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Authors: Robert B Parker

BOOK: Sixkill
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30
IF THE TREES
weren't blooming, you'd think it was late November. It was slate-colored and cold, with a hard rain falling as usual, and some wind. I sat inside in my office with my chair swiveled around and my feet up on the windowsill, and looked at the weather. I had a legal-size yellow pad of bluelined paper on my lap and a ballpoint pen in my hand, and while I watched the day unfold I tried my hand at thinking.
I had made a list of people I'd talked to during the course of the Jumbo business, and I was checking it to see if I might have missed something. I didn't do a lot of scientific clues. Since nearly all the crimes I looked into were done by humans, it followed that nearly all of the clues I ever came up with were human. Something someone said or did or didn't say or didn't do, or even how they acted when they did or didn't. Whenever I was stuck, that's what I did. I made a list on a long yellow pad, of everybody, however peripheral, that I had encountered during the investigation.
Someone came into my office, and I swiveled around to see who it was. It was Quirk, wearing a brown tweed cap and a tan raincoat.
"Donuts?" I said.
"Was hoping you'd have some," Quirk said.
He took off his hat and coat, and hung them on the rack beside the door.
"Settle for coffee," he said.
"You know where it is," I said.
He poured himself a cup and one for me, gave me mine, and sat down across the desk from me.
"Just stopped by to see how things were going with Jumbo Nelson. They tell me you got canned."
"Me and Rita both," I said. "Although technically she quit before he could fire her, I think. It's a little hard to say, and you have to give weight to the question of intent. Did he intend to fire her before she quit. Intent--"
"Jesus Christ," Quirk said. "Whaddya know?"
"I found out a lot," I said. "I may well bring some miscreant to justice before I'm through."
"Did Jumbo do it?" Quirk said.
"Haven't found that out yet," I said.
"You got any idea?" Quirk said.
"No."
"What miscreants are you planning to bring to justice?"
I told him what I'd learned from Mr. del Rio. Quirk listened, silently nodding occasionally.
"Excellent," he said. "You're gonna clean things up in L.A. Just what I was hoping for."
"It'll lead back to Jumbo," I said.
Quirk leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. He slowly clasped his hands and raised them to his chin and held the position for a bit. Then he took in a big breath.
"You're making a list," he said.
"Everybody I've encountered in the, ah, investigation," I said.
Quirk nodded, and put his hand out.
"I see it?" he said.
I handed him the list, and he looked at it for a while.
"Didn't Jumbo have an agent?" Quirk said.
"Yeah," I said. "Alice Something-or-other."
I reached into my middle drawer and found the card she'd given me.
"DeLauria," I said. "Alice DeLauria Inc., offices in Century City. She's not on my list?"
"Nope."
"You talked to her before?"
"Nope."
"But you remember her?" I said.
"I do," Quirk said.
"How come you did and I didn't?" I said.
"Police captain," Quirk said.
"Of course," I said.
31
Z AND I WERE
on the Boston side of the river, early, running intervals on the floor of Harvard Stadium. A woman in tight black sweats and in-your-face red running shoes was running the stairs of the stadium.
Z was watching her.
"Good ass," Z said.
"Absolutely is," I said. "But before you get in too deep. It belongs to the girl of my dreams."
"Her?"
"Main squeeze," I said.
"That's Susan?"
"Uh-huh."
"Holy Christ!" Z said.
"My sentiments exactly," I said.
"Sorry," Z said.
"I often have the same reaction," I said.
We reached the end zone and turned and sprinted the hundred.
"That's really your girlfriend," Z said as we turned and started to walk back.
"Amazing, isn't it?"
"Did I hear she's a shrink?"
"Yep."
"From Harvard?"
"She has a Ph.D. from Harvard," I said.
"And she's with you?"
"Every chance she gets," I said.
"Why?" Z said.
"Love makes strange bedfellows," I said.
When she was through with the stadium stairs, Susan came down and joined us as we ran our last interval. She had no trouble keeping up. When we finished, we went to sit in the sun on the bottom row of stadium seats, and I introduced her to Z.
She put out her hand. He shook it carefully.
"How do you do, ma'am," Z said.
"Susan," she said.
"Yes, ma'am."
Susan looked at me.
"Is he always this polite?" she said.
"He's intimidated," I said.
"Poor Injun boy," he said. "Off the reservation."
"What kind of Indian are you?" Susan said.
"Cree," Z said.
"And where are Crees from?" Susan said.
"You mean before Paleface steal our land."
"Yes, that's what I meant," Susan said.
"Northern plains," Z said.
Susan looked at me.
"Susan's geography is pretty well limited to Harvard Square," I said to Z.
"Montana, Wyoming," Z said. "Saskatchewan, Alberta. Around there."
Susan smiled and nodded just as if she knew where those places were. I knew, and she knew I knew, that she didn't know which direction north was.
