The Shadow Box (56 page)

Hobbs's eyes went strangely flat. His jaw went slack.
He looked down at Moon's hand. Not the one with the
gun. The empty one. Moon knew that he must be looking
for a Louisville Slugger.

Moon tried to calm him. He showed that the hand was
empty. He glanced down at it himself. But there, on the
desk, just beneath his open palm, was another face that
he knew. It was in a brochure, glossy paper, bunch of
men, a big AdChem logo on the wall behind them. Right
about here, he must have said the wrong thing. Hobbs,
too, saw where he was looking.

”I can see you talked to Doyle,” is what Moon said.
“Now you can talk to me.”

Hobbs, very slowly, took the gun from where it touched
his lips. He lowered it. But just a little. The flat eyes took
a shine. For a moment, he seemed to be hugging the little
pistol. Against his chest. Just under his chin.

But then Bart Hobbs pulled the trigger.

Chapter 34

P
arker looked
at his watch.

Three hours had passed and still nothing from Haroun.
He might still be standing on FIatbush Avenue, waiting for Hobbs to come out.

Parker tried a call to Doyle's office. He got a machine.
He tried Doyle's home. No answer there either. There was
no telling, therefore, whether Doyle ran home or not. If
he didn't, Hobbs has to still be in there spilling his guts.
But Parker wasn't sure it was that big a problem.

He'll be claiming that he knew nothing of Jake Fallon,
had never laid eyes on him, and was horrified to learn that
those other bad people had killed him. Doyle will know that half of what Hobbs tells him is self-serving bullshit and the rest is only hearsay. And Hobbs isn't so dumb or
so scared that he'll sign his name to anything. Not until
he's cut a deal—which only the Fed can make with him—
and that can take weeks to negotiate because Hobbs will
try to hold out for a pass.

Lots of luck.

Before any of that, however, Doyle has to think about
Aaronson, to say nothing of Doyle's wife, so he's going
to take this real slow. Which brings up Hobbs's wife,
Jocelyn. The socialite. The tree-hugger. Hobbs will need
to think long and hard about how she'll look after acid
gets tossed in her face.

Parker still had time.

His immediate problem was personnel. He wouldn't be
surprised if Haroun has split and is off somewhere doing
hashish and sulking about being left alone. Hector claims
he made it real clear that he was to ice Hobbs but some
of these clowns, Hector included, have the IQ of a moth
ball. The only smart one is the new one, Yahya, and even
he keeps looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Like
back with Fat Julie Giordano.

Hey! You wanted a career move? You made one. And no one leaves this building except Hector, no one even makes a phone call.

Parker was sorely tempted to call Giordano himself. Ask
him to lend him some shooters. Those bozos tend not to
be geniuses either but at least they'd blend in better up in
Edgartown which sounds like a very white-bread kind of
place. But best to keep this in the family. And he needs
Hector anyway to drive Childress's boat—which comes
with rods and reels and twin engines that sound like two
Harleys—and which Childress bitched about lending but
he was not in a position to say no.

He'd sent Hector out to Bloomingdale's with some
money, told him to buy enough outfits for four men. He
sent him to Bloomingdale's because left to Hector's own
taste, they would all look like Tijuana pimps. He's to buy
warm-up suits like the joggers wear but get nice quiet
colors. Buy sneakers but no high tops. Buy a dozen or so
pairs of Bermuda shorts, T-shirts, a few golf jackets. Also
some fanny packs. That's where we'll carry our weapons.
On your way back, go down to Peerless and buy a couple of camera bags. Same purpose.

He would decide tonight who all was going. See if Haroun
turns up. He wished he still had Walter who at least had
blue eyes. But that gave him another thought. First thing in
the morning, he'll send all of them out together to get short
haircuts and get shaved. Most of them look like armpits.

Parker's telephone rang. He hoped it was Haroun. But,
speaking of bozos, it was Paulie something or other
from
Villardi's Seafood Palace. He said, “Hold on, okay? Mr.
Johnny Giordano would like a
woid.
”

“My brother,” said the younger Giordano, “has outlined
your proposal for me. I had questions he couldn't answer.”

Parker knew about this one. Been to college.

“Yeah, well, we can all talk more tomorrow.”

“That's at twelve. My brother and I have another meet
ing at two. Some serious people will be flying in to at
tend it.”

“For this?”

“You have aroused considerable interest.”

“How . . . serious are they?”

“Think global, Mr. Parker. To prepare for that meeting,
I will need a detailed briefing by you
before
we have
lunch with my brother.”

“Detailed? It's the details I get paid for, Mr.
Giordano.”

“Just an overview, Mr. Parker. If it's sound, you'll get
your money.”

“Sure. Eleven okay?”

“Eleven's fine, same place. You may bring an escort.
Position them as you see fit but not within earshot of
our meeting.”

He's reading my mind, thought Parker. “Your brother
won't care
I'm
bringing shooters?”

A small laugh.

“What's funny?”

“He'll think you're a fool if you don't. You're a former
policeman, Mr. Parker?”

“Twenty years.”

“Then, speaking of bodyguards, you'll probably notice
very heavy security in and around the restaurant. It's not
for you. Don't let it spook you. It's for the people who
are coming at two.”

Parker hung up his phone and smiled. No question
they're hot for this. More wise guys flying in, Vegas,
Miami, maybe even from Palermo from the way Giordano
talks. This is looking very good.

What's also good is he's
out of there by two without
having to sit through some ritual dago lunch while his
boys are waiting outside for him. They're in Oyster Bay by three and in Edgartown by dark.

This could be a
most
profitable weekend.

Chapter 35

Me
gan was
showering for the third time that
day.

She knew that she was borderline compulsive about
washing but this time she had an excuse. She'd cleaned
out her bilge which had begun to smell of oil and, while
down there, had replaced a gasket on her auxiliary engine.

Besides, she would be with Michael tonight.

It was almost six, time to get dressed. It would take her
an hour to motor to Edgartown where he'd asked her to
tie up for the weekend. They would have dinner on board
and then go back
to the Taylor House and watch a couple of movies in his room. She'd rented two Robin Williams
films from the video store in Falmouth. She'd seen them
before but Michael had not.

They would watch
Aladdin
first because it's wonderful
and because she loved to see Michael laugh. Then
intermission . . . during which she planned to screw his
brains out . . . and then she'd fall asleep watching
Awakenings.

This would be their last quiet evening before the week
end crowd arrives in force
.
 
M
any were here already
. A
nd before Michael loses his room to that woman who
saved his life. She was looking forward to meeting her.

Megan's ketch trembled slightly. She heard the groan
o
f nearby pilings as the incoming ferry crushed against them. It would be almost empty but not for long. There were hundreds of people waiting to board. Cars lined up
all the way to—

Graves again. She was seeing a grave in her mind. Only
one this time. And it was freshly dug.

Megan shut off the tap and grabbed a towel. She stepped
from the shower. The image quickly faded. Patting herself
dry, she climbed forward to the galley where she pulled
two swordfish steaks from the refrigerator. She'd meant to
marinate them before this. Perhaps it's not too late.

Damn. The image of that grave was coming back.

She'd hoped, she supposed, that the shower stall was
doing it. It's about the right size for a coffin. But this one
was coming from outside. It was not like the other graves.
This one was in a densely wooded area and there were
sounds of airplanes going overhead. It was very dark. She
was seeing it late at night.

Come on, Megan. Stop it. Ball it
up and get rid of it.