"The brother at the door did look dandy in his costume," Hawk said.
"They all do," I said. "Neocolonial chic." "Embarrassing," Hawk said.
It was maybe ten minutes before Gretchen came back and told us we could see Perry Lehman. In the elevator I caught her peeking at Hawk sideways out of a narrow corner of her right eye.
Lehman was in his rooftop garden. Near him Charles Jackson was standing at parade rest, in uniform. There were two other security attendants across the pool. Hawk took it in as we walked toward Lehman's desk and gave me his expressionless look of amusement.
"You think a mechanical hippo gonna come out of that pool and scare us?" he said. Lehman was sitting behind his desk. Not lounging.
"Don't try anything," he said. "I'm telling you right now there's three men here and I can get a dozen more in thirty seconds. So don't try a single thing, you understand?" There was a glass of champagne half drunk beside him, a bottle in the silver ice bucket near his desk. Jackson showed no flicker of recognition or connection.
I said, "Perry we came to help you, not hurt you."
"You're trying to help me right out of fucking business," he said. "What's this shit about my life being in danger?"
"Miss Manners have a contract out on you," Hawk said.
Charles Jackson's face moved slightly as if it wanted to smile and then went back into its stony palace-guard mask.
"What'd he say?" Lehman spoke to me. He didn't look at Hawk.
"We need to talk, Perry. You mind the guards hearing what we say?"
"I'm not giving up my guards," he said. His hand hovered near the corner of his desk. Probably the panic button for the other dozen men.
"Okay," I said. I sat down in one of the chairs near the desk and crossed my legs. Relaxed, nonthreatening.
Gretchen was standing to Lehman's right. Now that the focus had shifted she was looking more openly at Hawk.
"Or Miss Coolidge?" I said.
"Stop fucking around," Lehman said. "You got something to say, say it and then, haul your ass out of here."
"Asses," I said. "There's two of us."
"What is it?"
"'Yesterday some of the heavy hitters came after me. Three guys working for Jacky Wax, who, as we all know, is with Mr. Milo."
"I don't know nothing about any of that."
"Doubtless," I said. "Anyway, they were not heavy-enough hitters. With the help of my associate"-I nodded at Hawk. He smiled modestly-"I was able to thwart them and send them back to Jacky with their hair painted maroon."
Jackson had trouble with his face again. Lehman said, "What? What the fuck you talking about?"
"Your owners tried to hit me to keep me from looking into Warren, and they failed badly."
"I told you, I don't know anything about that. What's it got to do with me being in danger." Lehman drank more champagne. When he put the glass down, Jackson stepped forward and filled it for him.
"Well, think about it for a minute, Perry. Somebody very badly doesn't want me to find out about old Warren."
"I don't know any fucking Warren," Lehinan said.
"Of course not," I said. "But if you did, then the people who didn't want me to find out about Warren could think about going two ways."
Lehman frowned and drank his champagne and looked at Gretchen Coolidge. "Guy's crazy, Gretch, guy's off his fucking nut, you know?"
Gretchen nodded. "They could kill me," I said. "Which would be very effective. But they've tried and it worked out badly for them. Doesn't mean they won't try again, but my associate and I are a hard nut to crack and they may choose to crack an easier one."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning maybe they'll kill you."
Lehman opened his mouth and closed it without speaking.
"And Miss Coolidge," I said.
Gretchen's expression didn't change. Lehman looked quickly at Charles Jackson.
"See how it would work?" I said. "Just pretend for a minute Mr. Milo doesn't want me to know who Warren is, and he's having trouble getting me to stop asking. If he clips you and Miss Coolidge I got no one left to ask. He doesn't have to make me stop."
The faint sound of the pool filter was all that broke the silence in the room. I looked at Lehman. Hawk looked at nothing. Charles Jackson looked at Hawk. He didn't seem afraid of Hawk, which was a mistake.
Lehman picked up his champagne glass and emptied it and put it down. He jerked his head toward the door. "Out," he said. "You said what you had to say, now take a hike."
"Hard as nails," I said to Hawk.
"Tough as a nickel steak," Hawk said.
Lehman waggled his thumb toward the door.
"Go on," he said, "walk out of here while you still can."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," I said. Hawk glanced at me, and then turned, as I did, and walked toward the door.
"Show them out, Gretch," Lehman said. "You two go with her." He gestured to the rncn across the pool. "Make sure the nosy bastards aren't snooping around in here."
Charles Jackson poured more champagne in Lehman's glass.
"Nosy bastards," Lehman said.
Gretchen Coolidge opened the door and we went out. The two guards came behind us and Grctchen brought up the rear. No one said anything until we got to the front door.
"Ms. Coolidge," I said, "believe me, I don't want to see anyone get hurt. If you know something tell me now, before it's too late."
Her face was stiff and her movements angular.
"Good day, Mr. Spenser," she said, and nodded at Hawk, and closed the door and we went out.
"'Don't say I didn't warn you'?" Hawk said.
I shrugged.
"'Tell me now 'fore it too late'?" he said.
"So I was a little schmaltzy," I said.
"Schmaltzy," Hawk said. "Man, you embarrassing me in front of the brothers."
"They're not schmaltzy?" I said.
"Good point," Hawk said. "How long you think he hold on 'fore he panic?"
"Hard to say," I said. "If he doesn't panic quickly we'll go to plan B."
"Plan B," Hawk said. "Man, you a hightech thug."
31
Lehman was tougher or slower or more full of illusion than I had thought. We waited three days and he didn't do anything to help us, so we went to plan B.
Hawk came up with a late-model Cadillac sedan with doctored plates. I didn't ask him where he got it and he didn't say. We drove it mit to Chestnut Hill and parked it at the foot of Lehman's drive. We both wore ski masks. Hawk was in the driver's seat. I was in back with the windows down, and when Lehman's limousine slowed to turn into his yard I put my Smith & Wesson pump out the window and blasted three rounds of # 6 birdshot into the trunk and rear panel of the limo. Then Hawk slipped the Caddy into gear and we drove off,
The birdshot would mess up the paint and scare Lehman without much risk of killing anybody and unless he knew more about pellet weight and muzzle velocity than I thought he did, he'd think someone tried to do him in.
We left the Cadillac in the parking garage near Filene's in the Chestnut Hill Mall and climbed into my Subaru and headed back to Boston. To await developments. When we got to my office the developments had arrived already. There was a message on my answering machine that said I should call Perry Lehman whenever I got in, no matter what time. I could call him at his home or at the club, and both private numbers were on the tape.
"Perry sound a little shaky," Hawk said.
"If you thought Mr. Milo was having you killed wouldn't you be a little shaky?" I said.
"No," Hawk said.
"True," I said. "I withdraw the question."
"'Sides," Hawk said, "I believe Mr. Milo is in fact trying to have you killed. You shaky?"
"Only when no one's looking," I said.
I dialed Lehman's home number. He answered himself.
"Spenser," I said. "You called?"
"Jesus Christ, Spenser. They did it. They tried to hit me, all over a fucking banker, for crissake. It's a banker, named Warren Whitfield."
"You okay?" I said.
"Yeah, they missed, but you gotta let Mr. Milo know, Spenser. You gotta tell him you know it's Warren Whitfield."