Cold Service

by Robert B. Parker

  "Afghan connection?"

  "You know he's got an Afghan connection, and I know you know it, and now you know I know it."

  "I've always admired your ability, Lochinvar, to construct and speak complicated sentences without confusion."

  "Yeah, it's special, isn't it?" I said.

  "You know we after Boots," Hawk said.

  Ives nodded.

  "And you put the Gray Man in with us to see what we up to," Hawk said. "You didn't plan it that way maybe, but when Spenser come to you for translator help, there it was."

  "Sometimes you have to let the game come to you," Ives said.

  "Whassup," Hawk said. "With the game?"

  "You show me yours," Ives said, "I'll show you mine."

  Hawk looked at me.

  "How much you tell him?"

  "Just that I needed a tough guy who could speak Ukrainian. He knows it's about you getting shot."

  "Or something," Hawk said.

  I nodded.

  "We trust him?" Hawk said.

  "No," I said.

  Ives smiled in self-deprecation and ate the last of his cashews.

  "But I think you can tell him about this. He doesn't care who killed who?"

  "Whom?" Ives said.

  "Okay," Hawk said. "Got hired to protect a bookie named Luther Gillespie…" He told it all, without emotion, without slant, as if he were giving somebody directions to Anaheim. Ives listened without any expression. As he listened, he got a meerschaum pipe out of his coat pocket and filled it from an old-fashioned oilskin fold-over tobacco pouch, and lit it with a Zippo. The pipe tobacco smelled sweet.

  When Hawk finished, Ives contemplated his pipe smoke for a time and then said, "So you are going to destroy his entire enterprise to get even."

  "Ah'm going to destroy his entire enterprise," Hawk said.

  "And Lochinvar?"

  "What are friends for," I said.

  Ives nodded. He glanced aimlessly around the mall. There were enough shoppers so that it was not discouraging. But it was an upscale mall, and it was rarely jammed on a weekday morning.

  "Do you know what the Gray Man is currently calling himself?" Ives said. "Kodi McKean."

  "C-O-D-Y?" I said.

  Ives shook his head and spelled it.

  "His cover name, when he needs to reach me, is the Kodiak Kid."

  "The Kodiak Kid," I said.

  "He finds it amusing," Ives said.

  Ives blew a smoke ring. I waited. Hawk had enough dealings with Ives to know that waiting was part of the dance. He waited, too.

  "As you clearly know, Mr. Podolak is the farthest eastern outpost of a criminal enterprise with its roots in Afghanistan, under the entrepreneurial direction of an Afghani named Haji Haroon. Mr. Haroon is what the press would describe as a warlord. I find the phrase a little too Kiplingesque."

  "What would be your phrase?" I said.

  "Haji Haroon is an independent ruler of a collection of his own tribesmen in Afghanistan," Ives said. "He has no allegiance beyond that. If asked his nationality, he would specify the tribe."

  "Which is?"

  "Alaza."

  "Big tribe?" Hawk said.

  "No, but cohesive and very vigorous on its own behalf. The Russians were terrified of them."

  "So why do you care?" Hawk said.

  "Well, of course, our government is opposed to heroin."

  "Good to take a position," Hawk said.

  "Yes," Ives said, watching the smoke drift up from his pipe in a small spiral. "We're clear on that. And, further, we believe that some of the profits from the heroin trade are used in support of terrorism."

  "By Mr. Haroon."

  "We believe so," Ives said.

  "Be good to know who the supervisor is," Hawk said.

  "He is the key figure. We surmise, though we as yet don't know, that the skag goes to Podolak through him, and the money goes back to Haroon through him. He's the valve, so to speak, in the pipe. It would be satisfyingly disruptive to the system if he could be turned off."

  "And why us?" I said.

  Ives smiled.

  "Because you're here," he said. "You are already involved."

  He took the pipe out of his mouth and set it down in a big glass ashtray, with the stem carefully clear of the rim.

  "And," he said, "in truth you are not just anybody. Nothing seems to frighten you, or at least frighten you sufficiently to deter you. And you are immensely formidable."

  "Formidable," I said to Hawk.

