"That's the biggest fucking weapon I ever seen," Henry said.
"Got a lot of stopping power," Hawk said.
He shrugged into the shoulder rig, and slipped on a gray and black crinkle-finish warm-up jacket with bell sleeves and a standup collar. He checked his reflection in the window to see how the jacket hid the gun.
"Whyn't you get one of them new nines," Henry said.
"Fit nice under your coat, fire fifteen, sixteen rounds a clip."
Hawk made a minute adjustment to the drape of the jacket.
"Don't need fifteen rounds," Hawk said.
"What you carrying?" Henry said to me.
I opened my coat and showed him the short-barreled Smith & Wesson on my belt.
"That's all?"
"It's enough," I said.
"Most of the shooting I've ever had to do is from about five feet away and was over in one or two shots. A nine with fifteen rounds in the clip is heavy to carry. I got one, and I bring it if I think I'll need it. Got a three fifty-seven too, and a twelve-gauge shotgun and a forty-four-caliber rifle. But for walking around, the thirty-eight is fine."
"Well," Henry said.
"I got a nine, and I like it."
"You safe without no gun, Henry," Hawk said.
"You so teeny anybody shoot at you, going to miss anyway."
"Just keep it in mind," Henry said, "I ever come after you."
Hawk and I went out, adequately armed, at least by our standards, and walked along the waterfront through a raw wind blowing off the harbor. When we got to the Boston Harbor Hotel we went in and sat in the lounge looking out at the harbor past the big cupola where the airport ferry docked. We ordered coffee.
Hawk said, "You doing decaf again?"
"Sure. It's good for me… I like it."
"
"Course you do."
Hawk put his feet up on the low table in front of the couch we sat on. Outside, the airport ferry slid around the end of Rowe's Wharf and edged in to the cupola to unload passengers. The waitress warmed our cups. Hawk asked if she had a bakery basket.
She said she did and would be pleased to bring one.
The waitress returned with the bakery basket. There were scones and little corn muffins and some croissants, that were still warm. I had one.
"Goes great with decaf," I said.
Hawk was watching the people file off the ferry with their garment bags and briefcases. He shook his head, and picked up one of the small corn muffins, and popped it in his mouth. I drank some coffee. The ferry picked up a scattering of passengers and backed away from the dock, turning slowly when it was far enough out, sliding on the dark slick harbor water like a hurling stone.
"You think Anthony fooling around?" Hawk said.
"Shirley's a good argument for it," I said.
"I married to Shirley I wouldn't be fooling around with other women," Hawk said.
"I be serious about it. You think Julius wants him found so Shirley be happy?"
"Maybe," I said.
"Loving father," Hawk said.
"It's possible," I said.
"Hitler liked dogs."
The waitress was looking at Hawk from across the room. Hawk smiled at her. She smiled back at him.
"You figure Anthony took some of Julius's money?" Hawk said.
"Shirley said Anthony was in the financial end of the business."
"That both ends," Hawk said, "for Julius."
I nodded. Outside the window wall a seagull landed on one of the ornamental mooring posts, and tucked his wings up and turned his head in profile checking for the remnants of a bite-sized donut hole that someone might have dropped, or a stray French fry. Gulls were actually pretty good-looking birds. The problem was that there were so many of them, and they were so raucous and eager, that no one ever bothered to notice that they had nice proportions.
"I asked Shirley if Anthony gambled and she had an odd look, just a flicker, before she said no."
"Ordinary man woulda missed it," Hawk said.
"True," I said.
"And maybe he'd be right. It wasn't much."
"Think he might be a gambler?"
"If he was it would be a place to start," I said.
Hawk finished his coffee and looked up. The waitress was there, more alert than a seagull, and filled his cup. Hawk let his voice drop an octave or so and said, "Thank you." The waitress hovered for a moment, managed not to wiggle all over, and went away.
"And if he not a gambler?" Hawk said.
"Got no place to start."
"So he a gambler," Hawk said, "until we find something better."
"Maybe a gambler that fooled around on his wife."
"And took Julius Ventura's money," Hawk said.
"To do both."
"So not a smart gambler," I said.
"Maybe not even a live one," Hawk said.
"Except Julius's daughter wants him back."
"Maybe Julius had him chilled and then hired you and me to make it look good for the daughter."
"Not a bad thought," I said.
"But why hire you and me?"
"
"Cause we too good?"
"Yeah. There's lots of reputable private licenses around that could spend his money, look good, and find zip."
Hawk nodded.
"Yeah, he already killed Anthony he don't want us looking into it.
"Cause we going to find out he did it. And you being a Boy Scout, going to tell."
"So he must want him found," I said.
"But why us? Why not his own people?"
Hawk smiled.
"Impress the daughter," he said.
"Maybe. Maybe more than that."
"Like maybe the son-in-law done something Julius don't want his own people to find out?" Hawk said.
"You're pretty smart," I said, "for an aging Negro man."
"Sho'nuff," Hawk said.
CHAPTER 4
Lennie Seltzer was in his usual booth at the Tennessee Tavern on Mass Avenue. He was talking on a portable phone and sipping beer. A laptop computer sat on the table in front of him, the lid up, the screen blank. On the seat across from him in the booth a briefcase stood open. As I sat down Lennie nodded at me and made a small gesture with his free hand at the bartender. I waited while Lennie listened to the phone. He didn't say anything. The bartender brought over a shot of Irish whisky and a draft beer.
Lennie always bought me a shot of Irish whisky and a beer when he saw me. I always drank the beer and left the whisky, but it didn't discourage Lennie at all. Lennie kept listening to the phone.
As he listened he turned on the computer. I drank some beer.
Finally Lennie said, "Copacetic," and hung up. He typed on the computer for a moment, looked at what he'd written, nodded to himself, hit a couple more keys on the computer, turned it off, and shut the lid. Then he picked up his beer bottle, poured a little into his glass, and drank some. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, patted his lips, refolded the handkerchief, and put it back.
"Question?" he said.
"How come you always buy me a shot of Irish whisky and a draught beer, even though you drink bottle beer, and I never drink the whisky?"
"
"Cause you're Irish, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah."
"What else you want?" Lennie said. He had on a brown suit with a tan chalk stripe, a lavender shirt, with a white collar and a wide chocolate-colored silk tie tied in a big Windsor knot. His black hair was parted in the middle and slicked back evenly on both sides of the part.
"Know a guy named Anthony Meeker?"
"Un huh."
"He a gambler?"
"Gambler implies that sometimes you win. I win more than I lose, for instance. It's how I make my living. Anthony don't gamble. Anthony loses."
"Stupid?"
"Yeah, but that ain't it. Stupid you lose more than you win; but even stupid, you win sometimes. Anthony needs it too much."
"The money?"
"Probably not the money. Probably the rush. I don't know. For me it's better than regular work. But it don't make me crazy. For Anthony? I seen him once keep betting in five-card stud when he was beat on the table. You know? Guy had three eights showing with four cards out. Anthony had nothing. Best he could do with a fifth card was a pair. But he kept kicking into the pot."