Scraggly hair’s name turned out to be McDermott. He and Jackie Sylvia listened without comment while I laid it out and when I was through Sylvia said, ”Okay, we’ll think about it. Where can I reach you?“
”Dunfey’s in Hyannis. Or my service if I’m not there. I check with the service every day.“ I gave him the number.
”We’ll get back to you.“
On the drive back to Hyannis the grape bubble gum got harder and harder to chew. I gave up in Wareham and spit it out the window in front of the hospital. The muscles at my jaw hinges were sore, and I felt slightly nauseous. When I pulled into the parking lot at Dunfey’s it was suppertime and the nausea had given way to hunger.
Susan was back from her antiquing foray and had a Tiffany style glass lampshade for which she’d paid $125. We went down to the dining room, had two vodka gimlets each, parslied rack of lamb and blackberry cheesecake. After dinner we had some cassis and then went down to the ballroom and danced all the slow numbers until midnight. We brought a bottle of champagne back to the room and drank it and went to bed and didn’t sleep until nearly three.
It was ten-forty when I woke up. Susan was still asleep, her back to me, the covers up tight around her neck. I picked up the phone and ordered breakfast, softly. ”Don’t knock,“ I said. ”Just leave it outside the door. My friend is still asleep.“
I showered and shaved and with a towel around my waist opened the door and brought in the cart. I drank coffee and ate from a basket of assorted muffins while I dressed. Susan woke up as I was slipping my gun into the hip holster. I clipped the holster on to my belt. She lay on her back with her hands behind her head and watched me. I slipped on my summer blazer with the brass buttons and adjusted my shirt collar so it rolled out nicely over the lapels. Seductive.
”You going to see Hawk and what’s’isname?“ Susan said.
”Powers,“ I said. ”Yeah. Me and Harv Shepard.“
She continued to look at me.
”Want some coffee?“ I said.
She shook her head. ”Not yet.“
I ate a corn muffin.
”Are you scared? Susan asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think much about it. I don’t see anything very scary happening today.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it.”
“I mean this particularly. I know you like the work. But do you like this? You are going to frame a very dangerous man. That should scare you, or excite you or something.”
“I’m not going to frame him. I’m going to entrap him, in fact.”
“You know what I mean. If it doesn’t work right he’ll kill you.”
“No, he’ll have it done.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t pick up the less important part of what I’m saying. You know what I’m after. What kind of man does the kinds of things you do? What kind of man gets up in the morning and showers and shaves and checks the cartridges in his gun?”
“Couldn’t we talk over the transports of delight in which we soared last evening?”
“Do you laugh at everything?”
“No, but we’re spending too much time on this kind of talk. The kind of man I am is not a suitable topic, you know. It’s not what one talks about.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not.”
“The code? A man doesn’t succumb to self-analysis? It’s weak? It’s womanish?”
“It’s pointless. What I am is what I do. Finding the right words for it is no improvement. It isn’t important whether I’m scared or excited. It’s important whether or not I do it. It doesn’t matter to Shepard why. It matters to Shepard if.”
“You’re wrong. It matters more than that. It matters why.”
“Maybe it matters mostly how.”
“My, aren’t we epigrammatic. Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Repartee.”
“He spells his name differently,” I said.
Susan turned over on her side, her back to me, and was quiet. I had some more coffee. The murmurous rush of the air conditioner seemed quite loud. I’d asked for the New Bedford Standard Times with breakfast, and in the quiet, I picked it up and turned to the classified section. My ad was there under personals. “Sisters, call me at 555- 1434, Pam.” I looked at the sports page and finished my coffee. It was ten after twelve. I folded the paper and put it on the room service cart.
“Gotta go, Suze,” I said.
She nodded without turning over.
I got up, put on my sunglasses and opened the door. “Spenser,” she said, “I don’t want us to be mad at each other.”
