Robert B Parker - Spenser 04 - Promised Land

by Promised Land(lit)

  "You and me babe," I said, "we'll be fine." I patted her leg. It was a gesture my father used to make. It combined, when he did it, affection and reassurance. It didn't seem to do a hell of a lot for Pam Shepard. At twelve minutes of six in the morning we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. It was daylight now, but a gray and dismal daylight, cold as hell, for summer, and the warm yellow of the lighted windows in the railroad car looked good. There were a lot of trucks and cars parked. The terminal does its work very early. I assumed that two of the trucks contained our side but there was no telling which ones.

  Inside we sat in a booth and ordered two coffees and two English muffins. Pam didn't eat hers. At about two minutes past six King Powers came in wearing a trench coat and a plaid golf cap. Macey was with him in a London Fog, and outside in the entry way I could see Hawk in what looked like a white leather cape with a hood.

  "Good morning, Kingo-babe," I said. "Care for a cup of Java? English muffin? I think my date's not going to eat hers."

  Powers sat down and looked at Pam Shepard. "This the buyer," he said.

  "One of them. The ones with the bread haven't shown up yet."

  "They fucking better show up." King said. Macey at in the booth beside Powers.

  "That's a most fetching hat, King," I sad. "I remember my Aunt Bertha used to wear one very much like it on rainy days. Said you get your head wet you got the miseries."

  Powers paid no attention to me. "I say fucking six o'clock I mean fucking six o'clock. I don't mean five after. You know what I'm saying."

  Rose and Jane came into the restaurant.

  "Speak of coincidence, King," I said. "There they are."

  I gestured toward Rose and Jane and pointed outside. They turned and left. "Let us join them," I said, "outside where fewer people will stand around and listen to us."

  Powers got up, Macey went right after him and Pam and I followed along. As we went out the door I looked closely at Hawk. It was a white leather cape. With a hood. Hawk said, "Pow'ful nice mawning, ain't it, boss."

  I said, "Mind if I rub your head for luck?"

  I could see Hawk's shoulders moving with silent laughter. He drifted along behind me. In the parking lot I said, "King, Macey, Hawk, Rose, Jane, Pam. There now, we're all introduced, let us get it done."

  Powers said, "You got the money?"

  Jane showed him a shopping bag she was carrying under her black rubber raincoat.

  "Macey, take it to the truck and count it."

  Rose said, "How do we know he won't run off with it?"

  Powers said, "Jesus Christ, sister, what's wrong with you?"

  Rose said, "We want to see the guns."

  "They're in the back of the truck," Macey said. "We'll get in and you can look at the guns while I count the money. That way we don't waste time and we both are assured."

  Powers said, "Good. You do that. I'm getting out of the fucking rain. Hawk, you and Macey help them load the pieces when Macey's satisfied."

  Powers got up in the cab of a yellow Ryder Rental Truck and closed the door. Rose and Jane and Macey went to the back of the truck. Macey opened the door and the three of them climbed in. Hawk and I and Pam Shepard stood in the rain. In about one minute Rose leaned out of the back of the truck.

  "Spenser," she said, "would you check this equipment for us?"

  I said to Pam, "You stand right there. I'll be right back." Hawk was motionless beside her, leaning against the front fender of the truck. I went around back and climbed in. The guns were there. Still in the original cases. M2 carbines. I checked two or three. "Yeah," I said, "they're good. You can waste platoons of old men now."

  Rose ignored me. "All right, Jane bring the truck over here. Spenser, you said you'd help us load the truck."

  "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Me and Hawk."

  Macey took the shopping bag that said FILENE'S on it, jumped down and went around to where Powers sat in the cab. He handed the money in to Powers and came back to the tailgate. "What do you think, Spenser. This okay to make the swap."

  We were to the side of and nearly behind the restaurant. "Sure," I said. "This looks fine. Nobody around. Nobody pays any attention anyway. They load and unload all day around here."

  Macey nodded. Jane backed in a blue Ford Econoline van, parked it tail to tail with Powers' truck, got out and opened the back doors. I went back to the front of the truck where Pam and Hawk were standing. "Hawk," I said softly, "the cops are coming. This is a setup." Macey and Rose and Jane were conspiring to move one case of guns from the truck to the van. "Hawk," Macey yelled, "you and Spenser want to give us a hand." Hawk walked silently around the front of the truck behind the restaurant and disappeared. I put my hands in my hip pockets. "Stay right beside me," I said to Pam Shepard.

  From a truck that said ROLLIE'S PRODUCE Sylvia and McDermott and two state cops emerged with shotguns.

  Jane screamed, "Rose," and dropped her end of the crate. She fumbled in the pocket of her raincoat and came out with a gun. Sylvia chopped it out of her hand with the barrel of the shotgun and she doubled over, clutching her arm against her. Rose said, "Jane," and put her arms around her. Macey dodged around the end of the van and ran into the muzzle of Bobby Santos' service revolver, which Santos pressed firmly into Macey's neck. King Powers never moved. Klaus and three Chelsea cops came around the other side of the truck and opened the door. One of the Chelsea cops, a fat guy with a boozer's nose, reached in and yanked him out by the coat front. Powers said nothing and did nothing except look at me.

