“We’ll have to ask Shepard that. Police are okay by me. I got no special interest in playing Russian roulette with Hawk. Shepard called him a nigger.”
Susan shrugged. “What’s that got to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “ButI wish he hadn’t done that. It’s insulting.”
“My God, Spenser, Hawk has threatened this man’s life, beaten him up, abused his children, and you’re worried about a racial slur?”
“Hawk’s kind of different,” I said.
She shook her head. “So the hell are you,” she said. “I’m off to the pool to work on my tan. When you get through you can join me there. Unless you decide to elope with Hawk.”
“Miscegenation,” I said. “Frightful.”
She left. About two minutes later Shepard arrived. He was moving better now. Some of the stiffness had gone from his walk, but confidence had not replaced it. He had on a western-cut, black-checked leisure suit and a white shirt with black stitching, the collar out over the lapels of the suit. There was a high shine on his black-tassled loafers and his face was gray with fear.
“You got a drink here,” he said.
“No, but I’ll get one. What do you like?”
“Bourbon.”
I called room service and ordered bourbon and ice. Shepard walked across the room and stared out the window at the golf course. He sat down in the armchair by the window and got right up again. “Spenser,” he said. “I’m scared shit.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said.
“I never thought … I always thought I could handle business, you know? I mean I’m a businessman and a businessman is supposed to be able to handle business. I’m supposed to know how to put a deal together and how to make it work. I’m supposed to be able to manage people. But this. I’m no goddamned candy-ass. I been around and all, but these people …”
“I know about these people.”
“I mean that goddamned nigger …”
“His name’s Hawk,” I said. “Call him Hawk.”
“What are you, the NAACP?”
“Call him Hawk.”
“Yeah, okay, Hawk. My youngest came in the room while they were talking to me and Hawk grabbed him by the shin and put him out the door. Right in front of me. The black bastard.”
“Who are they?”
“They?”
“You said your kid came in while they were talking to you.”
“Oh, yeah,” Shepard walked back to the window and looked out again. “Hawk and a guy named Powers. White guy. I guess Hawk works for him.”
“Yeah, I know Powers.”
The room service waiter came with the booze on a tray. I signed the check and tipped him a buck. Shepard rummaged in his pocket. “Hey, let me get that,” he said.
“I’ll put it on your bill,” I said. “What did Powers want? No, better, I’ll tell you what he wanted. You owe him money and you can’t pay him and he’s going to let you off the hook a little if you let him into your business a lot.”
“Yeah.” Shepard poured a big shot over ice from the bottle of bourbon and slurped at it. “How the hell did you know?”
“Like I said, I know Powers. It’s also not a very new idea. Powers and a lot of guys like him have done it before. A guy like you mismanages the money, or sees a chance for a big break or overextends himself at the wrong time and can’t get financing. Powers comes along, gives you the break, charges an exorbitant weekly interest. You can’t pay, he sends Hawk around to convince you it’s serious. You still can’t pay so Powers comes around and says you can give me part of the business or you can cha-cha once more with Hawk. You’re lucky, you got me to run to. Most guys got ho one but the cops.”
“I didn’t mismanage the money.”
“Yeah, course not. Why not go to the cops?”
“No cops,” Shepard said. He drank some more bourbon. “Why not?”
“They’ll start wanting to know why I needed money from Powers.”
“And you were-cutting a few corners?”
“Goddamnit, I had to. Everybody cuts a few corners.”
“Tell me about the ones you cut.”
“Why? What do you need to know that for?”
“I won’t know till you tell me.”
Shepard drank some more bourbon. “I was in a box. I had to do something.” The drape on the right side of the window hung crookedly. Shepard straightened it. I waited. “I was in business with an outfit called Estate Management Corporation. They go around to different vacation-type areas and develop leisure homes in conjunction with a local guy. Around here I was the local guy. What we did was set up a separate company with me as president. I did the developing, dealt with the town planning board, building inspector, that stuff, and supervised the actual construction. They provided architects, planners and financing and the sales force. It’s a little more complicated man that, but you get the idea. My company was a wholly owned subsidiary of Estate Management. You follow that okay?”
“Yeah. I got that. I’m not a shrewd-o-business tycoon like you, but if you talk slowly and I can watch your lips move, I can keep up, I think. What was the name of your company?”
“We called the development Promised Land. And the company was Promised Land, Inc.”
“Promised Land.” I whistled. “Cu-ute,” I said. “Were you aiming at an exclusive Jewish clientele?”
“Huh? Jewish? Why Jewish? Anybody was welcome. I mean we wouldn’t be thrilled if the Shvartzes moved in maybe, but we didn’t care about religion.”
I wished I hadn’t said it. “Okay,” I said. “So you’re president of Promised Land, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Estate Management, Inc. Then what?”
“Estate Management went under.”
“Bankrupt?”
“Yeah.” Shepard emptied his bourbon and I poured some more in the glass. I offered ice and he shook his head. “The way it worked was the Estate Management people would see the land, really high-powered stuff, contact people, closers, free trips to Florida, the whole bag. The buyer would put a deposit on the land and would also sign a contract for the kind of house he wanted. We had about six models to choose from. He’d put a deposit on the house as well, and that deposit would go into an escrow account.”