"Do you speak Cree?" Susan said.
Z rattled off an answer in Cree.
"Oh, good," Susan said. "I like that the language stays alive."
"Mother could speak," Z said.
"You were close to her?" Susan said.
"No," Z said.
"Either of your parents?" Susan said.
"Drunks," Z said.
"Would you prefer to be called a Native American?" Susan said.
"No," Z said. "We're not natives, no more than you. Just come here sooner from someplace else."
Susan nodded.
"My date, here, has promised me breakfast. Care to join us?"
"Breakfast?" Z said. "It's quarter of one."
"I never eat before I work out," Susan said. "It's a great diner in Watertown. Close."
"No, thank you, ma'am," Z said. "Ate breakfast already."
He stood.
"Nice meeting you," Z said.
"And you," Susan said.
Z turned and headed off across the stadium. We watched him go.
"My goodness," Susan said.
"Most I've ever heard him speak," I said. "Christ, he was even sort of humorous."
"Not only did he talk," Susan said. "He sounded rather like you."
"You think?"
"I do," she said.
"Who better?" I said.
"No one, if your goal is to be a wiseass."
I grinned at her.
"What better?" I said.
"He looks good," Susan said.
"And," I said, "he admired your tush."
"See, he's very nice."
"Every straight male alive admires your tush," I said. "Not all of them are nice."
"Well, it's a nice trait," Susan said. "Z seemed very ill at ease."
"Yes."
"Is he that way with all women, or just Harvard-educated Jewesses?" Susan said.
"I think it's because he isn't going to have sex with you," I said.
"Why not?" Susan said.
"Because you're with me," I said.
"Oh, good," Susan said. "I'd hate to think he didn't want to."
"The straight male populace of the known world wants to," I said.
"Are you saying he only knows how to relate to women if they are prospective sex partners?"
"Be my guess," I said.
"And men?"
"Prospective adversaries," I said.
"And you know this how?"
"Because I know stuff," I said.
"You're so certain," Susan said. "How come you're so certain?"
"In the barren days before I met you," I said, "I might have had a touch of that."
"I'm shocked," Susan said. "Shocked, I tell you."
"Let's go eat," I said.
32
I CALLED A COP
I knew in L.A. named Samuelson.
"Calling to see how it's going with a Boston guy as chief," I said.
"Best cop I ever worked for," Samuelson said. "Whaddya want?"
"I'm calling to inquire as to your well-being, and you're giving me 'Whaddya want'?"
"Correct," Samuelson said.
"Ever make captain?" I said.
"Yes."
"Makes me proud," I said, "just to know you."
"Will you get to the favor you want me to do you," Samuelson said.
"You think I'd only call because I needed a favor?" I said.
"Correct."
"That's cynical," I said.
"You think being a cop for thirty years is going to make me idealistic?" Samuelson said.
"Didn't you join the force in order to protect and serve?" I said.
"Sanitation department wasn't hiring," Samuelson said. "Whaddya want?"
"I'm interested in finding out whatever I can about a woman named Alice DeLauria," I said. "Jumbo Nelson's agent."
"Has her own agency," Samuelson said. "Alice DeLauria Inc."
"Ah, you know her."
"Her old man is to the Anglo Mob in L.A. what your pal del Rio is to the Latino Mob."
"His name DeLauria?"
"No," Samuelson said. "His name is Nicky Fellscroft. She's married to one of his associates, guy named Stephano DeLauria."
"He a hood?"
"Stephano? You bet. He's Nicky's enforcer."
"Any good?" I said.
"World-class," Samuelson said.
"And Alice DeLauria?"
"Close family," Samuelson said.
"She's in the business."
"Sure is. We've never been able to get anything that'll stand in court."
"One reason being that no one will testify against DeLauria's wife," I said.
"Or Nicky's daughter," Samuelson said.
"So how come she works as an actors' agent?"
"How many actors you figure she represents," Samuelson said.
"One?" I said.
"Correct."
"Jumbo?" I said.
"Correct," Samuelson said.
"She's his keeper," I said.
"That's right."
"You know why?" I said.
"Mob money is invested in him."
"I know," I said. "Can you prove it?"
"No," Samuelson said.
"I can't prove it, either," I said.
"But you know about the Mob money," Samuelson said.
"They invest in Jumbo's films," I said. "Wash dirty money, and make a profit, too."
"And you know that how?"
"You're not my only friend in Los Angeles," I said.
"Lucky for you," Samuelson said. "You working the Jumbo Nelson thing in Boston."
"I am," I said.
"Who you working for?"
"I'm sort of pro bono at the moment," I said.
"He kill her?" Samuelson said.
"I don't know," I said. "Homicide commander in Boston has his doubts."
"I'll pay attention," Samuelson said. "Anything passes me, might be useful, I'll let you know."

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