Family Honor - Robert B Parker (16 page)

"Are they really world-famous?" I said. Bucko drank some
beer.

"They're great," he said. "You oughta try some."

"Not today."

"How's the family?" Bucko said to Richie.

"Fine," Richie said.

"Your father?" Richie nodded. "Your uncle?"

"Actually I got, as you know five uncles Richie said.
"All of them are fine."

"Good," Bucko said, "good to hear that."

"My uncle Ernie was asking about you the other day," Richie
said.

"He was? What?"

"Asking what I thought of you."

"Why's he want to know?"

Richie shrugged.

"You know Ernie," Richie said. "Doesn't talk a lot about
things. Just asked my opinion of you."

"What'd you say?"

"Said I didn't have much opinion. Mostly just heard that
you had talked to Sunny and hadn't been helpful."

"Sunny? Her?" Bucko nodded at me.

"Yeah."

"I didn't know she was a friend of yours, Richie."

"Now you do," Richie said.

I never knew how Richie got so much menace into things
he said. He was very still, as he nearly always was. His voice was quiet.
His face was calm.

"She was with a cop, Rich."

"Un huh."
"I was willing to help," Bucko said. "I just didn't have
any answers.
„
"Un huh."

Bucko looked at me. I smiled adorably. Like Meg Ryan.

"I was wondering if you had any idea how Terry Nee ended
up at my door with a gun?" I said.

"Like I told you . . ."

"Bucko," Richie said.

"Honest to God, Richie, I don't have a fucking clue."

"Bucko," Richie said.

"I don't."

"Think of it as me asking you, Buck."

"I unnerstan' that, Richie, but I don't."

"Think of what I'm going to have to tell my Uncle Ernie
when he asks about you?"

"If I knew why Ernie was asking. .." Bucko said.

Richie was quiet. I did my Meg Ryan smile again. Bucko
had stopped eating his steak tips. A waitress came by and freshened our
coffee cups. I added Equal and milk to mine. Richie added cream and sugar
to his.

"Think about it this way," Richie said. "I'm asking you
who sent Terry Nee to try and kill my wife."

"Your wife?"

"Ex," I said.

"Terry kicked my dog, too," Richie said. "And naturally
I want to know how that came about. And I know Terry was with you."

"I didn't send him, Richie, I swear to Christ."

"I'm sure you didn't, Bucks, but you might have lent him
to somebody and I'm going to find out who."

"She's ex anyway, ain't she?" Bucko said. "Didn't she
just say that?"

Richie leaned across the table and put his hand on Bucko's
forearm.

"She's family," Richie said. "As much as my father and
my uncles and my brothers and me."

Richie didn't seem to be squeezing, but Bucko didn't seem
able to get his arm away.

"You lent Terry Nee to somebody, didn't you?" Richie said
softly.

Bucko was silent. I knew what was going on. He was trying
to decide who he wanted mad at him. Richie's family, or the man who'd sent
Terry Nee. He looked around the restaurant.

"Your word, you don't tell him where you got it?" Bucko
said.

The devil who has hold of your forearm is better than
the devil who's not around.

"My word," Richie said.

"Me too," I said.

"Cathal Kragan," Bucko said.

I looked at Richie. Richie shrugged.

"Who's Cathal Kragan," I said.

"Guy," Bucko said.

I opened my mouth. Richie shook his head so briefly that
I was sure only I had seen him. We waited.

"He represents some people," Bucko said. "I don't know
who they are. But I see him around and I owe him a favor and he says he
needs a little scuffle work done, nothing heavy, couple broads. And I say
I can put him in touch with Terry and he says fine and so I do."

Bucko sat back as if he'd just said three Hail Marys and
made a good Act of Contrition.

"Where do we find Cathal?" Richie said.

"He's around," Bucko said. "You know?"

"Can you get in touch with him?" I said. Bucko shook his
head.

"You know who he works for?" I said. Bucko shook his head.

"But you're scared of them?"

"Don't know nothing about them," Bucko said. "I'm scared
of Cathal."

"What's he look like?" I said.

"Thick," Bucko said. "Like me, a little shorter, gray
hair. Got hands like a stonemason. Funny voice."

"Funny how?"

"I don't know exactly. It's real deep."

Richie took his hand of Bucko's forearm.

"My Uncle Ernie will be glad to hear you were helpful,"
Richie said.

"Give him my best," Bucko said. "Your father, too."

"Sure," Richie said.

We stood. Richie dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the
table. "No, no, Richie," Bucko said. "I got it."

Richie took my arm and we walked away without answering.
"You ever hear of Cathal Kragan?" I said in the car. "Nope."

We were crossing the Charlestown Bridge.

"What kind of name is Cathal?" I said.

"Irish," Richie said. "There was a guy during the troubles
named Cathal Brugha."

"How do you know that?" I said.

"I read a book."

"Well," I said. "Good for you."

And we laughed together as we passed the Fleet Center
and Richie turned right onto Causeway Street.
 

"How come you're doing that?" Millicent said.

