Hugger Mugger

by Robert B. Parker

  "Fella outside sitting in his car with the motor running," Becker said. "Know about him?"

  "Yeah. He's been assigned by Security South to follow me."

  "And by luck you happened to spot him," Becker said.

  "They could have tailed me with a walrus," I said, "and been better off."

  The waitress brought juice and coffee. We ordered breakfast.

  "You know why he's tailing you?"

  "He's supposed to make sure I don't go near Three Fillies-house or stables."

  "And if you do?"

  "He calls for backup and they restrain me."

  Becker made a little grunt that was probably his version of a laugh.

  "Be my guess that you don't restrain all that easy," he said.

  "Maybe it won't come to that," I said. "So far, I've been outthinking them."

  Becker added some cream to his coffee, and four sugars, and stirred it carefully.

  "Got some stuff back on Delroy," Becker said. "He's got a record."

  "Good."

  "He used to be a cop. Then he wasn't. After he wasn't he was busted twice for scamming money from women. Once in Dayton. Once in Cincinnati. Did no time-in both cases the women changed their minds at the last minute and wouldn't testify against him."

  " 'Cause they still loved him?"

  "Don't know," Becker said. "But here's a clue. He served three years for assault in Pennsylvania."

  "Think he might have threatened the witnesses?"

  "Been done," Becker said.

  "It has," I said. "Where was he a cop?"

  "Dayton. I called the chief up there. Chief says Delroy was shaking down prostitutes. There was a police pay raise being debated by the city council. So they let him resign quietly. Which he did."

  "They get the pay raise?"

  Becker drank some coffee and put the cup down and smiled.

  "No."

  "Bet they're glad they let him walk," I said.

  "They are," Becker said. "We don't like to go public on bad cops."

  "Sure," I said. "Who'd he assault?"

  "Don't know," Becker said. "Probably some nosy Yankee private eye trying to get the goods on him."

  "Anyone would," I said. "You know what I'd like to see?"

  "I've always wondered," Becker said.

  The waitress brought our breakfast. Becker really did like breakfast-he had eggs and bacon and pancakes and a side of home fries. I had a couple of biscuits.

  "I'd like to see Clive's last will and testament."

  "Thought you talked to Vallone."

  "I did. But I don't think Vallone says everything he knows all the time. In fact, call me crazy, but I don't think Vallone tells the truth all the time."

  "And him an officer of the court," Becker said.

  "What it looks like is that somebody in his family killed Clive to keep him from changing his will to include his illegitimate son."

  After some work, I got a little grape jelly out of one of those little foil-covered containers and put it on my biscuit. Becker signaled the waitress for more coffee.

  "They'd kill him to keep somebody from getting a quarter of what they were going to split three ways? Unless there was a lot less than we think, that doesn't make a lot of sense."

  "It doesn't seem to. But what else makes any sense? He was killed two days after his DNA test confirmed Jason. Is that a coincidence?"

  "Could be a coincidence," Becker said.

  "And it could be a coincidence that the horse shooting stopped when Clive died."

  "Or the shooter figured there was too much heat and went on vacation," Becker said.

  "Sure, and the whole thing about the horse shootings and Clive being shot is just another coincidence."

  "Or Clive caught the horse shooter in the act and got shot instead," Becker said.

  "Which happened two days after he found out about his son?"

  "It had to happen on some day," Becker said.

  "Well, aren't you helpful," I said.

  "I like your theory," Becker said. "But you know and I know that's all it is, a theory. You can't arrest anybody on it, and if you could, their defense lawyer would chew up our prosecutor and spit him into the street."

  "Well, yeah," I said.

  "So you need some goddamned evidence," Becker said. "Something for the DA to hold up in court and wave at a jury and say look at this. You know? Evidence."

  "That's why I want to see that will."

  "I'll get you a copy," Becker said. "It'll give me something to do."

  "Here's something else you can do," I said. "I want to go out to the Clive house and rattle the cages, and I'd rather they weren't expecting me."

