"Yes."
"Well, stop it," I said.
"Stop feeling guilty?"
"Yeah."
Susan stared at me for a moment and then began to smile.
"There are people in my profession who would faint dead away to hear you say that."
"But you're not one of them," I said.
Her smile widened some more. "No," she said. "I'm not one of them."
We sat for a while in silence. Then Susan, still smiling, raised her champagne glass toward me. I raised mine and touched hers.
"Here's looking at you, Sigmund," she said.
And the laughter bubbled up out of her like a clear spring.
chapter forty-two
HAWK AND I sat in the parking lot of the Charles View Motel on Thursday afternoon waiting for Velvet to be delivered. The motel was a wooden building with pseudo redwood siding, and blue shingle roof. It stood two stories high with entrances to the rooms through individual doors facing the parking lot. A balcony across the front gave access to the second-floor rooms. It was a dark muggy day. There were thunderstorms in the area, and their tension hung undissipated in the air. At 2:30, a white Cadillac sedan pulled into the parking lot and Velvet, carrying a small overnight hag, got out one side. Buster got out the other. They went without stopping at the motel office to room number 16, last one on the first floor. Buster produced a key and opened the door. Buster went in first, after a minute he came back to the Cadillac, and drove off. I got out of Hawk's car and walked to room 16. Velvet let me in.
"See the dark green Ford Mustang, front row, parked opposite this room?"
"I do not know Mustang."
"Green car, tan soft top right there." I pointed.
The mustang flashed its headlights.
"Yes."
"Man named Henry Cimoli is driving. He'll take you wherever you want to go."
"I want to go home."
"He'll take you there."
Velvet nodded. She picked up her overnight bag and started out the door.
"Thank you, Kim," I said.
She turned with a startled look for a moment. Then she nodded seriously and walked toward Henry's car. I watched her get in. And I watched Henry drive her away. Then I went into the motel room and closed the door.
It was the kind of place you'd bring somebody you picked up at the bowling alley. The air conditioning was noisy. The bath was tiled in plastic. The dark stain on the pine bed and bureau set was scarred. The chenille spread on the bed was frayed along the edges and thin from frequent washing. On the bureau was a bar setup: cheap bourbon, ice, a pitcher of water, a shrinkwrapped pack of plastic drinking cups.
Haskell, you elegant fool!
I didn't want Haskell to see me when he opened the door, because I didn't want to have to chase him around the parking lot. I went into the bathroom and waited, It was maybe twenty minutes, but it's a long twenty standing in a small bathroom in a low-rent motel. I was wishing I had to go. It would have given me something to do. I heard the key turn in the front door. The door opened. I heard a step. The door closed. I took my gun out and held it by my side.
Haskell's voice said, "Velvet."
He sounded annoyed. But Haskell always sounded annoyed. Probably was always annoyed. I came out of the bathroom. Haskell had no reaction. He squinted at me for a moment. I stepped between him and the door. He noticed.
"Where's Velvet," he said.
"Not today."
"I know you," he said.
"Yes you do."
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
He scratched absently his chest with his right hand. He scratched a little lower on his stomach. I showed him the gun. He stopped.
"Turn around," I said. "Put your hands behind your head. Lace your fingers."
"This a fucking roust, or what?" he said as he turned.
He looked like he'd assumed the position before. I kept my gun in my right hand as I patted him down. He had a gun on his belt, left side, butt forward. I unsnapped the guard strap and took the gun off him and stepped back.
"Okay," I said. "You can turn around and put your hands down."
Haskell turned and dropped his hands. I put my own gun back on my belt.
"So what do you need," he said.
If he was scared, he was doing a masterful job of covering it. He probably wasn't scared. Being scared would have been too human for Haskell. He was probably too mean and too shallow to be scared.
The gun I'd taken from him was a cheap semi-automatic I'd never heard of. I took out the magazine, ejected a round from the chamber, dropped the gun and magazine on the floor, and kicked the gun under the bed. I was still between Haskell and the door.
"I don't know what the game is," Haskell said, "but you are getting yourself in deeper, pal."
Haskell was probably wearing different clothes than he had the last time I saw him, but he looked just the same. Haskell would always look pretty much the same.
"You broke the rules," I said.
"What rules?"
"You don't take it home," I said. "You don't involve family."
"What family?"
"Susan Silverman."
"Who the fuck is she?"
"My family," I said.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Haskell looked momentarily at the window. It was to the right of the door as you come in, one of those fixed metal frame jobs with the air-conditioning unit on the floor under it. It wouldn't open. To go out it, you'd have to go through it.
"When Buster made his run at me," I said. "I was with Susan, outside her house."
"What the fuck do I care where you were," Haskell said.
"That's the point of my visit," I said.
"Who knew it was your girlfriend," Haskell said. "Shit happens."
"I can't let it slide," I said.
"So, whaddya want? Money? What? How much you need?"
"You have a choice," I said. "I can take it out of your hide, or you can buy me with information."
"Information? About what, for crissake?"
"What the deal was with you and Gavin and Brad Sterling."
"Sterling?"
"Uh huh."
"I don't know no fucking Sterling."
I sighed and hit Haskell in the stomach with my left hand. He gasped and stumbled back a step and bent over. As he was bending I jabbed him on the nose and straightened him back a bit. His nose started to bleed. He tried to stop the bleeding by pinching his nose and stepped back another step and sat on the bed.
"You busted my fucking nose, for crissake," he said.
"Not yet."
"I'm telling you I don't know no whatsisname Stevens."
"Sterling," I said. "Okay, tell me about you and Gavin."
"Gavin's my lawyer. You know that."
"How are you and he connected to Galapalooza?"
"To what?"
I reached over and tapped him on the nose with the back of my left hand.
He said, "Ow," and scrambled backwards on the bed to stay away from me.
"Galapalooza," I said.
"Honest to God," Haskell said, his voice thick because he was holding his nose. "I don't even know what a Lala-whatever is."
Haskell was winning this. I was okay at fighting, but I wasn't much at beating people up. I was hoping he'd fold before I'd gone as far as I could go. But he wasn't folding and I was about out of beating.
"What's the current scam?" I said. "You and Gavin?"
The blood was seeping between his fingers and staining his shirt front. He could see himself in the mirror, and I think it scared him.
"We run a little money through him," Haskell said.
"He wash it?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"He never said. Talk to him, for crissake. I don't know what he's doing."
It made sense. Galapalooza was an excellent money-laundering vehicle. Haskell wasn't winning this. He really didn't know anything. I went into the bathroom and got a hand towel and soaked it in cold water and wrung it out and went back and handed it to Haskell.
"Okay," I said. "I'll mark your fine paid. I'll talk to Gavin. I find out you lied, I'll be back."
"I ain't lying."
"Anybody, you, someone employed by you, someone related to you, someone that knows you, comes within sight of Susan Silverman again and I'll kill you," I said.