NBMQ: Promised Land is being made into a TV movie. Who is playing Spenser?
Parker: Actually there is a reception this evening by the governor to welcome the cast and crew before they start shooting. It is starring Robert Urich, who played on “Vegas.” And that’s the only casting we have firmly made. The screenplay is by producer John Wilder and me. He did most of it. I did one revision. I have some title in this process — creative consultant, associate producer, or whatever — which means I can hang around and offer opinions. It’s scheduled to be shot between now and February 5. I hope we get more people in the cast by then. I sat in a little on the casting. It’s scheduled to run this spring or next fall or next spring on ABC. But if we don’t deliver it in time for this spring, it will go on later. It will be a two-hour movie. There may be a series out of it. Nobody’s calling this a pilot, but if it does well and ABC likes it — we have already started to work on the first four episodes of the series.
NBMQ: Are you worried about being spoiled by the glitter of network television?
Parker: No. Fear not. I think it is inappropriate for me to bite the hand that is at this moment feeding me, but you needn’t fear that I will be seduced by network TV.
Robert B. Parker
Excerpt from Promised Land
Promised Land (1976) marks a significant development in Robert Parker’s skill as a novelist. Spenser takes on added dimension as a character and the complexity of his moral judgment is developed more fully than ever before. Two key characters of Parker’s novels — Spenser’s lover, Susan Silverman, and his strongarm friend, Hawk — are given their first full treatment in Promised Land, amplifying the reader’s understanding of Spenser himself. In the excerpt reprinted here, Susan meets Hawk for the first time and realizes the bond between him and Spenser.
Robert Parker’s comments on Promised Land, written at the request of NBMQ, follow this excerpt.
After lunch we took coffee on the terrace by the pool, sitting at a little white table made of curlicued iron covered by a blue and white umbrella. It was mostly kids in the pool, splashing and yelling while their mothers rubbed oil on their legs. Susan Silverman was sipping coffee from a cup she held with both hands and looking past me. I saw her eyes widen behind her lavender sunglasses and I turned and there was Hawk.
He said, “Spenser.”
I said, “Hawk.”
He said, “Mind if I join you?”
I said, “Have a seat. Susan, this is Hawk. Hawk, this is Susan Silverman.”
Hawk smiled at her and she said, “Hello, Hawk.”
Hawk pulled a chair around from the next table, and sat with us. Behind him was a big guy with a sunburned face and an Oriental dragon tattooed on the inside of his left forearm. As Hawk pulled his chair over he nodded at the next table and the tattooed man sat down at it. “That’s Powell,” Hawk said. Powell didn’t say anything. He just sat with his arms folded and stared at us.
“Coffee?” I said to Hawk.
He nodded. “Make it iced coffee though.” I gestured to the waitress, ordered Hawk his iced coffee.
“Hawk,” I said, “you gotta overcome this impulse toward anonymity you’ve got. I mean why not start to dress so people will notice you instead of always fading into the background like you do.”
“I’m just a retiring guy, Spenser, just my nature.” He stressed the first syllable in retiring. “Don’t see no reason to be a clotheshorse.” Hawk was wearing white Puma track shoes with a black slash on them. White linen slacks, and a matching white linen vest with no shirt. Powell was more conservatively dressed in a maroon-and-yellow-striped tank top and maroon slacks.
The waitress brought Hawk his iced coffee. “You and Susan having a vacation down here?”
“Yep.”
“Sure is nice, isn’t it? Always like the Cape. Got atmosphere you don’t usually find. You know? Hard to define it, but it’s a kind of leisure spirit. Don’t you think, Spenser?”
“Yeah, leisure spirit. That what brought you down here, Hawk?”
“Oh, something like that. Had a chance to get in what you might call a working vacation. How ’bout yourself? Doing a little work for Harv Shepard?”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me.”
“Susan,” Hawk said, “this man is a straight-ahead man, you know? Just puts it right out front, hell of a quality, I’d say.”
Susan smiled at him and nodded. He smiled back.
“Come on, Hawk, knock off the Goody Two-shoes shtick. You want to know what I’m doing with Shepard and I want to know what you’re doing with Shepard.”
“Actually, it’s a little more than that, babe, or a little less, whichever way you look at it. It ain’t that I so much care what you’re doing with Shepard as it is I want you to stop doing it.”
“Ah-ha,” I said. “A threat. That explains why you brought Eric the Red along. You knew Susan was with me and you didn’t want to be outnumbered.”
Powell said from his table, “What did you call me?”
Hawk smiled. “Still got that agile mind, Spenser.”
Powell said again, “What did you call me?”
“It is hard, Powell,” I said to him, “to look tough when your nose is peeling. Why not try some Sun Ban, excellent, greaseless, filters out the harmful ultraviolet rays.”
Powell stood up. “Don’t smart-mouth me, man. You wising off at me?”
“That a picture of your mom you got tattooed on your left arm?” I said.
He looked down at the dragon tattoo on his forearm for a minute and then back at me. His face got redder and he said, “You wise bastard. I’m going to straighten you out right now.”
Hawk said, “Powell, I wouldn’t if I was you.”
“I don’t have to take a lot of shit from a guy like this,” Powell said.
“Don’t swear in front of the lady,” Hawk said. “You gotta take about whatever he gives you ’cause you can’t handle him.”
“He don’t look so tough to me,” Powell said. He was standing and people around the pool were beginning to look.
“That’s ’cause you are stupid, Powell,” Hawk said. “He is tough, he may be damn near as tough as me. But you want to try him, go ahead.”
Powell reached down and grabbed me by the shirt front. Susan Silverman inhaled sharply.
Hawk said, “Don’t kill him, Spenser, he runs errands for me.”
Powell yanked me out of the chair. I went with the yank and hit him in the Adam’s apple with my forearm. He said something like “ark” and let go of my shirt front and stepped back. I hit him with two left hooks, the second one with a lot of shoulder turned into it, and Powell fell over backward into the pool. Hawk was grinning as I turned toward him.
“The hayshakers are all the same, aren’t they,” he said. “Just don’t seem to know the difference between amateurs and professionals.” He shook his head. “That’s a good lady you got there though.” He nodded at Susan, who was on her feet holding a beer bottle she’d apparently picked up off another table.
Hawk got up and walked to the pool and dragged Powell out of it negligently, with one hand, as if the dead weight of a 200-pound man were no more than a flounder.
The silence around the pool was heavy. The kids were still hanging on to the edge of the pool, staring at us. Hawk said, “Come on, let’s walk out to my car and talk.” He let Powell slump to the ground by the table and strolled back in through the lobby. Susan and I went with him. As we passed the desk we saw the manager come out of his office and hurry toward the terrace.