One by One

by Stan Kay

This story is about Spenser of the Robert B. Parker novels, not the TV Spenser (even if they're supposed to be the same). The mob bosses are fed up with interference from Spenser. It's payback time. Little did they know that they'd be starting an all-out mob war in Boston.

ONE by ONE

by

Stan Kay

A Novel of Robert B. Parker's Spenser

As one by one withdraw the lofty actors

From that great play on history's stage eterne,—

Walt Whitman

Chapter 1

Vinnie Morris was a nice guy—he really was.

He was the quiet sort. Didn't say much. Never gave you an argument. He pretty much

kept to himself. He was a man of few words, and a lot of them bordered on the profane. But he could be a gentleman should the need arise.

I'd known Vinnie for several years. Even during my days as a police officer. I guess Vinnie could be regarded lately as an independent contractor. I needed to hire him every once in a while, depending on the type of job I got stuck with, or when I ran across a disgruntled client. He never failed to do the job, always with precision results.

Yeah, he really was a nice guy. Vinnie had only one minor, insignificant indiscretion—he killed people for a living.

Now, just so we understand each other, when Vinnie had worked for me he had never "assassinated" or "executed" anyone, except in self defense or in defense of others. He knew where I stood on that subject. He had worked with and for mobsters like Joe Broz and Gino Fish for years. What he did on his own, I didn't want to know, although I had a good idea. I used to borrow him from time to time, depending on the job. He was just extremely good at what he did. Most of the jobs he ended up doing only involved information gathering or witness protection. Very boring for Vinnie, but it paid the bills.

Some people were born with talent. Others had to really work at it and still ended up only mediocre. Vinnie was born with a gun in his hand. Shooting came totally natural to him, and he was completely insensitive to recoil. His body just responded accordingly. Vinnie shot magnum loads out of a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun the way I shot a pellet gun. It was scary.

At the moment, I was strolling through the food court at Cedar Falls Shopping Center in suburban Boston. The mall was your typical two-story affair with the open atrium and skylights, and the second floor surrounded with aluminum railing. There were up-and-down escalators at both ends. The food court was at the far east end.

I was waiting to talk with a man by the name of George Hogan. He insisted on meeting with me to clear up a few misunderstandings.

I had been working for George's wife Ellen, who hired me to look into some of George's "antics." And I managed to find proof of several of them.

During one of their usual heated arguments, Ellen apparently spilled the beans, and not only told George that she hired a private detective, but identified me by name.

Last Wednesday morning around nine-ish, the coffee was done brewing, and I was seated at my desk with my feet up, a hot cup in one hand and one of my favorite donuts in the other.

Just as I was about to take that first, delicious bite, I heard a light rapping on my office door.

"Come in. The door's unlocked," I called out.

No response, and then another light rapping.

I figured that maybe there was some little old lady out there who was hard of hearing. So I yelled a lot louder.

"Come in, come in. Don't be shy."

Still no response. Okay, so she was totally deaf.

I reluctantly put down my coffee and donut, got to my feet, and made my way to the door.

I turned the knob, swung the door open, and got smacked in the forehead by a huge fist. I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

While lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with my head spinning, I saw George Hogan standing over me and growling, "If you ever go near my wife again, I'll kill you."

George was a big guy, probably six-three, 250 pounds, gruff, bald with some gray on the sides. He was wearing a black suit and tie with a beige overcoat.

He grunted, then plodded back out through the doorway and down the hall. He didn't even have the decency to close the door.

George left a message on my answering machine the next morning, apologizing. Ellen left him and he wanted to talk. He said to meet him at the food court in the mall Friday afternoon.

So, anyway, I didn't like this at all, but there I was. But not alone. Hawk was on the first floor with me, but towards the middle of the mall about a hundred feet west. Vinnie was on the second floor, somewhere.

We were trying to spot George. He didn't say exactly when he was going to show up. Hawk and I were just strolling around, pretending to search for stores and bargains, and occasionally enjoying a glance at the pretty girls.

