Текст книги "Chance"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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Robert B Parker

Chance

PROLOGUE

It was all to come. The cocktails, the crystal, the starched white napkins, and the soft Sunday mornings with orange juice and floral print coverlets. Apple trees in spring blossom. Evenings He would come home from work with His collar open and His tie loosened and His shirt still crisp, making a nice contrast with the tan on His face and His strong hands. Nights she would lie in the hollow of His muscular arm. They would have a sports car at first and then when they had blond children with red cheeks they'd get a station wagon.

She would wear linen dresses and pearls and flattering heels.

Standing in the parking lot, in the summer place night, she studied herself reflected in the dark window of the club. Her red hair was pulled back and tied with a blue ribbon. She wore a pair of white shorts, and a blue sleeveless tee, and dark loafers with no socks. She had on bright lipstick and a lot of dark eye shadow, and her blusher, carefully applied, hid her freckles and almost hid the bruise where her father had hit her. She took a cigarette from her purse and lit it and put it in her mouth and looked again to see how she looked with the smoke curling up in front of her face. There were mercury vapor security lights just under the eaves of the club and their light gave the rows of parked cars an otherworldly gleam.

When the club door opened she could hear the dense racket of the band and the crowd, and smell the booze and the sweet pungent marijuana smoke. She unwrapped a stick of Blackjack chewing gum and folded it into her mouth and chewed it soft. She loved the way she looked chewing gum while the cigarette bobbed in her lips and the plume of its vapor made little figures in the air.

He might be in there tonight, and He'd find her, and force His way through the crowd, moving easily as strong men do where others struggle. There would be no need to speak, she'd know Him when she saw Him and He would be the rock on which she would inarticulately found her life. He would be her strength and her joy and her life and her safety.

The door opened again and people crowded out through it.

"Here I come," she thought, and slipped into the loud and reeking room and the door closed behind her.

CHAPTER 1

I was bucks up.

I had just collected a very large fee from a very large insurance company, which could easily afford it, for solving a very large insurance scam. I was sitting in my office on a warm fall afternoon with the window open behind me, looking at my checkbook, admiring my bank balance, and thinking about whether I should retire or buy a new gun, when an important thug named Julius Ventura came in with a sullen-looking young blonde woman.

"How you doing," Ventura said.

"I'm bucks up," I said.

Ventura was one of those guys who paid so much attention to how tough he was that he didn't pay much attention to anything else.

He said, "I gotta talk to you."

He was a strong guy gone fat, with thick black hair that he combed straight back, and a big nose that came straight down from the bridge with no curvature at all. He had on a double-breasted black suit and a gray shirt with a bolero string tie knotted up tight.

The sullen woman was much younger than Ventura. She had big hair and a lot of eye makeup, and a pouty lower lip that she was aware of and emphasized by moistening it often. She was wearing one of those silly-looking single-piece top and shorts outfits where the shorts look kind of like a skirt. The outfit was red. With it she wore red heels.

I waved Ventura toward a client chair. Ever the optimist, I had five of them in the office. Ventura sat on one and took a big breath as if the effort had been telling. The young woman sat beside him.

She was wearing a wedding ring and a huge diamond solitaire. I put my checkbook away in the left-hand drawer of my desk, and leaned back in my chair and smiled in a friendly way.

"How much you charge?" Ventura said.

He sat with his feet flat on the ground, his knees apart, his stomach resting on his thighs.

"Depends on what I'm doing," I said.

"And who I'm doing it for."

"You got an hourly rate?"

"Sure," I said.

I smiled at the young woman. She didn't smile back. She was busy with her lower lip.

"Well, what is it?" Ventura said.

I told him.

"That for an eight-hour day?" Ventura said.

"That's for every hour I work," I said.

"Might be more than eight. I don't charge you for sleeping."

The young woman had sucked in her lower lip a little and caught it gently in her upper front teeth.

"Who keeps track of your hours?" Ventura said.

"I do."

"Well, that's a pretty soft deal for you now, ain't it."

"Pretty soft," I said.

We were quiet. The late September air moved gently through the window and fluttered some papers on my desk. The young woman pursed her lower lip for a moment as if she were going to whistle "Evelina." But she didn't, she just let it purse there for a moment and then went back to holding it in her upper teeth. It was sort of interesting.

