The Professional (12 page)

As they passed, Zel said to me, “Thanks.”

I nodded.

And they went out.

“So much for your muscle,” Tony said.

Chet nodded.

“I thought he was tougher than that,” Chet said.

“He was,” I said.

“Probably been beating up loan-shark deadbeats too much,” Gary said, and grinned. “Or guys like me.”

Beth was staring at me silently. Her face was a little flushed. Her tongue was still on her lower lip, but it wasn’t moving.

“What about it, Chet?” Tony said.

Chet looked at me and back at Tony. Then he looked at Beth.

“Okay,” he said. “I lay off Gary Boy.”

“Right choice,” Tony said.

“But”—Chet turned to Beth—“it stops here. I am not going to be your patsy.”

“Meaning?” Beth said.

“You drop Gary Boy here, or I’ll throw you out without a dime.”

“You’d divorce me?”

“I would.”

She looked at Gary.

“You got no case,” Gary said. “He wouldn’t have to give you anything.”

“And if I give him up?” she said to Chet.

“And keep your knees together,” Chet said. “We walk into the sunset together.”

“That’s my choice?”

Chet looked at her as if they were alone in the room.

“I love you,” Chet said. “But I can’t be out of business. If I was, you’d leave me anyway, soon as the money ran out.”

“You think that of me?” Beth said.

“I know it of you,” Chet said. “But it’s okay. I knew it when I married you. I made the deal. I’ll live with it. But I’m not giving up both you and the money.”

Beth looked at Tony Marcus.

“This man can actually put you out of business?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “He can.”

Beth looked at Gary.

“What should I do?”

“I was you,” Gary said, “I’d dump me and go for the dough.”

Beth nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

Tony grinned and stood up.

“Our work here is done,” he said.

NOW THAT HE didn’t have to babysit Gary Eisenhower anymore, Hawk was at leisure, so he rode up to Wickton College with me.

“So how come you didn’t let Boo have a go at Junior?” he said.

“Junior would have killed him,” I said.

“So?”

“No need for it,” I said.

Hawk shrugged.

“And how come we going up to talk to these people ’bout Gary Eisenhower? Ain’t that all wrapped up?”

“Told her I would,” I said.

“Who?”

“Director of counseling at the college,” I said.

We were on Route 2, west of Fitchburg. Mostly bare winter trees to look at.

“You a bear for cleaning up loose ends,” Hawk said.

“I’m a curious guy,” I said.

“You sho’ nuff are,” Hawk said.

We turned off Route 2 and headed north on 202 toward Winchendon. We stopped for coffee, and in another half-hour we were at Wickton College.

“Don’t see a lot of African-Americans ’round here,” Hawk said.

“You may be the first,” I said.

“At least I the perfect specimen.”

“You want to come in with me, Specimen?” I said.

“Naw,” Hawk said. “I think I sit here and see if I attract the attention of some college girls.”

“I don’t want to discourage you,” I said. “But no one paid any attention to me when I was here last time.”

Hawk looked at me silently for a while.

Then he said, “What that got to do with me?”

I left him and went in to see Mary Brown.

“Your recommendations support you,” she said when I was seated. “Particularly your honey bun.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“I obviously cannot break confidence with Mr. Pappas,” she said. “But I can tell you things that are on the public record.”

I waited.

“Our campus security officers do not have full police powers, so if there’s an incident we ask the local police to step in,” she said.

I waited some more.

“Mr. Pappas had a penchant for women who were with other men,” she said. “This precipitated several fights. Often with alcohol involved. On one occasion our security officers had to call local authorities to stabilize the situation.”

“And Mr. Pappas got busted?” I said.

“Yes.”

“And booked?” I said.

“Yes.”

“So if I were to speak to the local cops, I might learn something.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what I might learn?” I said.

“I believe so,” she said.

“I don’t wish to compromise your ethics,” I said. “But if I’m going to know it anyway, why not save me a trip to the fuzz.”

She thought about that for a time.

“He was released without penalty under the condition that he seek counseling from a psychotherapist.”

