“With enough money to retire,” Molly said.
“So how come all of a sudden he’s out of retirement?” Jesse said.
“Well, he isn’t, actually,” Molly said. “He hasn’t done anything but come here and say hello.”
“So far,” Jesse said.
Suitcase Simpson knocked on the doorframe and came into the office carrying a large foam cup of coffee.
“How’s the crime situation at Dunkin’ Donuts?” Jesse said.
“Under continuous surveillance,” Suit said. “I got a little news.”
Jesse waited.
“Wilson Cromartie just rented a place on Strawberry Cove,” he said. “You know who the broker was?”
“Marcy Campbell,” Jesse said.
Suit looked disappointed.
“You knew that?” he said.
“No, but what other broker would he know in town?”
Molly smiled at Jesse.
“She mention that to you last night, Jesse?” she said.
“No.”
“Odd,” Molly said.
Jesse nodded.
“You saw Marcy last night?” Suit said.
“She won’t testify against Crow,” Jesse said.
“Despite intensive interrogation,” Molly said.
“Intensive,” Jesse said.
Suit looked at both of them and decided to let it be.
“So I figure he’s planning on staying awhile.”
“Give us more time to bust him,” Jesse said.
“If we can,” Molly said.
“Sooner or later,” Jesse said.
6.
Jesse poured himself his first drink of the evening. The scotch whiskey looked silky as it slid over the ice. He added soda, waited for the bubbles to subside, then stirred the ice around with a fingertip. Jenn always used to say he should use a spoon, but he liked to stir it the way he did. He took a drink, felt it ease into him. He looked at his picture of Ozzie Smith on the wall over the bar. He wondered if Ozzie drank. Probably not, probably hard to do that backflip if you were a boozer. He raised his glass at the picture.
“I made the show, I’d be doing backflips, too,” he said aloud.
His voice sounded odd, as it always did, in the empty room. If he hadn’t hurt his shoulder he might have made the show. He sipped again. If he didn’t drink he might be with Jenn. If Jenn didn’t try to fuck her way to fulfillment. If he were smarter he’d have let Jenn go and taken up with Sunny Randall. If Sunny wasn’t preoccupied with her ex-husband. If…
Jesse walked to the French doors that looked out over his little balcony to the harbor. He had no illusions about Crow. Whatever his reasons for letting the women go ten years ago, whatever his reasons for protecting Marcy, if he really had, Jesse knew that had he needed to, Crow would have killed them all.
Jesse’s drink was gone. He walked back to the bar and filled his glass with ice. He poured the caramel-colored whiskey over the ice and added the soda. He stirred it, and walked back to the French doors.
But Molly was sort of right. Jesse didn’t know if he and Crow were alike. But there was something about Crow that clicked in Jesse. Crow was so entirely Crow. He belonged so totally to who and what he was. Crow probably enjoyed a drink. Probably had no problem stopping after one or two. Probably didn’t get mad. Probably didn’t hate. Probably didn’t fear. Jesse took another drink and stared at the darkening harbor…. Probably didn’t love, either.
“He’s not missing much,” Jesse said to no one.
Even saying it, Jesse knew it wasn’t quite true. If he didn’t love Jenn, would he be happier? He wouldn’t be as unhappy. But was that the same? What would replace the sense of momentous adventure that he felt when he thought of her, which was nearly always?
Jesse made another drink. The evening had settled and the harbor was dark. There was little to look at through the French doors. After he made his drink, Jesse stayed at the bar.
In a sense, loving Jenn wasn’t even about Jenn. It was about who he was by being in love with her. So why not just let her do whatever she wanted to and love her anyway. What did he care how many men she banged? Let her go about her business and I go about mine and what difference does it make? He heard a low animal sound in the room. It was, he realized, him, and it had come without volition. He looked at his picture of Ozzie and shrugged. Okay, so it makes a difference. Was it more about him than about her? Did he hang in there because he would miss the high drama? He knew he loved her. He knew she loved him. He knew they couldn’t find a way to make it work.
“Yet,” he said, and drank some more.
7.
Crow was at a corner table in Daisy’s, having an egg-white omelet with some fruit salsa, when Jesse came in and sat down at the table with him.
“Care to join me?” Crow said.
“Thanks,” Jesse said.
Daisy brought him coffee.
“You want some breakfast?” she said.
Jesse shook his head. Daisy left the pot and swaggered away. Crow watched her.
“Daisy Dyke,” he said.
“That’s what she calls herself,” Jesse said.
“Wonder why?” Crow said.
Jesse smiled.
“She was going to call the restaurant Daisy Dyke’s,” Jesse said, “but the selectmen wouldn’t let her.”
“Nice she’s out of the closet,” Crow said.
Jesse nodded and drank some coffee.
“Can’t seem to put together a case against you,” Jesse said.
“Can’t lick ’em, join ’em?” Crow said.
Jesse shrugged.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t put one together,” Jesse said.
“You do,” Crow said, “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“First step is to find out what you’re doing here,” Jesse said.
Crow nodded.
“Be how I’d go at it,” Crow said.
“You could tell me,” Jesse said. “Save us a lot of time.”
Crow shook his head.
“We’re going to stay on you,” Jesse said.
“How many people you got?” Crow said.
“Twelve,” Jesse said. “Plus Molly, who runs the desk, and me.”
“Four to a shift,” Crow said, and smiled.
“We can be annoying,” Jesse said.
“I know that,” Crow said. “You were last time I visited.”
“You’re staying awhile,” Jesse said.
“Maybe.”
Jesse poured himself more coffee. The two men looked at each other.
“You know,” Crow said, “and I know, that you aren’t going to scare me off.”
Jesse nodded.
“I didn’t figure I would,” Jesse said. “But it was worth a try.”
“I don’t think that’s why you came to see me,” Crow said.
“Why did I?” Jesse said.
“You’re just trying to get little sense of what I’m like.”
“That why you came to see me, before?” Jesse said.
“Yeah.”
Jesse drank some coffee. Crow finished his omelet and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“So?” Jesse said after a time.
“So you know I’m not going away,” Crow said. “And I know you’re not going away.”
The tablecloth in front of Crow, Jesse noticed, was immaculate. No spills. No crumbs. It was as if no one had eaten there.
“Yeah,” Jesse said. “That’s about right.”
8.
He was a smallish man with gray curly hair, pink skin, and a bow tie.
“My name is Walter Carr,” he said. “I am a professor of urban studies at Taft University.”
Jesse nodded.
“This is Miriam Fiedler,” Carr said, “the executive director of the Westin Charitable Trust.”
Jesse said, “How do you do.”
Miriam Fiedler nodded. She was tall and lean and had horsey-looking teeth.
“And perhaps you know this gentleman,” Carr said. “Austin Blake?”
“We’ve not met,” Jesse said.
“I’m an attorney,” Blake said. “I’m along as a sort of informal consultant.”