Promised Land s-4

by Robert B. Parker

“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 than 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 resume 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 e
ncounter 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 sicklied 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?“

  ”No, it’s not too bad. I’ve seen a lot of daytime television.“

  ”Don’t watch too much, it’ll rot your teeth.“

  ”Spenser?“

  ”Yeah.“

  ”What’s wrong with Harvey? What did you mean about saving Harvey’s hide?“

  ”Nothing you need worry about now. I’m just concerned with his value system.“

  ”He’s all right?“

  ”Sure.“

  ”And the kids?“

  ”Of course. They miss you, Harv, too, but they’re fine otherwise.“ Ah, Spenser, you glib devil you. How the hell did I know how they were? I’d seen one of them my first day on the case.

  ”Funny,“ she said. ”I don’t know if I miss them or not, sometimes I think I do, but sometimes I just think I ought to and am feeling guilty because I don’t. It’s hard to get in touch with your feelings sometimes.“

  ”Yeah, it is. Anything you need right now before I hang?“

  ”No, no thanks, I’m okay.“

  ”Good. Suze or I will be in touch.“

  I hung up.

  Susan in faded jeans and a dark blue blouse was heading down Cape to look at antiques. ”And I may pick up some young stud still in college and fulfill my wildest fantasies,“ she said.

  I said, ”Grrrrrr.“

  ”Women my age are at the peak of their erotic power,“ she said. ”Men your age are in steep decline.“

  ”I’m young at heart,“ I said. Susan wa
s out the door. She stuck her head back in. ”I wasn’t talking about heart,“ she said. And went. I looked at my watch. It was one-fifteen. I went in the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, toweled dry and headed for New Bedford.

  At five after two I was illegally parked outside the New Bedford police station on Spring Street. It was three stories, brick, with A dormers on the roof and a kind of cream yellow trim. Flanking the entrance, just like in the Bowery Boys movies, were white globes on black iron columns. On the globes it said NEW BEDFORD POLICE in black letters. A couple of tan police cruisers with blue shields on the door were parked out front. One of them was occupied, and I noticed that the New Bedford cops wore white hats. I wondered if the crooks wore black ones.

  At the desk I asked a woman cop who was handling the Bristol Security robbery. She had light hair and blue eyeshadow and shiny lipstick and she looked at me hard for about ten seconds.

  ”Who wants to know?“ she said.

  Not sex nor age nor national origin makes any difference. Cops are cops.

  ”My name’s Spenser,“ I said. ”I’m a private license from Boston and I have some information that’s going to get someone promoted to sergeant.“

  ”I’ll bet you do,“ she said. ”Why don’t you lay a little on me and see if I’m impressed.“

  ”You on the case?“

  ”I’m on the desk, but impress me anyway.“

  I shook my head. ”Detectives,“ I said. ”I only deal with detectives.“

  ”Everybody only deals with detectives. Every day I sit here with my butt getting wider, and every day guys like you come in and want to talk with a detective.“ She picked up the phone on the desk, dialed a four-digit number and said into the mouthpiece, ”Sylvia there? Margaret on the desk. Yeah. Well, tell him there’s a guy down here says he’s got information on Bristol Security. Okay.“ She hung up. ”Guy in charge is a detective named Jackie Sylvia. Sit over there, he’ll be down in a minute.“

  It was more like five before he showed up. A squat bald man with dark skin. He was as dapper as a guy can be who stands five six and weighs two hundred. Pink-flowered shirt, a beige leisure suit, coppery brown patent leather loafers with a couple of bright gold links on the tops. It was hard to tell how old he was. His round face was without lines, but the close-cropped hair that remained below his glistening bald spot was mostly gray. He walked over to me with a light step and I suspected he might not be as fat as he looked.