Doerr said, “And?”
“And someone is.”
“Who?”
“I think we both know.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Several things, including the fact you came calling with your gunslinger right after I was out there.”
“So?”
“So you heard from someone. I know who’s dumping the games, I know who’s blackmailing him into it, and I know what shylock the blackmailer owes. And that brings us right back here to you. Okay if I call you Shy for short? We get on so well and all.”
“Names, Spenser. I’m not interested in a lot of bullshit about who you know and what anonymous whosis is doing what. Gimme a name and maybe I’m interested.”
“Marty Rabb, Bucky Maynard, and you, Blue Eyes.”
“Those are serious allegations, you got proof?”
“Serious allegations.” I whistled. “That’s very good for a guy whose lips move when he reads the funnies.”
“Look, you piece of turd, don’t get smart with me. I can have you blown away before you can scratch your ass. You understand? Now gimme what you got or you’re going to get hurt.”
“That’s better,” I said, “that’s the old glib Frankie.
Yeah, I got some proof, and I can get some more. What I haven’t got for proof yet is the tie between you and Maynard, but I can get it. I’ll bet Maynard might begin to ooze under pressure.”
“Saying you’re right, saying that’s the way it is, and you can get some proof out of Maynard. Why don’t I just waste Maynard or, maybe better, waste you?”
“You won’t waste Maynard, because I’ll bet you don’t know what he’s got on Rabb and I’ll bet even more that he’s got it stashed somewhere so if something happens to him, you’ll never know. You won’t waste me because I’m so goddamned lovable. And because there’s a homicide cop named Quirk that knows I’m here. Besides, I’m not sure you got the manpower.”
“You’re doing a lot of guessing.”
As far as you could tell from Doerr’s face, I might have been in there arranging a low-budget funeral. And maybe I was.
“I’m licensed to,” I said. “The state of Massachusetts says I’m permitted to make guesses and investigate them.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want it to stop. I want Maynard to give me the item he’s using for blackmail, and I want everyone to leave the Rabbs alone.”
“Or what?”
“I don’t suppose you’d accept ’or else.”‘ “I’m getting sick of you, Spenser. I’m sick of the way you look, and the way you dress, and the way you get your hair cut, and the way you keep shoving your face into my work. I’m sick of you being alive and making wise remarks.
You understand what I’m saying to you, turd?”
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
“Shut up.” Doerr’s face had gotten a little red under the health club tan. He swung his chair sideways and stared out the window. And he had begun to fiddle with a pencil.
Tapping it against his thigh until it had slid through his fingers and then reversing it and tapping it again. Tap- tap-tap.
Reverse. Tap-tap-tap. Reverse. Lead end. Erasure end. Taptap-tap. Another train went by, almost empty, heading this time from Everett Station toward City Square. I slid my gun out of the hip holster and held it between my legs under my thighs with my hands clasped over it so it looked like I was leaning forward in concealed anxiety. I had no trouble at all simulating the anxiety.
Doerr swung his chair back around, still holding the pencil. He pointed it at me.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to let you walk out of here.
But before you go, I’m going to give you an idea of what happens when I get sick of someone.”
There must have been a button under the desk that he could hit with his knee, or maybe the room was bugged. Either way a door to the left of the desk opened and Wally Hogg came in. He had on another flowered shirt, hanging outside the double knit pants, and the same wraparound sunglasses.
In his right hand was one of those rubber truncheons that French cops use for riot control. He reminded me of one of the nasty trolls that used to lurk under bridges.
“Wally,” Doerr said, looking at me while he said it, “show him what hurts.”
Wally came around the desk. “You want it sitting down or standing up,” he said. “It don’t make no difference to me.”
He stood directly in front of me, looking down as I leaned over in even greater anxiety. I brought the gun up from between my thighs, thumbed the hammer back while I was doing that, and put the muzzle against the underside of his jaw, behind the jawbone, where it’s soft. And I pressed up a little.
