around the archway.
”Swell fight you put up for me, Daddy dear,“ he said.
He was a short thin kid and his voice had a soft whine to it He was wearing a short-sleeved vertically striped dress shirt that gapped open near his navel, and maroon corduroy pants and Top-Siders with the rawhide lacing gone from one.
Giacomin said, ”You remember who you’re talking to, kid.“
The kid smiled without humor. ”I know,“ he said. ”I know who I’m talking to, Dads.“
Giacomin turned away from him and was silent
I said, ”My name is Spenser. Your mother sent me to bring you back to her.“
The kid shrugged elaborately. I noticed that the pants were too big for him. The crotch sagged.
”You want to go?“ I said.
He shrugged again.
”Would you rather stay here?“
”With him?“ The kid’s soft whine was full of distaste.
”With him,“ I said. ”Or would you prefer to live with your mother?“
”I don’t care.“
”How about you?“ I said to Giacomin. ”You care?“
”The bitch got everything else,“ he said. ”She can have him too. For now.“
I said, ”Okay, Paul You got any stuff to pack?“
He shrugged. The all-purpose gesture. Maybe I should work on mine.
”He’s got nothing to pack,“ Giacomin said. ”Everything here is mine. She isn’t getting any of it“
”Smart,“ I said. ”Smart. I like a man gets out of a marriage gracefully.“
”What the hell’s that supposed to mean?“ Giacomin said.
”You wouldn’t know,“ I said. ”The kid got a coat? It’s about nineteen degrees out. I’ll see that she sends it back if you want.“
Giacomin said to his son, ”Get your coat.“
The boy went to the front hall closet and took out a navy pea coat. It was wrinkled, as if it had been crumpled on the floor rather than hanging. He put it on and left it unbuttoned. I opened the door to the stairs and he walked through it and started down the stairs. I looked at Giacomin.
”You’ve gotten yourself in a lot of trouble over this, Jack, and don’t you forget it,“ he said.
I said, ”Name’s Spenser with an S, like the poet. I’m in the Boston book.“ I stepped through the door and closed it. Then I opened it again and stuck my head back into the hall. ”Under Tough,“ I said. And closed the door, and walked out.
CHAPTER 4
The kid sat in the front seat beside me and stared out the window. His hands fidgeted on his lap. His fingernails were chewed short. He had hangnails. I turned left at the foot of Chestnut Street and drove south past the Academy.
I said, ”Who would you rather live with, your mother or your father?“
The kid shrugged.
”Does that mean you don’t know or you don’t care?“ I said.
”I don’t know.“
”Does that mean you don’t know the answer to my question or you don’t know who you’d rather live with?“ I said.
The kid shrugged again. ”Can I turn on the radio?“ he said.
I said, ”No. We’re talking.“
He shrugged.
”Would you rather be adopted?“
This time he didn’t shrug.
”A ward of the state?“
Nothing.
”Join a gang of pickpockets and live in the slums of London?“
He looked at me as if I were crazy.
”Run off and join the circus? Make a raft and float down the Mississippi? Stow away on a pirate ship?“
”You’re not funny,“ he said.
