'Uh huh.'
'Might get noticed,' Hawk said. 'Not that many brothers hanging around out there.'
'Dress like a butler,' I said.
'Yassah,' Hawk said and hung up.
In fact, I knew he'd manage, in ways only he understood, to blend into the scenery in Marblehead just as he did anywhere else. Hawk could infiltrate the Klan if he put his mind to it.
A woman showed up at about two in the afternoon driving a Mercedes sports coupe. She beeped open the garage door to the right of her condo and drove the car into the garage. The garage door slid back down. I waited a moment and got out and walked up her walk and rang the door bell. She still had her coat on when she opened the door. She left the chain bolt in place.
'Carla Quagliozzi, I presume.'
'What do you want?' she said.
'I was interested in making a big donation to Civil Streets.'
She stared at me without speaking. She was a fleshy young woman with a lot of red hair and a big figure, even with her coat on.
'May I come in?' I said.
'No.'
'Are you the president of Civil Streets?'
'Who wants to know?' she said.
'My name is Spenser,' I said. 'I'm… ' She closed the door. 'A private detective,' I said to the door.
I hate incompletion.
I leaned against her doorjamb for a time and thought about this. She had shut the door on me when she heard my name; I had never said what I was up to. So my name meant something to her. Which meant someone had been talking to her about me, and, given the door slam, warning her not to talk with me. This might be a clue, though I hadn't seen one for so long. I wasn't sure. But if someone had been warning her not to talk to me and I showed up at her door, what would she do next? I walked back to my car and leaned on it. I thought about calling her number to see if the line was busy, but she probably had the accursed call waiting and I wouldn't learn anything.
In about fifteen minutes a dark green Range Rover came around the corner off Mystic Ave and cruised down Shore Drive and parked in Carla's driveway. A guy got out of the driver's side and closed the door carefully behind him and walked to Carla's front door. As far as I could tell, he didn't see me, though he must have because I was standing about ten feet from the driveway. He was taller than I was, with a thin strong look. He was clean shaven. His dark hair was slicked back smooth. He wore a white turtleneck with a black blazer. His sand-colored slacks had a sharp crease in them and his loafers gleamed with polish. He rang the bell, Carla opened the door and let him in. I leaned some more on my car. The caller was in there for maybe twenty minutes and then he came out Carla's front door, closed it carefully behind him, and walked briskly down her walk to where I was leaning. He was a guy used to handling things.
'You're Spenser,' he said.
'Yes.'
'My name's Richard Gavin,' he said. 'What was it you wished to talk with Carla about.'
'Civil Streets.'
'Why.'
'Because the AG's office has her listed as the president.'
'Don't fuck around with me,' Gavin said. 'I meant, what did you wish to discuss?'
'Tell me why that's your business,' I said.
'Because I've made it my business.'
'Good answer,' I said.
'Well?'
'I'm looking into a matter tangential to the Galapalooza fund-raiser that Civil Streets participated in last year.'
'Yeah?'
'Tangential?' I said.
'What about tangential,' Gavin said.
'Aren't you even a little impressed with my use of the word?'
Gavin sighed.
'Okay,' he said. 'You think you're a funny guy. All your friends think you're a funny guy. Well, I don't think you're a funny guy, you got it? I don't think you're funny even a little bit.'
'I'll win you over,' I said.
He shook his head.
'What do you want to know about Galapalooza?' he said.
