"Who the fuck is Tony Marcus?" Boots said.
Hawk made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
"Lemme ask you this," Hawk said. "You don't know anybody named Duda and Husak. You don't know nobody named Tony Marcus. You don't want us here. You the mayor. You got four, ah, retainers standing around down the other end of the room, lookin' terrifying. Whyn't you just throw us out?"
"These men are Marshport police officers," Podolak said with dignity.
"Oh, good," Hawk said. "I was afraid for a minute they be real cops."
"You want to go to jail?" Podolak said.
Hawk looked at me. Then he looked down the room at the four men. Then he looked at Podolak, and stood and walked down the room and stopped in front of the four men, standing very close to them.
"I don't think so," he said.
No one moved. The air in the room seemed to thicken. I could feel the pressure of it.
Looking at the four men, Hawk was still talking to Boots.
"You let us in here," he said, " 'cause you hoping to find out what we knew 'bout you hiring Duda and Husak. And then I say something 'bout Tony Marcus and you want to know what we know 'bout him."
Nobody moved. Podolak and the four cops were giving Hawk the steely stare, and he was, I thought, bearing up very well under it. Hawk kept looking at the four cops as he talked to Podolak.
"Tha's one reason you ain't thrown us out," Hawk said.
"What's the other reason?" Podolak said.
He was trying to look at ease and in control. I thought he was struggling with it a little.
"Other reason bein'," Hawk said, "that there only five of you and there two of us, which means we got you outnumbered."
The cop closest to Hawk was a big, shambling guy with grayish hair and a lot of broken veins in his face.
"Enough," he said.
He took a leather sap out of his right hip pocket, and put a big left hand flat on Hawk's chest. Hawk smiled at him. And then something happened and Hawk had the sap and the cop was on the floor with blood running from his nose. I had my gun in my hand. For the occasion I had shelved the usual S&W.38. I was carrying my Browning nine-millimeter, which I pointed at the cops.
"Okay," I said. "Everybody sit tight."
Podolak was outraged.
"You can't shoot up the fucking mayor's office, for crissake," he said.
The office door opened and one of the blue-haired secretaries peered in.
She said, "Is there anything you need, Mr. Mayor?"
Hawk walked back toward Podolak, slapping the sap lightly against his thigh. When he reached the desk he looked at Podolak for a moment. Then he tossed the sap on Podolak's desk and with a very fast, fluid motion produced a big.44 Mag from inside his coat.
The secretary said, "Oh my God," and backed out the door and closed it.
Hawk didn't even glance at her. He cocked the revolver. The noise of the hammer going back was loud in the brittle silence. Then a loud alarm horn began to blare from somewhere in City Hall. If Hawk heard it, he showed no sign.
"Gimme something I can use," Hawk said.
He pressed the barrel of the cocked revolver against the bridge of Podolak's nose.
"Now," Hawk said.
The three cops left standing shuffled a little. But nobody made any decisive movements. Podolak's body was rigid. His face looked moist. And quite pale. His throat moved as he swallowed.
"Quick," Hawk said.
"Ask Tony about his daughter," Podolak said.
Hawk smiled and nodded. With the gun still pressed against the bridge of Podolak's nose, he let the hammer down slowly on the.44. Podolak let out a little sound. Hawk nodded his head at me and went to the door, carrying the.44 comfortably by his side, the barrel pointing at the floor. I backed toward the door after him.
"Door's open," Hawk said.
I backed through it. Hawk closed it and grinned at me, and we both sprinted out of the mayor's office, which had been deserted by the blue-haired staff, down the grand staircase where a number of City Hall staffers mingled in uncertain anxiety, and out the front door. I could hear a siren sounding somewhere. As we rounded the corner, I spotted a police car pulling up in front of City Hall. Then we were in Hawk's car and rolling.
There was very little traffic in the desolate city. What there was was outbound, like us. Maybe nobody drove into Marshport. We headed back to Boston on 1A without hearing any more of the siren. And without seeing a cop.
I said to Hawk, "I don't sense hot pursuit."
"Probably didn't chase us," Hawk said.
"Because?"
"They afraid they might catch us," Hawk said.
17
THE FOUR UKRAINIANS all had the same address in a ratty duplex off Market Street in a neighborhood that was downscale even for Marshport. The house was rented to Vanko Tsyklins'kyj. Hawk and I sat in the car for a while and looked at it.
"Podolak'll never think of looking for us here," I said.
Hawk didn't answer. He stared at the house.
"Lower half of the windows," Hawk said, "boarded up."
I nodded.
"Cellar windows are entirely covered."
Hawk nodded.
"Lets go ring the bell," he said.
We got out of the car and walked toward the house. I was wearing my Smith & Wesson.38, butt forward, on the left side of my belt, and carrying a Browning nine-millimeter, with a round in the chamber on my right hip. I felt like Wild Bill Hickok. Nothing moved in the house that we could see as we walked across the street. The front door had a peephole. Hawk rang the bell. After a moment, the door opened two inches on a security bolt. A face appeared in the opening. The face didn't speak.
"Vanko," Hawk said.
"Not home."
"You're Vanko," Hawk said.
"Not home."
"You speak English?" Hawk said.
"No."
Hawk looked at the face for a time.
"It's not over, Vanko," Hawk said. "It's just starting."
The face didn't show any reaction. Nor did it move. Hawk turned and walked away. I followed him. I heard the door close behind us. My back felt as if someone had painted a bull's-eye on it. We got in Hawk's car and sat some more.
"Door's metal," I said.
"Yes."
"We can sit," I said. "They have to come out sometime."
Hawk shook his head.
"I done what I wanted to do," he said.
"They know you're back," I said.
"Un-huh."
"Which means they'll probably feel obligated to have another run at you."
"Wouldn't you?" Hawk said. "I come calling?"
"Especially if I was really successful the first time."
"Thanks for remembering," Hawk said.
"I still think Vinnie might be helpful here," I said.
"Don't need no help," Hawk said.
He was looking steadily at the house.
"No," I said. "Of course not. But I do. Ukrainians might be colorblind and shoot me instead."
"Un-huh."
"He'd be protecting me," I said.
Hawk shrugged. He was still looking at the house. A few snowflakes began to skitter aimlessly.
"Long as he ain't protecting them," Hawk said.
18
THE LAST SNOWFALL of the season had started. The first serious snowflakes were falling purposefully down, past my office window onto Berkeley Street. The city seemed to hunch up a little and hurry a little, getting ready. I decided not to turn on the office television. As I matured, my taste for manufactured hysteria was beginning to decline. It was late winter. In late winter, it snowed in Boston. Sometimes it snowed in early spring. I had lived here all my adult life. I was starting to get used to it.
Cecile came into my office, wearing a very incorrect fur coat, a few hints of melted snow gleaming in her thick, black hair. I stood and took her coat.
"A lot of beaver died for this coat," I said.
"Be very careful with the beaver remarks," Cecile said with a smile. "Besides, it's mink. And the little darlings died during orgasm."