  "I'm pretty sure I spotted several violations of the motor vehicle code on that car that's tailing you."

  "Kid's name is Herb. If I was a fox I'd want him to guard the chicken coop."

  "I can keep him busy for a while," Becker said. "Be kind of fun, almost like being a cop. Maybe I'll bully him a little."

  The waitress put the check on the table. I paid it.

  "You think this can be construed as a bribe?" Becker said.

  "Sure."

  "You want a receipt?"

  "It'll be our secret," I said.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  AS I PULLED out of the hotel parking lot I could see Becker swaggering over to Herb's car, looking very much like one of those small-town southern sheriffs we fellow-traveling northerners learned to loathe during the civil rights sixties-except that he was black. I smiled at the image and then it disappeared from my rearview mirror and I was out on the highway alone in the Georgia morning, heading for town. I found Pud and Cord eating a late breakfast together in the coffee shop downstairs from their apartment.

  "I'm going out and talk to your wives," I said. "Either of you care to join me?"

  "They won't let you in," Cord said.

  "Security South?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm a little tired of Security South," I said. "I think I'll go in anyway."

  Pud was wiping up his eggs with a piece of toast. He stuffed the toast in his mouth and smiled while he chewed and swallowed. His complexion was more tanned than I remembered it. His eyes were clearer.

  "You going in either way?" he said.

  "Yep."

  "Want company?"

  "You want to see your wife?"

  "Yep."

  "You quit drinking?" I said.

  "Pretty much," Pud said. "Got a job too. Limo driver."

  "Okay with me," I said. "You care to join us, Cord?"

  Cord shook his head. "I don't want trouble," he said.

  "Okay."

  "When will you be back, Pud?"

  "In a while," Pud said. "You'll be all right."

  "What if there's trouble and something happens? What if they come looking for me?"

  "If you'd feel better," I said, "go down to the Bath House Bar and Grill and tell Tedy Sapp I sent you."

  "I know Tedy."

  "I know you do. When we're through we'll meet you there," I said.

  "Is that place open this early?" Pud said.

  "Yes," Cord said. "I'll see you there."

  He left us while Pud finished his coffee, and walked out of the coffee shop, neat and trim and walking erectly, struggling in parlous times to keep his dignity.

  "He's not a bad little guy," Pud said. "They were pretty rough with him when they threw us out. He's scared, and he's lonely, and he doesn't know what to do. He's trying to be brave. I feel like his father."

  "It could get a little quick out at the old homestead," I said. "If they don't want us to come in."

  "Ah hell," Pud said. "I'm with you, tough guy."

  As I had when I'd first come there and met Penny, I parked on the street, and we walked up the long curving drive with sprinkler mist on either side of us. It was hotter this time and the air was perfectly still, the stillness made deeper by the faint sound of the sprinkler system and the occasional odd sound that might have b
een grasshoppers calling for their mates. The sky was high and entirely blue, and at the far corner of the house I saw Dutch loafing along toward the backyard.

  I felt like I had just wandered into a Johnny Mercer lyric. Beside me Pud was quiet. He looked tight around the eyes and mouth.

  On the veranda, with his uniform shirt unbuttoned and his gun belt adjusted for comfort, a Security South guard was sitting in a rocking chair, tipped back, with one foot pushing against a pillar, rocking in brief intervals. While the boss was up in Saratoga, the subordinates apparently let down a little. He looked up when I came onto the veranda. He frowned. Maybe he had been thinking of things that he liked to think about, and I had interrupted him.

  "How you doin'?" he said.

  He was lean and hard-looking, his hair trimmed short. He looked like he might have been an FBI agent once. I doubted it. I suspected he'd been hired because he looked like he might have been an FBI agent once.

  "The ladies of the house at home?" I said.

  He let the rocker come forward and let the momentum bring him to his feet.

  "Sorry, sir." He was a little slow with the "sir." "They aren't receiving visitors."

  I walked toward the front door. Pud was about a half-step behind me.

