"Sure," Rita grinned. "In moments of despondency between marriages, I did him a couple of favors."

"That is despondent," I said.

"I know," she said. "I know, but the pompous little bastard is quite surprisingly good in bed."

"If you say so."

"Want me to speak to Phil?"

"Does it mean you'll have to schtup him again?" I said.

"No. It only means I'll have to let him think I will."

"Good," I said. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for a criminal act."

"Oh, come on," Rita said. "He's not that bad."

"So you say."

"Let me know," Rita said, "if you want Phil to have Parisi collared."

I thought about it for a little while and then I nodded.

"Go ahead," I said. "Have them grab Parisi."

"Good as done," Rita said.

"And thanks for helping," I said.

Rita grinned.

"You hate help, don't you?"

"Hate it," I said.

"I do too," Rita said. "Somebody's helping you and you have to take time off to listen to them and pretend you think their ideas are great and come up with an answer that makes them feel good, which is all time wasted when you could be thinking about the problem better than they can."

"And when the idea is in fact great…" I said.

"Even worse," Rita said.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," I said. "I got to think long thoughts about your chest."

"Just because I stuck it out a little?" Rita said.

"Yeah."

"Then I must stick it out more often."

"Please do," I said.

"You have a plan," Rita said.

"For your chest?"

"No, for Parisi and Trooper Miller."

"I think so," I said.

"You want to tell me?"

"No," I said. "Just have Parisi picked up and be sure Miller knows it. And that he knows it's got something to do with me."

"And your plans for my chest?" Rita said.

I grinned at her.

"It's a place to start," I said.

"Promises, promises," Rita said and signaled for the check.

Chapter 31

THEY PICKED PARISI Up in Medford the next morning, and Miller was in to see me that afternoon. The office door was open, in case there was an impulse buyer wandering the corridor, and I was reading Calvin and Hobbes for the second time because I had heard that the strip was going to end, and I was trying to store up.

Miller came in and closed the door hard behind him. He walked across the room and stopped in front of me and stood looking down at me with a dead-eyed stare that was supposed to make me hide under my desk. I gave him a wide, friendly, open faced smile entirely suitable to the approaching holiday season. We did that for a while.

Finally Miller said, "On your feet, asshole."

I looked around the office. "Asshole?"

Miller jerked his thumb in a stand-up gesture.

"Surely you've mistaken me for someone else," I said.

"You want me to run you for refusing a lawful order, pal? On your fucking feet."

"Tommy, you wouldn't know a lawful order if it came by and lapped your hand," I said. "Sit down. We'll talk."

He came around the desk quicker than I thought he could move. I put up one foot and aimed for his groin, but he turned on me and caught it on his hip. He got hold of my foot and yanked me out of the chair. In someone less graceful than myself it might have been sort of ignominious. I kicked at him with my other foot and got free and rolled as he tried to stomp me and got my feet under me and came up and dug a left into his solar plexus. He grunted and made the cop move at my hair, but my hair was too short to get hold of. A perfect blend of beauty and function. I butted him on the chin. That was supposed to put him down. It didn't. Maybe Tommy was nearly as tough as he thought he was. He kept coming, and his bulk drove me back against the wall of my office. I kept my chin buried in his shoulder and my body pressed up against his so he couldn't get much of a shot at me. All he could punch was my ribs and back. He was a clumsy puncher, but his hands were heavy. I braced against the wall, got my hands against his chest, and heaved him away from me. As he staggered back, I nailed him on the cheekbone with a straight left and followed it with a hell of a right hook, and it put him down. But he didn't stay, he lunged up with his head down, and tried to tackle me. It's a dumb thing to do. I kneed him in the face and hammered him on the back of the head with the side of my right fist, and he went down on his hands and knees and stayed that way for a minute, his head hanging. My knee had probably broken his nose.

There was blood dripping onto the floor. But he didn't stay that way. Slowly he climbed to his feet. When he was upright, he tried to gather his balance around him, looking at me dully, swaying a little. Then he fumbled for his gun. I let him get it out of the holster and then stepped in and took it away from him. He was half out, and his movements were slow motion. I stuck the gun in my belt and got hold of his lapels and shoved him backwards into one of my client chairs and sat him down. As he went down he took a feeble right-handed swipe at my head. I hunched up and caught it on the left shoulder. And then he was in the chair and I stepped away from him. He sat blankly, the blood running down his face and onto his shirt. I went to the wash basin and got my Holiday Inn towel and soaked it in cold water and wrung it out and went back and put it in his hand.

"Hold that on your nose," I said.

Miller sat motionless with the towel in his hand and stared at me. His jaw was slack, his mouth was half open. I took the towel from his hand and put it against his nose gently and took his hand and placed it on the towel.

"Hold it," I said.

He had no reaction, but he held the towel. I went back around my desk and sat. And waited. In another minute or two he began to come around. His eyes began to move and he closed his mouth. He shifted the towel a little. Finally his eyes appeared to register me.

"My fucking nose is broke," he said.

"You'll need to go have somebody set it and pack it," I said.

"You ever break your nose?"

"About eight times," I said.

"Bleeds like a bastard."

"Un huh."

We sat some more.

"You are a tough sonova bitch," Miller said.

"Un huh."

Miller got up and went to the sink and rinsed the towel and wrung it out and reapplied it. Then he came back and sat down. He wasn't moving very briskly.

"I know you had Parisi send out some bone breakers to run me off the Ellis Alves case," I said.

"Yeah?" Miller said.

"And I know that Alves didn't do that coed in Pemberton."

"You do, huh?"

"I do, and I'm pretty sure your days of giving lawful orders are over."

"You think so," Miller said.

But there wasn't much force in his voice.

"The question is whether Healy fires you and lets it go at that, or whether you do jail time."

Miller had restabilized enough to show some alarm.

"You talked with Healy already?" he said.

"Not yet."

"You think you can prove any of this?"

"I can prove it to Healy," I said.

"Parisi won't testify," he said.