”Ah don’t know why you think all that stuff, Spenser.
But say y’all was right. What business would that be of yours?
You being a writer and all?“
”You know and I know that I’m not a writer.“
”Ah do? Ah don’t know any such thing. You told me you was a writer.“ The cornpone accent had gotten thicker. I didn’t know if it was the real one coming through under duress or a fake one getting faker. Actually I couldn’t see that it mattered much.
”Yeah, and you hollered to Doerr and he looked me up and we both know I’m a private cop.“
”How about that?“ Maynard raised both eyebrows. ”A private detective. That still leaves the question, though, Spenser. What is your interest?“
”I would like you to stop blackmailing the Rabbs.“
”And if ah was blackmailing them, and ah stopped, what would ah get out of that?“
”Well, I’d be grateful.“
From his post by the sliding door, Lester said, ”Shit,“ drawing it out into a two-syllable word.
”Anything besides that?“ Maynard said.
”I’ll help you with Frank Doerr.“
Lester said, ”Shit,“ again. This time in three syllables.
”Well, Spenser, that’s awful kind of you, but there’s some things wrong with it all. One, ah don’t much give a rat’s ass for your gratitude, you know? And number two, ah don’t figure, even if ah was having trouble with Frank Doerr, that you’d be the one ah’d ask to help me. And of course, number three, ah’m not blackmailing anybody. Am I, Lester?“
Lester shook his head no.
”So, ah guess you wasted some time coming up here.
Interesting to know about you being a detective, though. Isn’t that interesting, Lester?“
Lester nodded his head yes. From the radio on the sun deck the disk jockey was yelling about a ”rock classic.“
I said, ”Yall seem to be takin’ the short view.“ Christ, now he had me doing it.
”Why do you say so?“
”Because you have only a short-term solution. How long will Marty Rabb pitch? Five more years. You think that when he’s through with baseball, Doerr will be through with you? Doerr will feed on you till you die.“
”I can handle Doerr,“ Lester said. He didn’t get too much variety into the conversation.
”Lester,“ I said, ”you can’t handle Doerr. Handling Doerr is different from beating up some tourist in a bar or breaking bricks with your bare hand. Wally Hogg is a professional tough guy. You are an amateur. He would blow you away like a midsummer dandelion.“
Lester said, ”Shit.“ You find a line that works for you, I suppose you ought to stick with it.
Maynard said, ”If these people are so tough, Spenser, what makes you think you can help?“
”Because I’m a professional too, Bucko, and that means I know what I can do and also what I can’t do. It means I don’t walk around thinking I can go up against the likes of Frank Doerr, head-on, without getting my body creased. It means I know how to even things up a bit. It means I know what I’m doing and you two clowns don’t.“
”You don’t look so frigging tough to me,“ Lester said.
”That’s the difference between you and me, Lester.
Aside from our taste in music. I don’t worry about how things look. You do. I don’t have to prove whether I’m tough. You do.
You’ll say something like that to Wally the Hog and he’ll shoot you three times or so in your nose, while you’re posing and blowing bubbles.“
Lester had gone into the stance, legs bent, left fist forward, right drawn back, clenched palms up, a little like the old pictures of the great John L. ”Why don’t you try me, you mother?“
I stood up. ”Lester, let me show you something,“ I said.
And brought my gun out and aimed it at his forehead. ”This is a thirty-eight caliber Colt detective special. If I pull the trigger, your mastery of the martial arts will be of very little use to you.“
Maynard said, ”Now, Spenser…“
Lester looked at the gun.
”Now put that thing down, Spenser,“ Maynard said.
”Lester. Y’all just relax over there.“
Lester said, ”If you didn’t have that gun.“
”But that’s the point, Les, baby, I do have the gun.
Wally Hogg has a gun. You don’t have a gun. Professionals are the people with the guns who get them out
