The Professional Part 22

"I'm trying to learn about a man who attended this college. Everyone who would know agrees he did. But no one will tell me much about him."

"Because they don't know much?" she said.

"Because they don't know, or think it's confidential, or don't like detectives."

"Surely that couldn't be it," she said.

"I was being self-effacing," I said.

"I have been here for more than thirty years," she said. "Perhaps I can help. What is the man's name?"

"Goran Pappas," I said.

She was quiet for a moment. The rimless gla.s.ses were strong, and they seemed to enlarge her eyes as she looked at me through them.

"I remember him," she said.

"What can you tell me?" I said.

She smiled.

"What can you tell me?" she said.

"About anything you want to know," I said.

"Then do so," she said.

I told her everything I thought she'd want to hear, omitting only the names, except for Goran. When I was through she sat for a time, frowning.

"My goodness," she said. "And what is it you are trying to accomplish?"

"To right the unrightable wrong, I suppose," I said.

"I understand the allusion," she said. "But specifically, what do you hope to accomplish?"

"I feel a little silly saying it. But . . . right now everything is coming out badly for pretty much everyone involved, except maybe the college president. . . . I'd like to make everything come out okay."

She looked at me silently through the distorting rimless lenses for a time and then reached up and tilted them lower on her nose and looked over them at me.

"My G.o.d," she said.

I shrugged and gave her my sheepish smile. She seemed stable enough to risk the sheepish smile. Less stable women were known to undress when I did the sheepish smile. I was right. She remained calm.

"How can I check on you?" she said.

"If I could borrow a sheet of paper," I said.

She gave me one. And I wrote down the names and phone numbers and recited them as I wrote.

"Captain Healy, homicide commander, Ma.s.s state cops," I said. "Martin Quirk, homicide commander, Boston police. FBI man named Epstein, AIC in Boston."

"AIC?"

"Agent-in-charge," I said. "And Susan Silverman, Ph.D., who's a psychotherapist in Cambridge."

I handed her the paper.

"In the interest of full disclosure," I said. "Dr. Silverman is my honey bun."

" 'Honey bun,' " Mary said.

"Girl of my dreams," I said.

"I'll get back to you, Mr. Spenser," Mary said.

Chapter36.

I WASN'T SURE WHO HAD TOLD what lies to accomplish it. But we were all a.s.sembled when Hawk brought Gary Eisenhower into Chet Jackson's office. Chet was at his desk. Tony was in a chair across from Chet, with Junior and Ty-Bop leaning against the wall in the back of the room; Beth sat on the couch near him. Zel and Boo leaned on the wall near Chet, looking at Junior and Ty-Bop. I stood near the door.

When he got inside the room, Gary paused and looked around.

"Hot d.a.m.n," he said, and walked across the room and sat beside Beth on the couch.

"'S happening, Beth?" he said, and patted her on the thigh.

She smiled brightly.

"Okay," Chet said. "You put this together, Tony. Talk to us." Tony looked around the office.

"Lotta firepower in here," he said.

Chet nodded.

"Hawk," Tony said. "Spenser. My friends, your goons. Lotta force."

I could tell that Boo felt dissed by being called a goon. But he didn't speak. Zel seemed uninterested.

"So?" Chet said.

"I hope there's no need for force," Tony said.

"To do what?" Chet said.

"To resolve our problem."

"Our problem? What problem do you and me have?" Chet said.

Tony looked around the room. He took out a cigar, trimmed it, lit it, got it going, took in some smoke, and exhaled.

"We don't have to get too explicit here," he said. "But you and I do business in the same territory, and we got an agreement in place that allows us to do that without, you know, rubbing up against each other."

Chet nodded without saying anything.

"That gonna end," Tony said, "'less you straighten out your love life."

"My love life," Chet said.

Tony took an inhale on his cigar and took it from his mouth, held it up in front of him, and exhaled so that he looked at the glowing end of the cigar through the smoke.

"Specifically, Mr., ah, Eisenhower," Tony said. "I want him left alone."

"What the h.e.l.l do you care?" Chet said.

"Don't matter why," Tony said. "Only matter that I do."

"And if I tell you to go to h.e.l.l?" Chet said.

"You're out of business," Tony said.

Everyone was quiet. Beth looked bright-eyed and excited as she watched the back-and-forth between her husband and Tony Marcus. Gary Eisenhower looked sort of amused, but he nearly always looked amused. Maybe because he was always amused. The d.a.m.ned cigar kept being a cigar.

"You think you can put me out of business?" Chet said.

"I know I can," Tony said. "And so do you."

Chet nodded slowly.

"You and Spenser rig this deal?" Chet said.

"Don't matter who rigged it," Tony said. "It rigged. Take it or leave it."

"He a friend of yours?" Chet said.

I knew he was stalling while he tried to think it through.

"He sent me up once," Tony said. "So no, we ain't friends. But he done me some favors, too."

Everyone was quiet.

Then Boo said, "Mr. Jackson, you want me to take one of these clowns apart, you just say so."

Tony turned and looked at him with mild amus.e.m.e.nt. Zel shook his head sadly and stepped away from Boo, his gaze fixed on Ty-Bop, who was still nodding to whatever music he was hearing in the spheres, but he was as focused on Zel, and Zel was on him.

"Boo took too many to the head," Zel said, "when he was fighting."

"Screw you, Zel," Boo said. "We ain't hired to let people push our boss around."

Beth's eyes seemed even brighter, and I noticed her tongue moving along her lower lip again. Tony was incredulous.

"You think you gonna take Junior apart?" Tony said, tilting his head in Junior's direction. It was an easy tilt, because Junior occupied most of the room.

"Anybody in the room," Boo said.

His eyes still steady on Ty-Bop, Zel shook his head sadly.

"Boo," he said softly.

"You heard me," Boo said.

Behind his desk, Chet looked blankly at the scene. He very likely had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Boo was staring at Junior.

"How 'bout you, boy? You want to try me?"

Junior looked at Tony. Tony nodded. Junior smiled.

I said, "How 'bout me, Boo?"

And he turned toward me.

"You, wisea.s.s?" he said. "Be a pleasure."

I slipped out of my jacket. Boo came at me in his fighter's stance. He threw a left hook to start, and I saw right away why his face was so marked up. He dropped his hands when he punched. I blocked his hook with my right and put a hard jab onto his nose. It didn't faze him. He kept coming. He faked a left and tried an overhand right. I took it on my forearm and nailed him with a right cross, and he went down. He got right back up, but his eyes were a little unfocused, and his hands were at his waist. I hit him with my right forearm and then torqued back and hit him with the side of my right fist. He went down again. He tried to get up and made it to his knees, and wobbled there on all fours. Zel squatted beside him.

"Nine, ten, and out," he said to Boo. "Fight's over."

Boo stayed where he was, his head hanging. Some stubborn vestige of pride that he wouldn't let go and be flat on the floor. Zel stayed with him.

"Come on, big guy," Zel said. "Let's get out of here."

Boo made a faint gesture with his head that was probably an affirmative, and Zel got an arm around him and helped him up. Boo was more out than in, but his feet moved.

As they pa.s.sed, Zel said to me, "Thanks."

I nodded.

And they went out.

"So much for your muscle," Tony said.