Valediction (16 page)

Quirk nodded.

"Then she gets out of the car, walks over to the stairs, and down and out and . . ." I shrugged.

"Yeah," Quirk said, and shrugged a replica of my shrug. "And there we are. You got anything to add? What made you so interested?"

I told him what Tommy Banks had said about Sherry Spellman and Bullard Winston. "That's not much," Quirk said.

"I know, but Mickey was all there was. It was the only thing that didn't make sense. The only event that didn't fit into the explanation."

Quirk nodded. "Yeah, I know. You don't have any handle on the kid and Winston, so you start at the other end and see if it leads backwards to them."

"Back door," I said.

"You think this Spellman kid could shoot Mickey Paultz to death?"

"No," I said.

"But you could be wrong," Quirk said.

"I surely could," I said. "I'm getting used to it. But the kid?" I shook my head. "'Course I would have said she'd never spend the night with Winston either."

"Svengali?" Quirk said.

"Christ, I don't know."

"Maybe he used her to get Mickey."

"He wouldn't need to," I said. "He and Mickey were in cahoots."

"But Mickey knew you had Winston's confession," Quirk said. "Winston was hiding from him. If Winston set up a meeting, Mickey would have brought troops."

"What if Winston said no troops, as a condition. And Mickey thought, okay, I'll meet him and do it myself, only Winston beat him to it," I said. "Mickey have a piece?"

Quirk shook his head. I said, "Okay, maybe a variation on that."

"So where's the girl come in?" Quirk said. "Maybe she doesn't."

Quirk finished his whiskey. "You got a handful of broken parts," he said. "Nothing fits."

"But I have a nice personality," I said.

Quirk snorted. "What I'd do," he said, "if I were you, is I'd go talk with Broz, or at least Vinnie Morris. Mickey's supplier needs an outlet now that Mickey's dead, and Joe was all set up for it anyway."

I nodded.

"I'd do it myself," Quirk said. "But they hate talking business with me."

I nodded again. "I been thinking about the back-door approach."

Quirk raised his eyebrows slightly.

"What if I had everything backward," I said. "What if Mickey wasn't running Winston. What if Winston was running Mickey?"

Quirk pointed his chin up and put his head back and stretched his neck and sucked on his front teeth a little. "I'll have to think about that," he said.

"Me too," I said.

"Yeah," Quirk said, "but for you it's harder."

My living room was littered with records and Paul and Paige were lying among them listening to Anita Ellis and Ellis Larkins. It was an album Paul had bought me as a half joking Father's Day gift. They were drinking jug wine and smoking. I sniffed.

"I believe I sense the presence in this room of a controlled substance," I said.

"You going to shoot at us?" Paige said.

"With the price of bullets the way it is," I said, "I'll let you off with a vicious beating."

Paige grinned at me. "Oooh, good," she said. "I'm really into that."

I went to the refrigerator and got a beer and sat at the counter and sipped it and thought and listened to Anita Ellis and thought. Paul and Paige passed the joint back and forth between them and the smell of marijuana grew richer.
Back door.
The Anita Ellis album ended and Paul put on a group called Razmatazz.
What if Winston were running Paultz?

"They sound like halfway between Manhattan Transfer and the Four Freshmen," Paige said.

"Except the Freshmen had no female vocalist," Paul said.

Winston had churches around the country, disciples to mule the stuff around, a built-in way to launder the money.
What if Mickey Paultz worked for Winston? Then what?
I got another beer and a shot and went back to the counter. Then everything was possible.

Paige was lying on her back with her head in Paul's lap.

"Lemme look at the album cover," she said.
If Winston were the big boss, then he'd conned us all.
When I started nosing about, he'd tried threatening me off. Then he'd had Paultz send his bozos to threaten me. And then when that didn't work he'd conned me, and everyone else. He'd set Paultz up and while he was doing that he'd arranged a new retail outlet for himself, then he killed Paultz before Paultz got wise, and once everything died down he'd go back to work. Except he was no longer head of the church.

"But Sherry is."

Paul said, "What?" Paige mimicked him. "Whaaat?" They both giggled.

"Thinking out loud," I said.

