“Oh, good,” I said. “Is it enough to get me directions, too?”
“We have them preprinted,” she said, and took a card out of a file on her desk and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Your honey bun was very persuasive,” Mary said.
When I came out of the administration building, Hawk was leaning on the fender, talking with two college girls.
“This is Janice, and Loretta,” Hawk said. “We been discussing African tribal practices.”
“Any particular tribe?” I said.
“Mine,” Hawk said.
The girls said, “How do you do.”
“Have to excuse us,” I said. “Gotta go down to the medical center.”
“He scared to go alone,” Hawk said.
The girls said good-bye, we got in, and the girls waved after us as we drove away.
“What tribe was that again?” I said.
“I forgot,” Hawk said.
Chapter 38
THE MEDICAL CENTER was a two-story brick building with a lot of glass windows, and a parking lot beside it. When I parked, Hawk got out with me.
“You going to hang around out here?” I said to Hawk. “And further integrate the region?”
“Must be nurses here,” Hawk said, and resumed residence on my front fender.
I went in to talk to Dr. Doucette. It took a while, but he squeezed me in between patients. He was a lean, fiftyish man with silvery hair combed straight back. He looked like he might play racquetball.
I gave him my card.
“Mary Brown called me, so I know who you are,” he said. “I’m Paul Doucette. I haven’t much time, and there are obviously issues of confidentiality. That given, how can I help you?”
“Tell me what you can about Goran Pappas,” I said.
“I interviewed him and found him a reasonably coherent young man with a passion for women, particularly women already with another man.”
“Any reason for that?”
“The interest in other men’s women?” Dr. Doucette said. “Probably, but it didn’t seem to consume him. He seemed perfectly able to control it if he chose to. His life didn’t make him unhappy, and he appeared to present no particular threat to society.”
“So you had nothing much to treat him for,” I said.
“Correct. I told the police and the college that in my opinion, he was well within the normal range of appropriate behavior.”
“Did you explore the other-men’s-women business with him?”
“I did.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Would I be revealing my ignorance,” I said, “if I suggested that if I were looking into it, I’d start with his mother and father.”
“In my business,” Doucette said, “as perhaps in yours, it is sensible to start with the most obvious and see where it leads.”
“Can you tell me where it led you?”
“No,” he said. “I can’t. But perhaps you can tell me why you want to know.”
I smiled.
“Just because I don’t know, I guess.”
“Has Pappas committed a crime?”
“Well, sort of.”
“ ‘Sort of’?” Doucette said.
I told him a brief outline of the Gary Eisenhower story.
Doucette nodded.
“So,” he said. “I gather that from your perspective, though he won’t be punished for the blackmail, the case is resolved.”
“Yes.”
He looked at his watch.
“And you’ll settle for that,” he said.
“Yes.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I agree with you.”
“It’s not perfect,” I said.
“It never is,” Doucette said.
“But I’ll take it,” I said.
“I do not believe Pappas is a bad man,” Doucette said. “He is, by and large, what he appears to be.”
“So you’ll take it, too,” I said.
“I did,” Doucette said.
He looked at his watch again. I nodded and stood. We shook hands. And I headed out to the parking lot to see how many nurses Hawk had wrangled.
Chapter 39
I HAD A DRINK with Gary Eisenhower at the bar in a new steakhouse called Mooo, up near the State House.
“I got this one,” he said when I sat down beside him. “I guess I owe you that much.”
“Probably more than that,” I said.
“You think?”
He had a Maker’s Mark on the rocks. I ordered beer.
“I took Jackson and his people off your back,” I said.
“Pretty clever how you did that,” Gary said. “You know some scary dudes.”
“I do,” I said.
“You’re pretty scary yourself,” Gary said.
With his forefinger he stirred the ice in his bourbon.
“I know,” I said.
“How come you fought Boo?” Gary said.
“Junior would have killed him,” I said.
“The huge black dude is named Junior?” Gary said.
“Yep.”
“Man,” Gary said. “I’d hate to see Senior.”
I nodded.
“Why do you care if Junior kills Boo?” Gary said.
“No need for it,” I said.
“Boo’s not much,” Gary said. “Except mean.”
“I know.”
“Why would he go with the biggest guy in the room?”
“It’s all he’s got,” I said. “He’s a tough guy. He doesn’t have that, he has nothing. He isn’t anybody.”
“And you took that away from him,” Gary said.
“I did,” I said. “But he’s alive. And in a few days he’ll beat up some car salesman who’s fallen behind on the vig, and his sense of self will be restored.”
“That easy?” Gary said.
“Boo’s not very smart,” I said.
“I’ll say.”
Gary ordered another bourbon. I ordered another beer.
“Zel was, like, looking out for him,” Gary said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know this game like you do,” Gary said. “But I saw Zel move a little away from Boo when the trouble started, and focus in on the skinny black kid.”
“Ty-Bop,” I said.
“And I figure if things went bad for Boo,” Gary said, “Zel would start shooting.”
“Unless Ty-Bop beat him,” I said.
“Either way,” Gary said. “We weren’t far from a shoot-out right there.”
“True.”
“In which several people might have got killed,” he said.
“True.”
“Including Beth,” he said.
“Including Beth.”
“You thinking about that,” Gary said, “when you stepped up?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Christ,” Gary said. “A fucking hero.”
“But you knew that anyway,” I said.
Gary laughed and sipped some bourbon.
“So,” I said. “I think you owe me more than two beers.”
“How many?” Gary said.
“I think you need to stop blackmailing these women,” I said.
“Ones that hired you?”
“Yep.”
“You get some kind of bonus?” he said.
“Nope.”
“You got a bonus, maybe we could split it.”
“Stop blackmailing these women,” I said.
“What if I fuck them for free?” Gary said.
“That’s between you and them,” I said. “But no blackmail.”
“And I pick up this tab?” Gary said.
“Nope,” I said. “I’ll get the tab.
Gary grinned and put out his hand.
“Deal,” he said.
And we shook on it.
Chapter 40
IT WAS DECEMBER NOW. Gray, cold, low clouds, snow expected in the afternoon. I was in my office, drinking coffee and writing out my report on a missing child I’d located. My door opened without a knock, and Chet Jackson came in wearing a double-breasted camel-hair overcoat.
“The mountain comes to Mohammed,” I said.
“Whatever,” Chet said. “Mind if I sit down?”
I said I didn’t, and he unbuttoned his overcoat and sat without taking it off.
“I want you to keep an eye on my wife,” he said.
“To what purpose?”