"Hawk," he said, mostly to himself.
"You missed a spot," I said, "over there on the right. Where the smile lines would be in a human being."
"So whaddya want?" Haskell said.
His voice had a hoarse quality as if he needed to clear his throat. And he had some kind of speech impediment, not quite a lisp, that made his s's slushy.
"I want to know about Richie and you," I said, "and Carla Quagliozzi and Brad Sterling and Civil Streets, and Galapalooza and Francis Ronan and his lovely wife Jeanette, and a shooter named Cony Brown and how all of that is connected, or if it isn't, where the connections are and where they aren't."
Wechsler continued to eat as I talked. There was sauce on his shirt front and some on one sleeve of his suit jacket. His sallow face had gotten red from the energy he put into the eating. He looked at Gavin, still chewing, and said around his mouthful of food, "Who the fuck is this guy?"
"Private cop," Gavin said, "working for a loser named Brad Sterling."
"Who the fuck is Brad Sterling?"
"Nobody you know, Haskell."
"See. I don't know nothing," Wechsler said, "so take a fucking hike for yourself. Save yourself a lot of trouble, you do."
"Trouble is my middle name," I said.
"I never knew your middle name," Hawk said.
"So now you do."
"You have no obligation to converse with these men in any way," Gavin said to Wechsler. "My advice is to say nothing further to him."
"Are you Haskell's attorney?" I said.
"We'll have no further comment," Gavin said.
"How about the check," I said. "Who's going to pick up the tab?"
Gavin shook his head. I picked up a spoon and held it like a microphone toward Haskell.
"How about you, sir? Do you have any comment about the check."
"I got one comment for you, asshole. You just got yourself in serious trouble. Maybe not now, this ain't the time or place. But there will be a time and place, and you can fucking count on that."
"Just why am I in trouble?" I said.
"'Cause you fucking bothering me at lunch is why," Wechsler said.
Gavin gestured at the waiter, who was standing around uneasily. Nothing had happened to require calling the cops, but something was in the air, and he knew it. He came promptly with the check, and Gavin gave him a credit card and he scooted away.
"You don't even read the fucking check?" Wechsler said. "How you know they ain't cheating your ass."
Gavin shrugged and kept his eyes on the waiter, who returned very promptly with a credit card slip for Gavin to sign. Gavin signed the slip, added a tip, took his copy, and stood.
"Come on, Haskell," he said and he started out. Wechsler wiped up the last of his lasagna with some bread, stuffed the bread in his mouth, and stood up chewing.
"We'll be in touch, asshole," Wechsler said and waddled after Gavin. The two bruisers stood and followed their boss. Buster studied my face as he went by. It was the first time Buster had stopped looking at Hawk. When they left, Hawk sat down beside me at the table they'd departed.
"Well, you got their attention," Hawk said.
"'Bout all," I said.
"Looks to me like Gavin is Haskell's lawyer."
"Yes," I said.
"'That's something."
"I'm not sure it's worth dying for," I said.
"Most things aren't," Hawk said. "Why we don't do it more often."
"Yeah, well, let's try not to do it this time," I said.
chapter thirty-four
SUSAN AND I were leaning on the railing of the little bridge that spanned the swan boat pond in the Public Garden, on a handsome spring day with the sun out and only a small breeze blowing. We were watching somebody's spaniel which had jumped into the pond and outraged a squadron of ducks. The ducks paddled rapidly away from him under the bridge. The spaniel didn't care. He liked it in the pond and swam around with his mouth open, looking often and happily at his owner.
"Have you any hint yet where Brad might be?" Susan said.
"How would I know anything?" Susan said.
"The question was idle," I said.
"If I knew something, wouldn't I tell you at once?" she said.
"Of course," I said. "And vice versa."
She thought about that for a moment and nodded.
"Yes," she said, "of course. My question was idle too."
The spaniel swam vigorously about in the pond, his owner standing right at the edge in case the dog needed help. Occasionally the dog would lap a little of the water. The ducks had apparently forgotten about him. They clustered about one of the swan boats on the other side of the bridge luring peanuts from the passengers. A stumble bum wandered by us wearing all the clothes he owned, muttering to himself as he went. Below us the spaniel finally had enough of the pool, swam to the side, and bounced up out of the pond. His owner took a quick step back out of harm's way just before the spaniel shook himself spasmodically. Then he bent down and attached a leash to the spaniels' collar and said something to him, and they went off toward Beacon Street together.
"You fooled me," Susan said suddenly.
"Which time," I said.
"When I met you. I thought you were rough and dangerous."
"And I'm not?"
"No you are. But I thought that's all you were."
I turned and looked at her. She was staring straight ahead.
"You've been talking to someone," I said.
"I called Dr. Hilliard."
"'The San Francisco shrink," I said.
"Yes."
I nodded, although she couldn't see me, since she was staring intently at the middle distance. She didn't say anything. I had nothing to say. We were quiet. The swan boat came under the bridge with its attendant ducks. The first three rows of benches were occupied by a group of Japanese tourists. Most of them had cameras. I always assumed that somebody in their passport office told them that if you travel in a foreign land, and you are Japanese, you are expected to carry a camera.
"She reminded me of some of the issues we had to resolve when I went away from you before," Susan said.
"Um hmm," I said.
"My attraction to inappropriate men, for instance."
Her voice had a musing sound to it, as if she weren't exactly talking to me.
"Um hmm."
"And I said to her, `Remind me again, if I had this need how did I end up with Spenser?' "
"You thought I was inappropriate," I said.
She turned her gaze away from the middle distance and onto me. She seemed startled.
"Yes," she said.
"And now you don't," I said.
"You are the best man I've ever known. If anything, I may not deserve you."
I didn't know what to do with that, but the conversation was going my way and I didn't want it to stop.
"Because the way your father was," I said.
"And the way my mother made me feel about it."
"Your first love was an inappropriate man."
"And my mother convinced me that I didn't deserve him."
"You only deserve men like Brad, or Russell Costigan."
"Yes."
"But when you get them, you can't stay with them because they aren't up to you."
Susan smiled tiredly.
"Something like that, though I wonder, sometimes, if there's anyone who wouldn't be up to me."
She said it in a way that put quotation marks around "up to me" and boldfaced "me."
"This is about why you asked me to help Brad Sterling." I said.
"I guess it is."
"So why did you?"
"Some sort of guilt, I guess. I married him for his failings and when they persisted, I left him."
"Doesn't seem fair, does it?"
In view from every place on the little bridge were flowers in spring luxuriance. On the Arlington Street side were beds of tulips which would dazzle you if you were a flower kind of guy. The ornamental trees were in lacy blossom as well, their flowers much less assertive than the tulips. There were a lot of other flowers as well, but I didn't know what they were. I wasn't a flower kind of guy.