I looked at my watch, it was 9:15. I looked at the two kids lying on the floor together listening to music, smoking some grass, and drinking some wine, and giggling at things that grass made funny. If Sherry were in love with Winston, maybe she would do what he asked. Maybe she'd cover for him. Maybe a kid full of God and need would give her lover Christian forgiveness and help him in the heroin trade. And it should work. Hell, I'd even extorted some capital from Mickey Paultz for them to use while they lay low. No wonder she liked me. A friend in need is a friend indeed. I shook my head. The possibilities buzzed around inside my skull. There was not a single piece of evidence to make me think all these things. It was entire speculation rooted only in the fact that Tommy Banks had seen Sherry spend the night with Winston or he said he'd seen it. Tommy had lied to me before. Most people had. Susan too. I poured a little more whiskey. I drank some and chased it with beer. There was no more beer in the bottle. I got another bottle. I didn't know a fact. I didn't know who was with whom or who was in charge of what or who was good and who was bad and what to do. Maybe I should forget about it and lecture the kids on drug abuse. I tried saying
drug abuse
and slurred the s, and decided to forgo the lecture.

Paige raised her head from Paul's lap and put her arms around his neck and pulled him forward toward her. I drank most of the shot of whiskey. What I should do is sleep on it. I should just finish off the beer I was drinking and then go to bed and sleep on the situation and no doubt would wake up knowing just what I should do. That was it. I'd sleep on it. I tried saying sleep and slurred the s. So I went to bed.

I woke up the next morning knowing exactly what I had to do. And I did it. I got out of bed and took two aspirin. Then I went into the kitchen. Paul and Paige had opened the sofa bed in the living room and were asleep in a tangle of bedclothes. Not neat sleepers. I made coffee and sat at the counter and drank it. I turned on the CBS morning news so I could watch Diane Sawyer. Maybe I should write her a letter. If it didn't work out with Susan, or Linda . . . I raised my coffee cup to her. "Music beyond a distant hill," I said. Diane ignored me. The phone rang. It was only 7:15. Too early for Susan to be calling from San Francisco. Maybe Diane Sawyer.

I said, "Hello."

It was Hawk. He said, "You want to rescue what's left of your body 'fore it's too late?"

"You just getting in?" I said.

"No way, babe. Something in the genes, got to git up and git to choppin' that old cotton."

"And lifting that barge," I said, "and toting that bale."

"And beating my feet on de mud."

I said, "You want to run?"

"Yeah, I want to pump some iron too. You busy?"

"No," I said. "There's things I should do but I don't know what they are or how I should find out."

"You ought to be used to that," Hawk said. "I be by,"

I took a shower and put on sweat clothes and went down to the street. Hawk's Jaguar pulled into the curb as I came out. He left it there on a crosswalk and we set out along the river.

"Want to go long," Hawk said. "You look like you got stuff to sweat out."

I nodded. We made the big circle, up along the Charles to the Western Avenue Bridge, then across the river and down the CamIwidge side along Memorial Drive to the Charles River Dam and back up along the Mississippi esplanade to my apartment. It took us a little more than an hour. But when we got back I was loose and sweat-soaked and the hangover had gone.

"Lemme get a change of clothes," I said, and we'll go over to the health club."

Upstairs I put jeans and loafers and a clean shirt into my gym bag, along with a gun. The shower was running. And Paige was alone in the sofa bed with a long exposure of naked thigh sticking out from under the covers. Hawk came out of my kitchen with a glass of orange juice and pulled the spread over her. She stirred but didn't wake up. I got some orange juice too and was drinking it when Paul came out of the shower wearing a towel.

Hawk said, "You looking pretty good for a fag dancer."

Paul said, "A fag dago dancer."

Hawk nodded and grinned and put a hand out and Paul gave him a low five.

"Sherry Spellman called you," Paul said to me. "And said for you to call her as soon as you got in. I wrote the number on the edge of the
Globe
there. It looks like Tommy's studio number. She said be sure and call, it's very important."

He went into the living room and began to rummage in his dance bag. I called Sherry. Sherry answered on the first ring.

"We're all here at Tommy's studio," she said. "Tommy wants you here too."

"Who's we all, " I said.

There was a sound of mild confusion at the other end of the phone and then Banks's voice replaced Sherry's.