"I heard about you," Ventura said.

I nodded modestly.

"Talked to some people about you."

"Un huh."

"Like your man Hawk, for instance."

"Hawk is some people," I said.

"Says you're a big pain in the ass."

"He's jealous," I said. "

"Cause girls like me better."

"Fact is I asked him to take this thing on for me."

"Oh," I said.

"That kind of work."

"Maybe," Ventura said.

"Hawk says he'll do it, if you do it."

"When I can," I said, "I like to be legal."

"Nothing illegal about this job," Ventura said.

"Un huh."

"You want it? Pay your fee, no argument; expenses, no problem; cash if you want; maybe two, maybe three weeks' work."

"So how come Hawk won't do it unless I do it too?"

Ventura shrugged.

"He didn't say."

"He often doesn't," I said.

"Whaddya got?"

Ventura glanced at the blonde beside him.

"My daughter's husband took off on her," he said.

"Daddy," the blonde said.

"You don't know that. Something coulda maybe happened."

"This your daughter?" I said.

"Yeah."

I stood and leaned over the desk and put out a hand.

"How do you do," I said.

"Yeah," she said.

"How you doing."

She took my hand and shook it.

"You know my name," I said.

"Sure."

She licked her lower lip again, quite fast back and forth.

"Her name's Shirley," Ventura said.

"Lovely name," I said.

The lower lip went under the teeth again. I let go of her hand and sat back down.

"So you want me to find your son-in-law?"

"Don't call him that," Ventura said.

"My daughter married him.

I got nothing to do with it."

"How long's he been missing?" I said.

"Three days."

"That's all, and you're coming to me?"

"My daughter misses him."

"You said he took off on her. She says maybe not. Anyone want to amplify that?"

Shirley looked at her father. Her father shrugged.

"He's a bum," Ventura said.

"I give him odd jobs here and there, keep him off welfare. But he's a bum. I figure he took off with some bimbo will work him for what he's got and leave him when he's empty."

"That's not true, Daddy. Anthony loves me."

Ventura didn't say anything.

"No problems in the marriage?" I said.

"Oh, no. He woulda stood on his head for me."

"So what might have happened?" I said.

She looked at me blankly. She showed her top teeth. They were shiny and even, like they'd been bonded. The tip of her tongue poked out under her teeth and moved along her lower lip. Her eyes looked a little random.

"I don't know. Maybe there was an accident, you know. Hit and run, or something."

I nodded.

"Cops?" I said.

Ventura grunted.

"No cops," he said.

"Simple missing person? Why not?"

"You know better," he said.

"You got people," I said.

"Why on family business, a wandering husband, only three days gone, would you go to Hawk?"

"We're talking about my kid here, you know? I want the best."

"For a missing hubby? Hawk? And he won't do it without me?"

"You want the job or not. Most people be happy to get it."

I stood up and turned my back on them and looked out my window, down at Berkeley Street where it crosses Boylston. I like the view. You could see up Boylston a good way, and down Berkeley, toward the river. Lot of attractive women worked in the Back Bay, many of them walking about this very corner, and I was trying to stay abreast of this year's fall fashions. I didn't like Ventura. His daughter appeared to be a nitwit. I didn't believe either one of them. I didn't need the money. There was no reason to take the job… except that it was the kind of work I did. And there was no one waiting in the hall for the next appointment.

"You got a picture of him?" I said, still looking down at the street life below me.

"Yes," Shirley said.

I turned around and sat back down at my desk. Shirley took a wedding photo out of her purse. There she was in the white gown and veil and elaborate tiara. There he was in his pearl gray tux with the black satin shawl collar. He had a sharp narrow face, with a sharp nose and narrow eyes. His black hair was longish and smooth and thick with mousse, brushed back on the sides, and falling in a darling curl on his forehead.

"Adorable," I said.

"When did you see him last?"

"Monday morning when he left the house," Shirley said.

"Same time as usual?" I said.

"Yes. Anthony was very responsible about his work. He felt the responsibility of being Daddy's son-in-law."

I looked at Ventura. He didn't say anything.

"And you didn't have a fight before he left?"

