Rough Weather: A Spenser Novel

pork. Susan looked after him for a while.
    “It’s almost as if you liked each other,” she said.
    “We almost do,” I said.
    “Is his word, in fact, good?” Susan said.
    “Yes,” I said. “He won’t bother you.”
    “You know that.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m not asking for reassurance,” Susan said. “I believe you. But how do you know?”
    “Rugar’s a professional killer, pretty much willing to do anything. Unless he has some rules for himself, he has no limits, and he’s in free-float. There’s no tether.”
    “So he makes some up.”
    “Yep.”
    “Do you do that?”
    “Don’t need to,” I said. “I have you.”
    When we were through eating, I signaled for the check.
    “The gentleman in the gray suit has taken care of your dinner,” the waitress said.
    “Did he give you a credit card?” I said.
    “No,” she said. “Cash. Quite a lot. He said to keep the leftover as a tip.”
    I nodded. The waitress left. I smiled.
    “Even in his grand gesture,” I said, “he’s leaving no paper trail.”
    “And even accepting the grand gesture,” Susan said, “you’re looking for a paper trail.”
    The valet brought my car. We got in and started down Charles Street.
    “He probably frightened you,” I said. “Maybe you should stay the night with me and I’ll comfort you.”
    “Comfort?” Susan said. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
    “Yes,” I said.

 
    On an overcast morning
with the temperature in the high thirties, Hawk, carrying a shoulder bag and wearing jeans with a black muscle shirt, came into my office and poured himself some coffee.
    “No jacket?” I said. “It’s November.”
    Hawk flexed a biceps.
    “You got the guns,” Hawk said. “You put off the winter sleeves long as you can.”
    “Where’s the piece?” I said.
    “What make you think I’m packing,” Hawk said.
    “Hawk, for crissake, you haven’t gone anywhere without a gun since you were a pickaninny.”
    “Pickaninny?” Hawk said.
    “I value tradition,” I said.
    Hawk grinned and opened his shoulder bag and took out a huge, silver .44 Mag with a bone handle.
    “Case we get assaulted by a polar bear,” he said.
    “Good to be ready,” I said.
    “Understand the Gray Man after you again.”
    “He is,” I said.
    “Why don’t we just kill him,” Hawk said.
    “Can’t,” I said.
    Hawk shrugged.
    “No harm to ask,” Hawk said.
    “No.”
    “Susan says it be about the business on Tashtego,” Hawk said.
    “It be,” I said.
    “Would you be, by chance, mocking my authentic ghetto dialect?” Hawk said in his Laurence Olivier voice.
    “No,” I said. “I be down with it.”
    “Love when honkies be trying to talk black,” Hawk said. “It’s like a guy in drag.”
    “You in on this now?” I said.
    “Yep.”
    “Because Susan called and said so?” I said.
    “Yep.”
    “Any other reason?”
    Hawk grinned.
    “Don’t want to lose the only guy left in the world who uses the word
pickaninny
,” he said.
    “Okay, lemme fill you in a little.”
    We went through a second pot of coffee as I told Hawk what I knew, which didn’t take long, and what I didn’t, which was extensive.
    “And so you been doing what you do, which is to poke around in the hornet’s nest until you irritate a hornet,” Hawk said.
    “Yes.”
    “Not a bad technique,” Hawk said, “long as you got me to walk behind you.”
    “And it has the added pleasure of being annoying.”
    “Yes,” Hawk said. “That a plus.”
    “Any thoughts?” I said.
    “It’s not enough that I am the world’s deadliest human being?” Hawk said. “You asking me to think, too?”
    “Or whatever it is you do,” I said.
    “Well, maybe it ain’t a kidnapping,” Hawk said. “No ransom request.”
    “That we know of,” I said.
    “A visit from the Gray Man? Telling you to buzz off? You know a lot of kidnappers make house calls?”
    “Doesn’t mean it isn’t a kidnapping,” I said.
    “He wanted a simple kidnapping for money, he didn’t have to put together an army complete with helicopters.”
    “He got away with it,” I said.
    “So far,” Hawk said. “But he lucky, and he good. No way a pro like Rugar going to choose that kind of a setup to kidnap somebody.”
    “Somebody chose it,” I said.
    “Maybe it’s something else, and the kidnapping is a head fake,” Hawk said.
    “What something else would it be?”
    “How many people got killed?”
    “Six by Rugar,” I said. “One by me.”
    “Maybe that