"I got Winston and her," he said. "You get over here and they'll tell you what's been going on. You bring any cops and I'll kill them both."

"Fifteen minutes," I said.

"No cops," Banks said, and hung up.

I put on a warm-up jacket and took my gun out of the gym bag. I put the gun in the righthand pocket of the warm-up jacket and said to Hawk, "Banks has Winston and Sherry Spellman as hostages. You want to come along?"

Hawk grinned happily. "Sure."

We went in Hawk's Jaguar. As he drove he unlocked the glove compartment and took out a 9-millimeter automatic and put it in his lap.

"You could tuck it in your jock," I said.

"No room," Hawk said. "You want to tell me who to shoot?"

"Christ," I said, "I don't know. Everybody but me, I think."

Hawk went straight up Commonwealth and turned left onto Mass Ave. I told him my speculations on Sherry and Winston and the heroin business.

Hawk pulled the jag up along the curb in front of Symphony Hall. Tommy's studio was around the corner.

"Banks is expecting me," I said. "If he sees you, he may panic."

Hawk said, "I wait till you go on in and then I'll drift along up and hang around outside the door, see if I can hear what's happening. It don't sound good, I come in."

"What wouldn't sound good," I said. "You think I need back-up for a middle-aged choreographer?"

Hawk shrugged. "You ain't right yet, babe, you still ain't all you was."

"Okay," I said, "just remember I don't know who the good guys are yet."

"Maybe there ain't any," Hawk said.

"Maybe there never will be," I said, and got out of the jag.

Hawk got out of his side and leaned his forearms on the roof and watched me walk toward the corner.

"You learning," he said. I turned the corner.

Sherry was standing beside Bullard Winston against the mirrored wall on the far side of the dance studio away from the windows. Tommy Banks leaned his back against one of the tall columns that split the room. He held a nondescript .38 police special in his right hand. When I came in he pointed it briefly toward me then back toward Sherry and Winston and then, indecisively, at a point more or less it between us. I moved away from the door. If Hawk came in quickly, I didn't want to be in his way. I was careful to move toward the windows, away from Sherry and Winston, so that Banks wouldn't be able to point the gun ay all of us together. Banks understood. He went straight to Sherry and took her arm and held her in front of him. He pointed the gun at Winston.

"I caught them together again," he said. "I stayed on them and I caught them together."

"Painful," I said. "But not illegal." I stayed away from them. It meant Tommy would have to talk a little louder and Hawk would hear better from the hall.

"Look on that table," Banks said.

There was a canvas mail sack on the table where the coffee machine stood.

"Look in the bag," Banks said.

The bag was full of Baggies and the Baggies, neatly tied with green twistems, contained something that looked like heroin. It also looked like milk sugar but most people didn't bag and transport milk sugar.

"The stuff that dreams are made of," I said.

"They had it," Banks said. "They had that stuff with them."

"That's not legal," I said.

Banks jabbed the gun toward Winston. "Tell him what you're doing," Banks said.

"You're sick," Winston said. "You're sick with jealousy."

Winston looked at me. "Yes, Sherry and I love each other. And I'm sorry that this man has to be hurt. But love does what it will. You know that, Spenser."

"Bullshit," Banks said. His voice hissed out, scraping over his pain. "She doesn't love you. Get her away from you and she'll recover. You're the one that's sick and you made her sick."

Sherry stood very still. Her eyes were wide and her face very small at the motionless center of the storm.

Winston shook his head. He seemed sad. "Tommy," he said. "You can't do this. You can't plant this dope or whatever it is on us and hold us prisoner and try to claim we're guilty of something."

Banks put the gun to Sherry's head, pressing the muzzle against her temple. "Truth," he hissed. "Tell him the truth or I'll kill her."

Winston looked even sadder. "Tommy," he said. "Tommy, don't."

Banks pressed the gun harder against Sherry's temple. She winced.

"Tommy," she said. Her voice was frightened. I eased my hand up toward my jacket pocket.

"Tell him." Tommy's voice was barely human.

"It's the truth," Winston said. "So help me God, I have told the truth."

Banks thumbed the hammer back, I put my hand into my jacket pocket.