  I said to King. "Peekaboo, I see you," nodded at Jackie Sylvia, took Pam Shepard's hand and walked away. At seven we were in a deli on Tremont Street eating hash and eggs and toasted bagels and cream cheese and looking at the rain on the Common across the street.

  "Why did you warn that black man?" Pam Shepard said, putting cream cheese on her bagel. She had skipped the hash and eggs, which showed you what she knew about breakfasts. The waitress came and poured more coffee in both our cups.

  "I don't know. I've known him a long time. He was a fighter when I was. We used to train together sometimes."

  "But isn't he one of them? I mean isn't he the, what, the muscle man, the enforcer, for those people?"

  "Yeah."

  "Doesn't that make a difference? I mean you just let him go."

  "I've known him a long time," I said.

  Chapter 27

  It was still raining when we drove back to my apartment to get Pam's things, and it was still raining when we set out at about eight-thirty for Hyannis. There's an FM station in Boston that plays jazz from six in the morning until eleven. I turned it on. Carmen McRae was singing "Skyliner." The rain had settled in and came steadily against the windshield as if it planned to stay awhile. My roof leaked in one corner and dripped on the back seat.

  Pam Shepard sat quietly and looked out the side window of the car. The Carmen McRae record was replaced by an album of Lee Wiley singing with Bobby Hackett's cornet and Joe Bushkin's piano. Sweet Bird of Youth. There wasn't much traffic on Route 3. Nobody much went to the Cape on a rainy midweek morning.

  "When I was a little kid," I said, "I used to love to ride in the rain, in a car. It always seemed so self-contained, so private." There we were in the warm car with the music playing, and the rest of the world was out in the rain getting wet and shivering. "Still like it, in fact."

  Pam Shepard kept looking out the side window. "Is it over, do you think?" she said.

  "What?"

  "Everything. The bank robbery, the trouble Harvey is in, the hiding out and being scared? The feeling so awful?"

  "I think so," I said.

  "What is going to happen to Harvey and me?"

  "Depends, I guess. I think you and he can make it work better than it has worked."

  "Why?"

  "Love. There's love in the relationship."

  "Shit," she said.

  "Not shit," I said. "Love doesn't solve everything and it isn't the only thing that's important, but it
has a big head start on everything else. If there's love, then there's a place to begin."

  "That's romantic goo," Pam Shepard said. "Believe me. Harvey's preached the gospel of love at me for nearly twenty years. It's crap. Believe me, I know."

  "No, you don't know. You've had a bad experience, so you think it's the only experience. You're just as wrong as Harvey. It didn't work, doesn't mean it won't work. You're intelligent, and you've got guts. You can do therapy. Maybe you can get Harv to do it. Maybe when you've gotten through talking about yourself with someone intelligent you'll decide to roll Harv anyway. But it'll be for the right reasons, not because you think you're frigid, or he thinks you're frigid. And if you decide to roll Harv you'll have some alternatives beside screwing sweaty drunks in one night cheap hotels, or living in a feminist commune with two cuckoos."

  "Is it that ugly," she said.

  "Of course it's that ugly. You don't screw people to prove things. You screw people because you like the screwing or the people or both. Preferably the last. Some people even refer to it as making love."

  "I know," she said, "I know."

  "And the two dimwits you took up with. They're theoreticians. They have nothing much to do with life. They have little connection with phallic power and patterns of dominance and blowing away old men in the service of things like that."

  She stopped looking out the window and looked at me. "Why so angry," she said.

  "I don't know exactly. Thoreau said something once about judging the cost of things in terms of how much life he had to expend to get it. You and Harv aren't getting your money's worth. Thrift, I guess. It violates my sense of thrift."

  She laughed a little bit and shook her head. "My God. I like you," she said. "I like you very much."

  "It was only a matter of time," I said.

  She looked back out the window and we were quiet most of the rest of the drive down. I hadn't said it right. Maybe Suze could. Maybe nobody could. Maybe saying didn't have much effect anyway.

  We got to the motel a little after ten and found Susan in the coffee shop drinking coffee and reading the New York Times.

  "Was it okay," Susan said.

  "Yeah, just the way it should have been."

  "He warned one of them," Pam Shepard said. "And he got away."

  Susan raised her eyebrows at me.

  "Hawk," I said.

  "Do you understand that," Pam Shepard said.

  "Maybe," Susan said.

  "I don't."

  "And I'll bet he didn't give you a suitable explanation, did he?" Susan said.

  "Hardly," Pam said.

  "Everything else was good though?" Susan said.

  I nodded.

  "Are you going home, Pam?"

