"So what are you going to do now?"
"When in doubt," I said, "go home."
"Oh good," Susan said.
"Getting bored?"
"Getting homesick," Susan said.
"Pearl?" I said.
"Yes. I miss her."
"Yeah. You talk with Farrell at all?"
"Of course. He says she's sleeping with him every night. Says it's his first female."
"Man is she easy," I said.
"She's just a friendly girl," Susan said.
Chapter 33
IT WAS SEPTEMBER in Boston, which normally means early fall. When I went to work the morning after I got home, the day was bright blue and 70 degrees. The first hint of color was beginning to show in the leaves of some trees. Once again pennant fever was not gripping the Hub. And there wasn't a starlet in sight.
My first assignment was to catch up. Catching up meant mostly throwing away junk mail without reading it. But there was my answering machine to listen to. Since I'd been gone there were eight new messages. One was from Frank Belson inviting me and Susan to have dinner with him and Lisa. One was from a young Chinese girl named Mei Ling who wanted to use me as a job reference. One was from Samuelson in L.A. with instructions to call him.
"Couple of sheriff's deputies found your pal, Jerome Jefferson," Samuelson said when I got him, "beside the PCH up near Topanga Canyon."
"Dead?" I said.
"Nine millimeter, once, behind his left ear."
"Think it happened there or was he dumped?"
"Coroner says he was dumped."
"Suspects?"
"None."
"Leads?"
"None."
"Clues?"
"Come on!"
"Chances of solving this?"
Samuelson laughed.
"Around zilch," he said.
"Tannenbaum?" I said.
"Probably," Samuelson said. "Wasn't satisfied with Jerome's job performance."
"There's a girlfriend on Franklin Avenue." I said. "She might know something."
"Name and address?"
I told him.
"Get there early," I said. "She should be drunk by noon."
"Wish I were."
"Cop's life is a hard one," I said. "Could you get me the record of a former cop named Dean Walker? Used to live in Santa Monica. I don't know if he was LAPD or Santa Monica."
"Glad to," Samuelson said. "If I didn't have legwork for you, I wouldn't have anything to do."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Samuelson said.
"Call me when you know something. If I'm not here, leave it on my machine. I may be traveling."
"Pay attention while you are," Samuelson said. "Morris Tannenbaum is a genuine bad guy. The real thing."
"All the way to Boston?" I said.
"Wherever," Samuelson said. "If he thinks it's a good thing to do."
"Lot of people think it's a good thing to do," I said. "I'm still here."
"Don't let it go to your head," Samuelson said and hung up
I listened to the rest of my messages. All of them were from Potshot. Two from Lou Buckman. Two from Roscoe Land, the Potshot mayor. And one from Luther Barnes. All of them were wondering how things were going and when I might come back there with my colleagues and clean up the Dell. I didn't return the calls.
Chapter 34
PEARL WAS AGING. Her muzzle was gray, her hearing was less acute, her eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be and her left front shoulder was arthritic, causing her to limp when she walked. But she was a hunting dog, and the genes persist. She could still track an open packet of peanut butter Nabs across any terrain.
"Not too much longer," Susan said, watching Pearl ease up onto the couch. "Pretty soon we'll have to boost her."
We were drinking Iron Horse champagne in Susan's living room. Tomorrow I was heading to Potshot and the farewell supper that Susan had made waited on the counter in her kitchen, blocked off by chairs. Pearl hadn't lost that much.
"We won't mind," I said.
"No," Susan said.
"What's for supper?"
She smiled.
"Do you ask out of eagerness or fear?"
"Just looking for information," I said.
"Lobster salad and corn."
"Native corn?"
"Yes, from Verrill Farm."
"Prepared by you?" I said.
"I bought the lobster salad," Susan said. "I was hoping you'd boil the corn."
Pearl didn't like the position she had assumed on the couch. She stood and turned around a couple of times and lay back down, as far as I could tell, in the same position, and sighed with relief.
"I already have to boost her onto the bed."
"Isn't she kind of heavy?" I said.
"Yes," Susan said.
Susan usually hung around the house in sweats that cost more than my suit, and looked better. But she had her own sense of occasion and tonight, because I was going away for awhile, she wore a little black dress, and pearls. Her arms and shoulders and neck were strong. Her makeup was perfect. Her face was dominated by her eyes. Her face hinted strongly at intelligence and heat.
Excellent combination.
"I heard somebody define heaven once," she said, looking at Pearl, "as a place where, when you get there, all the dogs you ever loved run to greet you."
"As good as any," I said.
She sipped her champagne. Pearl shifted a little on the couch and lapped her nose a couple of times.
"Do you think there's anything after death?" Susan said.
"Yikes," I said.
"No. Talk about it. Surely doing what you do, you've thought about it."
"As little as possible," I said.
"But you've thought about it."
"Sure."
"And?"
I took in a little champagne.
"There are some scientists," I said, "who've discovered an element of light that is faster than light."
"Einstein said that's not possible," Susan said.
"It arrives at the receiver before it leaves the transmitter," I said.
"What about cause and effect?"
I shrugged.
"Afterlife is no less implausible than anything else," I said. "All explanations of existence are equally incredible."
"So you might as well believe something that makes you feel good as not," Susan said.
"No harm to it," I said.
We were quiet, drinking champagne, looking at Pearl, who had fallen asleep.
"Well," Susan said, "we'll find out someday."
"Or we won't;" I said, "in which case we won't know it."
Susan's glass was empty. She held it out to me. I took the champagne from the ice bucket and poured her another dollop.
"I don't know whether you've cheered me up or depressed me," Susan said.
"If your feelings are inspired by Pearl's forthcoming demise, I can offer a less-complex solution."
"I know."
"Mourn for an appropriate time…" I said.
"And buy another brown German shorthair," Susan said, "and name her Pearl."
"Reincarnation," I said.
"Maybe I'm not just thinking about Pearl," Susan said.
"Is it Margaret that you mourn for?" I said.
"No," Susan said.
"Does it have anything to do with me leaving for Potshot tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Would drinking and eating and making love ease your concerns?" I said.
Susan smiled at me.
"Oddly enough," she said, "it would."
It made me feel pretty good, too.
Chapter 35
HAWK HAD ACQUIRED a black Ford Explorer, properly registered with a new inspection sticker. I didn't ask him about it. He and I and Vinnie, with gear, were on the road the next day by 8:00 in the morning. Hawk was driving. Vinnie was in the back seat. The sun was shining directly into our faces. I was drinking coffee and eating two donuts. Donuts make excellent travel food.
"We coulda flown," Vinnie said. "Take us four or five hours."
"With a bunch of infernal devices?" Hawk said.
"You mean guns?" Vinnie said.
"Sho 'nuff," Hawk said.
"Hell," Vinnie said. "You coulda driven the guns out, and I coulda flown out next week, first class, and met you there."