Authors: Robert B. Parker
In the parking lot Hawk said, "Maybe the numbers the same but my groupings were tighter."
"Shooting with that blunderbuss, for crissake, you shouldn't even have a grouping. You ought to put one round right on top of another."
"Groupings still tighter," Hawk said.
"If we'd both been shooting at a live target, either one of us would have killed him," I said.
"Sure," Hawk said.
He didn't say anything else until we were in his Jag heading downtown on Blue Hill Avenue.
"I'd a killed him deader," Hawk said softly.
"Sure you would have," I said.
The quality of mercy is not strained. Hawk smiled to himself as we followed Blue Hill Avenue past Magazine Street.
"Haskell made a run at me last night," I said.
"Who he sent?"
"Buster and the little gunnie that was with him in the restaurant. Buster was supposed to give me a beating while the gunnie stood guard."
"Appear that they unsuccessful," Hawk said.
"Yeah," I said. "Susan whacked the gunnie with a brick."
A small muscle moved at the corner of Hawk's mouth. We drove past Melina Cass Boulevard and turned onto Mass Ave. It was late, after eleven, and as always, the city at night was different from the city in daylight. The mercury street lamps and bright traffic lights and fluorescent neon made it seem more romantic than I knew it was. And the dark sky pressing down on it made it seem smaller, safer, and more contained than I knew it was.
"She all right?" Hawk said.
"Yes."
We passed City Hospital, which sprawled farther along Albany Street every time I saw it.
"Outta line," Hawk said, "with Susan present."
"Against the rules."
"We planning on speaking with Haskell?"
"He got an office on Market Street," Hawk said. "In Brighton."
"I know. Lot of people got something to settle with Haskell. There's usually a lot of firepower hanging around."
"Could call Vinnie," Hawk said. "'Cept for me, he's the best shooter in the city."
"Or maybe we can discuss this with him when he's not surrounded by the palace guard," I said.
"Which would be when?"
"Ah, there's the rub," I said.
"He must get laid," Hawk said.
"Haskell?" I said. "Who the hell would come across for Haskell."
"He got a wife?" Hawk said.
"Same answer as above," I said.
"Yeah, you probably right. Probably buys it."
"A professional woman," I said.
I nodded. We both thought about that as we passed through the South End and crossed Huntington Avenue near Symphony Hall.
"Who runs the whores in this city," I said to Hawk.
"Tony Marcus," Hawk said.
"Right. He out yet?"
"Been out a year or so," Hawk said.
"Maybe he can help us out."
"Sure," Hawk said. "He been dying to ever since you put him in jail."
"You're a brother," I said. "You'll convince him."
"I believe I helped put him in jail."
"Well, maybe."
"And as they taking him off, I believe he say I a honkie sucking mother fucker."
"Yep."
"I'm sure Tony didn't mean anything personal," I said.
"When you want to see him?" Hawk said.
"He still in the South End?"
"Same place," Hawk said. "Backroom of Buddy's Fox."
"I'll bet he's a night person too," I said. "Let's go see him now."
Hawk glanced at me and shook his head, and made a right turn on Boylston Street.
"Lucky I'm brave," he said.
"What can I get you gentlemen," he said.
"I'd like you to go back and tell Tony that Hawk is here to see him."
"You're Hawk?" the bartender said.
"I'm Hawk."
"Who's this?" The bartender nodded at me.
"Tonto," Hawk said.
The bartender nodded without smiling.
"Sure," he said.
He went to the end of the bar, flipped up the gate, and disappeared down the hall.
"Ever eat here?" I said.
"Sure," Hawk said. "Do some nice turnip greens."
The bartender came back. Hawk unbuttoned his jacket.
"Tony says have a drink on the house. Says he'll be out in a few minutes."
"Beer," Hawk said.
I nodded. The bartender pulled two draft beers. We leaned on the bar and sipped the beer. About halfway through the beer three black men came in together and sat in a booth near the door. None of them looked at us.
"Tall skinny kid with slick hair? Came in with the other two brothers? Name is Ty-Bop Tatum. He's Tony's shooter."
"Ty-Bop?" I said.
"What happens when you got thirteen-year-old girls naming babies," Hawk said.
"Think they just happened to stop by here for a helping of hush puppies."
"Sure," Hawk said.
"Think a big white bunny hops in every Easter and leaves eggs for the kids?"
"Sure," Hawk said.
We were nearly through our beer when Tony Marcus came down the hall with his bodyguard. Some people think a huge bodyguard will discourage people. Tony's would have discouraged the Marine Corps. He barely fit through the hallway.
"That's Junior," Hawk said. "He got his own zip code."
"Junior," I said.
Hawk shrugged.
Tony didn't speak to Hawk. He looked past him at me.
"Figured it was you," he said.
The group in the front booth had turned in their seats, and Ty-Bop had stepped out of the booth and was standing beside it. He had an earring. His longish hair was pomaded and slicked back against his skull. He was never quite still as he stood there, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to another, rocking back and forth a little on his heels, drumming with his finger against his thighs.
"How ya doing?" I said.
"You both got some fucking balls," Tony said. "Coming in here."
"Balls are us," I said. "We need a favor."
"A favor? A fucking favor?"
Hawk was looking at the bodyguard. His face had a look of benign amusement.
"What you feed him, Tony? Hay?"
If the bodyguard heard Hawk, he registered nothing. Probably too busy looming. A corner of Tony's mouth moved as if he were tempted to smile. His hair was grayer than it had been when I first knew him and his neck looked softer and his jawline was a little more blurred. But he was still a handsome man, expensive-looking, and very neat in his person.
