Sixkill (22 page)

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Authors: Robert B Parker

BOOK: Sixkill
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"Yes," del Rio said. "And she would never point him at anyone without her father's agreement."
"Close family," I said.
"Very," del Rio said. "And one to which Stephano is very pleased to belong."
"It's worked out well for Stephano," I said.
"Do you expect him to come for you?" del Rio said.
"Possible," I said.
"Would you like me to have Chollo kill him for you?" del Rio said.
"You're very kind," I said. "But no, I need to deal with him myself."
"Yes," del Rio said. "You probably do."
50
IT WAS SUNDAY MORNING,
in the full flower of early June. Susan and I were having brunch at a Boston restaurant called Mooo. The brunch was the stuff that dreams are made of, and so was Susan. I was sipping a passionfruit Bellini and having a very nice time when Tony Marcus slid into an empty chair next to me.
"Morning, Dr. Silverman," Tony said.
"Good morning, Mr. Marcus," Susan said.
"Call me Tony," he said.
"Call me Susan," she said.
He smiled. I checked the room. At a table for two a few tables removed was a young woman who looked like Halle Berry. She smiled at us. Jittering at the bar was a skinny little youth named Ty-Bop who always looked like he was on something, and probably was. Whatever he was on didn't seem to impede him. He could shoot nearly as good as Chollo, or Vinnie Morris. Beside him was Junior, who was the approximate size of a 747 but organized differently. They were always in sight when Tony was around. At the other end of the bar, Z was drinking orange juice and eyeing Junior speculatively. Dueling bodyguards.
Junior saw me looking and nodded at me. Ty-Bop paid no attention. He never did, unless there was someone to be shot. When there wasn't, he seemed to spend his time contemplating the inside of his eyeballs.
"Nice brunch," Tony said.
"Elegant," I said.
"You try them Kobe beef dumplings?" Tony said.
"Soon," I said.
Susan was having assorted berries with champagne sabayon on the side, which had a fair chance of being more than enough for her. I had larger plans.
"We need a brief conversation," Tony said. "I was going to give you a call, but here we both are."
"Kismet," I said.
"Whatever the fuck that is," Tony said.
He looked at Susan, then at me.
"May I talk freely?" he said.
"When have you not?" I said.
"Not everyone likes to let the babe know everything," Tony said.
"I do," I said.
"Babe?" Susan said.
"You surely are a babe, Dr. Susan," Tony said.
"You're too kind," Susan said.
"Got cause to do some business in South Central L.A.," Tony said to me. "Some of the people I do business with do business with a fella named Nicky Fellscroft in L.A. You know who he is?"
"I do," I said.
"Got some interest in, ah . . ." He looked at Susan.
"In killing me," I said.
"Bingo," Tony said.
"Understand he already hire some local help, and they didn't work," Tony said.
"True," I said.
"My people in South Central ask me could I take care of that," Tony said.
"And you told them no, because you were too fond of me," I said.
"Tole them I drop you like a bad habit, you get in my way. But I don't do contract killing."
"See," I said to Susan.
"I make a lot of money. I don't need to hire out, you know?" Tony said. "Don't need the trouble. Don't need grief from the blue bellies."
"Thanks for the tip," I said.
"Ain't give it to you yet," Tony said. "Folks in South Central tell me he got his own man, fella named Stephano something. Say he'll probably send him. Say he badder than Hawk."
"They know Hawk?" I said.
"No."
"That's why they can say that," I said.
"I changed it a little," Tony said. "What they tell me was he the baddest mofo in the world. I sorta reworded it, cause of Dr. Susan. Course, they actually didn't say 'mofo.' "
"Did they say 'motherfucker'?" Susan asked sweetly.
"Matter of fact, they did," Tony said.
"Thought they might," Susan said.
"Other thing," Tony said, " ' fore I go back to my young lady and leave you folks in peace. You want me, I'll send some people over to watch your back. Can't give you Ty-Bop or Junior. They watch my back. But I got some pretty good folks I could, ah, dispatch."
"Thank you, Tony," I said. "But I need to take care of my own business, you know."
"I know," Tony said. "Knew it when I said it. But the offer is real."
He looked at Susan.
"You, too, Dr. Susan," he said. "Things don't go well, you need help, call me."
Tony took a card from his inside pocket and handed it to Susan.
"Thank you," Susan said. "That's very nice."
"He done me a favor once," Tony said. "I owe him."
"And," Susan said, "maybe your bark is worse than your bite."
Tony grinned at her.
"No," he said. "It ain't."
51
"YOU DIDN'T MENTION
to me how fearsome Stephano Whosis is supposed to be," Susan said.
"What good would that do you?" I said.
"None," Susan said.
"Besides," I said. "We both know how fearsome I am."
"I'll try to focus on that," Susan said.
Susan was still carefully ingesting her berries. Occasionally she would put a tiny speck of sabayon on one, and eat it.
"But you allowed Tony Marcus to speak of it in front of me," she said.
"I'm going to tell him that he can't speak freely in front of you?" I said.
Susan nodded.
"I might have found that bothersome," she said.
I ate a little tuna tartare.
"You know," I said. "I will withhold sometimes, when I think it's in your best interest."
She nodded.
"Yes," she said.
"But I won't conceal from you."
Again, she nodded.
"Yes," she repeated. "I understand the difference."
"Is it the Harvard Ph.D.?" I said.
"That's more of a work permit," Susan said. "Most of what I know, I've learned for my patients."
"How 'bout me?" I said.
Susan ate half a blackberry and smiled.
"You have been very helpful with my libidinous skills," she said.
"Glad to help," I said.
"Now that the cat is out of the bag," Susan said, "tell me about Stephano."
