"I don't get why you agreed to look for whatsisname," Susan said.
"Anthony Meeker," I said.
"Julius Venture's son-in-law."
"Yes," Susan said, "him. How come?"
We started down the stairs again. It was late September, still pleasant. Along the river the leaves had begun to turn but not very many of them and not very much. The white-lined turf on the football field below us was as green as if it were May.
"It's my profession," I said.
"A job that Hawk turned down? Where the employer tells you you'll get in trouble if you investigate?"
We reached the bottom step and turned and started up section 6.
"Hawk didn't turn it down," I said.
"He said he'd do it if I would."
"His reasoning being?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him."
"But you know him. What would you hypothesize?"
"That it wasn't his kind of work, but if he could get me to do the boring investigation stuff, he'd hang around, maybe hit somebody, and pick up half a fee."
"But don't you think that Mr. Ventura is lying to you?"
"Oh sure," I said.
"And is he not dangerous?"
"He employs dangerous people," I said.
"Do you think the investigation stuff is boring?"
"No."
We were at the top of section 4. East of us I could see the two big towers in Back Bay, not very far from my office. My quadriceps were beginning to feel shaky, but Susan showed no signs of slowing down, and of course I couldn't stop before she did death before dishonor. We turned and headed back down.
"That's part of it, isn't it?" Susan said.
"That I don't find the investigation stuff boring?"
"Yes. You're simply curious. There's a hidden truth in the case.
You want to find it out."
I shrugged, which is more awkward than you might think, if you're running down your 1000th stadium step.
"The other part is you can't bear to be told what to do. When Mr. Ventura warned you that you couldn't do A, B, or C, he sealed the deal."
I shrugged again. I was getting the hang of it.
"I'm in the business of selling brains and balls," I said.
"And most people value the latter."
"Lucky for you," Susan murmured.
I ignored her.
"And it is not good for the business if people perceive me as someone who can be scared off of something."
We turned and started back up. My quads were beginning to feel as if they were made of lemon Jell-0. Perspiration was soaking through the back of Susan's top. She was the most elegant person I had ever known, and she sweated like a horse.
"It wouldn't matter," she said. I heard no sound of exhaustion in her voice. Her breath was still even.
"Even if it were good for business you couldn't let someone chase you off."
Shrugging was even harder going up the stairs. I was concentrating on getting one foot then the other up each step now. I was starting to tie up. I could never understand how the quads could turn to jelly and then knot. At the top of the stairs Susan stopped and rested her forearms on the retaining wall and looked out at the traffic below us on Western Ave.
"I've had it," she said.
"Time to stop."
"So soon?" I said.
"Ah, frailty, thy name is woman."
She didn't say anything, but she looked at me the way she does, out of the corner of her eyes, and I knew she knew the truth. We walked together around the top level of the stadium, as the light began to fade.
"When will you talk to Hawk?" Susan said.
"Henry says he's out of town."
"So, what's your first move?" Susan said.
"I was thinking of patting you on the backside, and whispering "Hey, cutie, how about it?"
" "That's effective," Susan said.
"I mean the business with the missing husband. What are you going to do first?"
"Deposit Ventura's check," I said.
"See if it clears."
"And if it does?"
"Then I'll have to come up with a plan," I said.
"Besides patting me on the backside."
"Besides that."
"But not instead of," she said.
"No. Never instead of."
We stood quietly at the top of the old stadium, our forearms resting on the chest-high wall, our shoulders touching lightly, looking out at the declining autumn sun.
"You like that, don't you," Susan said.
"Walking into something and not knowing what you'll find."
"I like to see what develops," I said.
"See what's in there."
We had been together for twenty years, except for a brief mid-term hiatus. The excitement of being with her had never waned.
The twenty years simply deepened the resonance.
"And whatever develops, you assume you'll be able to manage it."
"So far so good," I said.
She put her hand on top of mine for a minute.
"Yes," she said.
"So far, very good."
CHAPTER 3
Two days later I found Hawk at the Harbor Health Club, in the boxing room, working on the heavy bag. He had on Reebok high tops, black sweats, and a black tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
In white script, across the front of the tee-shirt, was written, Yes, it's a black thing.
"Wow," I said, "militant."
"Dating a B.U. professor," Hawk said.
"Impresses the hell out of her."
He dug a left hook into the bag.
"Where you been?" I said.
"San Antonio. Hold the bag."
I leaned into the bag and held it still, which was not relaxing.
Hawk had a punch like a jackhammer, and the bag wanted to jump around and say beep beep.
"What were you doing in San Antonio?"
"Looking at the Alamo," Hawk said.
"Of course you were."
"Riverwalk's kind of nice there too," Hawk said. He was driving the left hook repetitively into the bag.
"Yeah. You want to talk to me about Anthony Meeker."
"Who?"
"Julius Ventura's son-in-law."
Hawk grinned and began to alternate three hooks, with one overhand right. The punches were so fast that the sound of them nearly ran together.
"And the cerebral daughter?"
"Shirley," I said.
"Imagine running off from Shirley," Hawk said.
I moved the bag a half step back from Hawk as he started the next combination, and he shuffled a half step forward and maintained the pattern. The reaction had been visceral. He may not have been conscious that I'd moved the bag.
"You got a plan?" he said.
"What makes you think I'm going to do it?"
Hawk smiled and switched to an overhand lead, and a left cross pattern.
"How long I know you?" he said.
"Story smells like an old flounder," I said.
"Sure do," Hawk said.
"You in?" I said.
"Un huh."
"But only if I do it," I said.
"Un huh."
Hawk did three left hooks so fast that it felt almost like one big one as I leaned on the bag. He followed with a right cross, and stepped back.
"You the dee-tective," Hawk said.
"I is just a fun-loving adventurer."
"So you want to watch?"
"Gig in San Antonio is finished. Got nothing going right now," Hawk said. He wiped the sweat off his face and naked scalp with one of the little white hand towels that Henry handed out as a perk.
"You sure to make Ventura mad. And it'll give me something to do."
"You put us together to see what would happen," I said.
Hawk looked pleased.
"All work and no play," Hawk said.
While I waited for Hawk to shower and change, I honed my observational skills by studying the tightness of the various leotards on the young professional women who made up most of Henry's clientele. It did not escape my attention that there was scant room for anything underneath. When he was through, Hawk went to Henry's office to retrieve his gun from a locked drawer in Henry's desk.
Henry weighed about 134 pounds, and 133 of it was muscle. He had gone twice with Willie Pep in his youth and done as well with Willie as I had with Joe Walcott. It showed on his face.