CHAPTER 30
We had dinner at the Four Seasons, in the pool room, under the high ceiling near a window on the Fifty-third Street side. Paul had pheasant, among other things, and paid very close attention to everything Susan and I did. We had some wine, and the bill came to $182.37. I have bought cars for less. The next day we went to the Metropolitan Museum in the afternoon and in the evening we took Paul up to Riverside Church to see Alvin Ailey and his group dance.
In the cab going back downtown Paul said, “That’s not exactly ballet, is it?”
“Program says contemporary dance,” I said.
“I like that too.”
“There are surely lots of variations,” Susan said, “Tap dance too.”
Paul nodded. He stared out the cab window as we went down the West Side Highway and off at Fifty-seventh Street. We were alone, the three of us, going up in the hotel elevator and Paul said, “I want to learn. I’m going to learn how to do that. If I have to go away to school or whatever. I’m going to do that.”
Sunday we slept late and in the early afternoon went up to Asia House and looked at nineteenth-century photographs of China. The faces looking back at us from 130 years were as remote and unknowable as patterns on another planet, and yet there they were; human and real, maybe feeling at the moment the shutter clicked a rolling of the stomach, a stirring of the loins.
We took a late-afternoon shuttle back to Boston and drove Susan out to her house. It was after six when we got there. I pulled the Bronco in next to my MG and parked and ran the back window down with the lever on the dash. Susan and Paul got out on their side, I got out on mine. As we walked back to get the luggage, I heard a car engine kick in. I looked up and a 1968 Buick was rolling down the street toward us. The barrel of a long gun appeared in the window. I jumped at Paul and Susan, got my arms around both of them, and took them to the ground with me on top, scrambling to get us all behind the car. The long gun made the urgent bubbling sound an automatic weapon makes and slugs ripped into the sheet metal of the Bronco and then passed and the Buick was around the corner and gone before I could even get my gun out.
“Lay still,” I said. “They could make a U-turn.” I had the gun out now and crouched behind the engine block. The car didn’t come back and the street was quiet again. The neighbors didn’t even open a door. Probably didn’t know what they’d heard. Automatic fire doesn’t sound like a gunshot.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s unpack.”
Susan said, “Jesus Christ,” as she got up. The front of her dress was littered with grass blades and small leaves. Paul didn’t say anything, but he stayed close to me as we carried the bags into the house.
“What was that about?” Susan said in her kitchen.
“I annoyed a guy,” I said. “Probably Harry Cotton, Paul.”
Paul nodded.
“Who’s Harry Cotton?” Susan said. She was making coffee.
“Guy that Mel Giacomin did business with.”
“And why is he shooting at you, and, incidentally, us?”
“I have been looking into the relationship between Harry and Mel Giacomin. And Harry doesn’t like it.”
“Are we going to call the police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It would blow what I’m working on.”
“Maybe you’d better tell me in more detail what you’re working on,” Susan said. “Since it seems to be getting me shot at.”
“Okay,” I said. “You know I have been trying for some purchase on Paul’s parents so I could get them off his back.”
“Blackmail,” Susan said.
“Yes. Well, I’ve got it. I can produce a batch of evidence that Mel Giacomin was involved in a major arson scheme to burn down buildings for the insurance. He was in it with Harry Cotton, who’s a big-league bad person in town. I can’t prove Harry’s part, but if I give what I’ve got to Marty Quirk, it’s only time till the fuzz can. So I got something fairly heavy on Mel. To get it I’ve had to lean on some people including Harry Cotton and he’s mad at me. He put out a contract.”
“To kill you?” Susan said.
“Yes, he’s employed people to kill me.”
“How do you know?” Paul said.
“He tried to hire Hawk,” I said.
“Aren’t you scared?” Paul said.
“Yes. But like I said, there’s nothing to be done about that, so I don’t spend much time thinking about it.”
“I’m scared,” Susan said.
“Me too,” Paul said.
“Okay, we all are. They’re not after you. You just happened to be there.”
Susan said, “One of the things I’m scared for is you.” She was cutting celery up into a stainless-steel bowl that