  "I guess I am. I haven't really faced that, even driving down. But here I am, half a mile from my house. I guess I am going home."

  "Good."

  "I'm going to call Harv," I said. "How about I ask him to join us and we can talk about everything and maybe Suze can talk a little."

  "Yes," she said. "I'm scared to see him again. I'd like to see him with you here and without the children."

  I went back to the room and called Shepard and told him what had happened. It took him ten minutes to arrive. I met him in the lobby.

  "Is Powers in jail?" he said.

  I looked at my watch. "No, probably not. They've booked him by now, and his lawyer is there arranging bail and King's sitting around in the anteroom waiting to go home."

  "Jesus Christ," Shepard said. "You mean he's going to be out loose knowing we set him up?"

  "Life's hard sometimes," I said.

  "But, for crissake, won't he come looking for us? You didn't tell me they'd let him out on bail. He'll be after us. He'll know we double-crossed him. He'll be coming."

  "If I'd told you, you wouldn't have done it. He won't come after you."

  "What the hell is wrong with them, letting him out on bail. You got no right to screw around with my life like that."

  "He won't come after you, Shepard. Your wife's waiting for you in the coffee shop."

  "Jesus, how is she?"

  "She's fine."

  "No, I mean, like what's her frame of mind? I mean, what's she been saying about me? Did she say she's going to come back?"

  "She's in the coffee shop with my friend Susan Silverman. She wants to see you and she wants us to be there and what she's going to do is something you and she will decide. She's planning, right now, I think, to stay. Don't screw it up."

  Shepard took a big inhale and let it out through his nose. We went into the coffee shop. Susan and Pam Shepard were sitting opposite each other in a booth. I slid in beside Susan. Shepard stood and looked down at Pam Shepard. She looked up at him and said, "Hello, Harv."

  "Hello, Pam."

  "Sit down, Harv," she said. He sat, beside her. "How have you been?" she said.

  He nodded his head. He was looking at his hands, close together on the table before him.

  "Kids okay?"

  He nodded again. He put his right hand out and rested it on her back between the shoulder blades, the fingers spread. His eyes were watery and when he spoke his voice was very thick. "You coming back?"

  She nodded. "For now," she said and there was strain now in her voice too.

  "Forever," he said.

  "For now, anyway," she said.

  His hand was moving in a slow circle between her shoulder blades. His face was wet now. "Whatever you want," he said in his squeezed voice. "Whatever you want. I'll get you anything you want, we can start over and I'll be back up on top for you in a year. Anything. Anything you want."

  "It's not up on top I want, Harvey." I felt like a voyeur. "It's, it's different. They think we need psychiatric help." She nodded toward me and Suze.

  "What do they know about it or us, or anything?"

  "I won't stay if we don't get help, Harvey. We're not just unhappy. We're sick. We need to be cured."

  "Who do we go to? I don't even know any shrinks."

  "Susan will tell us," Para said. "She knows about these things."

  "If that's what will bring you back, that's what I'll do." His voice was easing a little, but the tears were still running down his face. He kept rubbing her back in the little circles. "Whatever you want."

  I stood up. "You folks are going to make it. And while you are, I'm going to make a call."

  They paid me very little heed and I left feeling about as useful as a faucet on a clock. Back in the room I called Clancy in the Suffolk County D.A.'s office.

  "Spenser," I said when he came on. "Powers out of the calaboose yet?"

  "Lemme check."

  I listened to the vague sounds that a telephone makes on hold for maybe three minutes. Then Clancy came back on. "Yep."

  "Dandy," I said.

  "You knew he would be," Clancy said. "You know the score."

  "Yeah, thanks." I hung up.

  Back in the coffee shop Pam was saying, "It's too heavy. It's too heavy to carry the weight of being the center of everybody's life."

  The waitress brought me another cup of coffee.

  "Well, what are we supposed to do," Harv said. "Not love you. I tell the kids, knock it off on the love. It's too much for your mother? Is that what we do?"

  Pam Shepard shook her head. "It's just... no of course, I want to be loved, but it's being the only thing you love, and the kids, being so central, feeling all that... I don't know... responsibility, maybe, I want to scream and run."

  "Boy"—Harv shook his head—"I wish I had that problem, having somebody love me too much. I'd trade you in a goddamned second."

  "No you wouldn't."

  "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be taking off on you either. I don't even know where you been. You know where I been."

  "And what you've been doing," she said. "You goddamned fool."

  Harv looked at me. "You bastard, Spenser, you told her."

  "I had to," I said.

  "Well, I was doing it for you
and the kids. I mean, what kind of man would I be if I let it all go down the freaking tube and you and the kids had shit? What kind of a man is that?"

  "See," Pam said. "See, it's always me, always my responsibility. Everything you do is for me."

  "Bullshit. I do what a man's supposed to do. There's nothing peculiar about a man looking out for the family. Dedicating his life to his family. That's not peculiar. That's right."