Текст книги "Trouble in Paradise"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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"Ah, indeed," Marcy said.

"How about yourself-how'd you make your money?"

"Liquor stores, mostly," Macklin said.

"Couple banks."

"Always interests me," Marcy said, "how some people have a knack for making money and others don't. What's your secret?"

"Mostly it's not caring if you do or don't," Macklin said.

"Mostly you just got to enjoy the game. How about you-you enjoy real estate?"

"Get to meet some interesting people," Marcy said.

"I like interesting people."

"And you enjoy the game?"

"Very much," Marcy said.

They ordered lunch. Yeah, Macklin thought, I've got her. It was business, but that didn't prevent him from getting that nice ratchety feeling he always got as he circled in on a woman he'd never slept with. Faye was always curious. How did you know? How can you tell? He watched Marcy as they ate lunch. When he told Faye about it, she'd want to know. What did you talk about? How did she act?

After lunch they went back to the real estate office. When they went in, Macklin could feel the tension. They were alone together in a private place. Marcy turned and looked at him. He was silent, looking back at her. He knew it would happen. He could feel it spread through him.

"What game are we playing now?" Marcy said.

"I'm not sure," Macklin said.

"But I'm enjoying the hell out of it. You want to go someplace?"

Marcy walked over to the front door and turned the lock. Then she went to the little picture window and closed the Venetian blinds.

"No need to go someplace," Marcy said and sat down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her.

"No need at all," Macklin said.

It had been a smart move to leave his gun in the car. He sat beside her.

"You knew when you came in here, didn't you?" Marcy said.

"Uh-huh."

"How?"

"Something about you," Macklin said, "I can always tell."

"Me too," Marcy said.

"With men, it's easy," Macklin said.

"Good point."

Naked beneath him on the couch, Marcy thought how much stronger he was than he looked with his clothes on. Like Jesse was.

Above her, Macklin thought that she wasn't better than Faye, but she was nearly as good. Like Faye, she moved a lot and was noisy.

Nothing beats enthusiasm in a woman, Macklin thought. He loved Faye. But this hadn't anything to do with Faye. It didn't mean anything to him, and he knew it didn't mean anything to Marcy. She was like him. She liked a good time. And then he let himself go and didn't think about much of anything for a little while.

THIRTY.

It was nearly 7:30 and the sun was down when they settled in at the bar in the Gray Gull.

"I'd like a martini," Jenn said.

"Up, extra olives."

"You got it," Doc said.

"Jesse?"

"Black label and soda," Jesse said.

"Tall."

Doc put the drinks in front of them and put out a hand to Jenn.

"I'm Doc," he said.

"Oops," Jesse said.

"Sorry, this is my, this is Jenn."

"Hi, Doc."

"Hello, Jenn."

It was almost fall, and the summer crowd had mostly left. There were several empty tables and four or five stools available at the bar.

By 9:00, the place was nearly full. Jesse was trying to nurse his scotch.

"Do you have to get up early?" Jenn said.

"I should be at the station by nine," Jesse said.

"But I always get up early. Seven is sleeping in for me."

"Why do you get up so early?" Jenn said.

"You didn't used to."

"Don't sleep well," Jesse said.

"Well, I think we should go," Jenn said.

"Okay."

Jesse paid the bar bill, left twenty percent for Doc, and walked out behind Jenn. Several people recognized her and stared covertly.

In the car, Jenn said, "It's a long ride back to Boston, Jesse. I think I should stay with you."

"Okay," Jesse said.

What did "with" mean? He stifled the question. Let it play out, he thought.

His condominium was only five minutes from the Gray Gull.

Inside, Jenn went straight to the living room and opened the French doors onto the little deck over the water.

"I love this view," she said.

Jesse went and stood beside her on the deck. House lights were scattered brightly against the solid blackness of Paradise Neck. The salt sea smell of the harbor was strong.

"Funny how different this ocean seems," Jenn said.

"Maybe we're different," Jesse said.

"That would be nice."

Jesse felt compressed by the tension between them. He wondered if Jenn even felt it. She seemed perfectly in possession of herself. They were quiet. Jesse stood next to her, not touching her.

