”Help,“ I said. ”He’s into a loan shark as we assumed, and the loan shark wants his business.“ I got a folding chair from across the pool and brought it back and sat beside Susan and told her about Shepard and his problem.
”That means you are going to have to deal with Hawk,“ Susan said.
”Maybe,“ I said.
She clamped her mouth in a thin line and took a deep breath through her nose. ”What are you going to do?“
”I don’t know. I thought I’d go down and sit in the bar and think. Want to come?“
She shook her head. ”No, I’ll stay here and read and maybe swim in a while. When you think of something, let me know. We can have lunch or something to celebrate.“
I leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder, and went to the bar. There were people having lunch, but not many drinking. I sat at the far end of the bar, ordered a Harp on draft and started in on the peanuts in the dark wooden bowl in front of me.
I had two problems. I had to take King Powers off of Shepard’s back and I had to get Pam Shepard off the hook for armed robbery and murder. Saps. I was disgusted with both of them. It’s an occupational hazard, I thought. Everyone gets contemptuous after a while of his clients. Teachers get scornful of students, doctors of patients, bartenders of drinkers, salesmen of buyers, clerks of customers. But, Jesus, they were saps. The Promised Land. Holy Christ. I had another beer. The peanut bowl was empty. I rattled it on the bar until the bartender came down and refilled it. Scornfully, I thought. Guns, I thought. Get guns and disarm phallic power. Where the hell were they going to get guns? They could look in the Yellow Pages under gunrunner. I could put them in touch with somebody like King Powers. Then when he sold them the guns they could shoot him and that would solve Shepard’s problem… or I could frame Powers. No, frame wasn’t right. Entrapment. That’s the word. I could entrap Powers. Not for sharking: That would get Shepard in the soup too. But for illegal gun sales. Done right it would get him off Shepard’s back for quite a long time. It would also get Rose and Jane out of Pam Shepard’s life. But why wouldn’t they take Pam with them? Because I could deal with the local D.A.: Powers and two radical feminists on a fresh roll, if he kept the Shepards out of it. I liked it. It needed a little more shape and substance. But I liked it. It could work. My only other idea was appealing to Powers’ better instincts. That didn’t hold much promise. Entrapment was better. I was going to flimflam the old King. A little Scott Joplin music in the background, maybe. I had another beer and ate more peanuts and thought some more.
Susan came in from the pool with a thigh-length white lace thing over her bathing suit, and slid onto the barstool next to me.
”Cogito ergo sum,“ I said.
”Oh absolutely,“ she said. ”You’ve always been sicklied over with the pale cast of thought.“
”Wait’ll you hear,“ I said.
Chapter 19
After lunch I called the New Bedford Standard Times and inserted an ad in the personals column of the classified section: ”Sisters, call me at 555-1434. Pam.“
Then I called 555-1434. Pam Shepard answered the first ring.
”Listen,“ I said. And read her the ad. ”I just put that in the New Bedford Standard Times. When the sisters call you arrange for us to meet. You, me, them.“
”Oh, they won’t like that. They won’t trust you.“
”You’ll have to get them to do it anyway. Talk to them of obligation and sororal affiliation. Tell them I’ve got a gun dealer who wants to talk. How you get us together is up to you, but do it.“
”Why is it so important?“
”To save your hide and Harv’s and make the world safe for democracy. Just do it. It’s too complicated to explain. You getting stir-crazy there?“
”No, it’s not too bad. I’ve seen a lot of daytime television.“
”Don’t watch too much, it’ll rot your teeth.“
”Spenser?“
”Yeah.“
”What’s wrong with Harvey? What did you mean about saving Harvey’s hide?“
”Nothing you need worry about now. I’m just concerned with his value system.“
”He’s all right?“
”Sure.“
”And the kids?“
”Of course. They miss you, Harv, too, but they’re fine otherwise.“ Ah, Spenser, you glib devil you. How the hell did I know how they were? I’d seen one of them my first day on the case.
”Funny,“ she said. ”I don’t know if I miss them or not, sometimes I think I do, but sometimes I just think I ought to and am feeling guilty because I don’t. It’s hard to get in touch with your feelings sometimes.“
”Yeah, it is. Anything you need right now before I hang?“
”No, no thanks, I’m okay.“
”Good. Suze or I will be in touch.“
I hung up.
Susan in faded jeans and a dark blue blouse was heading down Cape to look at antiques. ”And I may pick up some young stud still in college and fulfill my wildest fantasies,“ she said.
I said, ”Grrrrrr.“
”Women my age are at the peak of their erotic power,“ she said. ”Men your age are in steep decline.“
”I’m young at heart,“ I said. Susan was out the door. She stuck her head back in. ”I wasn’t talking about heart,“ she said. And went. I looked at my watch. It was one-fifteen. I went in the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, toweled dry and headed for New Bedford.
At five after two I was illegally parked outside the New Bedford police station on Spring Street. It was three stories, brick, with A dormers on the roof and a kind of cream yellow trim. Flanking the entrance, just like in the Bowery Boys movies, were white globes on black iron columns. On the globes it said NEW BEDFORD POLICE in black letters. A couple of tan police cruisers with blue shields on the door were parked out front. One of them was occupied, and I noticed that the New Bedford cops wore white hats. I wondered if the crooks wore black ones.
At the desk I asked a woman cop who was handling the Bristol Security robbery. She had light hair and blue eyeshadow and shiny lipstick and she looked at me hard for about ten seconds.
”Who wants to know?“ she said.
Not sex nor age nor national origin makes any difference. Cops are cops.
”My name’s Spenser,“ I said. ”I’m a private license from Boston and I have some information that’s going to get someone promoted to sergeant.“
”I’ll bet you do,“ she said. ”Why don’t you lay a little on me and see if I’m impressed.“
”You on the case?“
”I’m on the desk, but impress me anyway.“
I shook my head. ”Detectives,“ I said. ”I only deal with detectives.“
”Everybody only deals with detectives. Every day I sit here with my butt getting wider, and every day guys like you come in and want to talk with a detective.“ She picked up the phone on the desk, dialed a four-digit number and said into the mouthpiece, ”Sylvia there? Margaret on the desk. Yeah. Well, tell him there’s a guy down here says he’s got information on Bristol Security. Okay.“ She hung up. ”Guy in charge is a detective named Jackie Sylvia. Sit over there, he’ll be down in a minute.“
It was more like five before he showed up. A squat bald man with dark skin. He was as dapper as a guy can be who stands five six and weighs two hundred. Pink-flowered shirt, a beige leisure suit, coppery brown patent leather loafers with a couple of bright gold links on the tops. It was hard to tell how old he was. His round face was without lines, but the close-cropped hair that remained below his glistening bald spot was mostly gray. He walked over to me with a light step and I suspected he might not be as fat as he looked.
”My name’s Sylvia,“ he said. ”You looking for me?“