I looked at Rojack.
”Be my guest,“ he said. I think the sound in his voice was mockery.
”Go ahead… big shot,“ Randall said.
I shrugged, reached under my left shoulder, pulled my gun and put a bullet into the middle of the body bag. The sound of the shot was shockingly loud in the silent gym. The body bag jumped. I put the gun back under my arm, smiled in a friendly way at Rojack and Randall, and walked out. As I headed through the house to the front door, the smell of the pistol shot lingered gently after me.
Chapter 12
THe next day was Saturday and Jill wasn’t working, so Susan and I took her to sightsee. Susan was a little annoyed that she had to share her weekend with Jill Joyce, and when I thoughtfully pointed out to her that I wouldn’t be stuck guarding Jill’s body in the first place if it weren’t for Susan, she didn’t seem any happier.
I was in the lobby when hotel security brought her down. She was wearing a pink cashmere workout suit, and white, high-topped, leather aerobic shoes with pink and white laces. She carried her black mink over her arm, her copper-blond hair glistened as if fresh from a hundred brush strokes, and her face looked as fresh and innocent as Daisy Duck’s. She hit the security guy with a smile so radiant that he’d probably have thrown himself on his sword, if she’d asked. If he’d had a sword.
”Well, my incredible hulk,“ she said. ”Where will you take me today?“
”Wherever you want to go,“ I said. ”Within reason.“
Jill linked her arm through mine. ”Lead on, Macbeth,“ she said.
We went out to where Susan was waiting in the Cherokee. The windows were tinted and Jill didn’t know that Susan was there until I opened the back door for Jill and she stopped and shook her head. ”I’ll ride up front,“ she said.
”Front’s taken,“ I said.
The side window went down and Susan smiled out at Jill.
”You remember Susan Silverman,“ I said.
”I didn’t know she’d be here,“ Jill said to me.
”We try to spend most weekends together,“ I said. ”When we can.“
”Spenser’s Boston tour has become legendary,“ Susan said. ”I think you’ll enjoy it.“
”You’ve been hired to protect me,“ Jill said to me.
”I know. Susan’s going to work free,“ I said.
”Hop in, Jill.“ Susan was jollier than two yule logs.
I held the back door open, and after a short pause Jill got in. I went around, got behind the wheel, and off we went. Jill sat stiffly upright in the back seat. Susan shifted around so that she could see both Jill and me when she spoke.
”Have you gotten to see much of Boston since you’ve been here, Jill?“ Susan asked.
”No.“
”What a shame. It really is a lovely city.“
”You try to get out when you’re working sixteen hours a day every day, and some lunatic is threatening your life,“ Jill said.
”That must be very trying,“ Susan said. Her voice was sympathetic, but to the accomplished listener, and I’d been listening closely to Susan since 1974, there was humor and maybe the edge of something else in there.
”You got that right, sister.“
We went along the river and pulled off on Charles Street. I found a convenient No-Parking-Here-To-Corner opening and pulled in near the recycled Universalist Meeting House.
”Charles Street,“ I said.
”We did a scene down here, somewhere, in an old firehouse,“ Jill said.
It was still warm. The brick sidewalks on Charles Street were wet with the puddled snow melt, and every eave dripped. There were Christmas trees being sold on the corner of Chestnut Street, and a Salvation Army Santa rang his bell in front of Toscano Restaurant.
”’Tis the season to be jolly,“ I said.
”So,“ Jill said, ”it’s Susan, isn’t it?“
Susan nodded.
”Aren’t you on the show in some way or other?“
”Yes,“ Susan said with a big sunny smile. ”I’m the technical consultant.“
We were walking toward the Common. The crowds on Charles Street were in the spirit of the season. People were angry and sullen and tired as they shoved past each other carrying shopping bags. Sweaty in their winter clothing, they packed into the small trendy shops and bumped each other with their packages.
”What’s that mean?“ Jill said.
Susan was wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans. The jeans were tucked into some low-heeled soft leather cobalt boots that wrinkled fashionably around her ankles. Next to her Jill Joyce looked maybe just a trifle silly.
”I’m a psychotherapist,“ Susan said, ”and I offer suggestions to make the show more authentic.“
”You’re a shrink?“
”Un huh.“
”You’re a doctor?“
”I have a Ph.D. in psychology.“
We reached the corner of Beacon Street.
”Up to the left,“ I said, ”is the State House. That’s the Common there, and on the other side of Charles is the Public Garden.“
The trees on the Common were strung with Christmas lights. It was bright with them at night, though it was hard to see now. The Common was snow covered, and full of people crisscrossing its walks in bright clothing. At a distance they looked cheery. The white snow and the dark trees made a bright contrast to the predominant red brick tones of Beacon Hill that rose along our side of the Common and slanted down Park Street behind it. The steeple of the Park Street Church gestured over the rise of the Common, against the blue winter sky. Two hundred years ago they’d hidden gunpowder in its cellar
”I want a drink,“ Jill said.
”I can see why,“ I said. ”It’s nearly three hours since breakfast.
“I don’t give a fuck what time it is,” Jill said. “When I feel like a drink I feel like a drink.”
“Want some lunch with that?” I said.
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Jill said.
We walked across the Public Garden to the new Four Seasons Hotel and sat at a table near the bar. Jill had a glass of white wine. Susan and I had club soda. Jill drank a gulp of white wine, took out a cigarette and leaned toward me. I didn’t have a match and there weren’t any on the table. I shrugged and spread my hands.
Jill said, “We’ll get some from the waitress.”
The waitress spotted our dilemma and brought over a book of matches before I could ask her. I took them and lit Jill’s cigarette. Jill took a long drag, exhaled, swallowed some more wine. The bar was nearly empty at twenty to noon. It was sprawling and low with many sofas and little tables. The lighting was dim. There were times when a quiet bar early in the day is nearly perfect. Jill finished her wine.
“Get me another,” she said.
“No. I perform heroic feats if you are threatened. But I don’t fetch things.”
“You get me one,” she said and pointed her chin at Susan.
“I’ll see if I can get the waitress,” Susan said pleasantly.
Again the waitress was alert. She had nothing else to do. And she was over with Jill’s second wine almost at once.
“So.” Jill had a third of her second glass inside her. She sprawled back in her chair and rested her head and looked along her nose at me. “You don’t fetch things.”
I shook my head. “You usually bring your girlfriend along when you’re protecting someone?”
“If she’ll come,” I said.
Jill got that crafty, you-have-fallen-in-my-trap look that drunks get at the right point in their drinking.
“So if someone tries to kill us, who will you protect first?” she said.
“Susan,” I said.
Jill started to speak and stopped and stared at me. “You son of a bitch,” she said, finally, and drank the rest of her wine. The waitress knew she had a live one and was right there for the refill.
“The point is it isn’t likely to work out that way,” I said. “I don’t think someone will try to kill us. If there’s trouble, it will be directed at you. Susan will get out of the way, and I’ll explode into action.”