Except for the sound of the ocean moving below them, the silence was crystalline. Maybe I cant stand this, Jesse thought. Maybe I need a drink. To his left, the head of the harbor was darkened by Stiles Island where barely any lights showed. Everything faces the ocean, Jesse thought. Got their back to the town. He didn't look at Jenn, though he felt her next to him the way he felt the pull of gravity.

"Jesse," she said.

He turned. She had turned toward him. Her face was raised to him. Subtly, beneath the heavy ocean smell, he could smell her perfume. He opened his arms, and she pressed against him. He kissed her. She opened her mouth and kissed him back. He was conscious of his breath surging in his lungs, of the blood moving through the intricate riparian patterns of his arteries and veins, the electricity tracing his nerves and muscles. They began to fumble at each other's clothes. Jenn broke away long enough to gasp, "Living room." She pressed her mouth against his again as they stumbled into the living room. They went to the carpet and made love there.

It was all visceral. Whatever sounds they made were inarticulate. In the darkness, hours after they had begun, they paused long enough to go into Jesse's bedroom.

Jesse woke up in bright sunshine. He was lying on his back.

Jenn was beside him, still asleep, in the crook of his arm, with her head on his chest. He looked at his wrist. His watch wasn't there.

He looked over at the alarm clock on the bureau. It was 10:40. He had not slept much past dawn since he'd come east. Actually, as he thought about it, he had not slept past dawn since Jenn started fucking Elliot whatsisname. Maybe he should have killed Elliott.

He always regretted that he hadn't. He wasn't sure he could have.

He had shot people and maybe he would again. But just walk up and shoot him? Had he done so, he would never be lying here in the mid-morning sunshine, with Jenn naked beside him. He had been right not to... but he knew, and he smiled secretly in the still room at the knowledge, that there would always be, in one small compartment of his soul, the regret that he hadn't. The seagulls were loud. The harbor smell was assertive. The French doors were still open.

Without opening her eyes, Jenn said, "Don't make too much of this."

"Okay," Jesse said.

"It doesn't mean we should move in together or start dating each other exclusively or get married or any of those things."

"Right," Jesse said.

"It just means we are fond of each other and maybe love each other and probably want to date each other again, and we're grown-ups."

"Correct," Jesse said.

Jenn gave him the look. The same look he knew she'd had when she spoke of the other weather woman being on weekends.

"And," Jenn said, "grown-ups fuck."

"Do they ever," Jesse said.

They lay together for a while, her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulder, then Jenn swung her feet off the bed and stood up.

Her hair was messy, and her makeup was smeared. Naked, she walked from the bedroom, following the trail of discarded clothing to the deck.

"Gee," she said.

"What possibly could have gone on here?"

"Nothing bad," Jesse said.

"No," Jenn said, "nothing bad."

THIRTY-ONE.

"Harry Smith," Macklin said when he| came into Jesse's office.

"Thanks for taking the time."

"Happy to," Jesse said.

He stood while they shook hands.) Macklin's grip was stronger than Jesse had expected from a guy who looked like ant amateur golfer. Macklin took a chair!

across the desk from him.

"Here's the deal, chief. I'm thinking about buying property on Stiles Island. I don't need to tell you that I'm looking at a good-sized investment if I do."

"Good-sized," Jesse said.

"So I'm trying to size up the whole town, not just the island."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't mind, do you, me talking to you?"

"I don't mind," Jesse said.

"How's the crime situation?"

"Good," Jesse said.

"You mean, there isn't much " Macklin said.

"A lot of the time, there isn't any."

Macklin smiled.

"So what do you guys do?"

"Write traffic tickets. Keep the kids from loitering. Had a case of arson a while ago."

"Really?" Macklin said.

"Jewish lightning?"

"No, teenage kids with a grudge."

"You catch them?"

"Yeah."

"Cops one, teenagers nothing," Macklin said.

"Heard you had some trouble year or so ago."

"Yeah, couple of murders."

"Crimes of passion?"

"You could say that."

"You catch the guy?"

"Yeah."

Macklin smiled again.

"Cops two," he said.

Jesse was quiet.

"You got a big force?" Macklin said.

