Bad Business (16 page)

I
called an accountant I knew and we talked for a few minutes. When I hung up, I took Adele directly from my office and moved her into my place on the first block of Marlborough Street just up from the Public Gardens.

“I wish I could have gone home first and picked up some things.”

“Safer this way,” I said.

“Could anyone have followed us?” she said when we went into the building.

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

I was on the second floor. We took the stairs.

“How do you know we weren't followed?” Adele said.

“I have superpowers,” I said. “Later maybe I'll leap a tall building for you, at a single bound.”

She smiled faintly. My wit was probably too
sophisticated for her. I unlocked my apartment door and we went in.

“Do you live with that woman?”

“Susan? No I don't.”

“Wow, you seemed so . . .”

“We are,” I said.

“Oh.” She looked around. “You live here alone?”

“I have visitation rights with a dog,” I said. “She stays here sometimes.”

She looked around some more.

“My God,” she said. “It's immaculate.”

“I'll be damned.”

“I just . . . I'm sorry . . . I just assumed men living alone were pigs.”

“Clean pigs,” I said.

“Do you cook for yourself?”

“Myself and houseguests,” I said. “You want coffee?”

“That would be nice,” she said.

She sat on a stool at my kitchen counter, while I fired up Mr. Coffee.

“I'm going to need things,” she said.

“Make a list,” I said, “with sizes. Susan and I will get them for you.”

“Susan?”

“I assume some of what you want may be intimate and I blush easily,” I said.

She smiled a little less faintly. She was beginning to get her feet under her. My doorbell rang. She jumped six inches and spilled coffee on the counter.

“Omigodjesus,” she said.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'm expecting someone.”

I went and spoke into the intercom and buzzed the
door open and in a minute there was a knock on my door. I checked the peephole and opened the door and Vinnie Morris came in. Vinnie was a medium-sized guy with movements so quick and exact that I always thought of a very good watch when I saw him. His dark hair was barbered short. He was newly shaved, and wearing a dark summer suit with a white shirt and tie. He was carrying a long canvas gym bag.

“Vinnie Morris,” I said. “Adele McCallister.”

“How do you do,” Vinnie said.

Adele said, “Hello.”

“Vinnie's going to stay with you,” I said.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“I . . . why?”

“To protect you,” I said.

Vinnie put the bag down on my couch and unzipped it and took out a short double-barreled shotgun and two boxes of shells. Adele stared at him as if she'd seen a cobra. Vinnie put the shells on the coffee table and leaned the shotgun against the couch at the near end. Then he took an iPod and some earphones out and put them on the coffee table.

“Is he . . . ? Can he really protect me? He's not, no offense, Mr. Morris, but he's not big like you.”

Vinnie was paying no attention to us. He walked to the door he'd just entered and opened it and looked out into the corridor for a time. Then he closed it, locked it, fastened the swing bolt, and peered for a moment through the peephole.

“It's Vinnie's position,” I said, “that big just makes a better target.”

“But is he, ah, competent.”

Vinnie walked across my living room and looked out at the street for a moment.

“Vinnie is a very skilled shooter,” I said.

“And . . . ah . . . loyal? Reliable?”

“You mean will he stay? Yes. Vinnie is a very reliable person. He will stay with you, and I will come by and stay with you, and a man named Hawk will come by. One of us will always be with you.”

“Is Hawk his first or last name?” Adele said.

“Just Hawk,” I said.

“And he's resourceful, too?”

“Infinitely,” I said.

“How will I know him?”

“Vinnie or I will introduce you.”

“And one of you will stay with me here, alone?”

“Yes.”

Vinnie came back to the kitchen end of the living room and poured himself coffee.

“I don't . . . I wonder . . . I mean at night?”

Vinnie found some light cream in my refrigerator and added it to his coffee.

“We'll try not to be piggish,” I said.

“I get a lot of sex, ma'am,” Vinnie said. “I don't really need to have none with you.”

Adele actually blushed. It was a good sign. She had calmed down enough to be embarrassed. Vinnie was stirring five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.

“I didn't mean . . . I only . . .”

“I know,” I said. “This is new for you. You can trust us. We'll take care of you. And we'll respect your privacy and your modesty and you.”

She nodded and looked at Vinnie. He was sipping his very sweet coffee.

“May I call you Vinnie?”

“Sure.”

“And I'm Adele,” she said.

“Yeah,” Vinnie said. “I knew that.”

I
went to see Quirk in his new high-tech office in the new high-tech police headquarters.

“Wow,” I said. “You must be catching a lot more crooks now.”

“We got so many,” Quirk said, “they're asking us to slow down a little.”

