Bad Business

by Robert B. Parker

  "Did all four members of this tag team know of the situation?" I said.

  "Of course. Everything took place within seminar guidelines."

  "So why did Marlene hire me to follow her husband?"

  "I have only your word," O'Mara said, "that she did."

  "Take as a premise that she did," I said. "Speculate with me." O'Mara signaled the bartender for another Guinness.

  "And a pony of Jameson's," he said. "Beside it."

  The bartender looked at me. I nodded yes to another Bud.

  "Were that the case," O'Mara said, "perhaps it would indicate that Marlene had failed to transcend the material plane."

  "Meaning that if Trent became enamored enough of Ellen to stroll off into the sunset," I said, "Marlene wanted to be sure she'd get hers."

  O'Mara was watching the bartender pour the whisky. He seemed relieved when she started back down the bar with it. "Hypothetically," O'Mara said.

  "Any sign that was happening?" I said.

  "I am not a dating service," O'Mara said. "I instruct people in a certain philosophy, and I help them understand its implications."

  "Do you know anyone named Gavin?" I said.

  "Not that I can think of," O'Mara said.

  He took a sip of the whisky and washed it with Guinness. He looked happier.

  "Bob Cooper?" I said.

  "No, I don't believe I know him either," he said.

  "And you don't know any reason somebody might shoot Trent Rowley?"

  "God no," he said.

  "Eisen didn't mind his wife and Trent."

  "Absolutely not. Any more than Trent minded Bernie and Marlene."

  "And why would anyone," I said.

  "Why indeed," O'Mara said.

  The Irish boilermaker was cheering him greatly. "You ever read Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde?" I said.

  "If I did," O'Mara said with a smile, "I've forgotten it. Why do you ask?"

  "Character named Pandarus," I said. "I was going to ask you about him."

  O'Mara polished off the rest of the Irish whisky and gestured at the bartender for another one.

  "I fear that you may be misled," he said. "The references to courtly love are metaphoric, if you see what I mean."

  The whisky arrived. He took a fond sip and let it trickle down his throat. Then he drank some Guinness.

  "My field is not literature," he said. "Though literature is surely a stimulus to my thinking."

  He had swung fully around on his barstool, facing the big nearly empty room, with both elbows resting behind him on the bar. I felt a lecture lurking.

  "My field," he said, "is human interaction."

  "You and Linda Lovelace," I said.

  I left O'Mara at the bar. As I came out, I saw a guy with shoulder-length black hair round the corner onto Causeway Street and disappear.

  I only saw his back, but the hair looked like the guy I'd seen at Bob Cooper's club.

  26

  Healy came into my office with a bag of donuts and two large cups of coffee. He sat and handed me a coffee.

  "Dunkin' Donuts," he said. "I get the cop discount."

  He held the bag of donuts toward me and I took one. Cinnamon, my favorite.

  "I thought it might be time for us to compare notes," Healy said.

  "Wow," I said. "You are really stuck, huh?"

  "Here's what we know," Healy said. "Somebody shot Trent Rowley to death."

  I waited. Healy didn't say anything. After a while I said, "That much."

  "Just barely," Healy said. "Whaddya got?"

  "What have I got, just like that? A cup of coffee and a donut and I spill my guts to you?"

  "That was my plan," Healy said.

  We each drank some coffee. Healy and I had been sort of friends for a long time. Which did not mean I needed to tell him everything I knew unless there was something in it for me. There might be.

  "The security guy at Kinergy," I said. "Gavin. He hired two, ah, marginal private eyes to follow the wives of a couple of his employees, including Marlene Rowley."

  "Tell me about that," Healy said. I told him.

  "And you can't find either gumshoe," Healy said.

  "Maybe I just keep missing them," I said.

  "Maybe. I'll have someone run it down."

  "Can you let me know?" I said.

  "As quick as you did," Healy said.

  I gave him my big charming smile. "Better late than never," I said.

  "Yeah," Healy said, "sure."