“There’s one around here?”

“One,” she said. “He has offices in the medical center.”

“Name?” I said.

She hesitated.

“His name is Paul Doucette,” she said. “I’ve alerted him that you might visit.”

“Hot damn,” I said. “So you were going to tell me this before I even arrived.”

“I thought I might,” she said.

“So it wasn’t my clever questioning,” I said.

“No.”

“How about charm,” I said.

“Well,” she said, and smiled. “That was certainly part of it.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “Is it enough to get me directions, too?”

“We have them preprinted,” she said, and took a card out of a file on her desk and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Your honey bun was very persuasive,” Mary said.

When I came out of the administration building, Hawk was leaning on the fender, talking with two college girls.

“This is Janice, and Loretta,” Hawk said. “We been discussing African tribal practices.”

“Any particular tribe?” I said.

“Mine,” Hawk said.

The girls said, “How do you do.”

“Have to excuse us,” I said. “Gotta go down to the medical center.”

“He scared to go alone,” Hawk said.

The girls said good-bye, we got in, and the girls waved after us as we drove away.

“What tribe was that again?” I said.

“I forgot,” Hawk said.

THE MEDICAL CENTER was a two-story brick building with a lot of glass windows, and a parking lot beside it. When I parked, Hawk got out with me.

“You going to hang around out here?” I said to Hawk. “And further integrate the region?”

“Must be nurses here,” Hawk said, and resumed residence on my front fender.

I went in to talk to Dr. Doucette. It took a while, but he squeezed me in between patients. He was a lean, fiftyish man with silvery hair combed straight back. He looked like he might play racquetball.

I gave him my card.

“Mary Brown called me, so I know who you are,” he said. “I’m Paul Doucette. I haven’t much time, and there are obviously issues of confidentiality. That given, how can I help you?”

“Tell me what you can about Goran Pappas,” I said.

“I interviewed him and found him a reasonably coherent young man with a passion for women, particularly women already with another man.”

“Any reason for that?”

“The interest in other men’s women?” Dr. Doucette said. “Probably, but it didn’t seem to consume him. He seemed perfectly able to control it if he chose to. His life didn’t make him unhappy, and he appeared to present no particular threat to society.”

“So you had nothing much to treat him for,” I said.

“Correct. I told the police and the college that in my opinion, he was well within the normal range of appropriate behavior.”

“Did you explore the other-men’s-women business with him?”

“I did.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Would I be revealing my ignorance,” I said, “if I suggested that if I were looking into it, I’d start with his mother and father.”

“In my business,” Doucette said, “as perhaps in yours, it is sensible to start with the most obvious and see where it leads.”

“Can you tell me where it led you?”

“No,” he said. “I can’t. But perhaps you can tell me why you want to know.”

I smiled.

“Just because I don’t know, I guess.”

“Has Pappas committed a crime?”

“Well, sort of.”

“ ‘Sort of’?” Doucette said.

I told him a brief outline of the Gary Eisenhower story.

Doucette nodded.

“So,” he said. “I gather that from your perspective, though he won’t be punished for the blackmail, the case is resolved.”

“Yes.”

He looked at his watch.

“And you’ll settle for that,” he said.

“Yes.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I agree with you.”

“It’s not perfect,” I said.

“It never is,” Doucette said.

“But I’ll take it,” I said.

“I do not believe Pappas is a bad man,” Doucette said. “He is, by and large, what he appears to be.”

“So you’ll take it, too,” I said.

“I did,” Doucette said.

He looked at his watch again. I nodded and stood. We shook hands. And I headed out to the parking lot to see how many nurses Hawk had wrangled.

I HAD A DRINK with Gary Eisenhower at the bar in a new steakhouse called Mooo, up near the State House.

“I got this one,” he said when I sat down beside him. “I guess I owe you that much.”

“Probably more than that,” I said.

“You think?”

He had a Maker’s Mark on the rocks. I ordered beer.

“I took Jackson and his people off your back,” I said.

“Pretty clever how you did that,” Gary said. “You know some scary dudes.”

“I do,” I said.

