"Wow," she said. "You"re a private detective. Do you have a gun?"
"Yes," I said. "But it"s kind of small."
She widened her eyes at me. "Is that like an off-color remark?" she said.
I opened my jacket and let her see the short-barreled Smith & Wesson.38 I was wearing.
"Oh it is small, isn"t it?" she said.
I grinned.
"But sufficient," I said. "Did Brad Sterling make some off-color remarks?"
"Don"t try and trick me," she said. "I told you I"m not supposed to talk about that with anyone."
"Who says?"
She smiled at me and shook her head. "No, no, no," she said.
We did about five more minutes of that in the vestibule until even my killer charm was beginning to wear Ihin. I looked at my watch. Maybe bribery.
"Care for some lunch?" I said.
She shook her head again. My killer charm was apparently threadbare.
"No, I don"t think I better."
"My loss," I said, ever gallant.
"But maybe sometime, once the legal stuff is over," she said. "I"ll take a rain check."
I wrote "lunch-rain check" on the back of one of my business cards and handed it to her. We shook hands and I left the vestibule and got in my car and went back to Boston.
chapter nine.
FOR DINNER AT Chez Henri, Susan was wearing a gray top with gray pants and a wide black belt. It was one of my favorite outfits. Chez Henri was in Cambridge, just off Ma.s.s Ave, a nice informal room, open and high ceilinged, with a plate-gla.s.s window across the front that looked out on Shepard Street. I suppose it would be less egocentric to remark that it also looked in on the restaurant from Shepard Street. But from my perspective, it looked out. And I had no real wish to avoid egocentricity. I was eating baked oysters with some spinach on them. Susan had chicken and mashed potatoes. I was helping her with the mashed potatoes.
"You remember the first time you ate out?" I said.
"Sure," she said. "And you?"
"Yeah, some diner outside Laramie, I think. One of my uncles took me. I had a ham and egg sandwich."
She smiled. "My father used to take us to dinner every Friday night at the dining room of the Hotel Edison in Lynn."
"Lynn?"
"Before the shoe factories moved out. The Edison was still quite fancy."
"What did you have?"
"Lobster pie." Susan smiled at the memory. "Lobster out of the sh.e.l.l, covered with bread crumbs soaked with melted b.u.t.ter, and baked. If someone served that to me now, I would probably feel faint."
"But then?" I said.
Susan was drinking Merlot with her chicken, daring to be different. She looked into her gla.s.s for a moment and sipped a small amount.
"I loved it. Who knew about good for you?" She smiled again. It was the smile which hinted of fun and something slightly evil. "And it drove my mother crazy."
"Lobster pie?"
"No, me. I know she wanted to get a sitter and leave me home."
"They ever do that?"
"No," Susan said. I could hear the echo of childhood triumph even now. "I went almost everywhere with him."
"Way to go," I said.
She laughed.
"Do I still sound that triumphant?" she said.
"Yes."
"One never entirely outgrows one"s childhood," she said.
"You going to eat those mashed potatoes," I said.
"Just leave me this much."
She marked off a section with the tines of her fork.
"So your mother was jealous of you," I said.
"Yes, I"m sure she was. My father was her link to the world. She didn"t drive. She rarely went anywhere, except with him. She was aaaalways home."
"And now she had to share him."
Susan smiled again.
"Unequally," she said.
chapter ten.
I WAS STTTING IN my office thinking about Susan. I had left the door ajar to encourage impulse buyers, and to keep an eye on Lila the receptionist in the interior design showroom across the hall. I had no carnal interest in Lila, but I liked to keep track of her costumes. Today she was wearing a white turtleneck and farmer overalls and high-heeled sneakers. She had stopped spiking her hair a while ago, though she still kept the metallic streaks, and it now lay waveless and long, below her shoulders.
