too. Well as I said before, the case makes the Commonwealth of Massachusetts look like a ninety-pound pile of dog doo.'
'Any luck on finding Johnny Robinson's courier pouch?' I asked, changing the subject.
'Naw. It'll never turn up. They destroyed it I'm sure.'
'You say he wore it every day?'
'Yep. Wore it to bed practically.'
'Did he wash it often?'
'Huh? How the hell do I know? What kind of question is-'
'Nothing. I was just wondering. Well Mary, let's get moving.'
So we went and got home forty minutes later. It was close to midnight. I sat on the couch reading a book about French vineyards.
'Wait here, sport,' said Mary, disappearing upstairs. Ten minutes later I heard labored footsteps on the carpet, and felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and couldn't believe my eyes.
Mary was standing there in skin-tight pants and a pink sweater that would've been too tight on a Barbie doll. She had half her make-up cabinet on her face, her hair down, and was scarcely able to retain her balance on five- inch spiked heels.
'Where the hell did you get that getup?'
'Been savin' it for the right guy…'
'How can you walk in those? Or stand?'
She shrugged and sneered.
'Don't plan on stayin' upright that long.'
'Those pants are even tighter than the ones in the North End.'
'They're dance tights. You like?'
She turned her back and wiggled, then sat down on my lap and kept moving.
'Seriously, Charlie'- she kissed me- 'do you like it?'
'Be still my heart.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
I took my coffee into Mary's atelier and watched her throwing big slabs of clay around. Fifty pounds apiece. Wham! Splat! She hefted them up and slammed them down on her sturdy bench to force the air bubbles out. If the bubbles remain inside the clay, the air explodes in the heat of the kiln during firing and your pot blows up- shatters all over the place. She bounced the big wads of clay around as if they were little hunks of cookie dough. That can make you strong; no wonder she was so good at arm wrestling. I pinched her on the butt.
'Thanks for the cheap thrills last night,' I said.
'Aw don't mention it; the others never do.'
'Want to go on an adventure today?'
She eyed me warily, then grabbed my wrist. She was relieved to see that I was still wearing the respectable, if boring, Omega dress watch.
'Can't be too dangerous, you're not wearing that black watch Joe finally returned when you gave him his wop lighter back. What's the adventure?'
'I've got an idea of how to try to find Johnny Robinson's courier pouch.'
She eyed me again, even more warily. Yours Truly is not famous for good ideas regarding adventures, as was borne out when I nearly got my brains splattered all over the place in the old Plymouth Cordage warehouse and factory. Mary reminded me of this past misadventure and it gave me pause. I shuddered.
'And I was reading your Sacco-Vanzetti books this morning early when you went running. Did you know that Vanzetti lived in Plymouth and worked in that cordage factory? He even led a strike there.'
'Yeah I know. I try to forget about that place.'
She attacked the clay hunks with a new ferocity now, and threw them around like Liatis Roantis throws people around in karate class. She sank her fist into the clay, leaving a deep mark.
'Bastards! God, I hate that Thayer. Even if I were a WASP I'd hate him!'
'After you put those in the bags, follow me,' I said. She did, still dressed in her white bib overalls and striped jersey. I carried a walking stick and a flashlight. We got into the Scout, bound for Cambridge.
'Have you told Joe about this? And how smart is this idea?' she asked.
'No, and not very,' I said.
We rang the bell at Dependable Messenger Service but nobody answered. I knew Sam Bowman was expecting us because I had called him earlier and set this adventure up. He had agreed eagerly.
We rang twice more and finally heard loud cussing from behind the thick door. Along with the cussing was a deep growl.
'I told ya I don't want none! Now git! I set the dog on ya!'
'It's us, Sam. Mary and Doc.'
He let us in, apologizing. He said that two of the pushiest salesmen he'd ever seen had just come by and wouldn't leave.
'They tryna sell me some roofing compound. It's silver-colored and dries up like metal, you know? I say I don't need no roofing compound, but they say can we take a look. Won't cost me nothin. So I let 'em. Had their own ladder on top of the van.'
'Ah! And- surprise, surprise- they then informed you that yes indeed, you do need roohng compound.'
'Zactly. And then they came inside to write out a estimate, even though I said I didn't want it. Who knows… might be closin' the place. Watch it! Watch it, Miss, he'll bite-'
But it was too late; Mary was already close to the huge dog and bending down over him. Popeye went wild. He flattened his stubby black ears, squinted his eyes, and lunged at her. He licked her all over, then flopped over on his broad back and piddled up in the air. Embarrassed, he jumped back up again and tried to sit so she could pat him. But he couldn't sit because he was wagging his stumpy tail too hard. In fact, he was wagging his entire big butt. He sniffed and snorted, whined and yelped softly as she patted his wide, flat head. He squatted and leaked again briefly in ecstasy, then turned, wagging and whining, in a tight circle.
'Silly boy… silly old boy,' cooed Mary.
'Now would you look at dat.'' said Sam in amazement. 'Popeye my man, whatsa matter witchu?'
I was looking at the interesting objects on Sam's rolltop desk. He didn't see me looking at them.
Popeye pawed at Mary's leg and whined until she patted him again. Then she walked around the tiny office and the dog followed her. She went to the safe, which was open, and the dog didn't do squat.
'What happened to your guard dog, Sam?' I asked.
'Damn! Don't know, Doc. Strangest thing I ever-'
He stopped in mid-sentence because he saw me looking down at his desk top, where the jeweler's saw and the big fat cartridges lay strewn over the blotter. I picked one of the forty-five-caliber rounds up- still as big as a lipstick- and examined the tip of the bullet. Sam had used the fine metal saw to delicately score the metal casing that reached halfway up around the lead core. He'd made two cuts across the top, perpendicular to each other, in a cross, then two again in between the first two cuts, resulting in a delicate eight-pointed star in the front of each load. A finely wrought flower of death.
'You do nice work,' I said.
He swept the rounds up in his big coffee-colored mitt and put the saw in a drawer.
'That's no dumdum, Doc. I was just teasin' the noses a bit. just teasin 'em-'
'Shall we go? You ready? Can you call off your big vicious attack dog?'
'Gut-damn! Never seen ol' Popeye like this. C'mon, dumb-head.'
He shut the big safe with a heavy clunk and spun the dial. Then we got into the Scout, with Popeye and Mary in back. But before Sam joined me in the front seat he called out to a man who was walking toward the office. The man wore a blue guard uniform and carried a small satchel. He was about fifty years old, with a paunch and a Rudolf-the-Reindeer nose. Sam spoke to him briefly, reopened the office, and soon reappeared with a small bundle
