Swan Dive

difference. But a major player ain’t likely to deal with whoever did Marsh.”
    ”Couldn’t a major player have taken out Marsh himself?”
    ”Not the way it was done. Just be three holes in the head behind a building somewheres. No need to send him through the window and mess things up with the Angel.”
    ”You said a major player wouldn’t have dealt with the killer. Why?”
    ”Too much risk and no need. The big guys, they have import and distribution networks make Toyota go green with envy. Besides, if it did go down that way, we don’t hear about it, ‘less we bust the player with some goods, and the player roll over and give us the hitter to go easy on the drug charge.”
    ”So where does that leave you?”
    ”Pawing the ground. A minor player, he’d have a hard time sitting on the stuff, follow?”
    ”Not exactly.”
    ”Small fry does Marsh and the Angel, he must have need of money real bad. Maybe ‘cause of a rip-off, maybe partial to the dog races and into a shy’, whatever. Little guy can’t afford to just sit on the stuff. He’d have to move it, or at least put out some feelers to the other small ones, who are sniffing around for the stuff anyway.”
    ”And nobody’s smelled anything.”
    ”Right.”
    I stopped for a minute, thinking.
    Dawkins said, ”Now I bet you wondering why I been so forthcoming here tonight.”
    ”After our session with Holt, that’s exactly what I was wondering.”
    ”Holt don’t know about this little visit. And he ain’t gonna.”
    ”Because you’re not going to tell him and I’m not going to tell him.”
    ”That’s right. This little visit is my own idea. I understand from Murphy that you just done him a favor.”
    ”More like a return favor.”
    ”Don’t matter. He thought he trusted you, now he not so sure.”
    ”I don’t see Murphy sending me messages through you.”
    ”He ain’t. Like I said, I’m here on my own.” Dawkins came forward, setting his now empty bottle down deliberately. ”Now you listen up. You ask Murphy to run a guy down. He runs him down with me. Then the guy turns up dead, your gun at the scene. You got a fairy tale for it stinks worse than Terdell’s asshole, and all of a sudden some white cops at our level start slipping the word to some white cops above us that maybe the Murphy and the Dawkins pulling something cute.”
    I thought about it. ”Especially when Dawkins, the narc who knows everybody, can’t account for why Marsh’s goods haven’t hit the street yet.”
    Dawkins barely moved his head up and down. ”You think you smart, Cuddy. I hope to God you smart enough to follow this. Murphy got to be a lieutenant by being smart and straight. I made sergeant by just being smart. Him and me draw good salaries, benefits, I even got this next weekend off. We got too much into the department to get shoved into the shit by whatever it is you think you’re doing.”
    ”Meaning?”
    ”Meaning you got a file on you now, boy. File marked ‘Narcotics.’ You fuck up the Murphy and me in this, we may be out of the department, but before I go, I see to it that you found with dealer-weight snow in your absolute possession and control. And then you a long time gone to Walpole .”
    ”I thought the Corrections Department called it ‘Cedar Junction’ now.”
    ”A rose by any other name, babe.” Dawkins stood and walked to the door. ”There’s something real hinky here. If you straight, you just might find Marsh’s stuff yourself. That happens, I’d best be the first man you call.”
    He closed the door behind him. I thought about J. J., Nino, and now Dawkins. If I ever did find Marsh’s stuff, I’d better have a roll of dimes on me for the phone.

After Dawkins left, I marched ice over the bruised areas, then went to bed. I slept until nearly nine the next morning, the hours washing away some of the pain but replacing it two for one with stiffness. I tried to limber up a little, running or any other real exercise being out of the question. I found Reena Goldberg in the White Pages. Her street in the South End was walking distance from me, but I remembered the block as being nothing but abandoned, burned-out factories and warehouses. I dialed her number.
    After five rings, a strong female voice said, ”Hello?”
    ”Reena Goldberg?”
    ”Yes?”
    ”Ms. Goldberg, I’m investigating the death of Roy Marsh and—”
    ”Oh, please! I’ve already told you guys everything I know. Twice.”
    Riding the cops’