  My big charming smile generally worked better with women.

  "What's Gavin have to say about it?"

  "Denies everything."

  "And he paid them cash."

  "Yep."

  "So the only way we know he hired them to do the tail job is because they told you."

  "Yep."

  "And now you can't find them."

  "So far," I said.

  "So unless we find them we have no evidence that Gavin did anything except what you say they told you."

  "Exactly," I said.

  "We know how much that's worth," Healy said.

  "Sadly, yes," I said.

  "Hell, even if it was worth anything it doesn't prove it was Gavin; there's a lot of blond guys with mustaches."

  "I know," I said. "It would have to be an ID by O'Neill or Francis."

  "Which we can't get if we can't find them."

  Healy and I both took a bite of donut and looked at each other while we chewed.

  When he was through chewing, Healy swallowed and said, "Might be we won't find them."

  "That occurred to me," I said.

  "Still, we got Gavin," Healy said.

  "For what?"

  "For looking into," Healy said.

  "It's a start," I said.

  27

  Susan was wearing white pants that fit well, and a top with horizontal blue and white stripes and a wide scoopy neck which revealed the fact that she had the best-looking trapezius muscles of any woman in the world. I was nearly as dashing, though flaunting it less, in jeans and sneakers and a black tee shirt. I was carrying a gun so I wore the tee shirt not tucked in. We were sitting in the lobby at the Chatham Bars Inn amid a maelstrom of yuppies, mostly male, in bright Lacoste shirts, maroon and green predominating, pressed khakis, and moccasins, mostly cognac-colored, no socks. The women followed the same color scheme, the khaki varying among slacks, skirts, and shorts, depending, Susan and I agreed, on how they felt about their legs. Bob Cooper moved among them, wearing a starched white button-down shirt, top two buttons open, black linen trousers, and black Italian loafers: the patriarch, his gray head visible among the acolytes, laughing, squeezing shoulders, hugging an occasional woman, accepting obeisance. Gavin moved always near Cooper, wearing one of those white nipped long-waisted shirts that Cubans wear in Miami. Bernie Eisen was there, drinking mai tais. I saw no sign of Ellen.

  The chatter was continuous and loud. It was the first day of the retreat, cocktail time, and everyone was taking full advantage. The company had rented the whole place. Everyone there was from Kinergy, except me and Susan.

  "Breathtaking," Susan said, "isn't it."

  "Think of the pressure," I said. "Do I look like a winner? Am I dressed right? Am I talking to the right people? Have I signed up for the right activities? What if I've signed up for sailing and it turns out that only losers sign up for sailing?"

  "You can smell the fear," Susan said. "And the greed."

  "That too," I said.

  "We have penetrated to the heart," Susan said, "of corporate America."

  "Have you noticed that Cooper is the tallest guy in the room?" I said.

  "He is a tall man."

  "He's not much taller than I am."

  "So you would be the second tallest?" Susan said.

  "You think it is an accident that no member of Kinergy management is as tall as the CEO?" I said.

  Susan was holding a glass of pinot grigio, from which she had, in theory, been drinking for an
hour and ten minutes. It was down nearly half an inch. She took another sip, and swallowed, looking at the room. Her lips were slightly parted, the residue of wine making them gleam. I knew that jumping over there and sitting on her lap was unseemly. I fought the impulse back.

  "We only assume something to be an accident when all other explanations fail," she said.

  "Wow," I said. "Is that the royal we? Or are you talking about you and me?"

  "You and me," she said. "I only use the royal we for state occasions."

  "So you think it's an accident?"

  "No."

  "Couldn't you have said that to start?"

  "I have a Ph.D.," Susan said. "From Harvard. If I had done postdoctoral work I wouldn't be able to speak at all."

  "Of course," I said.

  "Everyone appears to work out," Susan said.

  "And spend a lot of time in the sun," I said.

  "There are other ways to appear tanned," Susan said.

  "And everyone has even white teeth."

