"You fuck with me," he said, "and I'll blow you away."
"Darth Vadar," I said. "That's who you sound like. Darth Vader. Scary as hell."
Poitras jabbed his finger at me again. "I'm warning you."
He had on a white wash-and-wear shirt with his flowered tie unknotted and hanging down. There was no gun in sight, and he had no special reason to be carrying one, or, if he did, to have it concealed. The threat to blow me away was probably not literal. Still…
"Better safe than sorry," I said to Susan.
I did a little shuffle inside step and hit Poitras a good sharp left hook on the chin. It knocked him down. While he was down, I got his arm twisted up behind him and helped him toward his feet. When he was back up, I shoved him against the wall face first and patted him down with my free hand. No gun. I let him go and stepped away.
"Mitchell," I said, "I can do that anytime I want to, and much harder. So stop trying to scare me to death and we'll go into your living room and sit down and"-I made an expostulating gesture by rolling hands"communicate." I smiled at him.
Poitras's face had gotten very dark and his breath seemed short. I couldn't tell if it was passion or exhaustion. He was in dismal shape, but I'd been doing all the heavy work.
"Susan, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do about this. Who is this goon anyway?"
"Mr. Spenser, Mitchell," Amy said. Her voice was as careful and artificial and unalive as it had been every other time she'd spoken in front of me. For all her voice showed, I had just given Poitras a Popsicle.
"Well, you better have a good explanation," Poitras said. His breathing was still thick. He turned and went toward the living room, his belly preceding him like the cowcatcher on a locomotive.
When we were in the living room, Amy said, "May I get you a drink?" She spoke first to Susan and then to me. We both declined.
Poitras remained standing, so did Susan. I could see she wasn't going to sit and let Poitras loom over her. I didn't care. I sat.
"You're really off base on this one, Susan," Poitras said. The persistency of habit. He was still trying to bully her with his bulk. It's hard to scare the other side when the other side has just knocked you on your ass. Even if I hadn't hit him, I had learned some time ago that Susan was difficult to bully.
"This is really unprofessional, Susan. I can't believe you. This is way, way off base," Poitras said. He didn't look at me.
Susan stepped closer to him. Fat as he was, he wasn't very tall, and in her high-heeled boots she was almost eye level. "Shut up," she said. The words cracked with energy. "I am not interested either in your clichds about professionalism or your pathetic Bluto act. I am here to talk with April Kyle and I will do so right now." She turned her head at Amy Gurwitz and snapped, "Go get her. "
It was Mrs. Silverman the guidance teacher. In reflex Amy turned and started from the room.
Poitras said, "Amy," and she stopped. Two authority figures could play Ping-Pong with her.
Susan's voice shimmered with intensity as she spoke to Poitras. "Do not be a bigger asshole than you are, Mitchell-get her. Bring her out here. Or there will be real trouble."
I shook my head slightly at Susan. Unless we wanted the cops to come right now, it was better if Poitras didn't know what we knew. I didn't want him covering his tracks before we nailed him.
Poitras glanced at me from the corner of his eye and looked quickly away.
"I saw her come in, Fats," I said. "Either you bring her out or I'll go room by room through the place till I find her."
"You can't do that," Poitras said, and glared at me:
"Yes I can. I proved it a minute ago in the hall. Bring her out."
Poitras glared harder. "Someone ought to blow you right out of the water," he said.
"That may be true. But it'll have to be someone in better shape than you."
Poitras looked back at Susan. "Last chance," she said.
I knew that Poitras didn't want me going through the house.
"Okay," he said. "But I don't want you people harassing her. She came to me in desperation, and I don't want her upset."
"Really care about the kids, don't you, Mitch?" Susan said.
"You're goddamned right I do," Poitras said. "Somebody's got to."
Chapter 23
April came into the room. She had taken off the fatigue jacket and was dressed as I'd last seen her in the dark woods at the edge of Route 95, except that her clothes looked a little shabbier. She looked at Susan and said, "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to see you," Susan said.
