She looked back and forth between us.

"So why didn't you tell him what you know?" Susan said.

I shrugged. Farrell shrugged.

"I know he never tells anybody anything he doesn't need to," Susan said to Farrell. "But you're a policeman yourself, Lee."

"Maybe Wechsler's a lead for the guy got killed in your-in Sterling's office," Farrell said. "Maybe he's connected to that woman, Sterling's ex-wife got killed in Somerville. Cambridge goes after him for a.s.sault and they may screw him up for us."

"Well," Susan said. "So much for interdepartmental cooperation."

"Suze," I said. "If we can get him for murder, rather than a.s.sault, he'll go away a lot surer for a lot longer. The world is a better place with him away."

"Do you know he's the one that did the murders?"

"Or ordered them," I said. "No. Unless Lee knows something I don't know, we don't know he's guilty. But it's a good guess."

"Because?"

"Because," Farrell said, "if there's something bad going on and Haskell Wechsler is connected to it..." He shrugged.

"Haskell is a really genuinely bad man," I said.

"So you're both willing to let these two hoodlums, who a.s.saulted us"-Susan was frowning-"you're willing to risk letting them slide in order to maybe get this Wechsler person for something worse."

"I'd trade those two jerks for Haskell Wechsler anytime," I said.

She looked at Farrell. He nodded. Susan looked back at me and wrinkled her nose.

"Not a very fragrant business," Susan said.

"Not very fragrant at all," I said.

chapter thirty-eight.

HAWK AND I were shooting at an indoor range in Dorchester. I had three handguns, my everyday short S&W.38, the.357 I used for big game, and the Browning nine which I kept for those exciting times when five or six shots just aren't enough. Hawk had a long-barreled.44 Magnum which will, probably, bring down a crazed bull elephant. Since you rarely run into a bull elephant in Boston, I always suspected Hawk carried it for effect. We shot for an hour or so and kept score. A small group gathered to watch. Side bets were made, the bettors tending to divide along racial lines. When we got through, both of us claimed victory. Eventually we settled for a draw.

In the parking lot Hawk said, "Maybe the numbers the same but my groupings were tighter."

"Shooting with that blunderbuss, for crissake, you shouldn't even have a grouping. You ought to put one round right on top of another."

"Groupings still tighter," Hawk said.

"If we'd both been shooting at a live target, either one of us would have killed him," I said.

"Sure," Hawk said.

He didn't say anything else until we were in his Jag heading downtown on Blue Hill Avenue.

"I'd a killed him deader," Hawk said softly.

"Sure you would have," I said.

The quality of mercy is not strained. Hawk smiled to himself as we followed Blue Hill Avenue past Magazine Street.

"Haskell made a run at me last night," I said.

"Who he sent?"

"Buster and the little gunnie that was with him in the restaurant. Buster was supposed to give me a beating while the gunnie stood guard."

"Appear that they unsuccessful," Hawk said.

"Yeah," I said. "Susan whacked the gunnie with a brick."

A small muscle moved at the corner of Hawk's mouth. We drove past Melina Ca.s.s Boulevard and turned onto Ma.s.s Ave. It was late, after eleven, and as always, the city at night was different from the city in daylight. The mercury street lamps and bright traffic lights and fluorescent neon made it seem more romantic than I knew it was. And the dark sky pressing down on it made it seem smaller, safer, and more contained than I knew it was.

"She all right?" Hawk said.

"Yes."

We pa.s.sed City Hospital, which sprawled farther along Albany Street every time I saw it.

"Outta line," Hawk said, "with Susan present."

"Against the rules."

"We planning on speaking with Haskell?"

"He got an office on Market Street," Hawk said. "In Brighton."

"I know. Lot of people got something to settle with Haskell. There's usually a lot of firepower hanging around."

"Could call Vinnie," Hawk said. "'Cept for me, he's the best shooter in the city."

"Or maybe we can discuss this with him when he's not surrounded by the palace guard," I said.

"Which would be when?"

"Ah, there's the rub," I said.

"He must get laid," Hawk said.

"Haskell?" I said. "Who the h.e.l.l would come across for Haskell."

"He got a wife?" Hawk said.

"Same answer as above," I said.

"Yeah, you probably right. Probably buys it."

"A professional woman," I said.

I nodded. We both thought about that as we pa.s.sed through the South End and crossed Huntington Avenue near Symphony Hall.

"Who runs the wh.o.r.es in this city," I said to Hawk.

"Tony Marcus," Hawk said.

"Right. He out yet?"

"Been out a year or so," Hawk said.

"Maybe he can help us out."

"Sure," Hawk said. "He been dying to ever since you put him in jail."

"You're a brother," I said. "You'll convince him."

"I believe I helped put him in jail."

"Well, maybe."

"And as they taking him off, I believe he say I a honkie sucking mother f.u.c.ker."

"Yep."

"I'm sure Tony didn't mean anything personal," I said.

"When you want to see him?" Hawk said.

"He still in the South End?"

"Same place," Hawk said. "Backroom of Buddy's Fox."

"I'll bet he's a night person too," I said. "Let's go see him now."

Hawk glanced at me and shook his head, and made a right turn on Boylston Street.

"Lucky I'm brave," he said.

chapter thirty-nine.

WE PARKED AT a hydrant near Buddy's Fox and went in. It was still long and narrow. There were still booths along both walls with a bar across the back. Tony Marcus still kept his office down the hall to the right of the bar past the rest rooms. There were people of several races eating ribs and brisket. The black bartender was new since the last time I'd been here. He was slope-shouldered and strong-looking with long arms and big hands. When we got close I could see that his nose was flat and the skin around his eyes was scar thickened. He had on a starched white shirt with the banded collar open and his cuffs rolled up over his forearms.

"What can I get you gentlemen," he said.

"I'd like you to go back and tell Tony that Hawk is here to see him."

"You're Hawk?" the bartender said.

"I'm Hawk."

"Who's this?" The bartender nodded at me.

"Tonto," Hawk said.

The bartender nodded without smiling.

"Sure," he said.

He went to the end of the bar, flipped up the gate, and disappeared down the hall.

"Ever eat here?" I said.

"Sure," Hawk said. "Do some nice turnip greens."

The bartender came back. Hawk unb.u.t.toned his jacket.

"Tony says have a drink on the house. Says he'll be out in a few minutes."

"Beer," Hawk said.

I nodded. The bartender pulled two draft beers. We leaned on the bar and sipped the beer. About halfway through the beer three black men came in together and sat in a booth near the door. None of them looked at us.

"Tall skinny kid with slick hair? Came in with the other two brothers? Name is Ty-Bop Tatum. He's Tony's shooter."

"Ty-Bop?" I said.

"What happens when you got thirteen-year-old girls naming babies," Hawk said.

"Think they just happened to stop by here for a helping of hush puppies."

"Sure," Hawk said.

"Think a big white bunny hops in every Easter and leaves eggs for the kids?"