"No. Twelve officers and me."

"Four per shift," Macklin said.

"That's how the math works."

"You been chief long?"

"Long enough," Jesse said.

"Work your way up from the ranks?"

"No."

"Came from another department."

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Elsewhere."

Macklin leaned back a little and studied Jesse.

"You're a pretty quiet guy," Macklin said.

"True."

"Probably the right way to be," Macklin said.

"Me, I'm a talker.

My wife's always telling me to quiet down."

Jesse didn't say anything. He seemed attentive. Macklin sensed no hostility in him. He was just quiet. There was no way to know what went on behind his eyes.

"How's the security on Stiles?" Macklin said.

"Secure," Jesse said.

"They got their own security force, I see."

"Um-hmm."

"They tied in with you guys?"

"You need to talk to them."

Macklin nodded slowly, as if confirming a long-held assumption. He stood with a wide smile and put out his hand. Jesse shook it.

"I'm encouraged, chief" Macklin said.

"You can usually count on a man who doesn't say more than he has to."

Jesse smiled. Macklin smiled back and left.

In the car with Faye, Macklin was silent.

"How'd it go?" Faye said as she drove up Summer Street.

"You find out what you wanted to know?"

"I got a read on the chief," Macklin said.

"Which is what I wanted, I guess."

Faye slowed the car as they passed a couple of kids on bicycles.

"But?"

"But he's not what I wanted him to be," Macklin said.

Faye braked at the stop sign on Beach Street, looked carefully both ways, and drove on.

"So what is he?"

"I don't know," Macklin said.

"But he's not a shit-kicker."

"Well," Faye said, "neither are you."

Macklin patted Faye's thigh for a moment and smiled.

"No," he said.

"I'm not."

THIRTY-TWO.

Tony Marcus was a black man with a big moustache and a small Afro. He had on good clothes, Crow noticed. A dark pinstriped suit, a bright white shirt with a wide spread collar. His pink silk tie was tied in a big Windsor knot.

"Who sold you this crap?" Tony Marcus said.

Crow smiled and shook his head. They were in the back room of a restaurant called Buddy's Fox. Marcus was sitting at his desk. Crow sat across from him. The two men with Marcus were standing. One was a huge man called Junior. The other one was a fidgety, skinny kid with his hair slicked back and a large gold ring in his ear. The kid's name was Ty-Bop. He'd be the shooter, Crow thought.

"Well, whoever it was, they seen you coming."

"It's been stepped on a little," Crow said.

"The sample you gave me's been trampled on," Marcus said.

"So buy it cheap, sell it for double."

"How'd you get to me?" Marcus said.

"I asked around."

"Where'd you get the blow?"

Crow smiled again and said nothing.

"Coke dealer named Bo Chang got clipped the other night in Chinatown. Know anything about that?"

"Nope."

"Where you from?" Marcus said.

"Out of town," Crow said.

"You Mexican or something?"

"Apache," Crow said.

"Apache?"

"Yes."

"Like fucking Geronimo Apache?"

"Yes."

Marcus looked at Ty-Bop. You know who Geronimo was, Ty-Bop?"

Ty-Bop shook his head. He was restless. Never quite still, tapping his hands against his thighs, shifting his feet as if he were jiving to a music of his own.

"How about Apache?" Marcus said.

"You know about Apaches, Ty-Bop?"

"You know I don't know nothing about that shit, Mr.

Marcus."

"That's okay, Ty-Bop," Marcus said.

"You know what you need to know."

Ty-Bop nodded. Junior, taking up most of the wall he was leaning on, said nothing.

"What you call cheap?" Marcus said.

"Hundred for the lot."

"Hundred large?" Marcus said.

"Yes."

"Dream on, Geronimo."

"What you call cheap?" Crow said.

"Twenty."

"Apiece?"

Marcus shook his head.

"Twenty grand for the lot?" Crow sounded amazed.

"For cris sake Marcus said.

"What I'm buying is about three keys of mannite."

"It's not that bad," Crow said.

"You want to talk to my chemist?" Marcus said.

"It's shit. Means I got to market it to white college kids."

"Lot of them in Boston," Crow said.

"Why I'm offering you twenty."

