“And call me Val. Valerie.”
Gil shook his head a few more times, said he really couldn’t a few more times, and then they went up to the house. Val said: “I need a drink,” and poured an Absolut on the rocks for herself.
“And for you, Mr. Onis?”
“If I’m calling you Valerie, you better call me Curly.”
“Curly.”
“I’ll have a glass of milk,” Gil said.
Val was on her second Absolut when Bobby came in. She took a step toward him, stopped, started crying. The story came out in a jumble. The moment he had the gist of it, Bobby blew past her, took Sean in his arms.
“I knew something like this was going to happen,” he said.
“Because of the fence?” said Val. “It’s all my fault.”
“I didn’t say this, I said something like this.”
“What do you mean, Bobby?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he said: “It’s the luckiest day of our lives, that’s all.” He closed his eyes and gave Sean another squeeze.
“Stop it, Daddy,” said Sean.
Bobby let him go, approached Gil. Gil stood up. Yes, he was just as tall as Bobby, and just as powerfully built, if not more: Bobby seemed a little smaller out of uniform. Bobby held out his hand. “I’m forever grateful to you, Mr.-”
“Onis.” They shook hands. Gil resisted the urge to squeeze hard. “My friends call me Curly.”
“Whatever I can do for you, just name it.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Valerie, and she explained her plan. Bobby nodded his assent right away. Gil said he really couldn’t a few more times. They had a drink together, Bobby a beer, Val another Absolut, more milk for Gil. Then Bobby took him out to the garage and showed him his apartment.
“This do, Curly?”
“Do? Better than that.” And it was: twice the size of any home he’d ever had, and far more luxurious. He didn’t see a cobweb. “But I really-”
Bobby held up his hand. “I couldn’t have it any other way.” He paused, and for a moment Gil imagined the unimaginable: that Bobby was about to cry. Then he said: “It’s a miracle.”
Gil didn’t know what to say to that. He laid down the fishing pole and knapsack.
“Maybe you can show Sean a little about fishing,” Bobby said. “Haven’t had much time for him lately.”
“What is it you do, Mr. Rayburn, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Bobby laughed. “I’m a ballplayer.”
“Baseball?”
“With the Sox.”
Gil nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t follow it much.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Bobby. “There’re lots of worlds outside baseball.”
28
Fred, the engineer, played the tape for Jeweclass="underline"
Hi, guys.
Where you calling from, Gil? Sounds like Siberia or somewhere.
No place special.
What’s on your mind?
Lots of things.
It’s a lousy line, like I said, Gil. Make it quick.
This… thing.
You’re talking about the Primo tragedy?
I was wondering.
Wondering what?
If they’ll give Rayburn back his old number now.
Not sure I’m following you, Gil.
Onsay.
Excuse me?
Eleven. What he used to wear his whole career. Not that stupid forty-one.
That’s kind of a strange question, Gil.
“Play that last part again,” Jewel said.
Onsay.
Excuse me?
Eleven. What he used to-
“That’s enough,” Jewel said.
Fred stopped the tape, said something Jewel didn’t catch because his mouth was full.
“He’s a regular, isn’t he?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Fred replied. “I never listen to any of them.”
“I want to hear all his calls.”
“All his calls?”
“We tape everything, don’t we?”
“Sure. But how are you going to find this guy’s calls? It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“I hate that expression,” Jewel said.
She spent the rest of the day in her office, fast-forwarding through cassettes. She found Gil a few times:
I’ve been waiting a long time.
What kind of numbers is he going to put up in the bandbox, and with that sweet swing of his?
I heard what you said about Primo. It won’t last. He’s a hot dog. Hot dogs always fold in the end.
Just get this, Bernie. I’m sick and tired of you taking shots at him all the time. When’s it going to stop?
I know what disillusion means.
After that, Jewel called the Times editor and asked for another extension.
“Having problems?” he said.
“It’s not that. The story keeps changing on me.” She wished immediately she’d put it another way.
“It happens. You’d still be entitled to a kill fee, if that’s what’s worrying you,” said the editor.
“It’s a developing story, that’s all I meant.”
“Developing in what way? I thought it was just your basic jock puff piece.”
“Did you?” said Jewel. “There’s the Primo murder, for starters.”
“Who’s Primo?”
“Don’t you read your own damn paper?”
“Not the sports.”
“I’m impressed.” She hung up on him. Five minutes later, she was trying without success to think of some nonhumiliating way to make amends.
She called Sergeant Claymore in his little town up north.
“Anything new?” she said.
“Yes and no.”
“I hate that expression.”
“Sorry,” said Claymore. “Renard’s disappeared without a trace, if that’s what you want to know, but now it looks like he may have only been a witness to the Boucicaut killing. Which turns out to be self-defense, in any case. Two guys in ski masks broke into a house on the Cape a while back, and one of them got stabbed with a sword. A rapier, which we’ve got now. The medical examiner says it fits Boucicaut’s wound.”
“And the other guy was Gil Renard?”
“We don’t know, because of the ski masks. But it all fits-turns out it was the day before the break-in when I stopped them for speeding, and Boucicaut was wearing his.”
“Wearing his what?”
“Ski mask.”
“How did he explain that?”
Claymore laughed an embarrassed laugh. “He didn’t, really.”
Jewel was silent.
“That probably sounds a little strange to an outsider. Me not asking him, I mean.”
“Nothing sounds strange to me anymore, Sergeant Claymore. I’m immune. Are you still looking for him?”
“Sure. He’s a suspect in this break-in now, as well as in the murder of Boucicaut’s old lady.”
“Then I suggest you try to find out if he flew to Los Angeles around the time of the Primo murder.”
“Why?”
“Because your first instinct was right. This is all about baseball.”
Jewel sat in front of her terminal, typed some copy, printed it, found Bernie, said, “Read this.”
Bernie read: “JOC-Radio is putting together a panel drawn from our regular callers for a new weekly feature called Between Brewskis. Participation will involve a nominal payment, but much more than that, a chance to shoot off your mouth on a regular basis. Would the following callers please get in touch on the station’s office phone during business hours: Manny from Allston, Donnie from Saugus, Ken from Brighton, Vin from the Back Bay, and Gil, who’s usually on his car phone.”
Bernie looked up. “Great idea. But you left out Randy from Milton. And they’ll never let you call it Between Brewskis ”
“For Christ’s sake, Bernie. It’s a ruse. We’ll get the cops to put a tap on the line, and when this guy Gil calls we’ll have him.”
“Have him for what?”
Jewel explained. Later she explained it again to the station manager, and once more to some cop from the Primo investigation. The cop said, “I’ve heard your station. He’s not the only nut you’ve got calling.” Jewel had him speak to Claymore. Then he said, “Still don’t see what this has to do with Primo, but if they’re looking for him up north, why not?”
After he left, the station manager said, “Let’s go with it, Jewel.”