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Authors: Robert B Parker

BOOK: Sixkill
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"Just the cops," I said. "Maybe the DA."
"And if you conclude he's innocent?" Silver said.
"I'll tell you at once," I said. "And the cops and the DA."
"Got no problem," Silver said. "But we'd like to see if there's something we could do about the guilty part."
"Like I tell you, and then shut up about it?"
"That'd be about right," Silver said.
"Our firm," Ratoff said, "pays consultants very well."
"That's what I'd be?" I said. "A consultant?"
"Yes."
"How much is my consulting fee?" I said.
"Six figures would not be unreasonable," Ratoff said.
"Wow," I said.
"There'd be a confidentiality agreement, of course," Ratoff said.
"Of course," I said.
"So you'll do it?" Ratoff said.
"No," I said.
Ratoff sat back and stared at me.
"Why?" he said.
"My dog would know," I said.
"Your dog?"
"Pearl," I said. "When she sniffed me, I would no longer smell like rain."
"Rain?" Ratoff said.
"What the fuck are you talking about," Silver said.
"Faulkner?" I said. "Surely you read
The Sound and the Fury
?"
"Never heard of it," Silver said.
"There's this guy, Benjy," I said, "who's retarded, and his sister Caddy always smells like rain to him. . . ."
"Shut up," Silver said.
I was quiet.
"We tried the easy way," Silver said. "It's not the only way."
"You could grovel," I said.
Silver shook his head.
"Don't fuck around with this," Silver said. "There's some very important people involved in this. L.A. people. You don't know them, and they like it that way. But trust me, they are important."
"To whom?" I said.
Ratoff took a try at it.
"There is a great deal of money invested not only in the current film," he said, "but in Jumbo Nelson."
I nodded.
"They are astute businessmen," Ratoff said. "They protect their investment. And their approach to protecting their investment is often quite direct."
"You work for them?" I said.
"I represent them upon occasion."
"Who are they?" I said.
"They prefer anonymity," Ratoff said.
"I'll bet they do," I said.
I looked at Silver.
"You?" I said.
"I am on retainer to Mr. Ratoff's firm," Silver said.
"My clients," Ratoff said, "consider you a loose cannon in this situation, and they want you out of it, whatever way is most efficacious, and they don't care what it requires."
"Efficacious," I said. "You sure you haven't read
The Sound and the Fury
?"
"I looked into you," Silver said. "Everybody said you thought you were tough and funny."
"But good-natured," I said.
"Well, I don't think you are either," Silver said.
"Not even funny?" I said. "That's cold."
"One way or another," Ratoff said, "this situation is going to evolve without you."
"Do your damnedest," I said. "Unless this was it."
"This was not it," Silver said.
"Good," I said. " 'Cause this was pathetic."
Both men stood.
"You'll hear from us again," Silver said.
"Words to live by," I said. "Now get the hell out of my office."
Which they did.
26
Z AND I WENT
a couple of rounds for the first time. Z did well. Even with the big, soft sixteen-ounce mittens, he rocked me a couple of times. When we were done he was breathing hard, but so was I. I was breathing normally a little before he was. But his recovery time was pretty good.
"You're a quick study," I said.
He grunted. It was hard to tell what the grunt meant, because the gloves had Velcro closures instead of laces, and Z was pulling on the closure strap with his teeth. I took it as "thanks."
We took a shower.
"Probably can ease off on the intervals today," I said as we were toweling off.
"No," he said. "Starting to feel in shape."
"Your wind is good," I said.
"Not good enough," he said.
I nodded.
"You know a guy named Elliot Silver?" I said.
Z shook his head.
"Nope."
"How about Carson Ratoff?"
"Nope."
"Anything unusual about the financing of Jumbo's picture?"
"I don't know," Z said. "Nobody told me."
"Window dressing," I said.
"What?"
"Part of his costume," I said. "I'm so important I have to have a bodyguard, and not just any bodyguard, I got one looks like Jim Thorpe, all-American."
"I'm lucky he didn't want me to wear a feather," Z said. "They making a threat?"
"Sounds like one," I said.
"It bother you?" Z said.
"I've been threatened before," I said.
"But you won't back off," Z said.
"Can't," I said. "I start backing off, and I'll be looking for another kind of work."
"What would you do instead of this?"
"Can't think of anything," I said.
"So you just don't allow it to bother you," Z said.
"That's about right," I said.
He nodded slowly.
"Maybe I should sort of hang around with you," he said.
"Backup?" I said.
"Sure," Z said.
"Can you shoot?"
"Hunted since I could walk," he said. "Five hundred yards, I can knock down a running antelope. It wasn't a sport for us. We were after meat."
"How about a handgun."
"Got one, never really used it," Z said. "I guess if you're close enough."
"You got a license in Massachusetts?"
