Taming a Sea Horse (16 page)

"Who's calling, please?"

"My name is Spenser."

"One moment, please."

Then Lehman's voice, sounding stiff and edgy. "What the fuck is this, Spenser?"

"I was wondering if you could help me, Perry."

"I'll help you, I'll help you right into the fucking ground," he said. "You think you can fuck with me like this? You're fucking with the wrong dude, pal; lemme tell you that."

"Gee, Perry, all I wanted to know was if you happened to know a guy named Warren, member of the club…"

Lehman hung up.

I went back to the corner and leaned against my car some more and looked at the Crown Prince Club and let the Crown Prince Club look at me. Since yesterday when I talked with him I hadn't laid eyes on Hawk. I hadn't been looking for him, but it was still as puzzling as it always was that a guy as visible as Hawk could become entirely invisible whenever he needed to. Maybe he was really Lamont Cranstan.

Perry must have decided to wait me out because for the rest of the day I was undisturbed. When the limo came to pick Lehman up in the late afternoon they paid me no rnind. Lehman got in without even looking. The doorman when he opened the door ignored me and the two bodyguards did the same. They got out and flanked the car and never once glanced my way. Then they got in and the limo went to Chestnut Hill with me behind it.

I didn't go into the drive. I was trying to fine-tune this just short of violent confrontation. So I parked out on Beacon Street again, and nobody came and looked at me until it got dark and I went home.

Rejection.

The next day I went through the routine. At noon that day Lehman got a telegram inquiring about Warren, and at four that afternoon a special delivery letter came for Warren, c/o The Crown Prince Club. I continued to be ignored. Perry's people were big aggressive guys but they weren't shooters. That kind of trouble would come from the people who owned Perry. It was getting toward the time when I figured it would come, and I wanted it to come. I needed to have a run-in with the pros and win, before I took my next step. I didn't have a plan exactly but I had some sort of inchoate sense of where I wanted this to go. It was much more than I was used to having.

The pros appeared on Monday afternoon as I was following Perry home. A brown Dodge sedan stayed two or three cars behind me out Beacon Street to Chestnut Hill. They did a decent tail job, but it's hard, with one car, to tail a guy who's expecting it. Lehman's limo swung into his driveway and I parked on the street in front. The Dodge turned off into a side street before it reached me. They wouldn't hit me outside Lehman's house. I sat for a while and thought about where I wanted them to hit me. Someplace where Hawk would have room to operate, somewhere that had open space so I could see them coming before they got in range.

I put the Subaru in gear and U-turned and headed back down Beacon Street to Chestnut Hill Avenue. I drove at an easy speed out Chestnut Hill Ave. through Brighton to Soldiers Field Road, along the Charles River near the Public Theater. The river in this section was bordered with open parkland, punctuated by hot-topped parking areas. People picnicked here and launched boats and walked dogs and jogged and threw Frisbees and rode bicycles. Across the river Watertown merged with Cambridge and on my side the road curved on past Harvard Stadium and became Storrow Drive.

I got out of the car and looked aimlessly around the area. It was not crowded, most people were eating supper. The commuter traffic heading out toward Newton was thinning. I had my gun out and held it at my side hidden behind the car. It was heavy artillery for me. An S&W .357 magnum in case one of the hit men was a Cape buffalo. The brown Dodge came into the parking area and I moved down toward the front of my car for a better look at the water. Whichever side they came on I could move to the other. The Dodge swung in on the driver's side of the Subaru and parked. Without looking at it I moved a couple of steps around to the other side of my car, staying near the front where the engine made a better shield than the passenger compartment. The driver and two other guys got out. I hadn't seen any of them before. One of them went to the trunk and opened it, and two others looked across the river at the apartment building being completed. Hawk's white Jaguar pulled in off the roadway and pulled in beside the Dodge. The guy at the trunk stared at it and then looked toward me. I moved another step behind the car. The two gunnies near the front of the car produced handguns and began to move around my car toward me. The guy at the trunk produced a double-barreled shotgun and stepped toward the rear of my car. I crouched.

Hawk stepped out of his jag with a .12 gauge pump and hit the guy with the doublebarrel a horizontal butt stroke on the back of his head. He went down, the double-barreled shotgun went sliding along the ground toward me and Hawk leaned over the roof of the Dodge and pointed the pump gun at the two gunnies in front.