  "There are several ways to achieve that also."

  "My God," I said. "Is nothing as it appears."

  "You and me, Cookie."

  "Besides that," I said.

  "I think Hawk looks pretty much like who he is."

  "I'll tell him," I said. "He'll be proud."

  "What do you suppose he and Pearl are doing?"

  "Right now?"

  "Yes."

  "Running along the river, scaring people."

  "How nice for her," Susan said.

  Set up around the lobby were display posters listing the various events. Every event was a competition in which points could be earned: sailing, fishing, tennis, golf, bocce, badminton, horseshoes, skeet, archery, and a three-mile run. There were shopping trips arranged for the few wives in attendance.

  "You think bringing your wife is the mark of a loser?" I said to Susan.

  "Absolutely," Susan said. "It certifies that you're pussy whipped."

  "I brought you."

  "I rest my case," Susan said.

  Bob Cooper appeared before us with a drink in his big strong-looking hands. Gavin was with him.

  "Spenser," he said, "it's great you could come."

  "It is," I said.

  "This the sort-of wife?" he said.

  "Bob Cooper," I said. "Susan Silverman."

  He bowed and shook her hand, smiling at her full wattage. "If you were sort of my wife, I'd make sure it was the complete deal," he said.

  "Actually sort of is as far as I want to go," Susan said. Cooper straightened and put his head back and laughed. It was a big laugh, full of authority.

  "Well hell," he said. "Just like a man. I never thought of that."

  He glanced at Gavin.

  "Gav, you know Spenser, this is, ah, Ms. Silverman."

  We shook hands with Gavin just as if we were glad to see him.

  "Room suitable?" he said.

  "Lovely," Susan said. Cooper nodded like it actually mattered to him.

  "You need anything you call Delia, she's here. Room eleven." I nodded. Susan smiled.

  "I've saved a couple of seats at my table," Cooper said. "For dinner. I hope you can join me."

  "We'd be thrilled," Susan said, just as if she meant it.

  "See you then," Cooper said. "Dinner's at seven."

  He moved off toward a group of men at the bar. Gavin followed. Susan watched them go, smiling.

  "Why exactly was it we decided to come to this?"

  "I don't know what else to do," I said. "I'm rummaging."

  Susan nodded. Her eyes had a little glitter in them. Something was amusing her.

  "What?" I said.

  "You could barely force yourself to be civil," Susan said. "How long do you suppose that you would last as a Kinergy employee?"

  "I suppose it would depend on how much I needed the job," I said.

  Susan looked straight at me and gave me a full-out, unfettered grin. My alimentary canal tightened. I took in some air. When she did the unfettered grin, I always felt as if I needed more oxygen than I was getting.

  "No," she said. "It wouldn't."

  28

  Susan and I had dinner with Bob Cooper, at a table that also included Gavin, Bernie Eisen, and a flamboyantly good-looking dark-haired woman named Adele McCallister, whose title was elaborate and failed to reveal what she did. Cooper was at his smart, good-old-boy best, charming to all, and especially charming with Susan. Gavin was genially cryptic, and Bernie Eisen did his very best impression of a masculine winner.

  A dele flirted with me through Susan.

  "Well," she said, "Susan, he's a big one, isn't he?"

  Susan smiled at her. It was like old money and nouveau riche. Susan was good-looking, as if her family had been good-looking for seven generations. It was as much a part of her as her intelligence.

  "Would you like to feel his muscles?" Susan said.

  "Is he really as muscular as he looks?" Adele said.

  "Fearful," Susan said.

  "Is that right?" Adele said, looking at me.

  "Fearful," I said.

  "May I feel?"

  "I can't make a muscle," I said. "It will tear my coat."

  "Somebody said you used to be a fighter," Bob said.

  "Who?" I said.

  "Oh, I can't recall, but there's some scarring around your eyes."

  "You used to box?" Adele said.

  "Not everyone thought so," I said.

  "Oh, isn't that cute," Adele said to Susan. "He's being modest.

