Hawk said, “Go ahead.”
“This Hawk?” Major said.
“Un huh.”
“You know who this is?”
“Un huh.”
“You can’t prove I done those people,” Major said, “can you?”
“You got something to say, say it.”
“Maybe I didn’t do them.”
“Un huh.”
“That all you say?”
Hawk made no response at all.
“You been looking for me,” Major said.
“Un huh.”
“You can’t find me.”
“Yet,” Hawk said.
“You never find me ‘less I want you to.”
Again Hawk was silent.
“You find me, you can’t do nothing. You got no evidence.”
“I know you did it,” Hawk said.
“You think I done it.”
Hawk was silent.
“So what you do, you find me?” Hawk didn’t say anything. “What you think you do?” More silence.
“Can’t do shit, man.”
“Un huh.”
The speaker buzzed softly in the silence. Hawk was leaning his hips against the edge of my desk, arms folded. He looked like he might be waiting for a bus.
“You still there?” Major said.
“Sure.”
“Want to meet me?”
“Sure.”
“You know the stadium in the Fenway? By Park Drive?” Major said.
“Un huh.”
“Be there, five A.M.”
“Tomorrow,” Hawk said.
Again the scratchy silence lingered on the speakerphone, and then Major hung up. I hit the speakerphone button and broke the connection. Hawk looked over at me and grinned.
“Think he’s alone?” I said.
“No. They won’t leave him.”
“Even when Tony Marcus says to?”
“We crate Major and they’ll go,” Hawk said. “But they won’t leave him there.”
“And they will probably bother us while we’re trying to crate him,” I said.
“Only twenty of them,” Hawk said.
“Against you and me?” I said. “I like our odds.”
Hawk shrugged.
We were quiet for a while, listening to the traffic sound wisp in through the window.
“We don’t know he did it,” I said.
“You hear him say he didn’t?” Hawk said.
“Haven’t heard him say he did,” I said. “Exactly.”
“How you feel ‘bout the Easter bunny?” Hawk said.
“Maybe Major’s just profiling,” I said. “Makes him feel important, being a suspect.”
