“We see him tomorrow,” Hawk said. “We ask him.”
CHAPTER 39
Hawk was gone and I sat in my office without turning the lights on and looked at the flossy new building across the street. The whole thing at Double Deuce was rolling faster than it should.
Hawk’s scenario-and I knew he believed it-made good enough sense. Tallboy had welshed on a drug deal and Major had shot Tallboy’s girlfriend and probably by accident the little girl. Then, when Tallboy had felt obliged to revenge it, he wasn’t good enough and Major had snuffed him too. Nothing wrong with that. Things like that happened.
I got up and stood looking out the window with my arms folded. So what was bothering me? One thing was that I figured that tomorrow would escalate, and Hawk would kill Major. Somebody probably would, sooner or later. But I wasn’t sure it should be us.
Another thing was that it didn’t seem like Major’s style. He was a show-off. If Tallboy was holding out, Major would face him off in front of an audience. And he’d brag about it. Just as he’d bragged that Tony Marcus was his supplier. And if there was a murder or two in any deal where Tony Marcus was part of the mix, why wouldn’t you wonder about him?
I stood looking out the window and wondered about Tony for a while. It didn’t lead me anywhere. Below me on Berkeley Street a man walked three greyhounds on a tripartite leash. There was some sort of organization in town that arranged adoptions for overaged racing dogs. Maybe I should consider a career change.
We would meet Major in the morning. I knew Hawk well enough to know that he wouldn’t waver on that. I didn’t know him well enough to know why he wouldn’t. There was something about Major. There was something going on between them that didn’t include me. He’d go whether I went with him or not, and I couldn’t let him go alone.
The guy with the greyhounds turned the corner on Stuart Street and headed toward Copley Square. I watched until they disappeared behind the old Hancock Building.
“Well,” I said aloud to no one, “better do something.”
And since I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I got in my car and drove to Double Deuce. There was a light showing in the window of the second-floor apartment that Hawk and I had rousted. I went up the dark stairs and along the sad corridor toward the light that showed under the partly sprung door. I felt my whiteness more than I had when I’d come with Hawk. Then we’d been chasing something. Now I was an intruder from a land as alien to these kids as Tasmania.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly and knocked. The sounds of the room stopped and the light went out. I heard a shuffle of footsteps and then a voice said through the closed door:
“Yo?”
The voice had a soft rasp. It was probably Goodyear.
“Spenser,” I said. “Alone.”
“What you want?”
“Talk.”
“‘Bout what?”
“Saving Major’s ass,” I said.
“He ain’t here.”
“You’ll do,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of time.” I could hear some whispering, then the door lock slid back and the door opened and I walked into the dark room.
CHAPTER 40
When I got home it was nearly 8:30 and the Braves and the Dodgers were on cable. Susan was in the kitchen. There was a bottle of Krug Rose Champagne in a crystal ice bucket on the counter and two fluted glasses. Susan was wearing a suit the pale green-gold color of spring foliage. It was an odd color, but it went wonderfully with her dark hair. The suit had a very short skirt, too. Pearl was on the couch which occupied most of the far wall in front of the big picture window, where, if you were there at the right time, you could look at the sunset. Now there was only darkness. She cavorted about for a moment to greet me and then went back to her couch.
I looked at the champagne.
“Does this bode well for me?” I said. “Or are you having company?”
“It’s to sip while we talk,” Susan said. “If you’ll open it.”
I did and carefully poured two glasses. I gave one to her. She touched its rim to mine and said, “To us.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. And we did.
I looked down at her legs, much of which were showing under the short skirt.
“Great wheels,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve been goddamned fool.”
“Anything’s possible,” I said.
We each drank a little more champagne. “First, to state the obvious, I love you.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that.”
“Second, and I’m afraid about as obvious, I do better with other people’s childhoods than I do with my own.”