"Oh, no."

"What's the address?" I said.

"Address?" Shirley looked at her father.

"Why you need to know where she lives?" he said.

"Just thought it might be a nice place to start."

"I don't like people knowing any of our addresses."

"Sure," I said.

"I understand. No need to tell me anything. I'll just stick my head out the window and yell "Hey, Anthony." That'll probably work."

"I'm in a sensitive business," Ventura said.

"I don't like people poking around in it."

I held the picture out to Shirley.

"Then take back your picture, and take a walk. You hire me to look for Anthony I'm going to be poking around in your business."

Shirley didn't take the picture.

"I'm going to look through his belongings. I'm going to ask around the neighborhood. I'm going to talk to people who knew him."

"The hell you will," Ventura said.

"We have a condo," Shirley said.

"In Point of Pines."

She gave me the address. Ventura stood up and took the picture that I was still holding out toward Shirley.

"Come on, Shirley. Deal's off," he said.

"This is family business."

Shirley's face got red and squeezed up and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She clasped both hands together in her lap and lowered her head as if she were studying the grip and began to sob. I sat back in my chair and watched.

"Come on," Ventura said again.

Shirley kept right on sobbing at her lap.

"Goddamn it, Shirley…"

Shirley sobbed resolutely. I sat, with my chair tilted back, and waited.

"Oh, fuck!" Ventura said and tossed the picture back on my desk and sat down.

I got a box of Kleenex out of my bottom drawer and placed them on the desk where Shirley could reach them. She plucked one out and dabbed at her eyes with it.

"We're in business?" I said to Ventura.

"Yeah."

Shirley looked up and smiled, and said, "Thank you, Daddy."

Ventura nodded without looking at her. He was looking at me. A hard look. So I'd know how dangerous he was. He was wasting his time. I already knew how dangerous he was.

"You know my occupation, right?" Ventura said.

"Yeah."

Ventura looked an even harder look at me. I managed to keep my poise.

"You learn anything, might be, ah, some kind of problem, you know, you keep it to your fucking self, right?"

"Anyone ever actually faint when you were giving them the hard stare?" I said.

Ventura didn't answer. He kept looking at me.

"You know, sort of gasp with terror," I said, "and slide down in the chair and let their head fall sideways with their tongue hanging out? Like this?"

I demonstrated what I meant. Shirley giggled into the Kleenex she was still using.

"Shut up, Shirley, he ain't funny," Ventura said, without easing up on his hard look.

"You know that, Spenser?" he said.

"You ain't funny. You think you are. You think you're a fucking riot, you know? Well, you ain't.

My kid wants you to find her husband. Okay, you find him, and I pay you, and you go your way. No problem. But you dick around with me at all, and something will happen that won't be so fucking funny."

Still playing dead, slumped in my chair with my head tilted, and my tongue out, I opened one eye and looked at Shirley. She giggled again. Then I slurped my tongue in and sat up.

"Okay," I said.

"Now it's my turn. There's a lot about this deal that doesn't make any sense, because there's a lot you're not telling me. That's all right, I'm used to it. I'll take the case. But when I find out what you're not telling me, I reserve the right, if I don't like it, to quit."

Ventura didn't have a big repertoire. He was back to his hard look again.

"What did Anthony do for you?" I said to Ventura.

"He worked for me."

"Doing what?"

"Doing what I told him."

I looked at Shirley. Her eyes were dry now, though she still held the Kleenex in both fists, clenched in her lap, just in case.

"Anthony was in the financial part," she said as helpfully as she could.

I looked at Ventura. He stared back at me.

I said, "Un huh."

"He chase women?" I said.

"Oh no," Shirley said.

"Never. He wasn't like that at all."

"Gamble?"

Shirley's eyes flicked almost invisibly toward her father and then back at me. It was so quick I wasn't entirely sure it happened.

"No," she said firmly.

"I mean he'd play cards for pennies with the guys and drink a few beers, and stuff once in like a blue moon, but gamble, no way."

"Any vices at all?" I said.

"Booze, coke, too much coffee?"

"Oh no. You have the wrong picture of him. Anthony was very nice, and he was crazy about me."