  "The ladies don't live," I said, "that wouldn't receive a couple of studs like us."

  The guard had a microphone clipped to his epaulet, with a cord that ran to the radio on his belt. He pressed the talk button on the radio and spoke into the mike.

  "Front porch, we got some trouble."

  The guard had his hand on his gun as he stood in front of me.

  "Nobody goes in," he said.

  "First you get sloppy with the 'sir,' then you don't say it at all," I said, and hit him hard up under the sternum with my left hand. He gasped a little and fumbled the gun from his holster. I got hold of his wrist with my left hand and came around with a right hook and he went down, except for his right arm, which I had hold of. I half turned and twisted the gun out of his hand and let it fall with the rest of him. I stuck his gun in my jacket pocket, stepped over him, and tried the front door. It was locked. I backed away from it and kicked it hard at the level of the handle. The door rattled but held.

  "Lemme," Pud said, and ran at the door, hitting it with his right shoulder. The door gave and Pud stumbled into the hall with me behind him. It took us both a minute to adjust to the interior dimness. All the curtains seemed to have been drawn. Outside I could hear footsteps running, and then someone said, "Jesus." Then I heard him on the radio.

  "This is Brill," he said. "Shoney's down, and there's someone in the house."

  Pud was moving through the house. "SueSue," he yelled.

  I took out my gun and stepped out of the front door and onto the veranda. The second guard, whose name must have been Brill, was there with his gun out, bending over Shoney, who was lying on his side only moving a little. Brill looked up and saw my gun and our eyes met. His gun was hanging at his side. Mine was level with his forehead. I didn't say anything. Brill didn't say anything; then slowly, quite carefully, he put his gun on the ground and stood up and stepped away from it. I walked over and picked it up and put it in my other coat pocket.

  "Hands on the pillar," I said, "then back away and spread your legs."

  He did as I told him and I patted him down. I had his only gun. I went over and patted Shoney, who was in some sort of twilight state. He had no other weapon either.

  "Okay, sit there," I said to Brill, "and wait for reinforcements. If a head appears in that door, I will shoot it."

  Then I turned and went back inside. The house was entirely still, as humming with quiet as the dead summer day outside. I looked around, remembering the layout from my last time. It was still dark with all the shades drawn. Then I heard Pud at the top of the stairs.

  "Spenser," he said, and his voice was oddly quiet. "Get up here."

  I went up the stairs fast. We didn't have much time before the arrival of more Security South guards than I could punch. The upper floor was as dark and still and cool as the first floor. The only sound was Pud's breathing and the subliminal rush of the air-conditioning. Pud was standing stiffly at the head of the stairs. Down the dark corridor, in the far end, were two dim figures huddled together, ghostly in white clothes. I found a light switch on the wall and flipped it. Squinting in the sudden brightness, the two white figures at the end of the hall seemed to shrink in upon each other in the light.

  "My God," Pud said. "SueSue."

  It was SueSue, and with her was Stonie. They were both wearing white pajamas, and they had backed tight into the corner at the far end of the hallway. Their hair was cut short. They wore no makeup. The distinguishing golden tan of the Clive girls had faded and they looked nearly as pale as their pajamas.

  Again Pud said, "SueSue."

  And in a voice without inflection and barely above a whisper SueSue said, "Help us."

  The confiscated guns were heavy in my pockets. I took them out.

  "Ever shoot one of these?" I said to Pud.

  "No."

  "Okay, this isn't the time to learn," I said.

  I put the guns on the floor. And drew my own.

  "Take one hand of each woman," I said. "You in the middle. We're going out of here at a run. Anyone tries to stop us, I'll deal with it. You keep them moving toward the car."

  "What's wrong with them?" Pud said.

  "I don't know," I said. "Get hold of them, now."

  Pud hesitated another couple of seconds, then took a big inhale and went forward to the two women. He got each of them by the hand. They were childlike, putting their hands out for him to hold. I went down the stairs ahead of them, Pud behind me with the sisters.

