Robert Parker - The Widening Gyre

It was like driving drunk. I could barely keep my eyes open. With both hands on the wheel I stared as hard as I could at the curving black ribbon of the pathway. Back eastbound I went. I didn't dare go fast for fear I'd lose control. The car wavered as I drove. My head kept drooping and jerking back up as I caught myself. A couple of joggers moved out of my way. They probably glared at me, but I didn't have the strength to notice. All of what I had left channeled onto the asphalt ahead of me. Dimly I realized that the radio was on and a morning man was talking brightly about the last record and introducing the traffic reporter. Avoid the esplanade; there's a double homicide and a slow-moving vehicle on the footpath.

The pathway began to waver and the steering wheel got more and more limber. The pathway curved in close to Storrow Drive and the wrought iron fence that separated me from Storrow Drive suddenly surged up in front of me and rammed into the car. The impact made no sound, and as I spiraled down into the dark I could hear clearly the radio still playing: "This is radio eighty-five… eighty-five… eighty-five…"

And I woke up with Martin Quirk leaning over the end of the bed with his hands clasped and his forearms resting on the footboard.

Quirk said, "The emergency room people tell me you're not going to die."

"Heartening," I said. My voice seemed a little uncoordinated.

"They say you can probably go home tomorrow," Quirk said.

"I'm going home today." My voice was better. I could feel a connection with it.

Quirk shrugged. An I.V. unit was plugged into the back of my left hand.

"Want to tell me about it?" Quirk said.

"I don't think so," I said.

A small blond-haired nurse with big blue eyes came in and took my pulse.

"Nice to see you awake," she said.

"Nice to be awake," I said. Polite.

She smiled and took my temperature. It was one of those electronic thermometers connected to a small pack on her belt. You didn't even have to shake it down. Where was the fun in that? Quirk was quiet while she took her readings. She noted her results on a small chart and said, "Good."

When she was gone Quirk said, "Up under the Mass Ave bridge there are two stiffs shot to death with a small-caliber automatic; four ejected shells are scattered around them. In your jacket pocket the MDC cops found a twenty-five-caliber automatic with four rounds gone. One of the stiffs is Eddie DiBenardi. The car you rammed into the fence is registered to him. The other guy is Roger Francona. He had a nine-millimeter Smith amp; Wesson with a round missing. You have a hole in your leg. They told me downstairs that you're lucky, it missed the bone. Eddie DiBenardi's belt is missing, and one about the right size was wrapped around your leg when they brought you in." Quirk had straightened and walked to the window and was looking out with his hands in his hip pockets. He turned to look at me.

"Some of us are beginning to suspect a connection," he said.

"You suspect me on that kind of flimsy evidence?" I said.

"Sort of."

I nodded. "They jumped me. They didn't say why. I was jogging along, minding my own business."

"Carrying a loaded gun?" Quirk said.

"Carrying a loaded gun, and these two guys attempted to shoot me."

"And succeeded," Quirk said.

"And I returned fire in self-defense," I said.

"You know either one of them?"

"No."

"Eddie is with Joe Broz… Was." Quirk said. "Roger, we don't know yet. We're still looking into him."

I nodded.

"And, small world, you were just recently sitting in my office reading the OCU file on Joe Broz."

I nodded.

"You care to comment on that?" Quirk said.

"No," I said. My leg felt hot and sore. I felt it with my right hand. It was heavily bandaged. The more I woke up, the sorer it felt. Maybe I would wait till tomorrow to go home. Quirk walked across the room and closed the door.

"How come I'm in a private room?" I said.

Quirk pointed at his own chest.

"I tried to get hold of Susan," Quirk said. "But she's not around."

"She's in Washington," I said.

Quirk rested his butt on the windowsill, folded his arms, and looked at me.

"Okay," he said. "Here's what I think. I think you were bothering Joe Broz and he sent Eddie and Roger out to kill you and they weren't quick enough. If two guys had to go down, they're not a bad choice. I don't know Roger, but I know Eddie. Eddie was a scumbag. I'm willing to bet Roger was pretty much the same. A day in which you shoot a scumbag like Eddie DiBernardi is a day well spent."

"Makes a nice hobby," I said.

"On the other hand," Quirk said, "I am not employed by the city to go around saying 'Way to go' when somebody blows up a couple of citizens in a public park. Even if the citizens are scumbags." I nodded.

"You see my position," Quirk said. I nodded some more.

"When you put your mind to it," Quirk said, "you can be an all-world pain in the balls. And you think you're smarter than you are, and you think if you want to do something it must be the right thing to do."

"I'm not as sure of that as I used to be," I said.

"Me either," Quirk said. "But, on the other hand, you haven't done too many things since I've known you that I wouldn't have done if I was you."

"Maybe we're both wrong," I said.

"Probably," Quirk said, "but I don't think there's much we can do about it." He stood up and unfolded his arms and put his hands back into his hip pockets. "Anyway. I don't see a reason to charge you at the moment, but I want some information. Eddie and Roger are not the last two guys that Broz can hire. If he wants you in the ground, he can be persistent. If he succeeds, I want to be able to nail him for it."

"You sentimental bastard," I said.

"Off the record," Quirk said, "what the fuck is going on?"

I told him. All of it.

When I got through Quirk said, "The guy's wife isn't worth it."

"Ronni Alexander?" I shrugged. "She's worth it to Meade."

"Meade ain't the one got shot in the leg," Quirk said.

I didn't say anything.

"You going to keep squeezing Broz?" Quirk said.

"I can't think of anything better," I said.

Quirk nodded. "Okay. I'll do this," he said. "I'll put the word out that I'm, ah, monitoring your well-being on this. It'll get back to Joe. I'll let him know that if you get killed, I'm going to make a mess of his life."

"That'll help," I said.

"Yeah. It will. Joe's very practical. But I don't know. This is family. I don't know if it will help enough."

"Maybe Joe will notice that I'm not easy to hit," I said. "Didn't work out too well this time."

"That was this time," Quirk said. "If he has to, he'll send Vinnie Morris. It's a lot harder to be too quick for Vinnie."

"True," I said.

Quirk got his topcoat from the back of the chair where it lay, neatly folded. "Anyway, that's your problem," he said.

"Also true," I said.

Quirk shrugged into the topcoat. "I called your little buddy down at the Harbor Health Club," Quirk said. "Cimoli. Told him someone had tried to kill you. He said he'd send someone over to comfort you."

"Thanks," I said.

Quirk nodded and opened the door to leave. As he went out, Hawk came in. They passed each other without expression or comment.

There was a phone in the room and I called my apartment and got Paul and told him I wouldn't be home till tomorrow. I didn't tell him why.

He said he and Paige were going to Quincy Market for the afternoon and that night they were going to see a performance by a dance company I'd never heard of. He said he had enough money and I told him there was no such thing as enough money and we hung up.

Hawk was sitting in the visitor's chair reading a copy of The Ring magazine with his feet up on the windowsill. He had removed his down-filled leather jacket and put it on a hanger in the closet. A.357 magnum in a shoulder holster hung under his left arm. He had on a turtleneck sweater, designer jeans, and snakeskin boots.