What happened next only took a few seconds but felt like several minutes.

I was standing under the second-floor overhang, looking across the mall and up at the second floor. Through the railing, I finally spotted Vinnie about thirty feet to the right. He was casually standing in front of a jewelry store, pretending to window shop. He was wearing his usual sport coat, slacks, and loafers. He also had his faithful iPod with him, wearing the ear buds, and bobbing his head to his favorite Doo Wop music.

Still looking up, I turned my head to the left, just in time to see George Hogan throw both arms over the railing, with both hands gripping a revolver, which I later found out was a .357 snubnose.

Using the railing as a rest, Hogan pointed the gun right at my chest and was in the process of pulling the trigger. I didn't even have time to go for my gun, let alone draw it.

There was a loud bang and I expected the slam of the bullet. Instead, the left side of Hogan's head exploded like a watermelon being hit by a cannon. People were screaming and running everywhere. After a second of shock passed, I glanced back at Vinnie. He was still bobbing his head and window shopping. I saw him very discretely readjust his sport coat after reholstering his compact .45 auto.

I looked back at Hogan. He was draped over the railing like a wet beach towel, blood and pieces of brain all over the place. The revolver was lying on the floor below him.

After hours of police investigation, forensics, and story-telling, we regrouped in the parking lot.

To Vinnie, I said, "Thanks. I owe you one."

Vinnie just smiled and said, "You owe me several."

"You're right. I do."

Oh well, how do they say it: "Just another day at the office"?

Chapter 2

Susan and I just finished breakfast, and I was loading the dishwasher. Pearl the Wonder

Dog was still in the bedroom, lounging on the bed and anxiously waiting for our return. I wish.

I had related the entire sequence of events from yesterday to Susan over our omelets, toast, and coffee.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

"I'm a lot better off than George Hogan is."

"Don't you think Vinnie used a little bit of excessive force?"

I sighed. "I really hate to tell Vinnie how to operate. Especially when he just saved my life. Did it necessitate using a 230 grain, 45 ACP +P, rapidly-expanding hollowpoint, going around a thousand feet a second? It's hard to say. But if he had used something less destructive and only injured Hogan, I would probably be dead right now. You do need something that's going to create instant incapacitation. It's a tough call."

We finished cleaning up the kitchen, and Susan headed for the bedroom to get dressed. I was just about to step into the bathroom when my cell on the kitchen counter rang.

"Yeah…great…shit…never a dull moment…okay, keep me in the loop."

Susan stuck her head out the bedroom doorway. "That was an informative conversation. Now what?"

"That was Martin Quirk. They found Ellen Hogan's body about an hour ago. She was lying on her bedroom floor with a bullet through her head. They found a .357 slug in the bedroom wall, probably from George's revolver. She was apparently packing her bags. The coroner said she died Friday morning, a couple hours before George went to the mall. There goes my paycheck."

"The bastard got what he deserved," Susan spat out.

"Easy, easy. That's not like you."

"I know. I know. It just pisses me off. Why didn't he just leave?"

I shrugged. "Just human nature, I guess. The most intelligent creature on earth can be the most illogical at times. It really didn't make sense. Why try to kill me? Was he blaming me because he and his wife couldn't get along? He was the one who destroyed his marriage with his 'antics.' They always tried to blame someone else."

No, it didn't make sense.

Chapter 3

Okay, let's try this again. It was Monday morning, at exactly 7:00. I managed to get in early to finish up paperwork about our unfortunate incident for Martin Quirk, who headed the homicide division down at headquarters. He should be showing up shortly, or so he said.

Once again, I was sitting at my desk with my feet up. I had a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee in my right hand and a cake donut with chocolate icing and sprinkles on it in my left. Just as I was ready to take that first bite, I heard a rap on the door.

No, God, this can't be happening again. Please.

Just as I lay down my coffee and donut, the door swung open and Hawk strolled through the door.

"Hey, Boss, what's up?" he shouted.