"Y'all freeze," he said.

The two handguns stopped still, I straightened up behind the Subaru and pointed my gun at them. The lead gunnie turned his head carefully and stared at Hawk.

"Howdy doo," Hawk said. And smiled kindly.

I said, "Take the piece by the barrel, with your left hand, and throw it in the river. You, with the hat, do it first."

The guy with the Red Sox baseball hat tossed his gun in the river.

The guy Hawk had decked made a groaning noise and shifted from facedown to his side. The second gunnie threw his piece into the Charles. Hawk walked over behind the Subaru and picked up the double-barrel. He started to throw it in the river, and stopped and looked at it a moment. Then he gave an approving nod and walked to his Jaguar. He opened the trunk and put the shotgun in and closed the trunk and locked it.

"Nice weapon," he said.

"Lie facedown on the ground," I said to the two shooters. "Hands behind your head." They did it. The shotgun man was on his hands and knees. I reached down and helped him to his feet. He was frowning with pain. "What's your name?" I said.

"Bernie," he said.

"'My Attorney, Bernie,' " I said.

"Huh?"

"It's a Dave Frishberg song," I said.

"We were just going to warn you," Bernie said.

"Un huh."

"We weren't going to clip you, man. Ask them." He gestured at the two men on the ground. "We were just supposed to tell you to lay off."

"And you was planning to speak to him through the shotgun," Hawk said, "which was why you was pointing it at him."

"Who sent you?" I said. "I know it's a corny question, but I can't think of how else to ask."

"Just a guy," Bernie said. "Guy I don't know. Just said he wanted you told to stop bothering Mr. Lehman."

"Honest to God?" I said. "Probably ran into him at the Athenaeum while you were researching Increase Mather."

"Just met him in a bar, is all," Bernie said. I slapped him with my open left hand full across the face. It rocked him and he took a step back and then steadied himself, blinking his eyes and staring at me. His headache must have been a starburst.

"Who was it sent you?" I said.

"Hey, man, shit," Bernie said. And I rattled his head with another openhanded slap.

"Better tell him," Hawk said, "'fore you make him mad."

Bernie shook his head and stopped with half a shake. I put the gun under my arm and slapped him left hand right hand left hand right hand as hard and as fast as I could. He got his hands up and protected his face. So I slapped him on the side of the head, keeping the pace. When he moved his hands to protect his head, I slapped his face.

"They'll, they'll… they'll kill me," he said.

I stopped.

Bernie had his eyes clenched shut. He nodded, his face red from the slapping. His lip was bleeding.

"They'll find out," he said. His eyes still shut, he dropped his hands a little farther and I slapped him again.

"Stop it, man, stop it," he said.

"Who sent you," I said. "You tell me and you walk away."

Hawk said, "You getting tired? Want me to hit him awhile?"

"Another couple of minutes," I said.

"Jacky Wax," Bernie said.

I looked at Hawk. "John Weatherwax," I said.

Hawk said, "Un huh. Which means Mr. Milo."

"Well," I said, "aren't we in the big leagues."

Hawk nodded. "Funny they send people from the farm system," he said.

"I'm offended," I said.

"Don't blame you," Hawk said. "Want me to shoot them?"

"No," I said, "not this time. I want them to go tell Jacky Wax to tell Mr. Milo that I want to know who Warren is and it might be easier if somebody just told me."

"They know I told they'll kill me," Bernie said.

"Phrase it any way you like," I said. "Hit the ground."

Bernie got prone beside his helpers.

I reached into my car and came out with a newly purchased can of Krylon maroon spray paint. I carefully spray-painted the hair of the two shooters.

"Be interesting," I said to Hawk, "to hear them explain this one."

"Punk," Hawk said. "They can claim they going punk."

"They did that long ago," I said.

Hawk went and got in his jag. He pressed a button and the windows rolled down silently. "Maybe next time they send major leaguers," he said.

"Should I get a different color paint?" I said.

Hawk chuckled. "Increase Mather?" he said.

"Hell," I said, "he's easy. How about `My Attorney, Bernie'?"

