Spenser for hire: What are friends for?
By Antti Luode
[The story breaks the Robert B. Parker storyline by establishing the mother of Spenser as someone who is still alive and making his father a cop who died while on duty.]
Me and Susan were following the route of Henry Knox, just backwards,
to my mothers place in Berkshires. But instead of ox drawn sleds pulling cannons we were driving on my 1965 Mustang through what seemed to be a ticker tape parade made of leaves.
"It is so beautiful", Susan said to me, smiling happily and drinking the double espresso we had bought from Starbucks a while back.
"Sometimes I wonder why I ever left to Boston..", I said and changed gears as the engine roared and the mustang shot forward, leaves flying in our wake.
When I finally pulled onto the driveway of my mothers,
the moon had risen and the ground was covered by rustling hardwood tree leaves waiting for the first snow.
"It is so beautiful Spenser", Susan said, watching the early nineteen hundreds brick mansion that I had grown in.
"That it is, that it is..", I said and got up to open a door for her.
That night we went to sleep in my room that looked just like I had left it 20 years before.
"I did not know you liked Terminator", Susan said and laughed as she was watching at the poster for Terminator 2.
"What can I say?, I did not start reading until I went to college.", I said and pulled the sheets over us.
Thanksgiving was on Friday, we ended up finishing the meal on the porch,
with a bottle of wine and crecent moon shining above the lake like silver dollar someone had taken a bite out of.
"I am stuffed.", I said as my mother was offering me some leftovers.
"If I eat another bite, I am going to burst", Susan declined the offer too.
It was time to go to bed.
The next morning I was cooking eggs and bacon as Susan got up.
"Wake up sleepyhead, Ive got a whole day planned for us.", I said.
"Unless if you have other ideas of course.", winking.
"No, I would like to see where you grew up!" Susan said and started tickling me. I tickled her back.
We ended up at the Gordon park where I used to play baseball with my friends every chance we got. Susan was throwing balls at me and I was swinging the bat like I had not been playing for 20 years.
"Man I am Rusty", I said as I missed again and again.
"Yo Spenser!", a voice rang from behind me.
I could see Susan watching the man with keen interest as I turned.
It was Walt Johnson.
Walt was a big black guy whom I used to go to school with from elementary to high school. Somehow we had always been on the same classes and shared just about everything, until I joined the army and Walt stayed behind.
"Walt, my man, how have you been", I was screaming a big smile on my face as he ran to me and we hugged like two long lost brothers.
"Who is the lady Spenser?", Walt asked, looking at Susan.
"Susan Silverman, my long time girlfriend, Susan meet, Walt Johnson, my friend from elementary to high school", I introduced Susan to Walt as the two shook hands.
Short while later we were sharing the picnic basket with Walt who was telling stories about me in high school.
"You really caught yourself a prize Susan", Walt was saying, looking at me.
"Spenser here was the homecoming king, captain of the football team,
straight a student and now.."
"A private detective", I said matter of factly.
"How did that happen?", Walt asked, "I mean, I know you joined the army,
went to college and joined police school, my mother told me that much,
but why did you not follow your fathers footprints?", Walt asked, his hand on my shoulder.
"And stay a cop? Well, lets just say, it was not what I imagined it would be.
I thought being a private detective would suit my personality better."
That Saturday we played baseball as Susan was watching us, like two overgrown kids, reminiscing about people I thought I had long since forgotten.
"Did not you used to hang with that guy Tim Anderson? What ever happened to him?" I asked Walt.
Just as soon as I said so, Walt turned serious and the magic was gone.
"Tim went to Prison Spenser.", Walt said with a sigh and threw the ball at me one more time before storming off the field to the fog of past where he had emerged from just few short hours before.
"What did I say. Walt what did I say?", I screamed behind him as Susan was watching me with a sad look on her face.
Back at my mothers we were still talking about Walt when my mother dropped a bomb.
"You know Spenser he went to prison with Tim", my mother said and inhaled deep from a cigarette.
"What?!", I said, feeling like I had been kicked in my stomach.
"What did he do?", I said..
"They robbed armored vehicle..", my mother said with sad world weary look on her face.
That Sunday when we were headed back to Boston we hit some slow traffic in Westfield. People were honking their horns until they saw the police guiding the traffic.
We crept slowly past a bank where a armored truck was cordoned off by a yellow tape. Lying next to the armored truck was a security guard, with a bullet hole in his head.
"Susan, I have to check out what is happening", I said to Susan, afraid that my old friend had gone too far..
Lieutenant Michael Thomson listened to my suspicion with a stone cold expression on his face.
"Why would you tell us about your friend? Mr?", he said trying to figure me out.
"Spencer, Edmund spencer, I am private detective from Boston.", I said and showed him my badge.