"Yeah, production company got it for me, through the Film Bureau, I suppose. Somebody took me over for fingerprints and a picture."
"There's a range in Dorchester," I said. "We can go over there and shoot a little, part of the training program."
"So I'm in?" Z said. "Be like your bodyguard?"
"Give you an opportunity to emulate my sophistication," I said.
27
SUSAN AND I MET
for supper at Scampo, which was located in the recently rehabbed building that had once been the Charles Street Jail.
"You must feel at home here," Susan said, looking around.
"Anywhere you are is home," I said.
"You silver-tongued devil," Susan said.
She ordered a martini. I asked for scotch and soda. The waitress went eagerly off to get it. While she was gone, I brought Susan up-to-date on the Jumbo Nelson affair.
"You think the threat is real?" Susan said.
"Probably," I said.
"And Z's going to--how do they say it on TV?--watch your back?"
"That's 'bout the size of it, little lady," I said.
"The Indian," Susan said.
"Yes," I said.
"Whom you are attempting to rescue?"
"Exactly," I said.
The waitress returned with our drinks, and told us about the specials and left us to decide. We touched glasses. I took a swallow. Susan took a sip.
"Well," she said. "He's not Hawk."
"No," I said.
"On the other hand, Hawk has had his whole life to perfect being Hawk," Susan said.
"True."
"Z's only had a little while."
"He may never be Hawk; no one else is, either. But he'll get to a place where he'll do."
"Unless the booze gets him," Susan said.
"Unless that," I said.
"How is his drinking?"
"Seems to have cut back," I said.
"You don't talk about it?"
"Not much."
Susan looked at me thoughtfully for a time. My drink was gone. Our waitress spotted that and came and asked if I would like another. I tried not to tear up.
"I would," I said.
"You still okay, ma'am?" the waitress said to Susan.
Susan said she was okay. Her glass was down a sixteenth of an inch, but it could have been evaporation.
"You're not trying to resolve his drinking, are you?" Susan said.
"No."
"You are trying to turn him into a man who can resolve it himself," she said.
"That's not quite the way I thought about it," I said. "But yeah. That's about it."
"And you think he's up to it?"
"In the long run," I said.
"But he's supposed to be watching your back in the short run," Susan said. "Can he?"
"We'll find that out," I said.
"It's not like you don't have people," Susan said. "Vinnie would walk around behind you as long as was needed."
"True," I said.
"And Tedy Sapp would come up from wherever he lives in Georgia."
I nodded.
"And Chollo, or Bobby Horse."
"I guess."
"Quirk, Belson, Lee Farrell?"
"When available," I said.
"But you choose a work in progress."
"People need to work," I said.
"For crissake, people need not to get shot, too," Susan said.
"Suze," I said. "I wasn't planning on having anybody watch my back. There's a time when I might, but not yet. I can't be who I am, and do what I do, if I'm calling out for backup every time somebody speaks harshly to me."
"I know," Susan said. "You are what you are and you do what you do. I accepted that about you a long time ago."
"So it gives Z a chance to see what he's learned and what he's about, without, at least not yet, too big a risk."
"I'd prefer no risk," Susan said.
"Me too," I said.
She shrugged and drank half her martini.
"And I accepted it all a long time ago," she said.
She picked up her menu.
"All the guys in all the world," she said, in what was maybe a Bogart impression, "I had to fall for you."
"Isn't it grand," I said.
She nodded as she looked at the menu.
"Yes, it is. . . ." she said. "Mostly."
28
I CALLED A MAN
in Los Angeles named Victor del Rio, who ran most of the Latino rackets in Southern California. I had done his daughter a favor once. And he had done me a favor. And while we were on opposite sides of a lot of things, we were on speaking terms.
When you called del Rio, there was a protocol you had to go through. Bobby Horse answered the phone. I knew the faint Indian sound in his voice.
"Spenser," I said. "From Boston. I'm sure you remember me fondly."
"Whaddya want," Bobby Horse said.
"I'm working with a Cree Indian," I said.
"I'm Kiowa," Bobby Horse said. "I don't give a fuck about no Crees."
"Just reminding you of my Native American-friendly creds," I said.
"Yay," Bobby Horse said.
"I need to talk to Mr. del Rio," I said.
"Talk to Chollo," Bobby Horse said.
There was a pause. I heard Bobby Horse say something, and then Chollo came on the line.
"Who you need me to shoot today?" he said.
Chollo was a graceful, mid-sized Mexican who was probably the best shooter I'd ever seen. Vinnie Morris might be as good, hard to be sure, but if I had to bet, my money would be on Chollo. He had helped me out in a place called Proctor some years back, and more recently, he and Bobby Horse had helped me win a small war in a place called Pot Shot. As far as I could ever tell, Chollo wasn't afraid of anything at all.
"Nobody yet," I said. "I'm looking for information."
"Si."

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