Valediction

'Most people don't,' I said.

'Would you find out if he's all right?' she said.

She had pulled her hair back from her face and caught it with some kind of pin at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup. Her face as she looked at me seemed almost devoid of experience, as if it had begun just this morning. Her eyes were very pale blue.

'Sure,' I said. 'I'll take a look.'

'We . . . I can't pay you.'

'What are friends for,' I said.

She reached one of her hands toward me through the splash of sun and took my hand. And held it.

'You are a friend,' she said. 'I didn't know there were people like you. I've never met anyone like you.'

'I am a dandy,' I said.

She reached her other hand across and patted the top of my hand.

'Yes,' she said. 'You are. You do what you say you'll do. You care about people. You aren't mean. You're strong. You're a very wonderful man.'

'And I have a winsome smile,' I said. 'Don't forget that.'

She kept patting my hand. 'I pray for you each day,' she said.

'It can't hurt,' I said.

CHAPTER 38

Looking for Tommy Banks didn't seem too complicated. I'd check his apartment and if he wasn't there I'd check the dance studio, and if he wasn't there I'd think about it. My heart wasn't in it. But if the rigid little bastard had in fact killed himself, Sherry was going to pull the guilt of it right up over her ears.

The phone rang. I answered. It was Devane, the statie.

'Somebody blew Mickey Paultz away,' he said.

'Who?'

'Don't know.'

'Why?'

'Same answer. He was sitting in his car on the third floor of the parking garage at Quincy Market. Somebody put two bullets in his head from the passenger side, probably sitting next to him. Twenty-two-automatic shell casings were on the ear floor. And that's all there is.'

'A nice guy like that,' I said. 'Doesn't seem fair, does it?'

'Seems like you went to a lot of trouble to rig something that isn't going to happen.'

Alone in my office I shrugged. 'I got Winston out of the church,' I said.

'And Broz has the heroin trade now, either way,' Devane said.

'So who would scrag poor old Mickey?'

'Hell,' Devane said. 'Who wouldn't?'

'Anyway, it takes the heat off Winston,' I said. 'They still going to prosecute him?'

'I don't know,' Devane said. 'My guess is no. All they've got him for is laundering some money and I figure Rita's got better things to do than spend a week in court getting some guy two years suspended and a thousand- dollar fine.'

'You mean a miscreant will be walking the streets of this commonwealth unpunished?' I said.

'I think so,' Devane said, and hung up. I got up and went out of my office to check on Tommy Banks.

He wasn't in his apartment, and he wasn't at the studio, so I went back to my office. He wasn't there either. In fact, wherever I went for the rest of the day, Tommy Banks wasn't there. Where was Mr. Keen when I really needed him. I checked with Belson at Homicide. No unidentified bodies that resembled Banks had turned up.

Unrequited-love suicides usually wanted people to know they'd done it. It was a way to say, See what you've done to me, you bitch. So the fact that no one had found his body was a good sign. I wasn't sure I wanted to explain it to Sherry just that way. I called Sherry at 5:15 to tell her that as far as I could tell, Tommy Banks had not done himself in, and was probably off somewhere sulking. She thanked me. She said if I heard anything, I should let her know. I said I would, and hung up. No wasted conversation. Efficient, neat, economical of movement and gesture. And without a goddamned clue to where Tommy Banks was or where he would be. Some days I thought it might be better to be sloppy and successful. Maybe I should practice dogged determination. I stood and walked over to the window and looked down on Berkeley Street. Spot him from the air. No luck. The late afternoon commuter crowd was moving into the subway kiosk below me. Across the street Linda's office was empty. I called her office. She had left for the day. I called her home. No answer. I hung up and sat in my chair and clasped my hands behind my head and put my feet up. So it would be a quiet evening. Paige was up visiting Paul and they were going to a concert. Linda had left for the day. Susan was on the West Coast with a guy friend. That was the bad news. The good news was it would give me lots of time to think about Mickey Paultz getting wasted. I looked at my watch, 5:24. I thought about someone shooting Mickey Paultz in the head with a.22 -caliber automatic at close range. I tried to wonder why. I tried to care. I looked at it from every angle I could conceive. And finally I gave it up. I looked at my watch again, 5:27. I looked at the phone. It didn't say anything. I looked out the window some more. People were still heading into the subway. Nobody looked up at my office. Nobody called. Nobody came in. I thought about going over to the Harbor Health Club and working out. I thought about going down to the Quincy Market and buying some finger food and walking around looking at tourists. I got my bottle of Old Bushmill out of my desk and had a small snort from the bottle. Decisive. Not a man to sit around