"First of all, you never knock. What's that all about? And second, aren't you supposed to be in Baltimore on a job?"

Hawk strolled over to the coffee maker and poured a cup.

"First of all, I wanted to make a respectable entrance in case you were in here with an important client—we being proooofessionals an' all."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"And secondly, the job got canceled. They found the guy dead before I ever got on the plane. So I thought maybe I should stop by and let you know I available in case another job comes up."

Hawk then walked over to my desk, grabbed MY donut with MY sprinkles on it, and stuffed it in his mouth, half of it disappearing instantly.

"That was my…never mind."

He smiled his shit-eatin' grin as he chewed up MY donut.

"Say what?"

He then sat in the client chair with his legs spread out, sipping his coffee. Just as I was reaching into the donut bag to try again, Quirk staggered through the door and immediately headed for the coffee maker. He had a really tired, grumpy look on his face.

"We got a problem," he blurted out. He then walked over to my desk, pulled a donut out of the bag, and started chomping on it as he walked to the couch. He sat at the far end and continued to eat the donut and sip his coffee.

Just then, Vinnie walked through the door, closed it, and sat on the other end of the couch, not saying a word. No coffee. No donut. At least I had two left for me. He pulled out his iPod and ear buds, and started listening to music.

"Maybe you gonna need more chairs in here," Hawk said.

"This is starting to look like the stateroom scene in that one Marx Brothers film," I said.

To Quirk, I said, "You mentioned a problem?"

"Yea," he said. "Hogan didn't do his wife."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Ballistics went over it three times. It's a .357 all right. But it's not from Hogan's. Striations don't match, and it's probably from a longer barrel."

Shit. Loose ends. I hated loose ends. This wasn't making any sense. This REALLY wasn't making any sense. So Hogan tried to kill me because he thought I killed his wife? Why would I kill his wife?

Quirk slowly got up from the couch and headed toward my desk. He was ready to reach into the donut bag again when a shotgun blast tore through my office door, swiped Quirk's upper left arm, shredding away a large patch of sport coat, shirt, skin, and probably a hunk of muscle. The blast spun him around and he twisted to the floor, yelping in pain, coffee and blood flying everywhere. Hawk and I immediately dove behind my desk and flattened to the floor on our stomachs. Vinnie jumped from the couch and threw himself partially on top of Quirk and pancaked out as much as possible.

Two more blasts in quick succession made two more craters in my door and peppered the opposite wall, shattering the glass and frame holding my PI license. A shower of glass splashed across the room.

Okay, now Hawk was totally pissed off. He did not like being shot at. In an instant he went from being flat on his belly to a one-knee shooting stance, with his left foot and his right knee on the floor. His arms were extended forward and he gripped his huge .44 magnum revolver. He pumped three quick rounds right through the door, the sound so loud it made your teeth rattle.

We heard a cry in the hall and the sound of the shotgun clattering on the floor. Then we heard the thump of a body and footsteps running away. There must have been maybe three of them.

After about ten seconds of silence, Vinnie crawled to the door and peeked through one of the craters. He then looked over at Hawk.

"I think you made your point. The coast is clear."

Vinnie then jumped up, pulled his sport coat off, ripped his dress shirt off, and holding a cuff in each hand, twirled the shirt around to form a quick bandage and sling. He helped Quirk take off his sport coat and started wrapping Quirk's arm while I dialed 911.

Hawk headed for the door (what was left of it) to check the hall. When I got done on the phone, I joined him. A nickel-plated 12-gauge was lying beside a hefty Hispanic-looking guy I didn't recognize.

"Ever see him before?" I asked Hawk.

"Nope. Don't know da man."

One of Hawk's rounds hit the guy in the left upper chest, another grazed the skull, and the other ripped half the guy's neck out. Not a pretty sight.

"Somebody out there don't like you,' Hawk said.

"I'm starting to get that feeling."

I'm not one to scare easily. I've been around too long and been through too much. But I usually have some idea of where a threat is coming from. This one had me worried.

I didn't like it.