  "Immensely," Hawk said.

  "I am hopeful that the Kodiak Kid can sufficiently ingratiate himself with Podolak and friends, that, perhaps, he can find the supervisor."

  "And?"

  Another young woman walked past us, wearing tight lowrider pants and a cropped T-shirt that stopped several inches shy of the pants. She had a small blue-and-red tattoo in the small of her back. Ives studied the tattoo for a while as the woman passed us toward Bloomingdale's. Then he turned back to us and smiled and made a sharp gesture with his hand and wrist as if he was turning off a valve.

  39

  THE EARLY SPRING weather was pretty good, so Hawk and I sat with the Gray Man on a set of stairs to one side of the brick wasteland that surrounded Boston City Hall. "The Kodiak Kid?" I said to the Gray Man.

  His face moved faintly as if to smile.

  "It seems so American," the Gray Man said.

  "And now that you're working for us," I said.

  "Yes," the Gray Man said. "I wish to be totally American."

  "Any progress?" Hawk said.

  "I have made contact with the Ukrainian Janissaries. Monday I meet Podolak."

  "Quick," I said.

  "Strangers in a strange land," the Gray Man said, "like people who speak their language."

  Hawk nodded.

  "You know," I said, "it's still bothering me that Boots, given the setup he's got now with the Afghanis, would mess around with Tony Marcus's turf. Son-in-law or no."

  "It is a very stupid thing to do," the Gray Man said.

  "And I can't believe his keeper would approve."

  "The Afghan supervisor," the Gray Man said, "could not be so stupid."

  I scanned the plaza. At the moment, we were the only living things in sight. When they built the new city hall, some architect had doubtless conceived of this naked brick desert teeming with community. In the center of the desert was the slab-sided monolithic city hall that nestled into what had once been Scolly Square like a rhinoceros at a cotillion.

  "Ain't a matter of smart," Hawk said. "Be pride."

  "Boots?"

  "Boots can't stand being told what to do by some West Asian wog," Hawk said.

  "I don't think we call them wogs anymore," I said.

  "Too Kiplingesque," Hawk said.

  The Gray Man was staring at Hawk.

  "Before the Afghani connection kicked in," I said, "he was the boss."

  "Now the Afghani supervisor the boss," Hawk said.

  "So along came this little deal that makes no sense, and Boots does it anyway."

  "To prove that he could," the Gray Man said softly.

  Hawk glanced at him.

  "So," I said. "You think the supervisor knows?"

  "My guess, he don't," Hawk said.

  "Because if he did he'd shut down the heroin flow?"

  "Yep."

  "Which is why Boots doesn't have one of the Ukrainians cap him."

  "If the Ukes all actually his," Hawk said.

  "But he has his passive-aggressive drama," I said. "I don't have to ask this guy for permission to do everything. This isn't even heroin business. It's mostly making book."

  "Passive-aggressive," Hawk said.

  "I'm sleeping with a shrink," I said.

  "I don't want to hear about it," Hawk said.

  "You're quite sure about this," the Gray Man said.

  Hawk nodded. The Gray Man looked at me. I nodded.

  "All the more reason to find the supervisor," the G
ray Man said.

  "That sounds like a job for the Kodiak Kid," I said.

  The Gray Man's smile was very faint.

  "I know you find yourself amusing," he said. "But occasionally I would prefer to amuse myself."

  "Hard to imagine," I said. "But your choice."

  The Gray Man nodded.

  "I will see what I can do," he said, and stood and walked away across the open empty plaza toward Tremont Street.

  "Trust him?" Hawk said.

  "No."

  Hawk nodded.

  "Trust Ives?" he said.

  "No."

  "How about Epstein?"

  "He tells you he'll do something, I think he'll do it," I said.

  "Would he lie to us?" Hawk said.

  "Of course," I said.

  "Don't trust Tony," Hawk said.

  "And Leonard works for him."

  "Obviously can't trust Boots," Hawk said, "or Brock Rimbaud."

  "Obviously."

  " 'Cept for Vinnie," Hawk said, "it ain't a good assortment of trusty coconspirators."