"I'm not going back," April said.
"You don't have to go back," Susan said. "I only wish to know that you are all right and that you are in a situation that is supportive."
"Shit," April said. "That's teacher shit. Supportive."
"Your parents want you back," Susan said.
"I'll bet," April said.
"They do. They hired Mr. Spenser to find you. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"My father?"
"What about him?"
"He wants me back?"
“I don't think he knows what he wants," Susan said. "Part of him doesn't want you back. Part of him surely does. Unfortunately it's the negative part that shows."
"He don't want me back."
"He's confused," Susan said. "He's in pain. He doesn't know how to say what he feels."
"I know how he feels. He thinks I'm shit. He thinks I'm a whore. Well, fuck him, you know? I'm not going back."
"And your mother," Susan said.
"She's a wimp. She just sucks around him."
"Do you want to stay here then?"
"Yes."
.Why?" April shrugged. "Why not? It's a nice place. I've crashed in a lot worse, you know?"
"This is not a place for you, April. You don't have to go home. I can't force you and I wouldn't if I could. But not here."
"Why not?"
Susan looked straight at Poitras when she spoke. "Because this is an absolute pig of a man," she said.
April laughed, a harsh little sound, without humor. "So what?" she said.
Amy Gurwitz was sitting quietly on a hassock in front of an easy chair near the French doors. Her knees and ankles were together. Her hands were clasped in her lap. She was watching the activity as if it were a movie and she was enthralled.
Susan looked at me. She was stuck. So was I.
147 "We can take her by force, Suze," I said. "But what are we going to do with her?"
"She came here looking for some help," Poitras said. "I was the only one she could trust. So she came here. I'll step around that crack about me being a pig, and I'm giving it to you straight. She's welcome here as long as she wants. Just like Amy, and you can make whatever you want out of that with your dirty goddamned minds, all of you. But the kids know who they can count on, by God. So whyn't you and your goon get the hell out of here before you just make things worse."
"Is that G-O-O-N, rhymes with noon?" I said. "Or G-U-N-E, rhymes with prune?"
Susan was looking at Poitras and he back at her. Then he looked away. Another point for Susan. She had all the points but he seemed to have April. Was it time to play the porno hand. I didn't think April would care. Probably admire his artistic interests. We could bust Poitras, but what would Amy and April do then? Did April go back to Red, maybe take Amy along? I knew she wouldn't go home. They might very well be better off with Poitras than with Red.
"This is not over, Mitchell," Susan said. "I will not give in on this. I can't. I can't let you have access to children."
"Suze," I said, and made a time-out sign by putting one hand horizontally on top of the other one held vertical. "Time to go. I told April I wouldn't force her, and I won't."
Susan opened her mouth and closed it and looked at me once and then turned on her heel and walked out. I stood, smiled at Amy and April, and started toward the door.
"No thanks," I said to Poitras, "we'll find our way o
ut. Nice seeing you again, April. Amy. Mitchell, I may stop by sometime and knock you on your ass again." Then I followed Susan.
Walking down Beacon Street, Susan was galvanic with fury. "How can we let him keep her. Them? How can we?"
"Hey, Suze," I said, "why nip a budding film career?"
"Goddamn it," Susan said, "it is not funny."
Chapter 24
"Where you parked?" I said.
"Commonwealth."
"Want a snack before we part?"
She nodded and we walked up toward Newbury Street.
"How does a slob like that get to be executive nitwit, or whatever he is, in the state education system?" I said.
"Knew someone, I suppose," Susan said. "There's all sorts of hiring regulations and elaborate interviewing procedures, and one call from practically anyone circumvents it. Half the jobs in the Commonwealth are bagged before they're advertised."
"Hard to imagine Poitras has a friend," I said.
"He has girls and dirty movies," Susan said.
I looked at her in the odd light, under the high mist. "Cynical," I said. "Beautiful but hard, like a diamond."