“What happened to the land deposit?”
“Went to Estate Management.”
“Okay, and who controlled the house escrow?”
Shepard said, “Me.”
“And when Estate Management pulled out, and you were stuck with a lot of money invested and no backing, you dipped into the escrow.”
“Yeah, I used it all. I had to. When Estate Management folded, the town held up on the building permits. All there was was the building sites staked off. We hadn’t brought the utilities in yet. You know, water, sewage, that kind of thing.”
I nodded.
“Well, the town said, nobody gets a permit to build anything until the utilities are in. They really screwed me. I mean, I guess they had to. Things smelled awful funny when Estate went bankrupt. A lot of money disappeared, all those land deposits, and a lot of people started wondering about what happened. It smelled awful bad. But I was humped. I had all my capital tied up in the goddamned land and the only way I was going to get it back was to build the houses and sell them. But I couldn’t do that because I couldn’t get a permit until I put in the utilities. And I couldn’t put in the utilities because I didn’t have any money. And nobody wanted to finance the thing. Banks only want to give you money when you can prove you don’t need it, you know that. And they really didn’t want to have anything to do with Promised Land, because by now the story was all around financial circles and the IRS and the SEC and the Mass attorney general’s office and the FCC and a bunch of other people were starting to investigate Estate Management, and a group of people who’d bought land were suing Estate Management. So I scooped the escrow money. I was stuck. It was that or close up shop and start looking for work without enough money to have my résumé
typed. I’m forty-five years old.”
“Yeah, I know. Let me guess the next thing that happened. The group that was suing Estate Management also decided to get its house deposit back.”
Shepard nodded.
“And of course, since you’d used it to start bringing in utilities, you couldn’t give it back.”
He kept nodding as I talked.
“So you found Powers someplace and he lent you the dough. What was the interest rate? Three percent a week?”
“Three and a half.”
“And, of course, payment on the principal.”
Shepard nodded some more.
“And you couldn’t make it.”
Nod.
“And Hawk beat you up.”
“Yeah. Actually he didn’t do it himself. He had two guys do it, and he, like, supervised.”
“Hawk’s moving up. Executive level. He was always a comer.”
“He said he just does the killing now, the sweaty work he delegates.”
“And so here we are.”
“Yeah,” Shepard said. He leaned his head against the window. “The thing is, Powers’ money bailed me out. I was coming back. The only money I owe is Powers and I can’t pay. It’s like — I’m so close and the only way to win is to lose.”
Chapter 18
Shepard looked at me expectantly when he was through telling me his sins.
“What do you want,” I said, “absolution? Say two Our Fathers and three Hail Marys and make a good act of contrition? Confession may be good for the soul but it’s not going to help your body any if we can’t figure a way out.”
“What could I do,” he said. “I was in a corner, I had to crib on the escrow money. Estate Management got off with four or five million bucks. Was I supposed to watch it all go down the pipe? Everything I’ve been working for? Everything I am?”
“Someday we can talk about just what the hell you were working for, and maybe even what you are. Not now. How hot is Powers breathing on your neck?”
“We’ve got a meeting set up for tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“At Hawk’s room in the Holiday Inn.”
“Okay, I’ll go with you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think. But it’s better than going alone, isn’t it.”
Shepard’s breath came out in a rush. “Oh, hell, yes,” he said, and finished the bourbon.
“Maybe we can talk them into an extension,” I said. “The more time I got, the more chance to work out something.”
“But what can we do?”
“I don’t know. What Powers is doing, remember, is illegal. If we get really stuck we can blow the whistle and you can be state’s evidence against Powers and get out of it with a tongue-lashing.”
“But I’m ruined.”
“Depends how you define ruined,” I said. “Being King Powers’ partner, rich or poor, would be awful close to ruination. Being dead also.”
“No,” he said. “I can’t go to the cops.”
“Not yet you can’t. Maybe later you’ll have to.”
“How would I get Pam back? Broke, no business, my name in the papers for being a goddamned crook? You think she’d come back and live with me in a four-room cottage while I collected welfare?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to be coming back to you while, as far as she knows, you’re up on top.”
“You don’t know her. She’s always watching. Who’s got how much, whose house is better or worse than ours, whose lawn is greener or browner. You don’t know her.”
“She’s another problem,” I said. “We’ll work on her too, but we can’t get into marriage encounter until this problem is solved.”
“Yeah, but just remember, what I told you is absolutely confidential. I can’t risk everything. There’s got to be another way.”
“Harv,” I said. “You’re acting like you got lots of options. You don’t. You reduced your options’when you dipped into the escrow, and you goddamned near eliminated them when you took some of Powers’ money. We’re talking about people who might shoot you. Remember that.”
Shepard nodded. “There’s got to be a way.”
“Yeah, there probably is. Let me think about it. What time’s the meeting tomorrow?”
“One o’clock.”