  "Seemed simpler," I said, "right after you got shot."

  Hawk nodded.

  "Kill a few Ukrainians," he said. "Go back about my business."

  "Might have been that way if the guy on Blue Hill Ave had been scared to die," I said.

  "Fucked up everything," Hawk said. "Now we're in business, for crissake, with the feds."

  "My country right or wrong," I said, "but still my country."

  "Yeah, sure," Hawk said. "Why doesn't Ives do some of this himself."

  "He's got no domestic operation," I said, "officially."

  "And the fucking bureau?" Hawk said.

  "They're out pretty straight," I said. "Since nine-eleven. These guys live lives governed by funding. They are limited by statutes and regulations and shit."

  "And we ain't," Hawk said.

  "That's our charm," I said.

  "You think anybody's had a tail on Boots? See if he leads to the supervisor?"

  "Sure."

  "So there be no point to us doing that," Hawk said.

  "How would we even know if we did find him."

  "You don't think he be wearing a head cloth and riding a camel?"

  "I don't know if Afghan people ride camels," I said.

  "We don't know shit," Hawk said.

  "Often the case with us," I said.

  "And we looking for somebody we may not recognize when we find him."

  "Good point," I said.

  "We could just kill everybody," Hawk said. "Let God sort 'em out."

  "We could."

  "And who funds the trust fund for Luther's kid."

  "Maybe we could steal everybody's money before we killed them all," I said.

  "Plus, you such a goddamned pantywaist," Hawk said, "you probably wouldn't even kill them all."

  "I know," I said. "I know. I'm trying to improve."

  "And we can't trust anybody we involved with, 'cept Vinnie."

  "I know," I said. "I guess it's Let us be true to one another, dear. "

  The plaza was always windy. Even on still days, the wind stirred the discard of urban life and blew it around on the bricks.

  Hawk grinned.

  "Don't call me dear in public," he said.

  40

  HENRY CIMOLI HAD taken the final upward leap in the transubstantiation of his boxing gym. He had added a Pilates studio to the Harbor Health Club. It was right next to the small boxing room he kept open as a paean to his past and a favor to Hawk and me. Susan came with us and took some Pilates training while Hawk and I lifted weights and repaired to the boxing room to teach the heavy bag a thing or two. Between rounds with the bag, I could watch through the window. She seemed flexible, strong, and tireless. She also seemed beautiful and smart, though my impressions may have been influenced by prior knowledge. Showered, dressed, and rapturous with good health, Hawk and I waited in the lounge area for Susan. It took her longer to get rapturous. But when she emerged, she was. Her black hair gleamed. Her makeup was subtle and artistic. Her big eyes shone as they so often did with a sort of challenge. As if she was daring you to keep up with her.

  "One of the ladies in the dressing room was complaining that a maintenance man had been caught peeping in."

  Hawk glanced around the club at the women working out.

  "Present company excluded," he said. "Why he want to do that?"

  Susan smiled.

  "I assumed it was me," she said.

  "Had to be," Hawk said.

  Outside, on Atlantic Ave, the dismantling of the elevated Central Artery was in full clamor. We walked a couple of blocks to the Boston Harbor Hotel and sat in the quiet lounge where we could look at the water.

  "Brock and Jolene live right over there," Hawk said.

  "Is that Tony Marcus's daughter and son-in-law?" Susan said.

  "It is," I said. "Caesar and Cleopatra."

  "Dumb and dumber," Hawk said.

  "That too," I said.

  The waitress brought beer for me and for Hawk. Susan had a vodka and tonic with a lime wedge.

  "How is all that going?" she said. "Do I dare to ask?"

  "Be my impression," Hawk said. "That there ain't much you don't dare."

  "So how's it going?" she said.

  "You want to tell her?"

  "Sure," I said. "Don't hesitate to correct me if I get it wrong."

  "Yeah," Hawk said. "You always so grateful, anyone corrects you."

  "And gracious," Susan said.

  "Shut up," I said, and told her everything I hadn't told her before.

  By the time I got through, Hawk and I had each had a second beer, and Susan had already taken a swallow of her vodka and tonic.