“I have a high-ranking employee at Kinergy that says the company is nearly broke.”

“Gee,” Quirk said.

“Two people from Kinergy have been shot,” I said.

“One of them is Healy's problem,” Quirk said.

“And the other one is yours,” I said. “You think this might be a clue?”

“It might be,” Quirk said. “Who's your source?”

“The source feels endangered and is in hiding,” I said. “I promised I wouldn't say.”

Quirk leaned back in his chair with his thick hands laced across his flat stomach.

“And,” he said, “you know where this source is, of course.”

“I do.”

Quirk swiveled his chair halfway and looked out the window for a bit.

“I've known you a long time,” he said. “So I know I can't scare you into giving me a name.”

“Don't feel bad,” I said. “I still think you're scary.”

“Thanks. Got any evidence to say the place is broke?”

“Just the unsupported allegation of my well-placed source.”

“Judges love that,” Quirk said. “And, say it's so, and say we could prove it, how does it connect with my murder?”

“Don't you mean murders?” I said.

“Other one's Healy's. I only claim credit for out-of-jurisdiction crimes if they're solved.”

“Of course,” I said. “I don't know how it connects. Just strikes me that it might.”

“Sure it might,” Quirk said. “And what I want you to do is go right over to the DA's office and tell them you have an allegation from an unnamed source that might be a clue, and you want a warrant to examine the books of the most successful corporation in the Commonwealth.”

“Didn't they donate a lot of money to the last election campaign of the current senate president?”

“I believe they did,” Quirk said.

“Want me to mention your name?”

“No.”

“Maybe Healy could get in there,” I said.

“You can ask him,” Quirk said.

“Think there's a chance?”

“No.”

“Me either,” I said.

“So,” Quirk said. “I would say it's up to you, Caped Crusader.”

“My forensic accounting skills may have corroded a little,” I said.

“Lot of that going around,” Quirk said.

“Still,” I said, “if I blunder around over there long enough . . .”

“Maybe you'll write
Hamlet
,” Quirk said.

I
met Susan at Copley Place, which is a high-rise mall in the middle of the city. She was looking into a shop window, studying a manikin in a red leather pantsuit when I found her.

“I know a place would sell you a matching whip,” I said.

“I'm sure you do,” she said and gave me a kiss. “You have this Adele person's list?”

“Adele person?” I said. “Do I detect a hint of repressed hostility?”

“Yes,” Susan said. “Do you have the list?”

I handed her the list. She scanned it like a specialist reading an X-ray. Every time I was in Copley Place I was dazzled by how successfully it avoided any regional identity. In here you could be in Dallas or Chicago or Los Angeles or Toronto or Ann Arbor, Michigan.

“Okay,” Susan said. “I can get most of this at Neiman's.”

I followed Susan through Neiman's while she bought makeup and underwear and jeans and tops and hair-care products and pantyhose and a pair of fashionable tan loafers and various items of personal hygiene. While she was there she bought herself a sweater and some pants. After I had paid I had just enough left for lunch, so we went downstairs to The Palm.

“So why the hostility?” I said.

“To this Adele person?” Susan said.

“Yes,” I said. “That hostility.”

“She strikes me as a sexual predator.”

“Sexual predator?”

“Yes.”

“That seems unsympathetic,” I said.

“Um,” Susan said.

She had a glass of iced tea from which she took a sip.

“I mean you have often made yourself sexually available,” I said.

“To you.”

“Yes.”

“I have the right,” Susan said.

“And she doesn't.”

“No.”

“Maybe she'll make herself sexually available to Vinnie or Hawk,” I said.

“That's her right,” Susan said.

“But not to me,” I said.

“That would not be her right,” Susan said.

“Even if she did,” I said, “I would remain steadfast.”

“I'm sure you would.”

“Then why do you care?”

“In one word,” Susan said, “how would you describe your state of mind if I told you one of my male patients was living with me for a while.”

“One word?”

“Yes.”

“Frenzied,” I said.

“Thank you.”

I took a drink of my Virgin Mary.

“I can't ask her to leave right now,” I said.

“I know.”

“She'll be there for a while,” I said.

“I know.”

“I won't succumb to her blandishments.”

“I know.”

“But you're still going to be hostile?”

“Yes.”

“But not to me,” I said.

She smiled the luminous smile. The one that makes her whole face color, and clocks speed up.

“Of course not, my large kumquat,” Susan said. “I love you.”

“Even more than Pearl?” I said.

She kept the smile.

“Don't go there,” she said.

W
hen I got back to my apartment, Vinnie, with his coat off and a nine-millimeter Glock on his belt, was cooking sausage with vinegar peppers on the griddle part of my stove. A big pot was heating on another burner. Adele and Hawk sat at the counter watching him. They were drinking some Gray Riesling.