"You got it here?" Crow said.

"Yes."

"Count it out," Crow said.

"I'll be right back."

Crow went out through the restaurant to where his car was parked on the street. He opened the trunk of his car, picked up the Nike bag, closed the trunk, and went back in through the restaurant. He put the bag on the desk. Marcus looked in it, sampled a little from each kilo, and shook his head in distaste.

"Yeah, same shit," he said.

He pushed a stack of hundreds across the desk. Crow picked it up and counted it. There were 200 of them.

"Okay," Crow said.

He stuffed the bills into his two side pockets.

"You took kind of a chance, didn't you?" Marcus said.

"Come in here alone, selling me stuff. How'd you know we wouldn't just take it away from you?"

"Your reputation," Crow said.

"You'd have to kill me to do it, and I figured it wasn't worth it to you for three kilos of baby laxative."

"I guess you figured right," Marcus said.

Crow looked at Ty-Bop, jittering near the door somewhere in his own world.

"And maybe I didn't think you could do it," Crow said.

Marcus grinned.

"Don't let Ty-Bop fool you," Marcus said.

"He's pretty good."

"I guess we don't need to find out now," Crow said.

"Bo Chang was a tough little fucker," Marcus said.

Crow shrugged and went out of the office.

THIRTY-THREE.

"Guy named Harry Smith," Jesse said. f "Never heard of him," Suitcase Simpson said.

"Said he's buying property on Stiles Island, told me he wanted to get a feel for the town before he commits."

Suitcase shrugged.

"So. That makes sense. Guy's gonna lay out big bucks, wants to know he's in the right place."

"Maybe."

"What else?"

Suitcase was a big round kid with blond hair and red cheeks.

He'd been a tackle on the Paradise High School team. He was ten years younger than Jesse and smarter than you thought he'd be.

"I don't know," Jesse said.

"I felt like I was getting hustled."

"What'd he say?"

"He asked about crime and how many policemen we had and how Stiles Island Security tied in with us."

"You think he's going to pull a job, and before he does, he comes and, like, checks with the chief of police?" Suitcase said.

"Doesn't seem likely, does it?"

"Nope."

Jesse let his swivel chair back and put his feet up on the desk and looked out the window at the desultory traffic on Summer Street.

"When I was working South Central," Jesse said, "some of the gang bangers would see you parked on the street, and they'd come over and talk with you. Buddy-buddy like, couple of cops, couple of robbers passing the time."

"In L.A.?"

"In L.A."

"Why would they do that?" Suitcase said.

"I'd figure they hated cops."

"They did, and they didn't," Jesse said.

"We were how they knew what they were, if you follow what I'm saying."

"You were what?" Suitcase said.

"They were the other side of us. We were the law tough guys;

they were the outlaw tough guys. They kind of flirted with us."

"Flirted?"

"Like a woman," Jesse said, "who wants you to be interested in her, but probably won't go to bed with you."

"Like a cock-teaser," Suitcase said.

"Like that," Jesse said.

"Want us to know they were bad. Didn't want us to catch them at it."

"And you're saying Harry Smith is a cock-teaser?"

Jesse grinned.

"Talking to him reminds me of talking to those gang bangers

"He's letting you know he's bad?" Suitcase said.

"He might be," Jesse said.

"Why would he do that?"

"Maybe he likes foreplay," Jesse said.

"Foreplay?"

"Some bad guys are bad guys because they like the action. They get excited by the danger of being a bad guy. And it gets more exciting if you make it more dangerous. Not getting caught is even more fun if you almost get caught."

"Jesus, Jesse, sometimes you get these theories..."

"You know any compulsive gamblers?"

"Every cop knows a compulsive gambler," Suitcase said.

"They get in trouble."

"Right, what is it they like about gambling."

"The action?"

"And what creates the action?"

"I don't know."

"What makes gambling a gamble?" Jesse said.

Suitcase stared at him, concentrating. Jesse waited. Then Suitcase's wide pink face relaxed a little.

"That you might lose."

"That's it. You get it about the gang bangers and Smith?"

"Yeah. If he's that way. I mean, you're the chief, Jesse, and I'm just a patrolman..."

