Small Vices

Robert B Parker

Small Vices

For Joan: You may have been a headache, but you've never been a bore.

Through tattered clothes small vices do appear;

Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,

And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;

Arm it in rags, a pygmy's straw does pierce it.

–KING LEAR

Chapter 1

THE LAST TIME I saw Rita Fiore she'd been an assistant DA with red hair, first-rate hips, and more attitude than an armadillo. She'd had a drink with me in the downstairs bar at the Parker House, complained about men, and introduced me to a blowhard from the DEA named Fallon, who answered more questions about the cocaine trade than I'd asked. This time we were alone, in a conference room on the thirty-ninth floor of the former Mercantile Building, with a view of the coastline that extended north to Greenland and south to Tierra del Fuego. She still had red hair. She still had the hips. And she was still tougher than Pat Buchanan. But she wasn't a prosecutor anymore. She was the senior litigator for Cone, Oakes and Baldwin, and a member of the firm.

'Coffee?' she said.

'Sure.'

I had decided that I was more alert with coffee than without it. So I decided to have a couple of cups each day, to keep my heart rate up. This one would be my third, but my heart was still a little sluggish. Rita sent a female underling for the coffee, and leaned a little back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her skirt was a little short for business, just as her hair was a little long. I knew Rita knew that, and I knew she didn't care.

'Still got the wheels,' I said.

'Yeah, and I'm still spinning them.'

'Beats the view out of Dedham District Court,' I said.

'Oh, yeah. Professionally I'm a big goddamned success. But am I married?'

'Gee,' I said. 'I wish I could help.'

'You had your chance.'

I grinned.

'Reminds me of an old joke,' I said.

'I know the joke,' Rita said. 'And never mind.'

The female underling came back with two coffees in real cups, with a cream pitcher and sugar bowl on a silver tray. Everything bore the firm's initials.

'Discourages the clients from stealing stuff,' Rita said.

I put some sugar in, and some cream, and had a sip. It was lukewarm.

'I thought you got married,' I said.

'I did. Twice. Both jerks.'

'Probably ought to stop doing that,' I said.

'Marrying jerks? Yeah, I should. But you eliminate the jerks, and who you going to marry?'

'A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle,' I said.

'How come that's the only feminist remark guys can quote?'

'There's another one,' I said, 'something about whore to her husband, slave to her children? Have I got it right?'

Rita grinned at me. 'Could you maybe just shut the fuck up?' she said.

'Sure.'

Rita drank some of her coffee and made a face.

'Limoges china on a silver tray and they can't get the coffee hot,' she said.

I looked out the window. The ocean was gray today, and the far sky was the same color, so that the horizon was hard to distinguish and the distance just seemed to fade away. I could see the wake of a nearly indistinguishable power boat as it pushed past one of the channel markers in the outer harbor.