It went like that for maybe forty minutes more. Me asking questions. Shirley answering, and Ventura sitting like a mean toad giving me the stone stare. At the end of the forty minutes it was clear that Anthony had no reason to take off, and every reason to stay home and drink champagne from Shirley's slipper. Except that Anthony was gone.

Being a trained investigator, I smelled a rat.

CHAPTER 2

Susan and I were running up and down the steps at the Harvard Stadium late on a Sunday afternoon. At the top of section 7, we paused for a moment to breathe. We were the only ones in the stadium. On the circular track out back of the stadium a few people were jogging. At the far end of the athletic complex, where, across the road, the Charles River curved in one of its big rolling bends, there was a pickup soccer game in progress. Susan wore glistening black spandex tights and a luminescent green top. Her thick dark hair was held off her forehead by a green sweatband, and there were green highlights on her state-of-the-art sneakers.

Her thigh muscles moved smoothly under the spandex, there was ' clear muscle definition in the backs of her arms, and sweat glistened on her face. If I hadn't already done so in a guidance office in Smithfield twenty years ago, I would have fallen in love with her right there.

"I don't get why you agreed to look for whatsisname," Susan said.

"Anthony Meeker," I said.

"Julius Venture's son-in-law."

"Yes," Susan said, "him. How come?"

We started down the stairs again. It was late September, still pleasant. Along the river the leaves had begun to turn but not very many of them and not very much. The white-lined turf on the football field below us was as green as if it were May.

"It's my profession," I said.

"A job that Hawk turned down? Where the employer tells you you'll get in trouble if you investigate?"

We reached the bottom step and turned and started up section 6.

"Hawk didn't turn it down," I said.

"He said he'd do it if I would."

"His reasoning being?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to him."

"But you know him. What would you hypothesize?"

"That it wasn't his kind of work, but if he could get me to do the boring investigation stuff, he'd hang around, maybe hit somebody, and pick up half a fee."

"But don't you think that Mr. Ventura is lying to you?"

"Oh sure," I said.

"And is he not dangerous?"

"He employs dangerous people," I said.

"Do you think the investigation stuff is boring?"

"No."

We were at the top of section 4. East of us I could see the two big towers in Back Bay, not very far from my office. My quadriceps were beginning to feel shaky, but Susan showed no signs of slowing down, and of course I couldn't stop before she did death before dishonor. We turned and headed back down.

"That's part of it, isn't it?" Susan said.

"That I don't find the investigation stuff boring?"

"Yes. You're simply curious. There's a hidden truth in the case.

You want to find it out."

I shrugged, which is more awkward than you might think, if you're running down your 1000th stadium step.

"The other part is you can't bear to be told what to do. When Mr. Ventura warned you that you couldn't do A, B, or C, he sealed the deal."

I shrugged again. I was getting the hang of it.

"I'm in the business of selling brains and balls," I said.

"And most people value the latter."

"Lucky for you," Susan murmured.

I ignored her.

"And it is not good for the business if people perceive me as someone who can be scared off of something."

We turned and started back up. My quads were beginning to feel as if they were made of lemon Jell-0. Perspiration was soaking through the back of Susan's top. She was the most elegant person I had ever known, and she sweated like a horse.

"It wouldn't matter," she said. I heard no sound of exhaustion in her voice. Her breath was still even.

"Even if it were good for business you couldn't let someone chase you off."

Shrugging was even harder going up the stairs. I was concentrating on getting one foot then the other up each step now. I was starting to tie up. I could never understand how the quads could turn to jelly and then knot. At the top of the stairs Susan stopped and rested her forearms on the retaining wall and looked out at the traffic below us on Western Ave.

"I've had it," she said.

"Time to stop."

"So soon?" I said.

"Ah, frailty, thy name is woman."

She didn't say anything, but she looked at me the way she does, out of the corner of her eyes, and I knew she knew the truth. We walked together around the top level of the stadium, as the light began to fade.

"When will you talk to Hawk?" Susan said.

"Henry says he's out of town."

"So, what's your first move?" Susan said.

"I was thinking of patting you on the backside, and whispering "Hey, cutie, how about it?"

" "That's effective," Susan said.

"I mean the business with the missing husband. What are you going to do first?"

"Deposit Ventura's check," I said.

