feet and went into a backward somersault as he landed on his back, rolling to his feet in one continuous motion. He was breathing hard and his pale angular body was glistening with sweat as he stood erect, almost at attention, still wearing his rimless glasses, his flat blue eyes fixed on me. Rojack looked at him like the father of an Eagle Scout.
”That kind of thing happen to you often?“ I said.
Rojack said, ”We both felt it important that you understand about Randall, that you recognize clearly that this morning was merely a very lucky misjudgment on Randall’s part… lucky, that is, for you.“
Randall was so thrilled by his performance that his face was fluorescent with excitement.
”Is he going to do anything else?“ I said. ”Juggle four steak knives while whistling ’Malaguena‘? Something like that?“
Randall’s breath was still coming a little short. ”You like to… show us… what you… can do on the bag?“
I looked at Rojack.
”Be my guest,“ he said. I think the sound in his voice was mockery.
”Go ahead… big shot,“ Randall said.
I shrugged, reached under my left shoulder, pulled my gun and put a bullet into the middle of the body bag. The sound of the shot was shockingly loud in the silent gym. The body bag jumped. I put the gun back under my arm, smiled in a friendly way at Rojack and Randall, and walked out. As I headed through the house to the front door, the smell of the pistol shot lingered gently after me.
Chapter 12
THe next day was Saturday and Jill wasn’t working, so Susan and I took her to sightsee. Susan was a little annoyed that she had to share her weekend with Jill Joyce, and when I thoughtfully pointed out to her that I wouldn’t be stuck guarding Jill’s body in the first place if it weren’t for Susan, she didn’t seem any happier.
I was in the lobby when hotel security brought her down. She was wearing a pink cashmere workout suit, and white, high-topped, leather aerobic shoes with pink and white laces. She carried her black mink over her arm, her copper-blond hair glistened as if fresh from a hundred brush strokes, and her face looked as fresh and innocent as Daisy Duck’s. She hit the security guy with a smile so radiant that he’d probably have thrown himself on his sword, if she’d asked. If he’d had a sword.
”Well, my incredible hulk,“ she said. ”Where will you take me today?“
”Wherever you want to go,“ I said. ”Within reason.“
Jill linked her arm through mine. ”Lead on, Macbeth,“ she said.
We went out to where Susan was waiting in the Cherokee. The windows were tinted and Jill didn’t know that Susan was there until I opened the back door for Jill and she stopped and shook her head. ”I’ll ride up front,“ she said.
”Front’s taken,“ I said.
The side window went down and Susan smiled out at Jill.
”You remember Susan Silverman,“ I said.
”I didn’t know she’d be here,“ Jill said to me.
”We try to spend most weekends together,“ I said. ”When we can.“
”Spenser’s Boston tour has become legendary,“ Susan said. ”I think you’ll enjoy it.“
”You’ve been hired to protect me,“ Jill said to me.
”I know. Susan’s going to work free,“ I said.
”Hop in, Jill.“ Susan was jollier than two yule logs.
I held the back door open, and after a short pause Jill got in. I went around, got behind the wheel, and off we went. Jill sat stiffly upright in the back seat. Susan shifted around so that she could see both Jill and me when she spoke.
”Have you gotten to see much of Boston since you’ve been here, Jill?“ Susan asked.
”No.“
”What a shame. It really is a lovely city.“
”You try to get out when you’re working sixteen hours a day every day, and some lunatic is threatening your life,“ Jill said.
”That must be very trying,“ Susan said. Her voice was sympathetic, but to the accomplished listener, and I’d been listening closely to Susan since 1974, there was humor and maybe the edge of something else in there.
”You got that right, sister.“
We went along the river and pulled off on Charles Street. I found a convenient No-Parking-Here-To-Corner opening and pulled in near the recycled Universalist Meeting House.
”Charles Street,“ I said.
”We did a scene down here, somewhere, in an old firehouse,“ Jill said.
It was still warm. The brick sidewalks on Charles Street were wet with the puddled snow melt, and every eave dripped. There were Christmas trees being sold on the corner of Chestnut Street, and a Salvation Army Santa rang his bell in front of Toscano Restaurant.
”’Tis the season to be jolly,“ I said.