“You’re pretty scary yourself,” Gary said.

With his forefinger he stirred the ice in his bourbon.

“I know,” I said.

“How come you fought Boo?” Gary said.

“Junior would have killed him,” I said.

“The huge black dude is named Junior?” Gary said.

“Yep.”

“Man,” Gary said. “I’d hate to see Senior.”

I nodded.

“Why do you care if Junior kills Boo?” Gary said.

“No need for it,” I said.

“Boo’s not much,” Gary said. “Except mean.”

“I know.”

“Why would he go with the biggest guy in the room?”

“It’s all he’s got,” I said. “He’s a tough guy. He doesn’t have that, he has nothing. He isn’t anybody.”

“And you took that away from him,” Gary said.

“I did,” I said. “But he’s alive. And in a few days he’ll beat up some car salesman who’s fallen behind on the vig, and his sense of self will be restored.”

“That easy?” Gary said.

“Boo’s not very smart,” I said.

“I’ll say.”

Gary ordered another bourbon. I ordered another beer.

“Zel was, like, looking out for him,” Gary said.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know this game like you do,” Gary said. “But I saw Zel move a little away from Boo when the trouble started, and focus in on the skinny black kid.”

“Ty-Bop,” I said.

“And I figure if things went bad for Boo,” Gary said, “Zel would start shooting.”

“Unless Ty-Bop beat him,” I said.

“Either way,” Gary said. “We weren’t far from a shoot-out right there.”

“True.”

“In which several people might have got killed,” he said.

“True.”

“Including Beth,” he said.

“Including Beth.”

“You thinking about that,” Gary said, “when you stepped up?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Christ,” Gary said. “A fucking hero.”

“But you knew that anyway,” I said.

Gary laughed and sipped some bourbon.

“So,” I said. “I think you owe me more than two beers.”

“How many?” Gary said.

“I think you need to stop blackmailing these women,” I said.

“Ones that hired you?”

“Yep.”

“You get some kind of bonus?” he said.

“Nope.”

“You got a bonus, maybe we could split it.”

“Stop blackmailing these women,” I said.

“What if I fuck them for free?” Gary said.

“That’s between you and them,” I said. “But no blackmail.”

“And I pick up this tab?” Gary said.

“Nope,” I said. “I’ll get the tab.

Gary grinned and put out his hand.

“Deal,” he said.

And we shook on it.

IT WAS DECEMBER NOW. Gray, cold, low clouds, snow expected in the afternoon. I was in my office, drinking coffee and writing out my report on a missing child I’d located. My door opened without a knock, and Chet Jackson came in wearing a double-breasted camel-hair overcoat.

“The mountain comes to Mohammed,” I said.

“Whatever,” Chet said. “Mind if I sit down?”

I said I didn’t, and he unbuttoned his overcoat and sat without taking it off.

“I want you to keep an eye on my wife,” he said.

“To what purpose?”

“You know to what purpose,” Chet said. “I want to make sure she’s faithful.”

“Eisenhower?” I said.

“That’s one worry,” he said.

“Hard to tail someone who knows you,” I said.

“That’s fine,” he said. “If she spots you, she won’t do it.”

“Because she knows I’ll report it to you,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And you’ll divorce her and cut her off without a penny.”

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

“So I provide both information and a certain degree of prevention,” I said.

“Exactly,” he said.

“How long would you plan to keep track of her like this?” I said.

Chet looked startled.

“I . . . there’s no timetable,” he said. “We’ll play it by ear.”

I tilted my chair back and put a foot up on my desk.

“You want her to be faithful, but you don’t trust her, and you’re trying to compel her,” I said.

“I love her,” he said.

“And she loves you?”

“She’s been with me for ten years,” he said. “The sex is still good.”

“You ever read Machiavelli?” I said.

“I imagine somebody mentioned him to me at Harvard.”

“He argued that it is better to be feared than loved,” I said. “Because you can make someone fear you, but you can’t make them love you.”

“I’ll settle for what I can get,” Chet said.

“I understand that,” I said. “But I’m not your man.”