"You sent me up," Tony said.
"Shoulda been life," Hawk said. "And you out in three years."
"I ain't some fucking street thug," Tony said. "What you want?"
"You know Haskell Wechsler?" I said.
"That prick?"
"That one," I said. "You owe him anything."
"I owe him a kick in the ass, I ever get the chance," Tony said.
"Here's your chance," I said.
"I'm waiting," Tony said.
"We want to take Haskell down," I said. "We do and it leaves all his loansharking business up for grabs. Broz is too old now to care about expanding. Fast Fddie only does Asians. Leaves you and Gino."
"And the Italians," Tony said. "And the Irish guys."
"You'll know ahead of time he's going," I said. "Gives you an edge."
"Whaddya want from me?"
"Haskell's always got a lot of shooters around him."
"'Course he does," Tony said. "Everybody knows him wants to kick his nasty ass."
"We need to get Haskell alone, and the only time we can think of," Hawk said, "is when he's getting laid."
"You think Haskell can get laid?"
"We figure he pays for it," I said.
"'Course he does," Tony said. "Who would fuck him but a whore?"
"So you run the whore business in town."
"Yeah?"
"If he was to employ a whore," I said, "and she was to let us know where and when, and bow out, we could go talk to Haskell."
"That's the favor?"
"Uh huh."
"And when he goes down, you let me know, first. 'Fore it happens."
"Uh huh."
Tony smiled gently to himself. I could tell he liked it.
"I'm going to be thinking about it," he said.
He turned and squeezed past his bodyguard and walked back down the hall. The bodyguard followed, completely screening Tony from view. Hawk and I watched him go for a moment and then went toward the front door. The skinny shooter held his ground as we came to the door.
"'Shappenin', Ty-Bop?" Hawk said
Ty-Bop was no more than twenty. He had light skin and small, nearly oval, black eyes. The eyes were depthless, like a snake's. He put his left fist out and Hawk bumped it with his left. Ty-Bop stepped aside and we went out into the South End.
"Good you know the language," I said to Hawk.
"Surely is," he said. "Got to take special care with the children."
We were driving up Tremont Street, past Bay Village, toward Charles Street.
"What do you think Ty-Bop's life expectancy is?" I said.
"If he don't mess with me? Tony will use him up in maybe five years."
"And I suspect he knows that," I said.
"I imagine he do," Hawk said. "Right now he gets respect."
"Because he's willing to shoot anybody at all."
"Ty-Bop ain't got much other way to get respect," Hawk said.
"I know."
We drove through Park Square and stopped for the light at Boylston. The Common sloped up to our right. The Public Garden lay flat to our left.
"Kids like Ty-Bop bother you?" I said.
"Yeah."
"Me too," I said. "You got any idea what to do about them?"
"No."
"Me either."
"This is Velvet," Hawk said. "Tony arranged for us to talk with her."
"See," I said, "another triumph for charm and civility."
"Tony says you take Haskell out he knows ahead of everyone."
"Sure," I said. "Hello, Velvet."
"Hello."
Velvet looked maybe eighteen. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a loose white tee-shirt. Her only makeup appeared to be lipstick. She stood quietly in front of my desk.
"Sit down, Velvet," I said.
She sat.
"Would like coffee?"
"Yes, please."
"Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please. Two sugar."
Hawk got her some from the Mr. Coffee pot. Then he sat beside her.
"Haskell got a regular contract with Velvet," Hawk said.
"Is Velvet your real name?" I said.
"No."
"What is your real name?"
"Kim Pak Soong."
"You're Korean."
"Yes."
"You're a prostitute?" I said to Velvet.
"Yes."
"Do you know who Tony Marcus is?"
"No."
I smiled. She was at the far other end of the chain of command.
"But you know Haskell Wechsler."
"Haskell. Yes."
"You have regular appointments with him."
"Yes."
"Tell me about them."
"I would not tell anyone these things, but Clifton says I must."
"Clifton's your pimp?"
"Yes."
"Where do you meet Haskell?" I said.
"Charles River Motel. He always has room 16."
"In Brighton, on Western Avenue?"
"I don't know name of street. It is near the river. Past the television station."
"How do you get there?"
"Man comes in a car, picks me up, and takes me there. When we are through, man takes me back."
"Is Haskell always in the room when you get there?"
"No. I go first, man lets me in. Then I get ready. Mr. Haskell like me to wear kimono, silk slippers, lots of makeup. Mr. Haskell comes maybe half hour after I do."
"He's alone?"
"Yes."
"How long usually?"
"He stay an hour, maybe hour and half. He doesn't fuck me all time. He brings a bottle. We drink some of it. Mr. Haskell like to talk."
"Who leaves first?"
"Mr. Haskell. After he is gone, I take shower, change clothes. Man comes back for me."
"You do this regularly."
"Tuesday and Thursday."
"So you're scheduled for tomorrow."
"Yes."
"What time?"
"Three o'clock."
I sat back in my chair and thought about things. Velvet drank her coffee.
"Clifton say you should do what we ask you to do?"
"Yes."
I looked at Hawk.
"Smart move would be to scope this all out tomorrow and make our move next Tuesday."
"Yep."
"Want to do it that way?"
"Nope."
"Tomorrow?" I said.
"Yep."
I leaned back in my chair some more, looking at Velvet.
"Okay," I said finally, "tomorrow here's what we need you to do."
Velvet listened with full attention while I told her. She seemed solely interested in doing what she was supposed to. She showed no interest at all in why.