  "Well my God," Susan said. "You can't trust anyone."

  "Vinnie probably okay," Hawk said.

  "Except him. I mean, you don't know who is on your side, if anyone, or who is against you, if everyone."

  "We noticed that," Hawk said. "We welcome any woman's intuition you want throw at us."

  Susan gave Hawk a look.

  "Oink," she said.

  "Or reasoned analysis," I said.

  Susan patted my hand.

  "That's my good boy," she said.

  Susan stared out the windows for a while at the harborscape.

  "Does anyone else in this mess trust anyone?" Susan said.

  "No," I said.

  "Brock whosis, or Tony, or Boots whatsisname, or Jolene, or the Ukrainians, or the Gray Man-I don't like the Gray Man being involved-anyone?"

  "No."

  One of the big cruise boats that took people around the harbor while they ate and drank began to ease out of its slip. Several seagulls flew angrily up as it moved.

  "Perhaps you could make that work for you," Susan said.

  "How," Hawk said.

  "I have no idea yet. But there must be a way. There's a way to make everything work."

  It was still daylight. But the cruise ship had its inside lights on. They shone through the wide windowed superstructure as the cruise ship moved away toward the mouth of the harbor, its wake spilling astern in smooth curls.

  "No one better to figure out how to make use of the situation than you two," Susan said.

  "True," Hawk said.

  He was watching the boat. His hands rested motionless on the tabletop. I drank some beer and watched the boat, too.

  After a while, I said, "We can think of something."

  "Yes," Hawk said. "We can."

  41

  HAWK AND I spent the next two days in my office. We drank too much coffee. We ate too much Chinese food. We sat and we stood. We took turns standing and looking out the window at the women walking toward Boylston Street. I did a lot of scribbling on yellow legal-size pads. "We gonna make sure that kid get his money," Hawk said every hour or so.

  "We'll do that," I said every hour or so. "We just gotta figure out whose money he is going to get."

  "We'll figure it out," Hawk s
aid.

  "We will," I said.

  We both badly wanted a plan. I wanted one even more badly because Susan had suggested it, and I wanted it to work. In the middle of the afternoon on our second day of deliberations, the Gray Man came silently into the office and closed the door carefully behind him.

  "I am in," he said, and sat down on the couch.

  "In?" I said.

  "The Boots Podolak organization," the Gray Man said. "I am now a member, and have already done them a service which ingratiates me."

  "You kill somebody for them?" Hawk said.

  The Gray Man nodded.

  "They like that," Hawk said. "Nothing like scragging somebody, make people trust you."

  "I know," the Gray Man said.

  For a moment I felt it. A thing the Gray Man shared with Hawk.

  "There's a balcony outside the window of Podolak's office in City Hall," the Gray Man said. "Somebody, some street soldier that's skimming, needs to be punished, Podolak goes out on the balcony. Somebody hands him a.22 target pistol. Podolak sticks it in his belt. Down below, they shove the miscreant out of a cellar door, onto the street, and tell him to run for it. Podolak lets him get halfway up the block and draws, and just before he's going to make it to the corner, shoots him dead center between the shoulder blades at a good hundred yards. Miscreant goes down and Podolak shoots him several more times to be sure. He never misses, I'm told."

  "He demonstrated this to you?" I said.

  "Yes. It's supposed to impress me," the Gray Man said, "and, of course, to frighten me."

  Hawk nodded. He had no expression.

  "How far up you think you can get."

  "Just below the Ukrainians," the Gray Man said.

  "What happen if the Ukrainians go away?" Hawk said.

  "I'd be just below Podolak."

  "And if he went away," Hawk said.

  "I believe I could replace him."

  Hawk nodded. He walked to my desk and picked up my yellow pad and stared at the names and notes I had written and crossed out. I'm not sure he saw them.

  "Boots doesn't suspect you," I said.

  "No. Podolak is not a worldly man. I tell him stories of my adventures in countries he has never been to."

  "They true?" I said.

  The Gray Man smiled.

  "Of course," he said. "Podolak has never traveled. He is very impressed."