"Abby," Hawk said. "She teach at Brandeis."
"I'll bet she does," I said.
"She a feminist, too," Hawk said.
"Of course she is," I said. "You want to walk another two-twenty."
"Sure," Hawk said. "I know you need it."
"I was thinking of you," I said.
Some of the Harvard track kids flashed by us, running their own training sprints. I was glad we were walking. I had the feeling they'd have flashed past us even if we'd been running. Some of them were women.
"You ever hear of a group back in the seventies," I said, "called itself the Dread Scott Brigade?
"Nope."
"Part of the radical movement," I said. "They held up a bank in Audubon Circle in 1974, killed a woman."
"I remember that," Hawk said. "I believe there was a brother in on it."
"Yes."
"Lotta brothers in radical movements then," Hawk said.
"Ungrateful bastards," I said. "We rescue their ancestors from ignorance, teach them to chop cotton. And that's the thanks we get?"
"Good works don't always get rewarded," Hawk said, without any hint of a ghetto accent. His speech flowed in and out of Standard English for reasons known only to him. Most things about Hawk were known only to him.
"How come you weren't a radical?" I said.
"I was into crime?"
"Oh yeah."
"So how come you interested?"
I told him about Paul and Daryl and the missing FBI report. Then we ran some 220s and some 440s and some 880s. I kept up pretty well for a European American.
When we were walking again, Hawk said, "Quirk know about this missing report?"
"Uh-huh."
"And the FBI guy?"
"Epstein," I said. "Yeah, he knows."
"But neither one of them can find it."
"They haven't yet."
Both of us paused to watch a pair of young Harvard women jog past. As we watched them I said to Hawk, "You think staring at them is sexist behavior?"
"Yes," Hawk said.
I nodded.
"That's what I thought," I said.
Hawk was silent for maybe twenty yards. The Harvard women were halfway around the turn.
Then he said, "Quirk wants to find something, he usually do."
"Yes," I said.
"Don't know Epstein. But he don't get to be SAC 'cause he a good old Irish Catholic boy."
"No."
"So he might be pretty good, too."
"Be my guess," I said.
Hawk was wearing black satiny polyester running pants and a sleeveless mesh shirt. From the far turn the two Harvard women looked back at him.
"We think he good. We know Quirk be good," Hawk said.
"So there a reason they don't find this report?" I shrugged.
"Maybe there's a reason they can't look," I said. "And maybe they hoping you'll do the looking for them."
"That occurred to me," I said.
Hawk looked at me for a minute. His expression was as unfathomable as it always was. "Good," Hawk said.
10
Pearl lay at full length between Susan and me. "It's odd," Susan said. "Being in bed with a strange dog."
"That describes my life before I met you," I said.
"Oh, oink!" Susan said.
"Sexism again?" I said.
"In the extreme," Susan said.
"You chicks are so sensitive," I said.
"You too, big guy," Susan said. We were quiet, listening to the faint breathing sound Pearl made as she slept.
"I don't love her yet," Susan said. "Like I did the first Pearl."
"Not yet," I said.
"But we will," Susan said.
"Yes."
The room was nearly dark, lit faintly by the ambient illumination of the outside city.
"It's fascinating to see her beginning to morph into Pearl," Susan said.
"She's doing that," I said. "Isn't she."
"I know it's me, of course," Susan said. "I know she's not really changing."
"Maybe she is," I said.
"You think?"
"There are more things in this world than in all your philosophies, Horatio."
"I think you might have somewhat mangled the quote," Susan said.
"Is there a copy of Hamlet in the house?" I said.
"I don't think so."
"Then I stand by my quote," I said.
Pearl stood up and turned around several times and settled back down with her feet sticking into my stomach.
"You're lying on her side of the bed," Susan said.
"I prefer to think of it as her lying on my side."
"Well, at least she's the only one."
"Oh, good," I said.
"She does present something of an obstacle," Susan said.
"You feel that if I were to press my pulsating maleness upon you," I said, "she might react?"
"Pulsating maleness?"
"Throbbing masculinity?" I said.
"My God," Susan said. "And yes, I think she'd bark and snuffle and paw at us and probably try to become part of the festivities."
"And if we put her in another room?"
"She'll yowl," Susan said.
"We could pretend it's you," I said.
"We could run cold water on your pulsating maleness," Susan said.
"She's pretty used to the car," I said. "I could take her out and put her in it."
"Yes," Susan said. "That would work, I think."
"I could even give her a ride around the block so she'd think she actually was going someplace."
"Even better," Susan said.
"While I'm gone you could take off those pajamas," I said.
"I bought these pajamas for you."
"When I complained about the sweatpants?"
"Yes. They even had the word 'enticing' on the package," Susan said.
" 'Better than sweatpants' doesn't look as good on a label," I said.
I put on my pants and shoes and took Pearl on her short leash downstairs to the driveway. I let her jump into the backseat and drove once around the block and back into the driveway.
"I'll be back soon," I said.
And she fell for it.
11
It wasn't quite a play Paul had written, nor exactly a dance that he'd choreographed, nor precisely an evening of cabaret, though it had all those elements. It was called "Poins." And it integrated Shakespearean characters, songs from 1950s musicals, and choreography which referenced both eras. I had always liked watching the kid perform, but over the years some of the things he'd performed in had made me tired. But that had been other people's stuff. Doing his own stuff, Paul was touching, smart, and funny. If I weren't so hard-bitten, I'd have been thrilled. When the play was over, Paul and Daryl came back to Susan's place to meet Pearl.
"My God," Paul said when Pearl got off the couch, came over carefully, and sniffed him with considerable reserve. "She's really beautiful."
Susan said, "Pearl, say hello to your brother, Paul."
Daryl looked a little cautious, and when Pearl sniffed her I could see her tense. This did not bode well.
"I have sandwiches," Susan said. "Let me set the table while you have a drink."
"We can eat at the counter," Paul said.
"No, no," Susan said. "It will only take me a minute."
Paul smiled at me. "Why did I say that?"
"Because you're a slow learner," I said. "You knew what the answer would be."
"Good china," Paul said. "And many glasses and two spoons each and linen napkins in napkin rings."
"Should I help?" Daryl said.
She was still alert to any false moves Pearl might make.
"No," Paul said.
Paul drank a couple beers in what appeared to be one continuous swallow. His performance had been exhaustingly physical, and even when it wasn't, it always took him some time to come down. I knew he'd be quiet for awhile.
"Does your aunt still live in Boston?" I said.
"She retired," Daryl said. "Someplace up in Maine."
"Have you seen her since you've been here?"
"No. We weren't really close after my mother died."
"So you went back to La Jolla."
"Yes."
"And lived with your father?"
"Yes."
"When did you start performing?" She shrugged. "My mom used to take me to the children's program at the La Jolla Playhouse," she said. "Both my parents were very supportive. My mom and dad never missed anything I was in."