"Senior investigative patrolman," Jesse said.

"Yeah, sure, but whatever, but maybe Mr. Smith is just worried about the security of his real estate investment."

"Maybe he is," Jesse said.

"Let's see if we can find out."

Jesse handed Suitcase a pink telephone message slip. There were numbers written on the back.

"When Smith left here," Jesse said, "his wife picked him up in a car with those plates on it. Why don't you run them down."

Suitcase took the slip and folded it into his shirt pocket.

"If he's buying real estate on Stiles," Suitcase said, "he must be doing business with one of the brokers."

"Marcy Campbell," Jesse said.

"I saw her with him and his wife at the regatta dance."

"You know I never been to one of them?"

"I'll get you a paid detail for the next one," Jesse said.

"See what you're missing."

"Want me to talk to Mrs. Campbell too?"

"No, I'll do that."

Suitcase did a small double take.

"Something going on, Jesse?"

Jesse smiled.

"What makes you think so?" Jesse said.

"Just something about how you said that so quick," Suitcase said.

"You tagging Mrs. Campbell?"

"We're friends, Suit," Jesse said.

"I like her."

"Lotta people been friends with Mrs. Campbell."

"Find out about Harry Smith, Suit. I'll talk with Mrs. Campbell."

"Sure, Jesse."

"Ask around a little too. But not too obvious. I'd rather he didn't know we were asking."

"Okay," Suitcase said.

He stood and went to the door.

"You know, I think Abby Taylor's getting interested in you again too," Suitcase said.

"She was asking me about you when I was getting coffee at the Village Room."

"What was she asking?"

"About you and your ex, and were you going out with anyone.

Stuff like that."

"Just polite conversation," Jesse said.

"No it was not," Suitcase said.

Jesse shrugged. Suitcase was a heavy-handed kidder but an enthusiastic one.

"Man," he said.

"Mrs. Campbell, your ex, now Miss Taylor.

You're a damn golden boy, Jesse. I wish I was from California."

"I wish you were in California," Jesse said.

"Go investigate Harry Smith."

"Yes sir, Chief Stone."

THIRTY-FOUR.

Macklin looked around happily. He had the whole crew with him, ranged in a semicircle in Faye's living room. It was the first time he had them all together. Faye served drinks.

"Drink up," Macklin said.

"Because when we get close, everybody goes on the wagon."

"How close are we now?" Crow said.

"Still gathering data," Macklin said.

"What's the ocean look like around the island, Freddie?"

"Channel between the island and the neck is not navigable.

Way the water churns in there, be like navigating a blender."

"" So?"

"So if I take you off on this side, at the boat club, which is the only place I can, I got to go all the way around the island to get to the open sea."

"Puts us between the town and the island for how long?"

"Depends on which way the tide is and which way the wind's blowing at the time."

"For cris sake Freddie, gimme a time. Ballpark."

"Half hour."

"Too long. Can you take us off the other side?"

"Long as the weather holds. Take you right off by the restaurant, but you got to get to me. I can't get in closer than maybe fifty yards."

"Too shallow?"

"Too shallow. Too rocky. There's a lot of rock jumble slid down off the stone face over the last million years."

"So how do we get to you?"

"Wade out. It's only about five feet deep at the most. I hold the boat steady out past the rocks. You walk out to me."

Macklin nodded.

"We'll work something out," he said.

"Maybe we can find a small rowboat and stash it."

"Either way," Costa said, "weather's got to be good."

"We'll try to pick a nice day," Macklin said.

Costa heard the sarcasm. He paid no attention. He knew what he knew. Bad weather, you couldn't get through those rocks.

Couldn't get anything but a small boat through there in any kind of weather. And he wasn't tearing his boat up on those rocks for Macklin or a million bucks or anything else. They didn't know about the ocean. He did.

"Anybody needs to get onto the island, you take my car," Macklin said.

"The real estate broad thinks you're my contractors.

She gave me a visitor's pass because I'm such a hot prospect. You put the pass on the dashboard and drive up, and the guard waves you through."

"I'll need a look at the underside of the bridge," Fran said.