"See if it clears."

"And if it does?"

"Then I'll have to come up with a plan," I said.

"Besides patting me on the backside."

"Besides that."

"But not instead of," she said.

"No. Never instead of."

We stood quietly at the top of the old stadium, our forearms resting on the chest-high wall, our shoulders touching lightly, looking out at the declining autumn sun.

"You like that, don't you," Susan said.

"Walking into something and not knowing what you'll find."

"I like to see what develops," I said.

"See what's in there."

We had been together for twenty years, except for a brief mid-term hiatus. The excitement of being with her had never waned.

The twenty years simply deepened the resonance.

"And whatever develops, you assume you'll be able to manage it."

"So far so good," I said.

She put her hand on top of mine for a minute.

"Yes," she said.

"So far, very good."

CHAPTER 3

Two days later I found Hawk at the Harbor Health Club, in the boxing room, working on the heavy bag. He had on Reebok high tops, black sweats, and a black tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

In white script, across the front of the tee-shirt, was written, Yes, it's a black thing.

"Wow," I said, "militant."

"Dating a B.U. professor," Hawk said.

"Impresses the hell out of her."

He dug a left hook into the bag.

"Where you been?" I said.

"San Antonio. Hold the bag."

I leaned into the bag and held it still, which was not relaxing.

Hawk had a punch like a jackhammer, and the bag wanted to jump around and say beep beep.

"What were you doing in San Antonio?"

"Looking at the Alamo," Hawk said.

"Of course you were."

"Riverwalk's kind of nice there too," Hawk said. He was driving the left hook repetitively into the bag.

"Yeah. You want to talk to me about Anthony Meeker."

"Who?"

"Julius Ventura's son-in-law."

Hawk grinned and began to alternate three hooks, with one overhand right. The punches were so fast that the sound of them nearly ran together.

"And the cerebral daughter?"

"Shirley," I said.

"Imagine running off from Shirley," Hawk said.

I moved the bag a half step back from Hawk as he started the next combination, and he shuffled a half step forward and maintained the pattern. The reaction had been visceral. He may not have been conscious that I'd moved the bag.

"You got a plan?" he said.

"What makes you think I'm going to do it?"

Hawk smiled and switched to an overhand lead, and a left cross pattern.

"How long I know you?" he said.

"Story smells like an old flounder," I said.

"Sure do," Hawk said.

"You in?" I said.

"Un huh."

"But only if I do it," I said.

"Un huh."

Hawk did three left hooks so fast that it felt almost like one big one as I leaned on the bag. He followed with a right cross, and stepped back.

"You the dee-tective," Hawk said.

"I is just a fun-loving adventurer."

"So you want to watch?"

"Gig in San Antonio is finished. Got nothing going right now," Hawk said. He wiped the sweat off his face and naked scalp with one of the little white hand towels that Henry handed out as a perk.

"You sure to make Ventura mad. And it'll give me something to do."

"You put us together to see what would happen," I said.

Hawk looked pleased.

"All work and no play," Hawk said.

While I waited for Hawk to shower and change, I honed my observational skills by studying the tightness of the various leotards on the young professional women who made up most of Henry's clientele. It did not escape my attention that there was scant room for anything underneath. When he was through, Hawk went to Henry's office to retrieve his gun from a locked drawer in Henry's desk.

Henry weighed about 134 pounds, and 133 of it was muscle. He had gone twice with Willie Pep in his youth and done as well with Willie as I had with Joe Walcott. It showed on his face.

"That's the biggest fucking weapon I ever seen," Henry said.

"Got a lot of stopping power," Hawk said.

He shrugged into the shoulder rig, and slipped on a gray and black crinkle-finish warm-up jacket with bell sleeves and a standup collar. He checked his reflection in the window to see how the jacket hid the gun.

"Whyn't you get one of them new nines," Henry said.

"Fit nice under your coat, fire fifteen, sixteen rounds a clip."

Hawk made a minute adjustment to the drape of the jacket.

"Don't need fifteen rounds," Hawk said.

"What you carrying?" Henry said to me.

I opened my coat and showed him the short-barreled Smith & Wesson on my belt.

"That's all?"

"It's enough," I said.

