LOOKING FOR RACHEL WALLACE
(Spenser 06)
For Joan, David, and Daniel—my good fortune
Locke-Ober’s Restaurant is on Winter Place, which is an alley off Winter Street just down from the Common. It is Old Boston the way the Custom House tower is Old Boston. The decor is plain. The waiters wear tuxedos. There are private dining rooms. Downstairs is a room which used to be the Men’s Bar until it was liberated one lunchtime by a group of humorless women who got into a shouting match with a priest. Now anybody can go in there and do what they want. They take Master Charge.
I didn’t need Master Charge. I wasn’t paying, John Ticknor was paying. And he didn’t need Master Charge, because he was paying with the company’s money. I ordered lobster Savannah. The company was Hamilton Black Publishing, and they had ten million dollars. Ticknor ordered scrod.
“And two more drinks, please.”
“Very good.” The waiter took our menus and hurried off. He had a hearing aid in each ear.
Ticknor finished his Negroni. “You drink only beer, Mr. Spenser?”
The waiter returned with a draft Heineken for me and another Negroni for Ticknor.
“No. I’ll drink wine sometimes.”
“But no hard liquor?”
“Not often. I don’t like it. I like beer.”
“And you always do what you like.”
“Almost always. Sometimes I can’t.”
He sipped some more Negroni. Sipping didn’t look easy for him.
“What might prevent you?” he said.
“I might have to do something I don’t like in order to get to do something I like a lot.”
Ticknor smiled a little. “Metaphysical,” he said.
I waited. I knew he was trying to size me up. That was okay, I was used to that. People didn’t know anything about hiring someone like me, and they almost always vamped around for a while.
“I like milk, too,” I said. “Sometimes I drink that.”
Ticknor nodded. “Do you carry a gun?” he said.
“Yes.”
The waiter brought our salad.
“How tall are you?”
“Six one and something.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Two-oh-one and a half, this morning, after running.”
“How far do you run?”
The salad was made with Boston lettuce and was quite fresh.
“I do about five miles a day,” I said. “Every once in a while I’ll do ten to sort of stretch out.”
“How did your nose get broken?”
“I fought Joe Walcott once when he was past his prime.”