"Freddie will get you as close as he can, and you can use binoculars," Macklin said." JD, you go with them. I think all the wire from the island runs under the bridge."

"What makes you think that?" JD said.

"Mrs. Campbell told me."

"Maybe she's just saying it. Sell you some property."

"Well, where else would they run it?"

"On the floor of the harbor."

"When they have a nice bridge?"

"They might have wanted power out there while they were building the bridge."

"Okay," Macklin said.

"We won't guess. Find out about it."

"Yes sir, cap'n," JD said.

Macklin gestured his glass at Faye, and she made him a new drink and put it at his elbow. She put her hand on his shoulder as she set the drink down. Macklin patted her hand absently.

"Weapons?" Crow said.

Macklin nodded.

"Shotguns. Rifles. Hundred rounds each."

Crow raised his eyebrows.

"Better too much than too little," Macklin said.

"Everybody here got a piece of his own?"

"I got a Winchester on the boat," Costa said.

"Handgun," JD said.

Fran nodded.

"Crow, make sure each of us has rifle, shotgun, and handgun," Macklin said.

"Fran, you'll take care of your own explosives?"

"Soon as I figure out what I need," Fran said.

Faye brought in a platter of sandwiches, mixed some more drinks, leaned her hips against the sideboard, and watched Jimmy when she wasn't busy. He's happy, she thought. He loves this, getting the crew together, planning the action, attending to all the details, smoothing out any friction. He should have been some kind of army officer. She watched him lean back in his chair sipping his drink, a triangular sandwich half in his other hand. He loves these guys, Faye thought. It bothered her a little that he'd gone to see the police chief. Jimmy was a thrill seeker. It was why he did what he did. He needed to get too close to the edge. The greater the risk, the greater the excitement. Some times he risked too much. She hadn't liked Jimmy's reaction to the chief. The chief was more than Jimmy had expected.

"How about a bazooka," Macklin was saying.

"A bazooka?" Crow said.

"Rocket launcher, whatever, so if there's a police boat we can blow them out of the water."

"I'll put it on the list," Crow said.

Faye couldn't tell if Crow was smiling or not.

THIRTY-FIVE.

Jesse met Abby Taylor at the Gray Gull.

Abby had a martini. Jesse ordered beer.

Abby noticed but said nothing. Jesse smiled and raised his glass toward Abby, "Old times," he said.

Abby tapped her glass against his. ;

"Good times," she said.

"Yes." f The bar was crowded. The outside deck was closed for the season, and most of the tables inside were full.

"But I didn't ask you to meet me just for that," Abby said.

Jesse nodded.

"Kay Hopkins is going to try and have you removed as chief," Abby said.

"The two gay guys whose house was burned..."

"Canton and Brown," Jesse said.

"Yes. They're proceeding with their civil suit, and I imagine the Hopkins will have to settle, because they don't want to get into court and have your tapes played."

"I wouldn't think so," Jesse said.

"But she's not willing to let it go."

"Mrs. Hopkins."

"Yes. She feels you have misused her darling boys, and then misused your office to suggest a civil suit. She's going to get you."

"If she can," Jesse said.

"She's already talked with Morris Comden. You know Morris."

"Morris is not like a rock," Jesse said.

Doc came down the bar.

"Another round?" he said.

Abby nodded. Jesse shrugged. He still had half a beer in front of him. He wasn't crazy about beer. Which was why he was drinking it.

"Talk to Nick Petrocelli about this," Abby said.

"Don't take her lightly. She is vicious and driven. She needs to get her own way. And she's not used to being thwarted."

"Beware a woman scorned," Jesse said.

Doc served the second round. Abby had a good pull on her second martini.

"Like me," she said.

Whoops, Jesse thought.

"I thought you scorned me," he said.

"I suppose I did."

"You're not the first," Jesse said.

Abby took one of the olives out of her martini and ate it.

"I

gather that Jenn is still in town."

"Yes."

"How are you and she doing?"

"I don't know."

"What kind of answer is that?" Abby said.

"The truth," Jesse said.

"I don't quite know what our relationship is or how it's going to turn out."

"How would you like it to turn out?"

Jesse drank some of his first beer.

"She says she's not the same person."

Abby took another drink.