"Most of the shooting I've ever had to do is from about five feet away and was over in one or two shots. A nine with fifteen rounds in the clip is heavy to carry. I got one, and I bring it if I think I'll need it. Got a three fifty-seven too, and a twelve-gauge shotgun and a forty-four-caliber rifle. But for walking around, the thirty-eight is fine."

"Well," Henry said.

"I got a nine, and I like it."

"You safe without no gun, Henry," Hawk said.

"You so teeny anybody shoot at you, going to miss anyway."

"Just keep it in mind," Henry said, "I ever come after you."

Hawk and I went out, adequately armed, at least by our standards, and walked along the waterfront through a raw wind blowing off the harbor. When we got to the Boston Harbor Hotel we went in and sat in the lounge looking out at the harbor past the big cupola where the airport ferry docked. We ordered coffee.

Hawk said, "You doing decaf again?"

"Sure. It's good for me… I like it."

"

"Course you do."

Hawk put his feet up on the low table in front of the couch we sat on. Outside, the airport ferry slid around the end of Rowe's Wharf and edged in to the cupola to unload passengers. The waitress warmed our cups. Hawk asked if she had a bakery basket.

She said she did and would be pleased to bring one.

The waitress returned with the bakery basket. There were scones and little corn muffins and some croissants, that were still warm. I had one.

"Goes great with decaf," I said.

Hawk was watching the people file off the ferry with their garment bags and briefcases. He shook his head, and picked up one of the small corn muffins, and popped it in his mouth. I drank some coffee. The ferry picked up a scattering of passengers and backed away from the dock, turning slowly when it was far enough out, sliding on the dark slick harbor water like a hurling stone.

"You think Anthony fooling around?" Hawk said.

"Shirley's a good argument for it," I said.

"I married to Shirley I wouldn't be fooling around with other women," Hawk said.

"I be serious about it. You think Julius wants him found so Shirley be happy?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Loving father," Hawk said.

"It's possible," I said.

"Hitler liked dogs."

The waitress was looking at Hawk from across the room. Hawk smiled at her. She smiled back at him.

"You figure Anthony took some of Julius's money?" Hawk said.

"Shirley said Anthony was in the financial end of the business."

"That both ends," Hawk said, "for Julius."

I nodded. Outside the window wall a seagull landed on one of the ornamental mooring posts, and tucked his wings up and turned his head in profile checking for the remnants of a bite-sized donut hole that someone might have dropped, or a stray French fry. Gulls were actually pretty good-looking birds. The problem was that there were so many of them, and they were so raucous and eager, that no one ever bothered to notice that they had nice proportions.

"I asked Shirley if Anthony gambled and she had an odd look, just a flicker, before she said no."

"Ordinary man woulda missed it," Hawk said.

"True," I said.

"And maybe he'd be right. It wasn't much."

"Think he might be a gambler?"

"If he was it would be a place to start," I said.

Hawk finished his coffee and looked up. The waitress was there, more alert than a seagull, and filled his cup. Hawk let his voice drop an octave or so and said, "Thank you." The waitress hovered for a moment, managed not to wiggle all over, and went away.

"And if he not a gambler?" Hawk said.

"Got no place to start."

"So he a gambler," Hawk said, "until we find something better."

"Maybe a gambler that fooled around on his wife."

"And took Julius Ventura's money," Hawk said.

"To do both."

"So not a smart gambler," I said.

"Maybe not even a live one," Hawk said.

"Except Julius's daughter wants him back."

"Maybe Julius had him chilled and then hired you and me to make it look good for the daughter."

"Not a bad thought," I said.

"But why hire you and me?"

"

"Cause we too good?"

"Yeah. There's lots of reputable private licenses around that could spend his money, look good, and find zip."

Hawk nodded.

"Yeah, he already killed Anthony he don't want us looking into it.

"Cause we going to find out he did it. And you being a Boy Scout, going to tell."

"So he must want him found," I said.

"But why us? Why not his own people?"

Hawk smiled.

"Impress the daughter," he said.

"Maybe. Maybe more than that."

"Like maybe the son-in-law done something Julius don't want his own people to find out?" Hawk said.

"You're pretty smart," I said, "for an aging Negro man."

"Sho'nuff," Hawk said.