"It would be a way to make friends," Susan said.
"True," I said. "It would also be a way to put someone in your debt if you had supplied him with things that public servants aren't supposed to want." We turned down Newbury.
"How about the police?" Susan said.
"And what happens to April and Amy?"
Susan nodded. We crossed Fairfield. The rain was misting down now, steady but very fine. The temperature had risen.
"On the other hand," Susan said, "what happens to them in any case?"
"I was hoping you'd think of something," I said.
"Maybe there isn't anything to think of. We could get them back home. But that's where they learned to be what they are."
We crossed Exeter Street and went into the Bookstore Cafe. There were books, and there was blond woodwork, and a bar and tables, and in the back a balcony as well. I liked eating in there. It made me feel intellectual.
I had a tongue sandwich on rye and Susan had a salad. We split a bottle of Norman cider. Not everybody sells Norman cider by the bottle.
"Has a European feel," Susan said.
"That sounds terrific," I said. "Can I have one?"
Susan grinned at me. "How did you ever get to be so big without growing up?" she said.
"Iron self-control," I said.
For dessert we had one Linzer torte and two forks and I walked Susan to her car. Before she got in she leaned her forehead against mine. "We really do have to think of something to do about Poitras and those girls."
"Yes. ' She kissed me lightly on the mouth and climbed into the front seat of her big Ford Bronco.
"I never figured how you do that without giving me a flash of thigh."
She grinned again at me. "Iron self-control," she said, and started up the Bronco and drove off. I stood and watched the car as long as it stayed in sight, three blocks down Commonwealth and then a left turn onto Berkeley and out of sight across the intersection. I always felt a little sad when she left, or when I left. Even if it wasn't for long. Even if I'd see her tomorrow. Probably kept it fresh. Probably drive each other wacko if we were together all the time. Sure we would. Better to both have our own place and do our own stuff and be together when we chose to.
I walked back up Commonwealth toward Fairfield. Very sensible, I thought. Stay separate and together. I crossed Commonwealth and went down Fairfield in the bright soaking mist. It's the right way… except how come I miss her whenever I leave her? My car had a ticket on it. Crime doesn't pay. Justice never sleeps.
Neither did I when I got home, or at least it didn't feel much like I slept. Except I must have, because I was having dreams that had something to do with being with Susan and not being with her and trying to find some children. I woke up and fell asleep and dreamed variations of the same dream until the phone rang and got me up at 7:15 It was Susan.
"You better come out here, right now," Susan said, and there was no laughter iri her voice.
"Trouble''"
"They've killed the dog," Susan said. "Please come quickly."
It was pre-rush hour, and what traffic there was was going the other way. I was at her house in twenty-five minutes. Susan met me at her front door. She had on her warm-up suit and sneakers. Without makeup her face looked a little simpler, like she must have as a kid.
"In the kitchen," she said. Her eyes were wet.
I went in. The black Lab was there. It had been shot in the head and the blood was stiff and dry and nearly as black as the fur it had stiffened. Some had soaked into the rug where the dog lay, on its side, between the kitchen table and the back door. I moved its leg. It was unyielding. The body had stiffened. "You find it this morning?"
"Yes."
"You come into the kitchen last night?"
Susan shook her head. "I came in the front door and went right upstairs."
"Probably shot it last night. Probably thought she was yours. Your back door wasn't locked."
"No," Susan said. "You know I don't lock the doors."
I stood up. "You may as well call the cops, and the dog officer."
"She was a lovely dog," Susan said. "What will I tell her folks?"
I didn't say anything.
"Why?" Susan looked at me. "You mentioned there had been threats, but… ?"
"I don't know. Maybe a warning. Maybe a substitute. They came and you weren't here, but'the dog was, so they brought her in and shot her instead. It won't happen again," I said. "You know who did it?"
"I know who had it done. That's better. Call the cops."