I told her what I knew. She listened the way she did, which is to say entirely. When I finished, she was nodding slowly.
"How fascinating," she said.
"Fascinating," I said.
"Everything in his life seems to reward his pathology," Susan said.
I was having some steak and eggs, trying to keep my cholesterol up. I ate some.
"Wife approves," I said. "Father-in-law/boss approves. Makes him a good living. He gets some variation on respect from his peers."
"Plus whatever pleasure he achieves by acting out his sadism," Susan said.
"Fulfilling," I said.
We were silent for a time. Susan ate a strawberry. I had some steak. At his table, Tony Marcus was leaning forward in deep contemplation of his brunch companion.
"You cannot," Susan said, "let him kill you."
"And leave you wrestling with your libidinous skills alone?" I said.
"I'd probably just abandon them," Susan said. "If you were gone."
"Be a great waste," I said, "of some highly developed technique."
Susan ate a blueberry. My left hand was resting on the table. She put her right hand on top of it for a moment.
"Well," she said. "Yes."
52
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON.
Z and I were sparring in Henry's boxing room, and Z was holding his own. We went five three-minute rounds. Z was still breathing comfortably when we stopped and went into Henry's office for beer.
Z held the cold bottle of Blue Moon against his forehead for a moment, then took a drink.
"Stuff I haven't told you," he said.
I drank some beer.
"Never too late," I said.
"I had a problem ratting anybody out," Z said.
I nodded.
"And I didn't trust you," Z said.
I nodded again, and drank some more beer.
"Figured maybe you were helping me out," Z said, "because you thought I knew stuff."
"Reasonable," I said.
"But you never asked me anything."
"It was a ploy," I said, "to gain your confidence."
Z looked at me silently for a moment.
Then he said, "No. It wasn't."
I shrugged.
"Never asked me about booze, either," he said.
"Figured that was up to you," I said.
He got two more beers from Henry's refrigerator and handed me one.
"You was a boozer," Z said. "And Susan said to you that she'd leave if you didn't give it up. . . . What would you do."
"Give it up," I said.
"I was you, I would, too," Z said.
We both drank some beer.
"But I got no Susan," Z said. "So I got to be able to stop on my own."
"Everybody does," I said. "Finally, it's just you."
"Just me," Z said.
"Yep."
"And you been working with me," Z said. "So I can be a guy who can win that one."
"According to Susan," I said, "I'm helping you be who you are."
"If you'd started pressing me for info," Z said, "we wouldn't have made no progress."
"I know," I said.
"Even now, I brought it up," Z said. "You aren't asking."
"No," I said. "I'm not."
Z held the beer bottle out a little away from him and studied it.
"When I finish this one, I'm gonna want another one," he said.
"Me too," I said.
"But I won't have one," Z said.
"Me either," I said.
The sun had slid considerably west by now, and the harbor water was much grayer than it had been when we came in.
"Jumbo and me are sitting in his hotel living room. We done a couple Violets, and we're drinking bourbon when the front desk calls and says there's a Ms. Lopata to see Mr. Nelson. I tell Jumbo. I tell him. He gives me a big thumbs-up, and I tell the desk to send her up. She comes in. She looks tense, you know? Jumbo gets some champagne, and they drink it and do some lines and she eases up. I stick with the bourbon. Coke gets me crazy sometimes. Always thought it didn't mix well with the muscle stuff I was juicing. After a couple lines, Jumbo says something slick, like, 'Come on into the bedroom, I got something to show you.' And he giggles--honest to God--giggles. And she looks down like she's gonna blush, but she doesn't, and they head on into the bedroom."
I sipped a small sip of beer. I was trying to nurse my second bottle so I could be a good example to Z.
"I'm nibbling at the bourbon and looking at the tube. I got the sound up loud so I don't hear nothing, and they're in there maybe an hour. Then Jumbo comes out with no clothes on, which ain't pretty, and a really weird look on his face. And he says, 'Get in here, and help me.' And I go in and she's half on the bed, half on the floor, with this scarf around her neck, and the scarf's tied to the bedpost. She's naked, too . . . and Jumbo's saying, 'Get her on the bed, get rid of the scarf, get her clothes on, we gotta get her out of here.' And I say, 'What the hell happened.' And Jumbo says, 'Nothing, I didn't do nothing.' And I say, 'Is she dead?' And Jumbo says, 'I dunno. It's an accident.' And I get the scarf off her neck and try to listen to her heart and I can't find none. And I can't feel her breathing. And I say, 'I think she's dead.' And Jumbo says, 'We gotta get her outta here.' And I say, 'Shouldn't we get a doctor?' And he says, 'I don't know. I didn't do nothing. Get her dressed first. I don't feel good.' And he goes in the bathroom and starts to puke. And I get her up on the bed and put her clothes on her. You ever try to dress somebody like that? It is not easy. I gave up on the bra. Threw it away when I ditched the scarf. And Jumbo comes out of the bathroom, still no clothes on, and says, 'We gotta get her out of here.' And I say to him that the desk knows her name and knows she was here, and how we gonna get her outta here, anyway? And he shakes his head and goes out in the living room and drinks some of the bourbon out of the bottle and comes back in with his cell phone and says, 'I gotta call Alice,' and goes back in the bathroom and pukes again. Then he shuts the door. So I get her finished up, and now I'm pretty sure she's dead. And he comes out and says, 'Alice says when you got everything cleaned up, call the front desk and tell them a guest in your room is unresponsive. And then don't say anything to fucking anybody until she gets here.' "

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