“That’s better,” the fat guy said.
I kicked him in the crotch. While he was sinking to his knees, I swung around and popped Curly Bo with a right hook, and broke his nose. Bo was game. With the blood running down his chin he caught me with an overhand right on the side of the head. I hit him with a left hook and a right hook, and he went down. Fatso, on his knees and in pain, had fumbled a gun out. I kicked it out of his hand and heard it skitter away under one of the cars.
“You guys been roughing up civilians too long,” I said. “Whatever you had to start with, you’ve lost.”
“Fuck you,” Fatso said.
Curly Bo was on his hands and knees, his head lolling, as he tried to clear the buzz from his brain.
“Who is it wants to know what I’m doing?” I said.
“Fuck you,” Fatso said.
“Soldiers Field Development, perhaps?”
“Fuck you,” Fatso said.
“Maybe I could beat it out of you,” I said.
“Maybe you couldn’t,” Fatso said.
I stood for a minute and thought about it.
“You’re right,” I said. “Maybe I couldn’t.”
I went past them and got in my car and drove away. In the rearview mirror I could see them still on the ground as I turned onto the down ramp and headed out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rita had sandwiches and coffee sent in, and we ate lunch together at a cherry-wood conference table in her office. From where I sat I could look through Rita’s big window and along the south shore to the narrow arch of land on which Hull dangled into the Atlantic.
“As I recall,” I said, “when you were working in Norfolk County, you had an office with one wooden chair.”
“And a view of my file cabinet,” Rita said.
“And a lot of young male ADA’S fresh out of law school hanging around the door with a clear interest in your body.”
Rita smiled, and said, “Those were the days, my friend.”
She took a small bite of her tuna-fish sandwich and chewed it in a ladylike manner, and swallowed gracefully.
“You ever sleep with a redhead?” she said.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Lost count, have we?”
I had a ham and cheese sandwich on light rye. I ate some.
“Come to think of it,” Rita said, “so have I.”
I drank some coffee. “Good for us,” I said.
“Yeah,” Rita said. “Better than being able to remember the only one, in detail.”
“There’s only been one for a while,” I said.
“I’m painfully aware of that,” Rita said.
“Moving on,” I said. “What did you find out about Soldiers Field Development?”
“Not a hell of a lot,” Rita said. “They do real estate development-office buildings, motels, malls, stuff like that. Nathan Smith was on the board of directors.”
“Oh ha!”
“Oh ha? What the hell is Oh ha?”
“Combination of oh ho and ah ha,” I said. “I believe in variety.”
“Me too,” Rita said. “Do you say oh ha when you encounter a clue?”
“Or ah ha! Or oh ho! Depends on how many clues I have to react to.”
“Well, it’s not been much of a problem in this case,” Rita said. “Why are you so interested in Soldiers Field Development?”
“There’s been people following me since I took this case,” I said. “They’re connected to Soldiers Field Development.”
“And now Nathan Smith turns up on the board,” Rita said.
“Yes.”
Rita smiled.
“Oh ha!” she said. “So how does this help my client?”
“If she didn’t kill him, someone else did. I’m looking for the someone else.”
“And how does this do that?” Rita said.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “What I know is that something’s going on with Soldiers Field Development that is connected to this case.”
Rita picked up her coffee and stood and went to the window and looked out, sipping coffee.
“Are you thinking?” I said. “Or showing me your butt?”
“Both,” Rita said. “I think better standing, but I haven’t put in all those hours on the StairMaster to hide my butt under a bushel.”
“The StairMaster has paid off,” I said.
“Thank you. What do you think about the connection between a banker and a real estate developer?”
“It might involve money,” I said.
Rita turned slowly and looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Wow,” she said.
“It’s magic, isn’t it, how I can read people?”
“Magic.”
“The bank is a family business,” I said.
“That’s what I’m told,” Rita said.
“Has it always been just Smiths running it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?” I said.
“Isn’t that what we’re employing you to do?”
“It’s a waste of my talent,” I said. “The premier law firm in Boston must have a dozen people who can research that faster than I can. But I’ll bet none of them can take a punch.”
“I haven’t punched all of them,” Rita said. “But I get your point.”
“So, can you find out how many partners the bank has had?”
“That weren’t family?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to know this why?”
“Because he’s got a partner now, guy named Marvin Conroy.”
“You’re suspicious of him?”
“Not really. But over the years I’ve learned to look for pattern so I can see variation, if any. Marvin Conroy might be a variation. If he is, I want to know why.”
“Makes sense,” Rita said.
“So can you do that?”
“Sure.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I leaned on the heavy bag and watched Hawk hit the speed. His face was expressionless, with a hint of amusement, the way it always was. He hit the bag with one hand, and then with both. He used his elbows. He appeared to be entirely relaxed, pleasantly absorbed in the music and movement of the bag.
“I’m going to drop in on Felton Shawcross,” I said. “At Soldiers Field Development.”
“Good,” Hawk said without shifting his focus.
“Want to go?”
“Sure. They still tailing you?”
“Not unless they’ve gotten better at it.”
“Figure Brink Tyler was the one they was worried about?”
“Yes.”
“So now that you seen him they don’t see no reason to follow you?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they are going to try another approach now that I’ve confronted the followers.”
“So you going to go straight over there and present yourself, case they do want to take other measures.”
“Yes.”
“Which be why you inviting me along.”
“Yes.”
“We doing it to get even?” Hawk said.
“We’re doing it because, right at the moment, I don’t know what else to do,” I said.
“There’s a surprise,” Hawk said.
An hour later, showered and dressed and looking like two million dollars each, we walked into the reception area of Soldiers Field Development and gave my name and asked for Felton Shawcross.
“A moment, please,” the receptionist said.
She looked at Hawk as if hoping for his name, too. Hawk didn’t respond. She excused herself and went through a door behind her desk and in a few moments came back along with a tall guy in a blue suit. He eyed Hawk as he approached.
“My name’s Hatfield,” he said to me. “What did you wish to see Mr. Shawcross about?”
“Nathan Smith,” I said.
Hatfield frowned. “Who?”
“Hard name,” I said. “Nathan Smith.”
“Does Mr. Shawcross know Mr. Smith?”
“Doesn’t everybody,” I said.
Hatfield frowned again, and stood for a minute. He appeared to be thinking.
“I’ll check with Mr. Shawcross,” he said.
I nodded at the receptionist.
“I thought she already did that,” I said.