Chapter 25
Two cops came with the local dog officer. One of the cops was Cataldo. They took the dog away and the other cop went to tell the owners. Susan told Cataldo she didn't know why someone would do this.
Cataldo looked at me. "And you wouldn't have any idea either, would you?"
"No.
"Funny thing to do for no reason. Not even your dog, Susan."
"I know, Lonnie. I know. The poor thing. Maybe they were burglars and thought the dog would give them away."
"So they brought it in and shot it?"
Susan shrugged.
I said, "I have to go to work. Can you keep an eye on her?" Cataldo nodded. "I'll take her to school and pick her up when she's ready to come home."
"How about after that?" I said.
"I'll stick around," Cataldo said. "'Case the burglars come back."
"How about a paid detail?" I said. "Until I get this straightened out."
Cataldo shook his head. "I know Susan a long time now. Most of the guys do. We'll watch her for free."
"Who wouldn't?" I said.
Cataldo nodded again.
Susan said, "I won't even argue," and they went together in the cruiser.
I stood in her kitchen looking at the bloodstained rug and called Henry Cimoli on the phone. "Tell Hawk I need him," I said. "I'll be in there in about half an hour and I want him as soon as he can get there."
Henry said, "I'll tell him." And I hung up and headed for my car. When I got to the Harbor Health Club, Henry was in his office and Hawk was with him. They were drinking coffee. Henry had on blue-striped Adidas sneakers and a white T-shirt and dark blue sweat pants with zippered bottoms. The T-shirt said MANAGER in blue letters. Hawk was wearing gray and black Puma running shoes, white denim jeans, and a white cashmere sweater, V-neck, with no shirt under it. "Coffee?" Henry said. He was a little guy who'd been a very fine lightweight fighter once. Now he managed the Harbor Health Club and worked out twice a day. He looked like a superman doll. I took a white china mug of coffee from him. Hawk was slouched in one of the guest 156 chairs, his feet on the desk, holding a coffee mug in both hands.
To Hawk I said, "Somebody shot a dog and left it in Susan's kitchen."
"She okay?"
"Yes. I figured Tony Marcus."
Hawk nodded. He took a sip of coffee, put the mug on Henry's desk, and stood up by letting his feet drop off the desk and levering his body up as his feet hit. "Let's get to it," he said.
"You know where to find him?" I said.
"Yeah, he got a place in the South End-restaurant called Buddy's Fox, Clarendon and Tremont."
Henry said, "You want a third?"
I said, "No. Anything goes bad, tell Quirk, and see about Susan."
Henry nodded. Hawk slid open a drawer in Henry's desk and took out a shoulder holster with a .357 Magnum in it. He shrugged it on and put on a sandcolored suede jacket with a zipper front. And we went.
Buddy's Fox was across from the big round-roofed performing arts center.
Hawk parked his black Jaguar sedan at a hydrant in front of the restaurant and we got out. Hawk opened the trunk and took out a twelve-gauge shotgun. A pump model. He checked the action once, and then fed five shells into the magazine. He closed the trunk and said, "The restaurant is long and no wider than the front. Booths on both sides. Bar across the back. To the right of the bar is a little corridor. Down the corridor there are the men's room, the ladies' room on the right wall, the kitchen door at the far end, and Tony's office door on the left wall." Hawk held the shotgun casually across his shoulder, trigger guard up, as if we were shooting grouse on the moors.
"He always in there taking care of business. Has breakfast here every morning. Leaves after supper every night."
"He ever alone," I said.
"No," Hawk said. There was a sign in the restaurant window that said OPEN FOR BREAKFAST. I took my gun out and let it hang by my side. We went in. The place was old and looked as though it had been kept that way. There were four or five people having breakfast. Behind the bar at the far end a big, thick-necked black man with a flat nose was polishing glasses. We were halfway down the length of the room before he noticed us, and another ten steps toward him before he registered the shotgun. He looked toward the archway at the end of the bar and then put down the glass he was polishing and let his hands drop.
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