My view of Lila was obliterated by a tall fat man who came through the open door of my office followed by a short thick man with a small head. The fat man was wearing a shiny leather jacket, necessarily unzipped, with a white shirt under. The collar points of his shirt were carefully folded out over the jacket collar. He was clean shaven and his black hair was slicked back. He had a freshly washed pink moist look to his face, like he"d just come from a steam bath. The short guy was very thick. His neck was wider than his head, and his lats were so swollen that his arms made an A line out from his body. He had on a white dress shirt b.u.t.toned to the neck.
"You Spenser?" the fat man said. His voice was raspy and high.
"Yes I am," I said.
The fat man closed the door behind him and the short thick guy leaned on it with his arms folded. Don"t they all.
"We got a business arrangement to discuss with you," the fat man said.
I nodded toward one of my client chairs. The fat man ignored me. Probably wouldn"t have fit in it anyway.
"You"re working on a thing," the fat man said. "And we want you to stop."
"Which thing you have in mind?" I said.
"Thing with ah, Sterling, thing about the s.e.xual hara.s.sing."
"You want me to stop looking into that?"
"Yeah."
"What"s in it for me?"
"I been authorized to pay you for your time," the fat man said. He p.r.o.nounced it autorized. "And also, like, a bonus."
"Sort of an outplacement package," I said.
"Whatever," the fat man said.
"How much you authorized to pay?" I said.
"A week"s work at your standard rate, and a grand bonus."
"Who do you represent?" I said.
"I ain"t authorized to tell you that."
"And what if I decline?"
"Huh?"
"What if I tell you to buzz off?"
"You get a bad beating."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"Buzz off," I said.
The fat guy looked startled. His buddy with the undersized head didn"t look anything.
"You think we"re fooling around?"
"I think you can"t pull it off," I said.
""The two of us against you?" the fat guy said.
"Doesn"t seem fair," I said, "does it. Maybe if I kept one hand in my pocket."
"Fun-ny," the fat man said. "Is he a funny guy, Bullet?"
Bullet didn"t comment on whether I was funny or not.
"Last chance," the fat man said. "Take the deal or the beating."
I stood up behind my desk. "Buzz off," I said.
"Bullet," the fat man said.
Bullet left the door and walked toward me. He seemed to be walking on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. He moved lightly for a guy as wide as he was. As he came around the desk after me, I moved to my left, keeping the desk between us. The fat man stood back a little. Probably didn"t want my blood splattering all over his white shirt. Now Bullet was behind my desk and I was in front of it. The fat man took another half step back to stay out of the way. He was amused at the ring around that I was playing with Bullet. I did a sharp half turn with my upper body and hit the fat man with my elbow on his right cheek and turned back toward Bullet who came in a rush angling to cut me off before I got the desk between us again, but I didn"t try to get the desk between us. I kicked him in the groin instead and turned back toward the fat man and hit him a left, right combination and the fat man went back against the wall and slid slowly down it to slump on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him as I spun back again to Bullet. He was down, so I took my gun off my hip and went and sat on the edge of my desk. The fat guy was sitting against the wall beside the door staring at nothing, waiting for his head to clear. There was a red mouse under his right eye that would darken and enlarge over the next few days. Bullet lay silently on his side. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for the waves of crampy pain to stop. But he showed no sign that he was in pain. He showed no sign of anything. He simply lay motionless on his side with his knees bent. I sat on the edge of my desk and held my gun without pointing it and waited and didn"t say anything.
"Okay," the fat man said after a while. "Okay."
I nodded helpfully.
"You sucker punched me," he said.
His right eye was beginning to narrow as the mouse under it continued to expand.
"Yes," I said. "I did."
He nodded his head slowly. His eyes were still dull as he looked at me.
"Okay," he said. "So you get the beating another day."
"I like optimism," I said.
"Oh, you"ll get it," the fat guy said. "Bullet and me maybe misjudged you a little. n.o.body told us you"d be a hard case. But next time we"ll know that, won"t we, Bullet?"