“We gonna get paid for telling you stuff?” Christine said.
“No.”
“I thought snitches got paid,” James said.
“Not by me,” I said.
Christine shrugged.
“Never hurts to ask,” Christine said.
“It might,” I said.
Christine shrugged again, more elaborately this time.
“We was watching them make the movie,” Christine said. “And, you know, Jumbo spotted us, and come over.”
James took out a pack of filter-tip cigarettes and lit one, and put the pack on the table. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke for a moment, and exhaled slowly. He held the cigarette between his first two fingers, up near the top joint.
“And he says to us, something like, how you like it so far?”
“Was he interested in Dawn right away?” I said.
“He was interested in all three of us,” James said.
“You, too?” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Was his interest carnal?” I said.
“Sure,” James said.
“And you?” I said to Christine. “He interested in you?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Me and Dawn.”
“And it was carnal?”
“You mean did he want us to screw him?” Christine said. “Yeah, sure. He wanted to hook up with all three of us.”
“He say so?”
“Uh-huh,” James said.
He took a card from his pocket and put it face up on the table. Christine took out a card just like it. On the front it said “Jumbo.” I turned the cards over. The hotel name and room number were written on the back, along with a phone number.
“That’s his cell phone number,” James said.
“Dawn got one, too?” I said.
“Sure,” Christine said.
She picked up James’s cigarettes, took one, put it in her mouth, and leaned toward James. He lit it for her, and she inhaled and let the smoke out slowly, with her lower lip forward so the smoke drifted up in front of her face. Dramatic. I wondered how often she’d practiced. It was odd to sit with two people smoking. I had quit years ago, and it was odd even to see people smoking. Smoking was mostly something done by some shivering isolate outside an office building in the winter.
“He focus in on her?” I said.
“Nope,” James said. “He was ready for any of us.”
I said, “It doubles the dating pool, I guess.”
“You interested?” James said.
“No.”
“You don’t find me attractive?” James said.
“Stunning,” I said. “But not my type.”
“What’s your type?” James said.
He was having fun.
“Female,” I said.
“You married?” Christine said.
“I keep steady company with the girl of my dreams,” I said.
“So I don’t interest you, either?” she said.
“Sadly,” I said, “no.”
“Because of your girlfriend?”
“Exactly,” I said.
In fact, of course, I had never been aroused by anyone with maroon hair.
“That’s amazing,” Christine said.
James grinned.
“Old school,” he said.
“So how come Dawn was the one ended up in Jumbo’s hotel room?” I said.
“Too fat for me,” James said.
He dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it.
“Christine?” I said.
She squinched up her face.
“Gross,” she said.
“But Dawn liked him?” I said.
“Dawn wasn’t choosy who she hooked up with,” James said.
He lit a new cigarette.
“And for crissake,” Christine said, “he was a freaking movie star. You know?”
“She would care about that?” I said.
“Of course,” Christine said. “Who wouldn’t.”
“You?” I said.
“Sure,” she said. “But he’s too icky.”
“But not too icky for Dawn,” I said.
“No.”
“Why not,” I said.
They were silent for a moment. James let the smoke from his new cigarette drift out through his nose.
“Not many people too icky for Dawn,” he said.
I looked at Christine. She shrugged.
“Dawn wasn’t choosy,” she said. “She was a good kid, but she, you know, went for pretty much anybody with a winkie.”
“A winkie?” I said.
“You know,” Christine said.
I nodded.
“So what do you think happened with her and Jumbo?” I said.
She shrugged and took another cigarette from James’s pack. He lit it for her.
“I think it was kinky sex, got out of hand,” James said.
“Anything special?” I said.
“Said in the papers that she died of asphyxiation,” James said.
“I know,” I said.
“That right?” he said.
“They’re not sure,” I said.
“Well, if it is...” James spread his arms as if it was a nobrainer.
“She into choking games?” I said.
“Got me,” James said.
“Christine?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Christine said. “She was very interested in all kinds of sex stuff.”
“Aren’t we all,” I said.
“We’re kids,” James said. “We’re even more interested.”
“Ageist,” I said.
“And,” Christine said, “I think she might have been more interested than most.”
12
I stopped on my way back to the office to get a sub sandwich. When I got back to my office, it was nearly two in the afternoon. I found Zebulon Sixkill, fragrant with booze, asleep on the floor in front of my office. I stepped over him, unlocked my door, and opened it. I put my sandwich on my desk and went back and got hold of Zebulon Sixkill by the collar and dragged him into the office and laid him out on my office rug. I stepped back over him again and shut my office door, then made some coffee, poured myself a cup, and sat at my desk with my feet up, eating my sandwich and drinking my coffee. When I got through, I wrote some bills and put them in envelopes and stamped them.
At about three-thirty the sun had moved out over the Charles River, five blocks away. It slanted in through my office window, making a long parallelogram on the floor where Zebulon Sixkill was lying on his back. It woke him up.
“Where the fuck am I,” he said.
His voice was very hoarse.
“My office,” I said.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Spenser,” I said. “We met, couple days ago.”
He raised his head and looked at me. I smiled in a friendly way.
“Yeah,” he said. “You got a bathroom?”
I pointed. He got painfully up and went into the bathroom. He was in there a long time. When he came out he looked as if he might have washed his face.
I pointed to a chair.
“You got a drink?” Zebulon Sixkill said.
I took the bottle of Dewar’s out of my desk drawer and put it on the desk along with a lowball glass. He took a couple of deep breaths as if to steady himself and carefully poured some. He looked at the glass for a moment, then picked it up with both hands and drank some whiskey. He showed no sign of pleasure. He drank it the way you take aspirin for a headache.
“You’re lucky,” I said. “Lila across the hall had seen you, she’d have called the cops and you’d be waking up in the drunk tank.”
“That’s me,” Zebulon Sixkill said. “Lucky.”
“You functional?” I said.
“I will be in a minute,” he said. “You got any ice?”
“Wow,” I said. “A picky drunk.”
I got him some ice in a second lowball glass. He poured the remains of his drink over it and drank some. I waited. He sat.
After a while he said, “I’m in trouble.”