Hawk eased the Jag into gear.

"Never knew somebody knew more stuff that didn't matter," he said. He backed the Jaguar out.

"What else is there to know," I said. But Hawk was already rolling and didn't hear me. I followed him.

The next morning Hawk and I went to see Perry Lehman.

"Tell Mr. Lehman that I need to talk," I told the doorman. "I'm sure we can straighten this out."

The doorman went inside. When he came back out he said, "Miss Coolidge says she'll see you."

"It's a start," I said.

Hawk was looking at the doorman without expression, but in the blank and placid gaze there was somehow amusement. The doorman felt it and looked at Hawk.

"Fine threads," Hawk said.

The doorman opened the door and we went in. Same oak waiting room, same decanter of port. Gretchen Coolidge was waiting for us.

"What is it you wish?" she said.

"This is, my associate, Hawk," I said. "Hawk, this is Gretchen Coolidge."

Hawk nodded and smiled.

Gretchen said, "How do you do," and then turned toward me and said, "What is it you want now?" and then made a tiny sideways flicker of a glance at Hawk.

"I'm hoping for rapprochement," I said.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I have compelling evidence that Perry Lehman's life is in danger and I need to warn him of it and suggest a solution."

"Mr. Spenser," she said, "what on earth are you trying to do now?"

"Gretchen," I said, "observe this face. Look at these wide-spaced intelligent eyes. Is this a man who would deceive you?"

"Or could," Hawk murmured.

I ignored him. Gretchen gave him another covert eye flicker.

"Mr. Spenser. We are trying to run an honest business here. You have disrupted that with threats and intimidation on behalf of God knows who or what and driven Mr. Lehman and myself to near distraction. Now you want me to believe that you can prevent the execution of a death threat on the same person you've been harassing?"

"Distraction?" I said. "By golly, that's pretty good. I had hoped at best for annoyance, but distraction…" I whistled silently.

"I don't find any of this funny," Gretchen said.

"Lot of people tell me that," I said. "But this is on the level. The way things are developing there's a very real risk to Mr. Lehman." She stared at me for a moment.

Hawk said, "This business so legitimate, how come when Spenser start harassing you you don't call the cops."

"Our membership is entitled to privacy and not to police and press presence, Mr., ah, Hawk."

Hawk nodded. "'Course," he said, and smiled at her.

She held her gaze on him for a moment and then turned her face sharply back at me. "This is probably another harassment ploy," she said.

I didn't say anything.

"But I cannot take it upon myself to dismiss it as such, as no doubt you fully anticipated. May I have the details before I inform Mr. Lehman?"

I shook my head. "I don't think Perry would like me telling anyone but him the details."

She tightened her lips. "Of course," she said. "Again it's a ploy I can't really reject." She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm afraid you've forced my hand, Mr. Spenser. Please have a seat while I inform Mr. Lehman."

She turned and went out through the big oaken door opposite the entrance. Hawk and I declined a seat and stood alone in the waiting room.

"Businesslike," Hawk said.

"Yes," I said, "she's very professional."

"Lots of professionals here,` Hawk said.

"Sort of," I said.

"We gonna paint Perry's head or what," Hawk said.

"I'm going to outwit him," I said. "And while I am you're going to keep the Royal African bodyguard from kicking me to death."

"The brother at the door did look dandy in his costume," Hawk said.

"They all do," I said. "Neocolonial chic." "Embarrassing," Hawk said.

It was maybe ten minutes before Gretchen came back and told us we could see Perry Lehman. In the elevator I caught her peeking at Hawk sideways out of a narrow corner of her right eye.

Lehman was in his rooftop garden. Near him Charles Jackson was standing at parade rest, in uniform. There were two other security attendants across the pool. Hawk took it in as we walked toward Lehman's desk and gave me his expressionless look of amusement.

"You think a mechanical hippo gonna come out of that pool and scare us?" he said. Lehman was sitting behind his desk. Not lounging.

"Don't try anything," he said. "I'm telling you right now there's three men here and I can get a dozen more in thirty seconds. So don't try a single thing, you understand?" There was a glass of champagne half drunk beside him, a bottle in the silver ice bucket near his desk. Jackson showed no flicker of recognition or connection.