"So?"

"If that's true..."

"You want to be with her," Abby said.

"If I can be."

Abby nodded her head slowly and kept nodding it.

"What's she say?" Abby asked.

"She says we're two single adults, and we can date each other and other people and see where it all leads."

"Does she want to be with you?"

"She does and she doesn't," Jesse said.

"What the hell does that mean?" Abby said.

She finished her martini and nodded at Doc.

"It means she wants to be with me, and she doesn't want to be with me," Jesse said.

"I think the shrinks call it ambivalence."

"And you're supposed to wait around until she decides?"

"If I want to," Jesse said.

"And you want to?"

Doc brought Abby a fresh drink. He looked at Jesse, who shook his head. Doc went away.

"If I can be with Jenn, I will be," Jesse said carefully.

Abby was silent, slowly twirling the stem of her martini glass on the bar. Jesse was quiet, waiting. Abby's eyes began to tear. Jesse took in some air.

"And what about us?"

"I thought we were history," Jesse said.

"I thought we were too," Abby said.

"I was wrong. I was frightened by what happened last year. I was frightened by how hard you were. I didn't understand."

"And now you don't mind? Or now there's nothing frightening going on?"

"Now I understand."

" Jesse nodded. Abby was starting to slur her S's.

"There's no reason, in the short run at least, why we can't see each other," Jesse said.

"You seeing anyone else?"

"I've been dating Paul Graveline."

"You like him?"

"Very much."

He remembered how she'd looked naked, how she'd been in bed. He liked the memory. Abby stopped twirling her glass and looked up at him. The tears had spilled from her eyes and were now running down her face.

"But?" Jesse said.

"But... I love you, Jesse."

"That's not a good idea, Abby."

"I know."

"I've never pretended," Jesse said.

"I've always told you the truth."

"I know. You said, "Abby, don't put all your eggs in my basket."" Jesse nodded. He drank some more beer. He wanted more lift than the beer gave him. Seated alone at a table for two across the room was Harry Smith's wife. Jesse remembered her from the Race

Regatta Cotillion where he'd seen her and Harry with Marcy Campbell. She had a nearly full glass of red wine in front of her.

"But I did," Abby said.

Jesse didn't have anything to say.

Mrs. Smith across the room was still at her table alone, her wine glass was still more full than empty. She seemed comfortable drinking alone at the table.

"Even if you were back with Jenn, somehow..." Abby said. She paused to finish her martini.

"Even if you were, we could still maybe have our little relationship on the side."

"Maybe not," Jesse said.

"It's too complicated for me to say yes and no to anything, but maybe we couldn't."

Abby with the tears running down her face, gestured at Doc for another drink. Doc looked at Jesse. Jesse nodded. Shutting her off now would not be smart, he thought. Doc brought her the drink and gave Jesse another look. Jesse shrugged. Abby drank half her drink and slid off the bar stool and put her arms around Jesse's neck and kissed him hard. He should stop this now, he thought. But he didn't. Abby finished kissing him and leaned away, her arms still around his neck.

"Tell me you didn't like that," she said.

"I won't tell you that."

"Tell me you don't want me to come home with you."

He should stop this now.

"I won't tell you that either," he said.

She pressed in close against him again and kissed him with her mouth open. Jesse always felt he was on display in the town where everyone knew he was the chief of police. Just as he would never allow himself to get drunk in public, he didn't want to be seen necking in public. He was uncomfortable and thick and intense. This must be ambivalence, he thought.

With her lips brushing his and her pelvis pressed against him, Abby whispered, "Take me home, Jesse."

"Yes," he said.

They left the Gray Gull with Abby clinging to him. He wasn't sure if it was desire or dizziness. Probably both, he decided.

When they were gone, Mrs. Smith got up and walked to the bar and spoke to Doc.

"The young woman with Chief Stone," Faye said.

"She looks so familiar to me. What is her name?"

"Abby Taylor, ma'am."

"She live here in town?"

"Yes ma'am, used to be town counsel."

"I'm sure we've met. You wouldn't know if she went to Wellesley College, would you?"

"No, ma'am."

Faye smiled at him.

"Well, no matter," she said.