“I’ll pick you up at your house about twelve forty-five. Go home, stay there. If I need you I want to be able to reach you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to think.”
Shepard left. Half sloshed and a little relieved. Talking about a problem sometimes gives you the illusion you’ve done something about it. At least he wasn’t trying to handle it alone. Nice clientele I had. The cops wanted Pam and the crooks wanted Harv.
I went out to the pool. Susan was sitting in a chaise in her red-flowered one-piece suit reading The Children of the Dream, by Bruno Bettelheim. She had on big, gold-rimmed sunglasses and a large white straw hat with a red band that matched the bathing suit. I stopped before she saw me and looked at her. Jesus Christ, I thought. How could anyone have ever divorced her? Maybe she’d divorced him. We’d never really talked much about it. But even so, where was he? If she’d divorced me, I’d have followed her around for the rest of our lives. I walked over, put my arms on either side of her and did a push-up on the chaise. Lowering myself until our noses touched.
“If you and I were married, and you divorced me, I would follow you around the rest of my life,” I said.
“No you wouldn’t,” she said. “You’d be too proud.”
“I would assault anyone you dated.”
“That I believe. But you’re not married to me and get off of me, you goof. You’re just showing off.”
I did five or six push-ups over her on the chaise. “Why do you say that?” I said.
She poked me with her index finger in the solar plexus. “Off,” she said.
I did one more push-up. “You know what this makes me think of?”
“Of course I know what it makes you think of. Now get the hell off me, you’re bending my book.”
I snapped off one more push-up and bounced off the chaise the way a gymnast dismounts the parallel bars.
Straightening to attention as my feet hit.
“Once you put adolescence behind you,” Susan said, “you’ll be quite an attractive guy, a bit physical but … attractive. What did Shepard want?”
“Help,” I said. “He’s into a loan shark as we assumed, and the loan shark wants his business.” I got a folding chair from across the pool and brought it back and sat beside Susan and told her about Shepard and his problem.
“That means you are going to have to deal with Hawk,” Susan said.
“Maybe,” I said.
She clamped her mouth in a thin line and took a deep breath through her nose. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d go down and sit in the bar and think. Want to come?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll stay here and read and maybe swim in a while. When you think of something, let me know. We can have lunch or something to celebrate.”
I leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder, and went to the bar. There were people having lunch, but not many drinking. I sat at the far end of the bar, ordered a Harp on draft and started in on the peanuts in the dark wooden bowl in front of me.
I had two problems. I had to take King Powers off of Shepard’s back and I had to get Pam Shepard off the hook for armed robbery and murder. Saps. I was disgusted with both of them. It’s an occupational hazard, I thought. Everyone gets contemptuous after a while of his clients. Teachers get scornful of students, doctors of patients, bartenders of drinkers, salesmen of buyers, clerks of customers. But, Jesus, they were saps. The Promised Land. Holy Christ. I had another beer. The peanut bowl was empty. I rattled it on the bar until the bartender came down and refilled it. Scornfully, I thought. Guns, I thought. Get guns
and disarm phallic power. Where the hell were they going to get guns? They could look in the Yellow Pages under gunrunner. I could put them in touch with somebody like King Powers. Then when he sold them the guns they could shoot him and that would solve Shepard’s problem … or I could frame Powers. No, frame wasn’t right.
Entrapment. That’s the word. I could entrap Powers. Not for sharking: That would get Shepard in the soup too. But for illegal gun sales. Done right it would get him off Shepard’s back for quite a long time. It would also get Rose and Jane out of Pam Shepard’s life. But why wouldn’t they take Pam with them? Because I could deal with the local D.A.: Powers and two radical feminists on a fresh roll, if he kept the Shepards out of it. I liked it. It needed a little more shape and substance. But I liked it. It could work. My only other idea was appealing to Powers’ better instincts. That didn’t hold much promise. Entrapment was better. I was going to flimflam the old King. A little Scott Joplin music in the background, maybe. I had another beer and ate more peanuts and thought some more.
Susan came in from the pool with a thigh-length white lace thing over her bathing suit, and slid onto the barstool next to me.
“Cogito ergo sum,” I said.
“Oh absolutely,” she said. “You’ve always been sick-lied over with the pale cast of thought.”
“Wait’ll you hear,” I said.
Chapter 19
After lunch I called the New Bedford Standard Times and inserted an ad in the personals column of the classified section: “Sisters, call me at 555-1434. Pam.”
Then I called 555-1434. Pam Shepard answered the first ring.
“Listen,” I said. And read her the ad. “I just put that in the New Bedford Standard Times. When the sisters call you arrange for us to meet. You, me, them.”
“Oh, they won’t like that. They won’t trust you.”
“You’ll have to get them to do it anyway. Talk to them of obligation and sororal affiliation. Tell them I’ve got a gun dealer who wants to talk. How you get us together is up to you, but do it.”
“Why is it so important?”
“To save your hide and Harv’s and make the world safe for democracy. Just do it. It’s too complicated to explain. You getting stir-crazy there?”
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