"Lets just say that if he shot that guy, he is no the person I once used to know.",
I said, while dialing Lieutenant Marty Quark of Boston PD, to confirm that I am not the bad guy Lieutenant Thomson seemed to think I am.
Monday morning I woke up alone in a motel in Westfield. Susan had rented a car and driven back to Boston. I on the other hand was following a hunch.
The armored car had been robbed at the best time possible. The robbers had stolen 400 000 dollars and untraceable t bonds worth 5 million dollars.
Some might call that a co incidence, but I sure as hell did not.
I made a date with a loan officer.
The bank was your standard FDIC insured office with fancy location at a central Westfield. What I was looking for was someone who was nervous. Very nervous.
I was greeted by a blonde twenty something clerk who led me through the backroom to a office with a green plant, computer and a fancy desk.
I was told to sit down and wait.
"Mr Spenser?", I heard a female voice say to me as I turned to see a brunette with blonde highlights.
"Katrina Williams", she said with a smile as we shook hands.
"Edmund Spenser", I said and shook her hand back.
I got along with Katrina just fine and before I knew I was talking with her about the robbery. I was asking her probing questions about people being nervous when she gave me a gold nugget.
It seemed that the vice president of the bank had not been the same after the robbery. And Katrina did not understand why he was so nervous..
I had my suspicions..
-
Mr Nichols lived in what was probably the fanciest mansion of Westfield.
From immaculate gardens surrounding it, to the Mercedes Benz SL 500 the place stunk of money.
I rang the doorbell.
Mr Nichols answered. He was a lean man in his late thirties, wearing a expensive polo shirt, fashionably graying or using "touch of gray"
to seem more distinguished.
Which, I could not tell.
"State your business", Mr Nichols said, not very happy to see me. Standing in the doorway, clearly nervous.
"Mr Nichols, my name is Edmund Spenser, I think you know my friend Walt Johnson.",
I said as his face went pale.
"Can I come in?", I asked.
Suddenly Mr Nichols was jerked back by a unseen person hiding behind the door and a familiar face appeared on the doorway, pointing a gun on my face.
"Sure, come on in Spenser.", Walt said. "But keep those hands up"
"What a friend you are, a real knight in a shining armor.", Walt was spitting on my face as I laid on the ground, and he was kicking the gun away from me.
"Walt, I do not know who you are anymore.", I said as I was looking at the foyer with a marble stairway leading up, a big crystal chandelier hanging above and walls covered with expensive looking paintings.
"So you and Mr Nichols planned this all together?", I said looking at Walt,
Mr Nichols standing on his side, looking nervous as hell.
"No, I planned it all.", another voice said, I looked up to the direction of the voice at the top of the stairway and saw another familiar face.
It was Tim Anderson. It seems Walt and Tim were stuck reliving their past.
Not long after Hawk had seen Spenser disappear into the mansion he had gotten out of his white BMW Z4 and moved to the backdoor of the house.
"Spenser, you do not pay me enough for this shit.", Hawk said as he picked the lock and moved into the house, holding up his long barreled Colt Python .357 magnum.
"I am going to kill you Spenser.", Tim Anderson said as he was walking down the stairway with a shit eating grin.
"What the hell did I do?", I asked from Tim, playing innocent.
"What did you not do? You had everything Spenser! You grew up in that mansion of yours while we grew up in the trailer park, you went to college while we went to prison. I spit on your kind Spenser!", Tim said and spat on the floor.
"My father died working for that house Tim and just for your information,
I am not exactly the richest man in Boston, hell, I can barely pay my rent and down payments for my Mustang.", I said, trying to play time,
knowing Hawk was on his way.
"Save your sad story for someone else Spenser, I am not going back to Prison!", Tim screamed and pulled back the hammer as a shot rang out.
Tim fell to the floor stone cold dead.
I turned to see Walt holding a gun, clearly distraught.
"Spenser, what the hell do I do now?", Walt said.
"You could start by dropping your piece brother", Hawk said pointing .357 at his head.
Back in Boston, I was finishing the story to Lt Quirk and Sgt Belson.
"I gotta say I feel bad for Walt", I said as I was drinking coffee from a paper cup.
"Well, since he saved you and he did not kill that armored car driver,
he might get out before retirement age.", Frank Belson said and bit into a big chocolate muffin, crumbs falling on his shirt.
"Spenser, if you had not done what you had, he probably would have ended up shot, sooner or later. So who knows, maybe you ended up saving his life.", Marty Quirk said, watching at Frank wiping his chocolate stained hands on his white shirt.
"Yeah, what are friends for?", I said with a ironic tone as marty signalled our speech was over with a sharp, "get that muffin out of here", aimed at Frank Belson.
Looking up from the muffin Frank said, "What did I do?"
I could not help but laugh.