'Huh-unh.'
'Oh, Brock, let them in,' Jolene said. 'They seem nice.'
Brock nodded us in. Anything the little lady wants. As we came in he put the gun he'd been concealing behind the door into his belt. He saw me see him do it, and he met my look.
'My line of work,' he said. 'Pays to be careful.'
Jolene went across the living room to the couch. It was less than a flounce but certainly more than a walk. On the low table in front of the couch there was a bottle of Riesling in an ice bucket, and two glasses, half empty. Or half full. There was some kind of fusion jazz playing on the stereo. I hated fusion jazz. Brock went and stood near Jolene. I stood near the door. Hawk sat on a big, red, tasseled hassock in front of them. Nobody offered us a drink. Nobody turned down the fusion. Through the big picture window, I could see the rain dappling the gray water of the harbor.
'Tell us about you and Boots Podolak,' Hawk said to Jolene.
'What kind of a fucking question is that,' Brock said.
'Who's Boots Podolak?' Jolene said.
'Shut up, Jolene,' Brock said.
'Who you telling to shut up?' Jolene said.
'There some other fucking Jolene in here,' Brock said. 'I don't want you talking to these bozos.'
'Bozos?' I said to Hawk.
Hawk shrugged. Brock took the gun out of his waistband.
'Don't you go pointing no gun in my house, you motherfucker,' Jolene said.
'Get out,' Brock said, 'right now, or I'll blow your mother-fucking heads off.'
'What's goin' on,' Jolene said.
'Keep fucking quiet,' Brock said.
'You the one gonna get your mother-fucking head blown off,' Jolene said, 'my daddy hear you talk to me like that.'
The gun was a nine-millimeter. He had thumbed the hammer back.
'Shut up, bitch,' he said, and raised the gun.
Hawk stood.
'Don't mean to start up no domestic dispute,' he said.
I opened the door. Hawk smiled at them.
Hawk said, 'We'll be seeing you all again real soon, I hope.'
'Fuck you,' Jolene said.
We went out and closed the door. They were screaming at each other behind us.
'Look at how you've grown, girl,' I said.
'Got us in there, didn't it?' Hawk said.
'Not for long,' I said. 'And as we left, I believe I heard a fuck you.'
'I believe she talking to you,' Hawk said.
'No doubt,' I said. 'Well, we learned there's something up with Boots.'
'And Jolene don't know what.'
'And Brock thinks he's tough.'
'And we was right,' Hawk said. 'I don't think Brock a brother.'
'By God, you're right,' I said. 'Mission accomplished.'
27
IT WAS DARK and wet and grim in the Public Gardens when Hawk and I met Tony Marcus on the small footbridge that spanned the Swan Boat Lake. The lake was drained, and the swan boats huddled miserably against their boarding dock under the mixed drizzle of rain and sleet. Tony had on a big, soft hat with a wide brim. The fur collar on his tweed overcoat was turned up. His hands were pushed down into his coat pockets, and a big, long, black silk scarf wrapped around his neck and hung down along the button closure of the coat. At the Arlington Street end of the bridge, Ty Bop hunched miserably next to Junior, as if he was taking shelter from the weather. Junior was wearing a big fur hat with earflaps. It appeared to be the only concession he had made to the weather. Other than the hat, as far as I could see, he didn't know there was weather. At the Charles Street end of the footbridge was a guy named Leonard, who was Tony's number-two guy. It was hard to see him in the late- afternoon gloom, but I knew that Leonard was very black, with good cheekbones. He shaved his head like Hawk. He wore a moustache and goatee, and he always smelled of very good cologne. He wasn't as good a shooter as Ty Bop, and he didn't have as much muscle as Junior. But he was a very successful combination of both.
'The weather sucks,' Tony said. 'This better be worth it.'
'I give you two words,' Hawk said. 'Jolene Marcus.'
