Robert Parker - The Widening Gyre

"Man, you still fighting," Hawk said. "You be rich. They need a great white hope so bad, they'd rank you."

"Maybe it's not too late," I said. "Given what's out there, maybe we could fight for the title."

"You got a plan?" Hawk said.

"To fight for the title?"

"No, to take care of business. Quirk sorta implied to Henry, people might keep trying to shoot you. You got a plan for taking care of that?"

"Why," I said. "You in?"

"Un-huh."

"As soon as I can get out of here I want to see Joe Broz. If we can make it easier for him to go along with me than to kill me, I think we can deal."

"What kind of deal we after?" Hawk said.

I told him, as I had Quirk. All of it. Hawk's face was beaming when I finished.

"Hot diggity," he said. "You actually trying to squeeze Joe Broz? Goddamn."

"What other choice?" I said,

"Tell the congressman to keep his old lady at home," Hawk said. "Or kick her out."

I said, "No."

Hawk grinned.

"I didn't think so," Hawk said. "Just testing to see if your head still soft."

"Quirk says he'll let Broz know that he's interested too."

"Help," Hawk said. "Broz don't want Quirk on his ass."

The same small nurse came in and asked if I was hungry. I said yes and she gave me a meal order menu.

"I'll come back in a little while and pick it up," she said. If she noticed Hawk and his.357, she didn't show it.

Hawk watched her go, his lips pursed. When the door swung shut behind her Hawk said, "Broz probably don't want me and you on his ass either, when you come down to it."

"And I'm betting he doesn't want his kid embarrassed and maybe arrested," I said. "I bet he'll go along."

Hawk shrugged. "We could make sure," he said. "We could kill him. And his kid."

"Have to kill Vinnie Morris too," I said. "Vinnie's like family with Joe."

Hawk shrugged again. "Okay. Joe and the kid, and Vinnie."

"The films might still go public. I don't even know where they are."

Hawk grinned. "She good-looking?"

"Yes."

"Want me to review them? Check for technical accuracy?"

The nurse came back and took my order slip. She still paid Hawk no attention. Must be the training. Hawk was not easy to pay no attention to. Even without the gun under his arm. He weighed 205 and stood six two and had a twenty-nine-inch waist. His skin was densely black and his shaved head gleamed in the hospital fluorescence. When she went away again I said, "The film is accurate."

Hawk shrugged and went back to his magazine.

Lunch came and I shared it with Hawk. After it had digested I got out of bed and tried walking. I could do it with a hobble and a little support from Hawk.

"He ain't heavy," Hawk said. "He's my brother."

"I'll get a cane," I said. "I'll be out of here in the morning."

"Good," Hawk said. "It's awful boring in here."

"No need for you to stay," I said.

"I let you get scragged while you lying in bed and Henry be laughing at me long as I'm living. You know how the little bastard is."

I nodded. "A ball buster," I said.

"Rather sleep in a chair all night than let the little bastard have something like that on me."

"You're right," I said. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Susan be annoyed too," he said.

"I hope so," I said.

We were meeting Broz on the small footbridge that spans the swan boat lagoon in the Public Garden. I hadn't talked to Broz. I had talked to Vinnie Morris who talked to Broz. When he called back, Vinnie had no comment.

"We'll be there," he said. And hung up.

Hawk drove me there in his Jaguar sedan with a James Brown tape playing loud enough to distract me from how sore my leg was. He parked on Arlington Street in a tow zone and we got out. It was 8:15, not very cold, but dark. I was wearing my other gun on my belt, and had a handful of spare cartridges in my righthand pants pocket. My coat was open.

Hawk went around and opened the trunk and took out a.12 gauge Ithaca pump gun and held it, muzzle down, beside his leg. He shook his head, put it back in the trunk, and took out a shorter gun, double barreled, and tried that out for size. He liked it, nodded to himself, took a handful of shells from a box, and put them into the pocket of his leather jacket. Then he broke open the shotgun, took two more shells from the box, and loaded the gun and closed it. He shut the trunk and with the shotgun, not especially conspicuous, held against his right leg he came around beside me and we walked into the Public Garden. Or Hawk did. I hobbled with my cane. I had traded the aluminum number in for a blackthorn walking stick that Susan had once given me when she thought it would make sense to maximize my Irish heritage with tweed walking hats and paisley scarfs and things. I had tried the hat on once and thrown it and the scarf away. But I kind of liked the stick. One of my ancestors would probably have called it a shillelagh.

There weren't many people in the Public Garden on a December night, but some walked through, and at least two glanced with some uneasiness at Hawk's shotgun. Nobody stopped. We got to the bridge first and there was no sign of Broz. I leaned against the railing in the middle and Hawk moved off quietly for a brief tour of the area. He was back in five minutes.

"Nobody hiding with a rifle," he said. "Nobody under the bridge." I nodded. Hawk drifted down to the end of the bridge toward Charles Street and, with the shotgun hanging at his side, leaned against the little pillars that anchored the bridge. He stayed there, motionless. We waited maybe ten minutes. A tall, thin guy wearing sunglasses and a gray overcoat with a velvet collar walked along the footpath from Arlington Street and onto the bridge. He had his hands in his coat pockets.

"You Spenser?" he said.

"Yes."

"The guy at the end of the bridge, he with you?"

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

"Jiminy Cricket," I said. "He hangs around to make sure my nose doesn't grow."

The thin man nodded. "Wait here," he said.

He walked down the bridge past Hawk and on along the footpath a ways, his head turning carefully as he looked on both sides. Then he turned and followed the footpath back and underneath the bridge and came back on the other side. He came back up on the bridge and leaned against the pillar at the Arlington Street end. In maybe a minute Vinnie Morris appeared and spoke to him. The thin man gestured with his head toward Hawk at the other end of the little bridge. Vinnie nodded and walked away. Two more minutes passed. Then Vinnie appeared with Joe Broz beside him. They walked out onto the bridge and stood beside me. Broz on the side away from Hawk. Vinnie between him and Hawk, in front of me.

Broz said, "What'd you bring the nigger for?"

"I put two of your people in the ground, Joe. Hawk's hoping I'll do it again so he can watch."

"Next time I'll come," Vinnie said.

I shook my head. "No next time, Vinnie. Joe's going to deal."

Vinnie started to speak and Broz said, "Vinnie."

We were all quiet. Hawk motionless at one end of the bridge, the thin guy at the other. Me leaning on the rail. Vinnie looking a little taut in front of me. Broz looking at my face like he was trying to memorize it.

"What's changed?" Broz said. "Why should I deal?"

"For one thing, when you tried to burn me and missed, it got the cops into it. Marty Quirk. You know him?"

"I know Quirk."

"I hear he's taking a special interest in this case."

Broz shook his head impatiently. "Fuck Quirk," he said. "What else?"

"I've had time to make arrangements. Anything happens to me the whole story on your kid goes to the cops and the papers. Pictures, names, everything. And if nothing happens to me, I'm going to stay on the kid's ass until I get the tapes back and Alexander's out from under."