I shrugged.

“Was it bad?”

“I don’t ever like this part,” I said.

“On the bright side, you did not let them shoot you.”

“There is that.”

“It always makes me feel rotten, too,” Farrell said. “You realize, it’s okay for a man to feel that way.”

“Thanks, Lee,” I said. “And now I promise not to tell Susan about your outfit.”

42

“YOU WANT ME to come inside with you?” Z said.

I shook my head. I stood with him outside the steps to my apartment. A soft, warm wind shot down Marlborough Street. There was crime scene tape on the edge of the street. The super had replaced the broken glass on the door with plywood. It was still very dark. I had left Jemma upstairs with Pearl.

“I can sit on your place till morning.”

“Not necessary.”

“People will come for you,” Z said.

“Not until I get the talk,” I said. “I’ll wait to hear from Vinnie. He’ll set up a meet with Gino. Gino would want a polite sit-down first.”

“Before he kills you?”

“Being a good bad guy comes with a lot of etiquette.”

“On the rez, someone has problems, they just shoot you.”

“Simpler,” I said. “But less elegant.”

“I’m staying anyway,” Z said. Without another word, he walked toward his car and closed the door. Marlborough contained many dark pockets and long shadows out from the iron streetlamps. I went upstairs and found Jemma cross-legged on the floor. She was rubbing Pearl’s belly. Pearl didn’t seem to notice my entrance. Her tongue lolled from her mouth and her eyes had rolled up in her head.

“I’ll make up the bed with fresh sheets.”

“I can sleep out here,” she said. “On the couch.”

“Against the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“My own.”

“I see,” she said. She stood and walked toward the kitchen. “May I have a drink first?”

I displayed the contents of my modest bar. I offered her an assortment of beer and a half-bottle of Riesling I had kept for Susan. She joined me in some Blanton’s, served neat. I drank half and started work on the sheets in the bedroom. I changed out the pillowcases and turned off the overhead light. An old brass lamp on an end table created a nice homey glow.

I looked out the window. Z’s Mustang was still parked on the street.

“There are plenty of towels and soap in the bathroom,” I said.

“I would very much like to shower,” she said. She helped herself to another bourbon. I continued to stand while she sat perched on a bar stool.

I got an extra pillow and an old quilt from my linen closet. I could hear the shower running as I turned on the television to see if the shooting made the replay of the late news. It was not easy sharing the couch with Pearl. She liked to stretch out. But her soft breathing and groans made me tired. The adrenaline finally began leaving my system. I turned off the television and then the light.

I heard the shower stop.

My eyes were closed, ears still ringing from gunshots, when she padded into the room. Being vigilant, I opened my eyes. She was in the kitchen, wrapped in only a navy blue towel as she poured out more bourbon. Her body was as taut and impressive as Z and I had surmised. Her wet hair had been combed straight down her back. She took a sip of booze, eyes closed and throat working. She noted my staring and inched toward me. She looked younger without the makeup. The soft, natural droop of her breasts was noticeable as she clutched her towel with one hand, the bourbon in the other.

“Spenser.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But Pearl might get lonely.”

“We can both sleep in the bed,” she said. She sat on my coffee table. “There is no harm in that. I promise not to bother you.”

“You might give in to my raw Irish magnetism,” I said. “Plus, I snore.”

She drank some more and wiped her mouth. She smelled of Susan’s good soap and shampoo. The little light in the room came from a crack by the bedroom door. Pearl turned and huffed in her sleep. Jemma was doing a very poor job holding on to the towel. Her chest and shoulders were very freckled. Her legs were muscular and smooth.

“I can’t stand to think of a man your size sleeping out here.”

“I’ve slept in worse.”

She was quiet for a while. A few cars passed out on Marlborough. I heard a siren from far away and the laughter of people walking under my window. She touched my hand.

“I can’t stop thinking about tonight,” she said. “The way the man looked, bleeding out on the street.”

“Have another,” I said. “And you’ll stop thinking about everything.”

“I’m quite scared.”

I opened my eyes. “You could tell me what happened to Rick,” I said. “What don’t I know?”

She took a breath. Waited a beat. “It’s quite complicated.”

“I think I can handle it.”

She put down her glass and dropped her forehead into her right hand for support. Her towel dropped even more. I began to try to recall the roster of the ’69 Red Sox.

She reached out and squeezed my fingers.

“Rick double-crossed some very important people.”

“Okay.”

“He let me run so much, but then would keep me in the dark about so much else.”

I waited. I did not want to blurt out “Who’s getting the slush fund?” if she was about to point to the maid or Colonel Mustard in the kitchen.

“He had made friends at the State House,” she said. She stood up and padded back to the kitchen. She poured out more bourbon. After I scraped her off the floor in the morning, I would have to restock.

“This person, whoever it was, is how we got the gaming initiative passed,” she said. “And they were to work out details with the local Mob.”

“For a tribute?”

“More like a percentage.”

“Who would know the name of the politician?”

“Rick.”

I placed both hands behind my head. I looked up at the ceiling in contemplation. Jemma walked back and sat down. As she moved, one of her breasts was exposed. I do not think she noticed, or perhaps she did not care.

“What about personal papers, computer files, messages? What does Rachel know?”

She kept shaking her head. “Something of that importance was known only to Rick,” she said. She steadied her drinking elbow on her knee and took a sip. “Please come to bed.”

“Alas, my heart belongs to another.”

“I don’t want your heart.” Her accent had slipped a bit.

Carlton Fisk, Carl Yastrzemski, Sparky Lyle.

“You think he was killed because of this politician?” I said.

“Good God,” she said. “Can we discuss this later?”

I sat up from the couch and placed my bare feet on the floor. I massaged my temples. Pearl did not stir.

“Have you ever heard him say the name Gino Fish?”

“No,” she said. “I would definitely remember that name.”

“Can you help me find the politician?”

She shrugged. She looked at me for a long moment and smiled. Then she tucked her wet hair behind her ears and stood. She looked down at me with a sneer just in time to trip over a footstool. She thudded in a heap, naked and sprawled on an antique rag rug. I did my best covering her in the damp towel and dropped her in my bedroom. I turned off the table light and walked back to the couch.

Tony Conigliaro, Rico Petrocelli, Reggie Smith.

43

BRIGHT AND EARLY the next morning, Vinnie Morris walked into my office and took a seat in my client chair. Z was on the couch, with Pearl’s head resting in his lap. We were drinking coffee and discussing the night’s events. Although Vinnie had not called, the visit was not unexpected.