Chapter 4

Martin Quirk called me late in the afternoon. He said that his arm was okay, although the shotgun did take a hunk a meat out of him. He also said that he'd put a plainclothes cop on Susan's house on Linnaean Street per my request, and assigned another plainclothes to my pad on Marlborough Street as well, in case our unknown "friends" decided to make an appearance. Although I would probably be spending the night here at Susan's. She just didn't know it yet.

Susan had some early evening appointments, so I decided that we'd just eat in. Shrinks didn't just work 9 to 5 either. I'd whip up something for dinner. I gave Pearl a couple of dog biscuits and locked her in the bedroom for now. It'd give me time to think. Think about how I was going to explain this to Susan. Until I could figure out what was going on, she might have to leave town. I know she was not going to understand and be totally mad and scared. I wasn't sure how to play this. Somebody was trying to kill me, and I didn't know who or why. I've certainly pissed off a lot of people in my time. It came with the territory. Some were dead, some were in jail, some had turned their lives around, and some others had simply fallen off the radar.

I was staring down at a fresh, twelve-ounce filet of salmon. I rubbed it down with some extra virgin olive oil and cut it in half. I decided to sprinkle it with some lemon pepper.

This seemed too well organized to be some off-the-wall nut case. What was the connection between George Hogan and the guys who gutted my office? Were they the ones who did Ellen Hogan?

I let the salmon sit and started shredding zucchini. Eventually, I'd mix the zucchini with flour, chopped chives (fresh, of course), an egg, and some garlic. Perhaps a little canola oil. Then I'd divvy it up into small pancakes on the griddle. I'd do the salmon on the Jen-Air grill built into the stove. My mouth was already watering.

But what to do with Susan. It wasn't fair to her, either. I needed to get her out of harm's way. I could have Hawk and/or Vinnie keep an around-the-clock on her. I needed more information. Maybe I'd stop by and talk to Martin Quirk tomorrow morning.

The salmon was grilling and the zucchini pancakes were ready to flip. I pulled a pre-chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the fridge, popped the cork, and placed it in an ice bucket. Then I pulled a bag of ice out of the freezer and filled the bucket around the wine bottle. I placed the bucket on the dinner table and started lighting candles just as Susan walked through the door. Perfect timing.

"How nice," she said, with that big, beautiful smile on her face. She wore her usual, conservative work outfit—a light gray jacket and knee-length skirt, a simple, white blouse, and a single string of pearls. On her feet, plain black pumps. I could see her mind working. "What's the occasion? No birthdays. No anniversaries."

"Have a seat and enjoy," I said, as I started turning the pancakes. "Any second now."

I walked over to the table as she was sitting down and grabbed a quick kiss.

"Okay, Spenser. What's going on? This can't have anything to do with sex. We've had orgasmic circuses over a frozen, cardboard pizza, so it can't be that."

"Can't a guy just show off his culinary skills once in a while without getting accused of being a sex fiend? Just relax and enjoy a good meal."

"Okay, I will—for now," Susan said, giggling.

The salmon was super-fresh, so much so that it was almost sweet. The pancakes went perfectly with it.

"So tell me about your day and your crazy clients," I said. Not that I thought anyone that went to therapy was a nut job. For a lot of people, it served a very useful purpose, rearranging priorities and giving them a new perspective. But some people did nothing but create their own problems where there weren't any. They WANTED to have problems. It brought them attention and pity.

I enjoyed watching Susan tell her tales and explain her solutions. Even when I was only half-paying attention, it was a pleasure to watch her expressions and emotions.

"That was superb. Very good. Delicious," Susan said. "Now you tell me about YOUR day."

"In a minute. I'm not through yet."

I proceeded to grab a 2005 cabernet off the wine rack, worked my magic with the corkscrew, and poured out two glasses. I grabbed a bowl of fresh Bing cherries out of the fridge I had washed earlier, and set them on the table. The grand finale was a bar of 90% dark chocolate broken into bite-size pieces. The combination of these three made the ultimate dessert. It didn't get much better than this.