  Shoney was back on his feet when we went out the front door. He and Brill were looking a little aimless and uncertain as we passed them. They had no guns, and I had mine, so they made no move to stop us. We ran straight across the lawn, through the sprinkler mist, to my car, the women stumbling a little in bare feet.

  "Put them in the backseat and down out of sight."

  I went around to the driver's side and was in with the motor running when Pud joined me in the front. The Clive girls were lying in the backseat, SueSue above Stonie. I went into gear and we squealed away from the curb and out onto the street. As we turned the first corner, two Security South cars went bucketing past us, their flashers on, riding to the rescue.

  "Jesus H. Mahogany Christ," Pud said.

  He was still winded from running the sisters to the car. Breathing hard, he looked back at the two girls, still clinging to each other as if to keep each other from slipping away.

  "Can they sit up?" Pud said between breaths.

  "Sure," I said.

  "SueSue, you and Stonie sit up now," Pud said.

  Silently they did as he told them.

  "You do this kind of thing often?" Pud said.

  His respiration was normalizing.

  "Usually before breakfast," I said.

  "Man!" Pud said.

  We turned onto Main Street. There wasn't much traffic. We passed a young woman in blue sweatpants and a white halter top, walking a baby in a stroller. A golden retriever moseyed along beside them on a slack leash. Pud eyed her as we passed. The ghostly sisters sat bolt upright in the backseat, their shoulders touching, looking at nothing. Pud looked back. No sign of pursuit.

  "We can't just ride around all day," Pud said.

  "True."

  "Where we going?" Pud said.

  "To a gay bar."

  FORTY-EIGHT

  "WHAT THE FUCK am I running here," Tedy Sapp said when I sat down, "a family crisis center?" "You're my closest friend in Georgia," I said.

  We were at Sapp's table near the door. Pud was in the back room with Cord, and SueSue and Stonie.

  "First, Cord Wyatt comes in here like an orphan in the storm and says you sent him. Then you show up with the rest of the fucking family. What do we do when Delroy finds out they're here
?"

  "Maybe he won't find out," I said.

  "I'm a bouncer, not a fucking commando. Delroy's got twelve, fifteen people he can put in here with automatic weapons. What's wrong with the Clive girls?"

  "I don't know for sure. They've apparently been prisoners in the house since their father died. I don't know why. They're either traumatized or drugged or both, and it's like talking to a couple of shy children."

  "Nice haircuts," Sapp said.

  "You homosexuals are so fashion-conscious," I said.

  "Yeah. I wonder why they cut their hair that way?"

  "Maybe it wasn't their idea," I said. "Or the white pajamas."

  "So what do you want from me?"

  "I want you to look out for them, Cord and Pud too, while I figure out what's going on."

  "And how long do you expect that to take?" Sapp said.

  "Given my track record," I said, "about twenty more years."

  "Becker will work with you," Sapp said. "If you get him something he can take to court."

  "That's my plan," I said.

  "Glad to hear you got one. What are you going to do about Delroy?"

  "I'm hoping to bust his chops," I said.

  "You figure he's the one?" Sapp said.

  "He's at least one of the ones," I said.

  "Delroy's a jerk," Sapp said. "But he's a mean dangerous jerk."

  "The perfect combination," I said.

  Sapp reached under the table and came out with a Colt.45 semiautomatic pistol, and put it on the table.

  "On the other hand," Sapp said, "you and me ain't a couple of йclairs either."

  "A valid point," I said. "Can you sit on things here while I go up to Saratoga?"

  "Saratoga?"

  "Yep. I want to see Penny."

  "So, I'll bunk all the Clive castoffs here," Sapp said.

  "And feed and clothe them, and watch out for them, supply bath towels, and clean sheets, and shoot it out with Security South as needed. And you'll go up to Saratoga."

  "Yeah."

  "That's your plan?"

  "You got a better one?"

  "I don't need a better one," Sapp said. "I can just walk away from it."

  "You going to?"

  "No."

  "Then what are we talking about?" I said.