scam going where they stop at a corner and some pals jump in and steal women's purses.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Lock your doors.'
'You know, I'm beginning to see why you might actually be worth seventy-five dollars an hour.'
'Just remember to send me a deck of Havanas when you get back to that island of yours.'
Laura stood and took his hand.
'I'll send them to your wife,' she said. 'She can ration them out.'
A cool, damp evening had settled over the city by the time Laura left Bernard Nelson's office and headed back toward her hotel. The streets were already illuminated, some by quaint gaslights. The sidewalks were crowded with all manner of people, many of them business folk, hurrying home. And by and large, Laura liked the feeling of the place-its oldness and understated sense of purpose. She had been to New York twice, and never felt as comfortable there as she did after just a few hours in Boston.
She stopped at a small newsstand, bought a good street map of the city and a copy of Skin Diver magazine, and decided to take Boylston Street down to the Public Gardens. She had just crossed Dartmouth when, in a slow motion nightmare, two youth the black and one white-began racing up the sidewalk toward her. It wasn't until she noticed the older woman walking just ahead of her that she realized what was about to happen.
With what seemed practiced precision, one of the youths jostled the woman, sending her off balance.
The other boy, a step behind, snatched the woman's purse as she was falling to the pavement, and then accelerated. Laura's reaction was pure reflex. As he neared her, she pulled her shoulder bag free and swung it as hard as she could, catching the boy in the arm and sending the woman's purse spinning across the sidewalk. The youth stumbled and whirled about.
'Don't!' Laura barked, stepping between him and the purse.
The boy stopped short. His eyes locked with hers.
'Don't do it,' she rasped, hoping that the determination in her own eyes held even a fraction of the fury in his. Behind him, she saw the other youth hesitate, and then Turn and run. In continued slow motion, several male passersby began to close in on the confrontation.
She saw a flicker of confusion replace the anger in the remaining youth's eyes.
'Fuck you,' he spat. Then he bolted off, shoving his way between two startled businessmen.
Several people were mumbling praise and patting her on the shoulder as Laura, her pulse pounding in her ears, retrieved the purse.
The old woman was being helped to her feet.
'Are you okay?' Laura asked.
'I… I think so,' she said, apparently unaware that she was talking to the woman who had helped her.
'Good. Here's your bag.'
'Th-thank you, dear.'
