Paultz turned and spoke to someone in the Chevy. The doors opened and the two sluggers got out. Hawk was wearing an unconstructed silk tweed summer jacket and he unbuttoned it as we walked across the plaza.
"Oh, to be torn 'tween love and duty," I said, " 'sposin' I lose my fair-haired beauty."
"Those the two that threatened to do you in?" Hawk said.
"Yep."
"Fearful," Hawk said.
We stopped in front of the four men. Winston looked uncertainly at Hawk. His face was narrow with fear. Paultz looked the same as he had in his office. Except taller. Standing he was maybe six four.
"How's the weather up there," I said. Hawk chuckled softly.
Paultz said, "I want the film."
"I don't care what you want, Mickey," I said. "I got pictures of you and Winston together. I know you are washing money through his church, I know you process and distribute heroin out of your warehouse. And I want you to deal with me."
Without a word Winston turned and began to walk rapidly away toward Tremont Street. Hawk looked at me. I shook my head. Winston kept going.
"You give me the film or we take it," Paultz said.
"In City Hall Plaza? A block from Station One?"
Hawk said, "Couldn't take it anyway. Even if we in Siberia."
"Do we talk?" I said.
Paultz looked at me and at Hawk blankly. Then he said, "No," and turned and walked to the white Chevy. The sluggers went too. They got into the car and drove away.
"I think Mickey just told us to stick it," I said.
"I think Mickey know there's more than one way to skin a cat," Hawk said.
"I think he knows that too," I said.
"And you the cat," Hawk said.
CHAPTER 23
I had contacts made of my pictures at a fast service place in Harvard Square. I chose the best pictures and had half a dozen 81/2 by 11 glossies made up. I put four of them in a safedeposit box, kept one of them for Mickey Paultz, and took the other one with me when I went to call on the Reverend Winston.
When he let me in he looked sick. And sleepless. Much of his calm elegance had gone.
"What are you going to do?" he said when I came in.
I handed him the photograph. "I'm going to negotiate with you," I said.
Winston stared at the picture.
"No matter how long you look at it," I said, "it is still going to be a picture of you and Mickey Paultz."
"It doesn't prove anything," Winston said. I slammed my palm down on the tabletop. Winston jumped.
I said, "Come on, Bullard. You are through and you know it. I know what's been going on. I can tie you to Paultz and it's only a matter of time before the cops or I can prove it in court." It was a trick I learned on the cops. Call them by their first name, makes them feel less important. Bullard didn't seem to feel at all important. He pressed his clenched hands against his mouth and stared down at the picture.
I lied to him. I said, "I'm not after you, Bullard. I'm after Paultz."
He raised his eyes toward me. Salvation. "You lay it out for me, all of it, how it worked. How much money, where it came from, how much you got off the top for the laundry job, all the things you know."
"If I do?" he said.
"Like I say, I'm not after you."
If he'd been smarter, he'd have known I was lying. My ploy to get them pictured together was warning enough for Paultz to eliminate anything incriminating on his lot or in his business. I didn't care. Whether Paultz ran the heroin store, or Joe Broz, or Harry the horse, made very little difference to me or to the junkies whose lives would be forfeit to it. What I really cared about was Sherry Spellman.
"I'll tell you all I know," he said. And he did. I took notes and when he was through I let him reread my notes and had him sign each page. He did without protest, although I could tell that seeing it written out on paper made him nervous. It was about as I had it figured, although the numbers were higher than I'd guessed. One thing I noticed was that as far as I could tell there was only Winston's word on the Paultz connection, which meant if Winston were dead, there'd be no real way to tie Paultz to any of this. If I knew it, Paultz knew it. I went to Winston's desk and used his phone. I left word with Henry Cimoli for Hawk to call me, gave him Winston's number, and hung up.
"I'm going to wait here for a call," I said. "Did anyone else in your organization deal with Paultz?"
"No."
"You're the only one that knows where the money comes from?"
"Yes."
"How'd it start?"
Winston stared out through the glass at Commonwealth Avenue. "The first donations were anonymous," he said in a flat soft voice. "Big donations when we were struggling to get a foothold. Life-saving donations."
"Seed money," I said. "It's the same way they develop a junkie."
"Then one day Mickey Paultz came and called on me. He introduced himself, explained that he'd been the anonymous contributor, and made another donation. In cash, always cash. No strings. That continued for a while and then he came again and asked for a loan. I was sorry, embarrassed even, but I explained to him that I'd spent all of his donation money on church business. He said that was understandable, that he'd give me a very large donation and ask me to lend that to him. I was puzzled. Naive, I suppose, but I couldn't see why he'd want to do that. He insisted, and I said that I had never seen anything done like that, and that I felt I should consult an attorney before I did it."
Winston paused and hunched his shoulders a little.
"Then Paultz explained it to me. He told me where the money came from and why he had given it to me and said that I'd be through if people knew it was dirty money."
"And?" I said.
"And there'd be no more donations if I didn't go along."
I nodded. "Hard to give up," I said. "The church, the power, the home, the car, the deacons, the whole thing."
"I couldn't," Winston said. "I couldn't give it up. I'd created it, built it, made it work, made it flourish. I couldn't."
We were both quiet until the phone rang. I answered. It was Hawk.
I said, "I need a body guarded. Can you take the first shift while I work up some more troops?"
"Winston?"
"Yes."
"Paultz?"
"Unh-huh."
"Wondered when you'd think of that," Hawk said. "I be along."
When I hung up, Winston looked at me and licked his lips. "What is this about a bodyguard?"
"You're the only one who can tie Paultz to this," I said. "He'd sleep better if you were dead."
Winston said, "Oh, my dear God."
"It's all right," I said. "Hawk will keep you safe for now, and I'll arrange with a man I know to give you round-the-clock protection."
"Is Hawk the Negro who told me Paultz had to see me?"
"Yes."
"The one who was with you when you took the pictures?"
"Yes."
"He'll guard me alone?"
"He could guard Yugoslavia alone," I said.
"I could have some deacons come."
I shook my head. "If there's trouble, they'll just get hurt," I said.
Winston nodded. There was no resolve left in him. He was scared and it made him weak. In ten minutes Hawk showed up at the front door carrying a leather gun case and a Nike gym bag. He nodded at Winston, took a box of 12-gauge shotgun shells from the gym bag and set them on the table, put a box of .357 shells beside them, unzipped the gun case, took out an Ithaca shotgun, loaded it, and leaned it against the table. Then he looked around the room.
"Good place to get shot from the street," he said.
I nodded. Winston seemed to sink back deeper into his chair. He looked smaller than he had when I'd first met him.
"Let's find an inside room," Hawk said. He put his ammunition back into the gym bag. Picked up the shotgun.
I said, "I'm going out and work on things. I'll be back to give you a break."