Роберт Паркер - Sixkill

“I have a lot of facts, and I’ve only been at this a month or so. This case keeps cooking, and the cops will be all over AABeau and all their investors. How long you think it’ll be before Alex and Augie and Nicky and friends decide to, ah, sever all ties.”

“Whaddya mean?” Jumbo said.

“You think they want the cops questioning you and re-questioning you? You think it won’t be a very appealing option to have someone simply make you go away?”

“Away?”

“You know what Alice DeLauria’s husband does?” I said.

“No, what?”

“He’s an enforcer for his father-in-law,” I said.

“What are you telling me?”

“They’ll kill you,” I said.

“Nicky ain’t gonna kill me,” Jumbo said. “You’re the one he’ll kill. Both of you, and anybody else needs to be killed. He’s not gonna kill me. Kill Jumbo Nelson? I make people laugh. I’m funny.”

“You’re not funny,” I said. “You haven’t said a funny thing since I met you. You must have a knack of saying funny things other people wrote, but you’re not funny. They’ll be able to find another fat man.”

“I’m getting out of here,” Jumbo said. “You try and stop me and I’ll... I’ll sue your ass.”

He stood.

“I’m trying to help you,” I said.

He was moving his vast self toward the door.

“What happened to Dawn Lopata?” I said.

“I’m outta here,” he said.

“What happened to her, Jumbo? You don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

“You’re as good as dead already,” Jumbo said. “You can’t help jack shit.”

“What happened to her?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Jumbo’s voice was shaky, and had gone up an octave.

“I don’t fucking know!”

He reached the door. I let him go. When he was gone, I looked at Rita.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” I said.

Susan and I were having martinis in my living room, looking out over Marlborough Street at the blue evening.

“Your session with Jumbo doesn’t sound very productive,” Susan said.

“Hard to tell,” I said. “I didn’t learn much I didn’t already know. But I might have scared him enough to make something else happen.”

“You still haven’t talked with Z about the death.”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

We sat on the couch, with our feet up on the coffee table and our shoulders touching.

“But you will?” Susan said.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When it’s time,” I said.

“And how will you know when it’s time?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Well,” Susan said. “At least you have a plan.”

“Jumbo said at the end that he didn’t know what happened,” I said.

“And you believe him?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Not a ringing endorsement,” Susan said. “You’re sure he was there?”

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“So how would he not know?”

“Coulda passed out,” I said.

“There was booze,” Susan said.

“ME said she was drunk when she died.”

Susan sipped her martini and wiggled her right foot a little.

“When you spoke a little while ago about maybe scaring Jumbo enough to make something else happen,” she said. “Could you talk about that a little more?”

“He’s involved with some very bad people,” I said, “who have invested a lot of money in him. If they fear for their investment, they’ll do something.”

“Like what?” Susan said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m hoping he’ll worry about that enough to come to me, or Quirk, or Rita, and speak up.”

“So far what the bad people have done is warn you off the case,” Susan said.

“I know,” I said.

Susan carefully fished one of the olives from her martini and took a bite of it. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. She could make a martini olive last for several bites.

“Do you suppose,” she said, “that if Jumbo reported to them that you were pressing him, they might intensify their warning to you?”

“They might,” I said.

“But we’re not scared of them, are we,” Susan said.

“Only a little,” I said.

We were quiet while she finished her olive.

“Do you wish I were a pediatrician?” I said. “Or a software specialist?”

“No,” Susan said.

“No regrets about what I do?” I said.

“You do what you are,” Susan said. “I love what you are.”

“No fear?” I said.

She washed down the rest of her olive with a small sip of martini and put her head on my shoulder.

“Only a little,” she said.

Z was on the couch with his feet up, reading a newspaper. I was at my desk, looking at the list of people to talk with about Jumbo Nelson, when one of them walked in.

Alice DeLauria looked great. Black dress, three-inch heels, diamonds, and a perfect tan. She kept her sunglasses on. She saw Z and glanced at him without interest, put her small black purse on the edge of my desk, and sat in one of my guest chairs.

“You know my associate,” I said. “Mr. Sixkill.”

“I used to,” Alice DeLauria said.

Z shrugged and went back to his newspaper.

“Coffee’s made,” I said. “Would you care for some?”

“This is not a social call,” she said.

“I’ll take that as no,” I said.

“You recently lured my client to an office, where you bullied him and prevented him from leaving,” Alice said.

“I did,” I said.

“You admit it?”

“I do,” I said.

If she’d had facial surgery, it was good facial surgery. It was a very good-looking face, except there was nothing about it that indicated feelings. That might well have been no fault of the surgeon, if she had one.

“Our attorney has spoken to you already about harassing Mr. Nelson,” she said.

She took her sunglasses off and put them on the desktop beside her purse. Uncovered, her eyes were smaller than I’d expected, and about the color of blue slate.

“That would be Ratoff?” I said.

“It would.”

“I thought he represented AABeau Film Partners,” I said.

“We often consult with him,” Alice said.

“Well, tell him I’m harassing as fast as I can,” I said.

Alice looked at me silently for a bit.

Then she said, “Listen, hotshot. Jumbo tells me you know who my father is.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“And my husband.”

“Him, too,” I said.

“Why do you think I’m Jumbo’s agent?” she said.

“Because you love laughter and good times?” I said.

“Because Jumbo Nelson belongs to us,” she said.

“How so,” I said.

“We have too much invested in him,” Alice said, “for it to be otherwise.”

“Nicely put,” I said.

“I went to Barnard,” she said.

“The value of a good education,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Well spoken, well dressed, poised, and articulate,” she said. “I am also Nicky Fellscroft’s daughter, and Stephano DeLauria’s wife.”

“Which means?” I said.

“Which means if I need to cut off your balls,” she said, “I’m quite willing, and I have the means.”

“Are you flirting with me?” I said.

“You need to take me seriously,” Alice said.

“I know,” I said. “It’s one of my greatest failings.”

“Not taking things seriously?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ashamed, but there it is.”

Alice nodded slowly.

“You think,” she said, “that I’m some L.A. chick with pretty good legs...”

“Very good,” I said.

“Thank you, but here’s how it’s going to go,” Alice said. “I warn you to get as far away from Jumbo Nelson as you can, and stay there. If you don’t take the warning, some people will come around and hurt you. If you still don’t get the message, some people will come around and kill you.”