He took out my wallet, found my licenses: gun, private, and driver's. He studied them. He looked at my ID picture in the car headlights and then looked at me carefully. Then he put everything back in my wallet and slipped the wallet into my back pocket. A second patrol car came down the mall from Exeter Street, a third one pulled in behind the first one from Dartmouth Street, and Frank Belson got out of an unmarked car parked on Dartmouth Street and walked up the mall toward us. The scene was now lit like an opera set. Belson spoke to the older of the first two cops.
"I was in the area. Whaddya got, Chick?"
"Guy shot two guys, claims self-defense, girlfriend's a witness."
Belson looked at me.
"Oh shit," he said.
Then he looked at Susan and Pearl and walked over and patted Pearl's head.
"Excuse my language," he said to Susan.
"I will not," she said.
"It's fucking disgusting."
Belson nodded and grinned at her and turned.
Chick said, "You know him, Frank?"
"Yeah."
"He's a private detective."
"I know. You can take the cuffs off."
"He shot two guys," Chick said.
"You got him under arrest?"
"No."
"You gonna arrest him?"
"I'll leave that up to you."
"Take off the cuffs."
Chick unlocked the cuffs, and put them back in their little case on his belt. I resisted the temptation to rub my wrists, too trite.
Susan and Pearl came over to stand beside me. I put an arm around her shoulder. Belson turned to the other detective who had walked down behind him.
"You better get Quirk," he said.
The dick nodded and headed back to the car. Belson turned toward Chick and his partner.
"You should probably have your hats on when Quirk gets here," he said.
Both cops obviously agreed. They headed for the squad car, and one of the late-arriving cops went back to the car for his hat too.
Belson turned, finally, to me, and folded his arms, took a big inhale and let it out.
"Okay," Belson said, "tell me about it."
CHAPTER 43
I was having dinner at the Capital Grill with Hawk and Susan.
"You let one get away?" Hawk said.
"Plus the drivers of the two getaway cars, whom you, of course, would have run down on foot."
"And bitten their heads off," Hawk said.
The waiter arrived with drinks.
"Merlot," he said as he put the glass of wine in front of Susan.
She said, "Thank you, John."
I had beer, Hawk had a glass of champagne.
"And you didn't get no license plate numbers?"
"Of course not," I said.
"If I had I might have been able to learn something."
"So you don't know who they were?" Hawk said.
"Actually, I do," I said.
"Belson called me. They were a couple of Russians, with long names."
"Russians?" Susan said.
"From Russia?"
"Yeah, via New York. Since the demise of the evil empire, the Russian mob has developed a base in New York. OCU told Belson they're moving into Boston now."
"OCU?" Susan said.
"Organized Crime Unit," I said.
"So why are they trying to shoot you?" Susan said.
"I don't know."
"We been talking to a lot of organized crime types lately," Hawk said.
"One of them could have hired some help."
"Why?"
"We getting too close to the merger plans?"
"If there are any merger plans."
"Fast Eddie say there are."
"What he said was that the rocks were bumping up against each other or something like that."
"He meant there were merger plans," Hawk said.
"If there are, and we're so close, how come we don't know it?" I said.
"
"Cause we stupid," Hawk said.
"Oh," I said.
"That's why."
John brought us two steaks and the cold seafood platter. He put the seafood in front of Susan.
"Isn't it a lot?" she said.
"We can help," I said.
"We can't solve nothing," Hawk said, "but we good eaters.".
Susan speared a clam, dipped the end of it in cocktail sauce, bit off the sauced corner, and chewed it thoughtfully.
"What I can't figure out," she said after she'd swallowed, "is how you start out looking for Bibi Anaheim and end up in a shootout with some Russian gangsters."
"We can't figure that out either," I said.
"Steak's good. You want a bite?"
Susan shook her head.
"Do you think they'll try again?"
"Got no way to know," I said.
"Except that whoever wanted you dead didn't get what they wanted," Susan said.
"Except that," I said.
"Aren't you worried about it?"
I shrugged.
"What kind of gun are you carrying tonight?" Susan said.
"Browning," I said.
"The one that's heavier and more uncomfortable to carry, but it will shoot a lot of bullets before you have to reload."
"Thirteen in the clip, one in the chamber."
Susan nodded slowly while she looked at me.
"What do you think?" she said to Hawk.
"Think I'll stick around," Hawk said.
"That would make me feel better," Susan said.
"Make anyone feel better," Hawk said.
Susan smiled and ate the rest of her clam.
"I can't eat all of this," she said.
"Maybe the baby would like some."
"You going to give it to the dog?" Hawk said.
"She's a good eater too," Susan said.
CHAPTER 44
Hawk had on a dark blue serge suit and a collarless white linen shirt. His shaved head gleamed. His black ankle boots gleamed at the other end. He had one of my office chairs tipped back against the wall to my left, and he was sitting in it reading a book called Remembering Denny, by Calvin Trillin. I was at my desk trying to learn how to say "you'll never get me, you dirty rat," in Russian.
"You got a plan yet?" Hawk said without looking up from his book.
"We could hide in here with the door locked, sleep in shifts." – "I thought of that," Hawk said.
The phone rang.
"Be nice if we could figure out which anthill we stepped in," I said.
"Yeah, be great, we could call them names while we sleeping in shifts."
"We know who they are, we might know what to do."
The phone rang again.
"Be a nice change," Hawk said.
I nodded and picked up the phone.
"Da?" I said.
"I want to speak to Spenser," a voice said.
"Speaking," I said.
"You was working out in Vegas in September," the voice said.
"Yeah."
"With a big black guy, bald head?"
"Actually he's not bald, he shaves his head."
"Same difference," he said.
"My name is Bernard J. Fortunate, you remember me?"
I slid my desk drawer open and looked at the business card I had put there more than a month ago. It said Bernard J. Fortunato.
Investigator, Professional and Discreet.
"Yeah," I said.
"Little guy with a Panama hat and a short Colt."
"I'm compact," he said.
"Sure," I said.
"That's what I meant to say, compact guy with a Panama hat and a compact Colt."
"You still interested in a broad named Bibi Anaheim?" he said.
"What makes you think I'm interested?" I said.
"I don't think. I know," Fortunate said.
"Okay, how do you know it?"
"Because I pay fucking attention," Fortunato said.
"I look, I ask questions. You still interested in her or not."
"Yeah, I am."
"She's back in Vegas," Fortunate said.
"Now?"
"Right now," he said.
"Where?"
"She's staying at the Debbie Reynolds Hotel and Casino."
"You've seen her?"
"Yeah."
"And you recognized her?"
"I told you. I pay attention. It's my business."
"You tell her husband?" I said.
"No."
"I thought you worked for him."
"I did. He hired me to keep an eye out in Vegas for a guy named Anthony Meeker. Said if I spotted you, you might lead me to him.
Told me where to pick you up."