“Well,” I said. “Despite your absence, my apartment smells like Shangri-La.”
“I would have thought you would have been at my place, gazing lustily at my photograph.”
“May I serenade you with ‘Moon River’?” I said.
“Let Andy Williams rest in peace,” she said. “I’ve just finished with a very lengthy lecture.”
I hummed the first few bars and drank some more beer and looked out at the streetlamps. A couple walked hand in hand along Marlborough. They were not talking, only smiling. Content. “And what was today’s lecture?”
“‘Functional Subgrouping and Other Innovative Methods for Resolving Conflict.’”
“I can fly down immediately to speak as an expert.”
“Kicking the crap out of someone has not been proven an innovative approach.”
“Someone needs to do more research,” I said. “What about threatening?”
“Is that what you’ve been up to?”
“Henry Cimoli asked for a favor.”
“And Henry Cimoli never asks for anything.”
I took another sip of beer. I checked the timer on my biscuits. Pearl sniffed at the oven. She looked disappointed that I was not paying closer attention to the impending meal.
“He in fact noted that very point.”
“I take it the favor did not require you and Hawk greasing gym equipment.”
“Nope,” I said. “He asked for me to use my own time-tested method for resolving conflict.”
“And the conflict?”
Susan sounded a million miles away. Her voice was never a substitute for the smell and touch and presence of the whole package. I sighed and told her about the conflict.
“Not a smart negotiation,” Susan said.
“Nope.”
“And what if these people offer more money?”
“That’s up to Henry,” I said.
“And who are these people?”
“I’m pretty sure they need Henry’s apartment as a block in a big-time casino development.”
“I thought that hadn’t been decided.”
“Ducks are being placed in a row.”
“Ah, the infamous ducks,” Susan said. “So what do you do now?”
“Make sure no one harasses Henry.”
“You can’t do that forever,” she said. “And besides, he’d hate that.”
“True,” I said. “It would slight his honor.”
“Why don’t you just call Quirk or have Rita’s firm file a civil suit?”
“That might slight my honor.”
“To report a crime?”
“I’d rather handle this myself,” I said. “I think the players here have been adequately discouraged. Now we want to discuss the issue with the source.”
“And if they return to harm Henry?”
“I will discourage them even more.”
“By yourself?” Susan said.
Pearl stopped sniffing and looked up at me with pleading yellow eyes. She had developed a sixth sense for when biscuits were ready.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m using the opportunity to train my Native American apprentice.”
“That is something.”
“It is.”
“And how is he doing?”
“Tough and resourceful,” I said. “He’s getting better about making his own decisions. He isn’t just waiting for me to tell him.”
“Always a good thing.”
“He continues to train with Henry,” I said. “Besides a sloppy left hook, he could probably put half of Boston in the hospital.”
“Can you note that in a job referral?”
“Yep.”
“And his drinking?”
“He drinks,” I said. “But he continues to control it.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.”
“Does training Z have something to do with your Lone Ranger complex?”
“Is that a thing?” I said.
“You mean a psychiatric condition?”
“Yep.”
“Most definitely.”
“Returning to those thrilling days of yesteryear,” I said. “How about you call me later for an adult conversation?”
“Perhaps.”
“I think my biscuits are burning.”
“Has it gotten that bad?”
“You have no idea.”
10
THE NEXT MORNING, I drove twenty minutes to Revere and parked in an empty space along the beachfront to wait for Henry’s white Toyota. The waves tumbled along the sand while I listened to player interviews after a heartbreaker with the Yankees. Even with the addition of Adrian Gonzalez, I did not feel optimistic about the season. I thought about calling Mattie Sullivan. But she would probably just offer that they were sucking big-time.
I ate two corn muffins and drank a large coffee. I searched around the dial for some palatable music. When that failed, I turned off the radio just as Henry’s car appeared from a parking garage. I squashed the sack from Dunkin’ Donuts and followed.
Susan was right. Henry would hate to have a babysitter. As far as he was concerned, the matter was over. There was a conflict and then a fight. The fight was won and it was finished. But in my experience, greedy people seldom consult rulebooks or play by honorable standards. Case in point, sending a trio of goons to bust the kneecaps of a formidable but old man. I kept on Henry as he took the tunnel into the city and hung back as we approached Atlantic. I parked outside the aquarium for a good ten minutes before grabbing my gym bag and heading into the Harbor Health Club.
“What took you so long?” Henry said. He was watching a pudgy middle-aged woman in a headband perform an assisted pull-up.
“Sorting my underwear to color,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “I spotted you at the curb. You were eating a fucking donut.”
“It was a corn muffin.”
“How many?”
“One.”
“Since when do you eat one of anything?”
I shrugged. The woman completed her reps with significant assistance from Henry. She got up from the machine and wiped her brow with a hand towel. She called Henry a brute. I grinned and mouthed the word “brute.”
Over her shoulder, Henry shook his head and mouthed the words “Up yours.”
I changed into shorts and an old gray sweatshirt and walked back to the boxing room. I wrapped my hands and faced the mirror, working on a quick round of shadow-boxing. After the first round, I picked up a leather jump rope and amazed and delighted myself with a few tricks. I had a good sweat going. Then I pulled on a pair of sixteen-ounce gloves for some heavy bag work. Henry strolled into the room, arms crossed over his chest, and watched. He listened as I worked out some frustrations in a barrage of combos. I tried out a few different ones Henry had never seen, just to show off a little. The three-minute round finished with an electronic buzz. I placed my gloves on top of my head and walked to the water fountain.
Because of the gloves, Henry thumbed the button for me.
“I just got a call,” Henry said. “Condo board can sell with majority of votes. It’s in the original deed or something.”
“Not good.”
“I tried to round up some support,” he said. “I’ve lived there for ten years. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“You’d have a good case to sue.”
“For crissakes,” he said. “How long would that take? I’ll be dead by the time they write the check.”
I leaned in for more water. Henry pressed the button again.
“Unless we had something on them,” Henry said.
“You got a good case for harassment.”
“That’s chickenshit stuff,” he said. “They’d lie their way out of it. I want to know who these people are. Stick it to them. You know, hit ’em where they live.”
“What would you say if the proposed buyer wanted to knock down your building for a casino?”
“Now, that’s something,” Henry said. “Jesus, how long were you gonna keep that from me?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I said. “I’m still connecting the dots.”
“These people gave us a lot of grief. If we could make them pay through the nose . . .”