“On duty?” I said to Hawk.

“Vinnie's on duty,” Hawk said. “Besides which, you know I don't get drunk.”

“I had forgotten that for a moment,” I said.

Adele said, “Hello.”

I said, “You seem to be warming to your protectors.”

“I am,” Adele said. “It's probably some variation of the Stockholm syndrome.”

“Cecile called,” Hawk said. “I told her to come over.”

“She get a nibble?”

“Think so.”

“When?” I said.

“Tonight.”

“I think you're back on duty,” I said.

“Pretty soon,” Hawk said.

Adele watched us as we talked, and glanced now and then at Vinnie as he nurtured his sausage and peppers.

“Can you tell me who Cecile is?” Adele said. “What you're going to do?”

“Cecile is a friend of Hawk's,” I said. “The rest is a little murky.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

Hawk grinned.

“Not for us,” he said.

The doorbell rang and Hawk went to let Cecile in.

“I've got a date,” she said as she came into the living room.

“Of course you do,” I said.

“What a relief,” she said.

Cecile knew Vinnie. I introduced her to Adele.

“I need a drink,” Cecile said.

“Martini?”

“Rocks,” she said, “with a twist of orange if you've got it.”

I made her the martini.

“This has been fun,” she said, “like, you know, cops and robbers, an adventure. And I always knew that Hawk and you were around.”

“Protect and serve,” I said.

“Well, now I'm scared. I don't want to play anymore.”

“No need. Tell us the deal.”

“I go to an apartment on Park Drive,” Cecile said, “and ring the bell for Griffin in two-B.”

“That's it?”

“Yes. When someone answers I give my name on the intercom. He buzzes me in and I go up to apartment two-B.”

“Any instructions when you get up there?”

“None,” Cecile said. “I assume I disrobe.”

“Maybe I should go too,” Vinnie said.

“Vinnie will stay with Adele,” I said. “Hawk and I will come along.”

“Do I have to go?”

“You have to say your name so he'll buzz you in,” I said. “Then Hawk can take you away.”

“And you'll go up?”

“Knock, knock,” I said. “Who's there.”

“What if he's watching, or he sees you through the peephole and he won't let you in.”

“He's gotta come out sometime,” I said.

Cecile shook her head.

“I've gotten this far,” Cecile said. “I need to get you in there.”

“We'll be with you,” I said.

She looked at Hawk. He nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “What's the plan.”

We got to the Fenway at 6:30 and drove slowly down Park Drive past 137 so Cecile could get a look at it. Then we went on around to Boylston Street and parked in the parking lot of a supermarket a block over from Park Drive. It was 6:45. Cecile's appointment was at seven.

“One more time,” I said. “You and Hawk will walk down Jersey Street. Hawk will stay around the corner out of sight and you'll continue on down toward the
apartment. I'll walk up Kilmarnock Street and approach the apartment from that direction. Give me a little head start so I get there a little before you do. I'll stand on the front steps fumbling for my keys. You come up, pay me no attention, and ring the bell. The minute Hawk sees you ring the bell he starts down toward us. Your date upstairs can't be watching out the window because he's answering your ring. You get buzzed in and I go in with you, because I've lost my keys. I linger a moment to let Hawk in, you start slowly toward the elevator. Hawk comes in and goes up the stairs.”

“What if there aren't any stairs?”

“We'll improvise,” I said. “But I've been in some of these buildings. They have stairs that circle the elevator.”

“Whatever the setup,” Hawk said, “you won't be alone for a second.”

Cecile nodded.

“Still scared,” she said.

“Don't blame you,” I said.

“Easier than cracking thoraxes,” Hawk said.

Cecile made a try at a smile.

“Not for the crack-er,” she said.

“So Hawk goes up the stairs,” I said. “I get in the elevator with you. Hawk lingers in the stairwell at the top just out of sight and checks around the corner to see if there's a peephole. If there isn't, he walks down and stands beside the door. We go up. We get out on the second floor. You get out. I get out. You start down toward two-B. I look, and if I see Hawk, I know there's no peephole and I scoot down and stand on the other side of the door. If I don't see Hawk, I stay in the elevator with the door open so it can't move and wait as you walk
down and ring the bell. When the door opens, Hawk and I run down the hall and barge in. You'll never be out of our sight.”

“Okay,” she said.

I looked at her.

“You be all right?” I said.

She nodded. I looked at Hawk.

“Cecile's looking a little tense,” I said. “Do people of African heritage get pale?”

“Only through miscegenation,” Hawk said.

He patted her thigh and we got out of the car.