"I can't get to the gym," I said.

I kept skipping as I talked, trying not to sound winded.
"Because of me?"

"Yes."

"So why'nt you just forget it?"

"Several reasons," I said. "I try to stay in shape, for,
ah, professional reasons. I like to eat and drink, but I am vain about
my appearance and I don't want to put on weight ... also I'm compulsive
about it."

"My mother's always exercising," Millicent said.

"Would you like to try it?"

She shook her head.

"Didn't you ever skip rope when you were little?" I said.

She shrugged. I stopped skipping and dropped down on Spike's
rug and did some push-ups.

"Have you ever done push-ups?" I said.

"Girls don't do push-ups," she said with scorn of an intensity
only adolescent girls can achieve.

"Women do," I said.

"Well, I guess I'm not a woman."

"Maybe you are," I said. "Try one." She shook her head.
I kept doing them.

"Try one," I said.

"I can't do them. They tried to make us in gym once."

"They didn't do it right," I said. "Get down here. I'll
show you."

Millicent dragged herself off the couch and flopped down
on the floor on her stomach.

"Okay," I said. "Start with a half push-up. Put your hands
out like this, and push up, but leave your knees on the floor."

She did what I said and pushed her torso up and let it
down.

"Okay?" she said.

"See, you can do it," I said. "Try five."

She looked disgusted, but she did five.

"Excellent," I said.

Millicent got up and went back and flopped on the couch.
I finished my push-ups and got up and went to the door and moved the footstool,
and Rosie trotted into the room and wagged at us. I picked her up and gave
her a kiss and let her lap my neck.

"How come she doesn't just jump over the footstool?" Millicent
said. "Can't she jump?"

"She can," I said. "But she doesn't know it. She thinks
she can't, so she doesn't try.

Millicent looked at me and didn't say anything. I smiled
at her innocently.

"You think I'm like that?" Millicent said.

"Sorry," I said. "But you handed it to me."

"But you do think I'm like that."

"You were like that about the push-ups," I said.

"I didn't do a real push-up," Millicent said.

"You did six real half push-ups," I said. "We work on
it regularly and in a while you'll do some real full push-ups."

"So what? I hate doing push-ups."

"If you can do them, then you can decide if you want to
do them. If you can't do them, the decision isn't yours."

Millicent frowned, as if I'd said something mathematical
that she suspected was correct but she didn't understand the terms.

"Who cares about push-ups?" she said.

"It's more sort of an attitude," I said. "The more things
you can do, the more choices you have. The more choices you have, the less
life kicks you around."

"So I do push-ups, my life will be better?"

"It's better to be strong than weak," I said. "And it's
better to be quick than slow. But you're not stupid; you know I mean something
a little larger."

She shrugged again and picked up the clicker and changed
channels on the television set.

"You don't think I'm stupid?" Millicent said.

"No. I think you are probably pretty smart. It's just
that no one has taught you much."

"Like what?"

"Like how to be a person," I said.

"You think you know?"

"Um hm."

"So what makes you so smart?"

"It's not smart, it's learning."

"I hate school," Millicent said.

"Me, too," I said. "Mostly I've learned stuff from my
father and from Richie and from my friend Julie and Spike and Rosie and
from being alive and paying attention for thirty-five years. I have plenty
more to learn. I need to get my love life straightened out, for instance.
But I have more information than you do. I have enough to take care of
myself."

"You learned stuff from Rosie?"

"Yes. How to pay attention, how to take care of someone
without owning them. . ."

"But you do own her."

"I bought her," I said. "But I don't own her. I feed her,
I give her water. I take her to the vet. I let her out and in. I take her
for walks. The truth of it is she'd die if I didn't take care of her. And
because she's completely dependent on me, I am determined that within the
confines of what I just said, and allowing for her safety and mine, she
can live as she wishes and do as she pleases."

"But you just shut her out of the room."

"Life's imperfect," I said. "I wish it weren't."

"Why don't you train her not to bite the jump rope."

"I think that imposes on her more than shutting her out,"
I said.

"You think stuff like this all the time?"

"Sometimes I think about clothes and makeup and guys,"
I said.

"Want to talk about them?"

"I don't know much about that either," Millicent said.

"Yet."

She shrugged. I hated shrugging.
 

"Be careful," Spike said. "You download the wrong thing
and you'll be in the middle of my sex life."

"At least you have one," I said.

"We feeling a little deprived, are we?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Too bad I'm not in your program," Spike said. "Think
of the symphony we could make."

"It's always something," I said. "What's your password?"

He told me and I punched it in and went online. After
much more diddling around than the computer ads would allow you to imagine,
I located Brock Patton. He was in among all the listings on the planet
that contained the words Brock or Patton. I got a zillion articles on General
Patton, and several on a football player named Brock Marion, and quite
a few on an actor named Brock Peters, and a politician named Brock, and
two on a football player named Peter Brock, and another one named Stan
Brock, who appeared to be Peter's brother, and, buried among them, five
or six on the guy I was actually trying to find.