Then I was through. Broz's gaze stayed on me and then moved away and settled on Vinnie. Only his eyes moved. The tanned, wrinkled face and gray head remained stationary. His old man's hands rested stilly on the desk before him. The pallid sun shining in through the picture window made a small spectrum on his desktop, where it shined through the diamond on his finger.

When Broz spoke it was again in that distant deep remote voice.

"Vinnie?"

"Yeah, Joe. I knew about it."

"And I didn't," Broz said.

"I knew about it after the kid was into it, Joe. I did the best I could."

I looked back at Vinnie. He was as he had been, arms folded, leaning against the door. He paid no attention to me. His eyes were on Broz.

Again silence. I could hear the sound of Joe's breathing now, soft and unlabored.

"And what he's telling me is so?" Broz said.

"Yeah, it is, Joe. Kid wants you to respect him. He…" Vinnie shrugged and turned his palms up.

Broz's voice got softer. "I love him," he said. "He should settle for that."

"He ain't very old, Joe," Vinnie said.

Broz nodded slowly. It was the first movement he'd made since I started talking. "I know."

Vinnie was quiet. Broz shifted his look to me.

"You don't have kids," he said.

"Not exactly."

"I didn't either until I was old. What the kid did he did on his own. Some of what he done ain't my way. Dirty movies, that stuff. I don't like that."

"And you don't like him risking Browne on something like this."

Broz nodded. "I invested in him his first time out for office," Broz said. "I been putting money in every year since, investing. Browne gets his cover blown and I've lost money on my investment. You should have told me, Vinnie."

"Maybe. But I knew how you'd feel about it, Joe. I tried to clean it up before you knew."

"My kid, Vinnie, my problem."

"I'd have cleaned it up if Alexander hadn't gotten him." Vinnie pointed at me with his chin.

Broz nodded. "Okay, Vinnie, I was you I'd have done the same." He looked at me. "What do you want?"

"I want the tapes of Mrs. Alexander destroyed. I want the both of them left alone."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"What about the election?"

I grinned. "May the best man win," I said.

"We could drop you in the harbor," Broz said.

I nodded.

"We'll be in touch," Broz said.

At 6:45 that evening I was hanging around the shuttle terminal at Eastern Airlines waiting for Paul Giacomin to arrive from New York for the Christmas holidays. Traffic was heavy and the flight would be late.

I stared out the windows at the airport and thought about Joe Broz. He had two roads he could follow. He could kill me and hope I hadn't given evidence on his kid to anyone else. Or he could go along, give me back the tapes, and trust me to keep my end of the bargain. Killing me was the way Joe would normally go. I was hoping this once he'd take the road less traveled. And he might. His kid was involved. He didn't know what I'd done with the evidence, or how much evidence I had, or who else I'd told. He might figure that he could always kill me and wait to see what happened. No way to know really, and since you prepare for what the enemy can do, not what he might, I had my normal.38 under my coat, and a back-up.25 in an ankle holster. I also looked around a lot.

At 7:20 Paul walked up the corridor carrying a suitcase in one hand and a dance bag on a strap over his shoulder. A young woman came with him. Her hair was pale blond and straight and almost to her waist. Paul had told me about her. Her name was Paige Cartwright. She had a suitcase too. Paul introduced us.

She said, "Mr. Spenser. I've been dying to meet you."

"Paul's been telling you all the funny things I say and do."

"He's told me all about you," she said.

I nodded. "It's not enough you gotta go to Sarah Lawrence," I said to Paul, "you have to carry a purse in public."

He adjusted the shoulder bag. "It's to hold my tutu," he said.

At my apartment we had roast duck with fruit stuffing and three bottles of Pinot Noir and at 1:15 Paul and I sat at my kitchen counter drinking brandy with soda. Paige had succumbed to the wine and gone to bed.

"You've been to see Susan?" Paul said.

"Yes."

"How is it?"

"It's okay," I said. "A little out of sync maybe."

Paul nodded. "She coming home for Christmas?"

"I don't know," I said. "We didn't discuss it."

"You could go down there."

"Sure," I said.

"Paige and I would be fine here. If you want to go down, it's okay."

I nodded.

"You ever think about dating someone else?" Paul said.

I drank some brandy and soda. "Someone else?"

"Sure. That girl you used to go with before Susan. Brenda? You could go out with her."

There were three ice cubes in my glass, and a shot of brandy and the rest soda, except I had drunk half of it. Part of the top ice cube was above the surface.

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"I love Susan," I said. "I want to be with her. Other people bore me."

"Never, no one but Susan? You never met anyone else?"

"I liked a woman in L.A. Slept with her once."

"Why don't you go visit her?"

"She's dead," I said.

Paul was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "That one," he said.

"Yes."

The dishwasher finished its cycle and clicked off. The silence was nearly obtrusive in the aftermath.

"It's more than that, Paul. It's more than finding no one else so interesting."

He nodded. "If you could love somebody else, then what would it say about this great love you've been loving for ten years?"

"The new religion calls all in doubt," I said.

"You pay a very high price, as I said last time, for being what you are."

I nodded.

"It makes you better than other men," Paul said. "If you hadn't been what you are, where would I be? But it also traps you. Machismo's captive. Honor, commitment, absolute fidelity, the whole myth."

"Love," I said. "Love's in there."

"Of course it is, and, if need be, to love pure and chaste from afar. But, damn it, I'd like to see you get more back."

"Me too," I said.

"I don't mean from Susan. I mean from life, for crissake. You deserve it. You deserve everything you want. You have a right to it."

I drank the rest of my drink and made another one.

"I am what I am, kid. Not by accident. By effort, a brick at a time. I knew what I wanted to be and I finally am. I won't go back."

"I know," Paul said. "You can't even talk about things like this unless you're drinking."

"I can," I said. "But unless I'm drinking, talking about things like this seems pointless. I can't be what I am and love Susan differently."

"And you won't be something else?" he said.

"I worked too hard to be this," I said.

Paul got up and made himself another drink.

"Maybe the question is can you be what you are if Susan's change of life is permanent," he said.

"The way I feel about her won't change," I said.

"How about the way you feel about yourself?"

"I'm working on that," I said.