  Susan's eyes gleamed at me for a moment.

  "He has much to be modest about," Susan said.

  "Let me ask you this," Adele said. "If all you men had a fight, would you win?"

  A dele's question had a nasty little undertone.

  "Question's really aimless," I said. "Anybody can beat anybody. It's only a matter of who wants it more."

  "Boxing is not the only martial art," Gavin said.

  "Absolutely," Bernie said. "Absolutely."

  Cooper watched it all as if he weren't a part of it, an observer, open-shuttered and passive. He seemed especially interested in Bernie. Adele slid her hand over and squeezed my upper arm. I was too vain not to flex.

  "Oh my God," she said, and looked at Susan. "Does he hurt?"

  "Only in the cutest way," Susan said.

  Bob Cooper paid us every heed. Bernie Eisen told some jokes. Gavin maintained his reserve. Susan and I fought Adele off for the rest of the meal. After dinner while the Kinergy winners crowded into the bar for Irish cream on the rocks, Susan and I went up to our room.

  I n the elevator I said to Susan, "When we go into our room, don't say anything until I tell you."

  "Why, do you think there's some sort of device?"

  "How did he know I boxed?" I said.

  "Healy must have talked to him," Susan said. "Maybe Healy told him."

  "Healy doesn't tell anybody anything," I said.

  "No, you're right. His business is to know, not to tell."

  "Like you."

  Susan smiled.

  "My business is to keep Adele from climbing in through your fly," Susan said.

  "Ever vigilant," I said.

  "So CEO Bob must have been checking on you."

  "And he might want to know more," I said.

  The elevator door opened and we went to our room.

  29

  Susan sat near the window and looked out and was quiet while I looked for a bug. It was in the bowl of a ceiling lamp. Whoever put it in wasn't very inventive. It was the first place I looked. I took it out and put it in my pocket. Sometimes, if the subject probably expects to be bugged, you put in one he'll find easily and another one much harder to find, hoping that he'll think that disabling the first one takes care of it. I didn't think they expected me to look for a bug, but I snooped around the rest of the place anyway. No second bug. I took the one I'd found and flushed it down the toilet.

  "That should make an interesting trans
mission," Susan said. "Are we free to talk?"

  "Let's risk it," I said.

  "Why would they bug our room?"

  "To confirm my reputation as a sexual Goliath."

  "Lucky you found the bug," Susan said. "Another reason?"

  "Same reason Coop's been schmoozing me, same reason they invited me. They want to get a handle on me, they want to know what I know."

  "So you feel that they're involved in Rowley's death?"

  "Don't know. They could just be trying to make it go away so they can return to the unfettered pursuit of profit."

  "Do you really think," Susan said, "that one murder would have a serious effect on their business."

  I didn't say anything. Susan waited. "Well," she said. "Do you?"

  "No," I said.

  "So, there's something more," she said.

  "So, there is," I said.

  "I think Coop's plan includes charming you," Susan said, "so you'll think he's swell, and Kinergy is swell, and nobody there could ever do something bad."

  "That would be a lot of charm.

  "Does Coop think he has lots of charm?"

  "Of course," I said. "Never is heard a discouraging word."

  "Of course it's really because he has power," Susan said.

  "But he probably doesn't know the difference," I said. "Or chooses not to."

  We were standing together looking out the window at the ocean-washed sand shoals that gave Chatham Bars Inn its name. There were some people on the beach, and some boats on the water, and blue distance beyond. I had my arm around Susan's shoulder. She had her arm around my waist.

  "That was sort of ugly," Susan said, "Adele's question about if there was a fight would you win."

  "I know. She must resent all the testosterone."

  "It put the men in an impossible position unless one of them wanted to challenge you."

  "Which would have been unseemly."

  "And quite possibly dangerous," Susan said. "You are not exactly the Easter Bunny."

  "Gavin tried a little," I said.

  "Yes. The remark about martial arts. Do you think he's dangerous?"