"Okay, this is too much. You're killing me. This is too good. Start talking, Spencer," Susan said in frustration.

I slowly started describing my bizarre day.

"God dammit, Spenser. I knew something was wrong. I knew it."

I knew she knew it. All along. That was the trouble. She could read me like a book. There was no escape.

"I need to protect you until I can find out what's going on. Your house is being watched 24/7 right now. You can either leave town for a little while, or I can have Hawk and Vinnie with you around the clock. I'll leave it up to you, but you need protection."

"I can't just up and leave. I have patients. I have obligations to people," Susan said, exasperated.

"We're going to work this out. I just need more information. I'm going to talk to Quirk tomorrow. We've been through this before, dozens of times. You should be used to it by now," I said.

"You never get used to someone you love being shot at on a daily basis."

"I know. I know."

Oh, boy. Did I know.

Chapter 5

I drove through the afternoon rain, heading to police headquarters for a meeting with Quirk, and thinking about what Susan and I had discussed. We are getting older now and this joyride couldn't last forever. These situations were starting to bother her a lot more than they used to. One of these years, I was going to have to hang up my spurs and put aside this life of potential danger, and move on. To what, I still didn't know. It wasn't just what I did, it was what I am. We knew that. It was the same old "between a rock and a hard place" conversation we've had many times. It was like there was no solution.

I walked into Quirk's office just as he was brushing donut crumbs off of his bright red tie.

"How's the arm?' I asked.

"The bastards ruined a perfectly good sport coat," he grumbled.

"The bastards ruined a perfectly good office," I replied.

"How's that working out?" he asked.

"I got a crew working on it. The door is replaced, and now they're sanding and spackling the wall as we speak. After that, a paint job should make it good as new. What a mess. So, what do you have for me?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. We did a check of everybody released from area prisons in the past couple of months. Your Hispanic friend goes by the name of Victor Sanchez. He got out of Suffolk County about three weeks ago. Armed robbery. Looks like he moved up to mercenary. His first and last job."

"Yea, that didn't work out too well for him," I said. "A .44 magnum doesn't take prisoners."

"I have a list of other guys with the same dubious distinctions, but I can't tie them to this situation. Not yet anyway. I'll make you a copy."

"Appreciate it. I'm headed back to Susan's place. How long can you keep the plainclothes on?" I asked.

"As long as the budget holds out. You know how that goes."

"I hear you. Thanks again." I headed for the door.

Quirk slowly stood up. "Ah…take care. This whole thing smells rotten. I don't like it."

"Take care of that arm," I said.

It smelled rotten, all right. It was like a stench that wouldn't wash off.

I left headquarters, thinking about what Quirk had said, and walked across the street to my car. Just as I was ready to open the driver's-side door, a quick double honk came from the car pulling up behind me. It was Hawk's Jag, with Hawk in the driver's seat and Vinnie in the front passenger seat. I walked back to the Jag, opened the back door next to the sidewalk, and slid in.

"Well, isn't this a cozy reception? Are you guys following me? I certainly hope so," I said.

Hawk glanced in the rearview mirror. "Still keepin' your head down?"

"The way things are going, I'm glad I still have a head."

Vinnie, still staring straight ahead, said, "We need to talk. Let's go for a little ride."

Hawk pulled out into traffic and headed for the Common.

The traffic was pretty heavy for this time of day. The rain had stopped and the clouds were starting to thin. As we crawled around the Common, Vinnie finally opened up.

"I got a call around an hour ago. I don't know who it was from. They offered me a job. The pay is probably what I make in three jobs." He hesitated. Still staring ahead, he said, "They want me to take you out."

Well, it took me a little while to digest that last statement.

"I'm honored to know that I'm worth that much money dead. I didn't know I had it in me."

"You should be proud, Boss," Hawk said, smirking.

"I take it you turned them down," I said. Had Vinnie taken the job, I would have already been dead, period.

"Actually, I told them I'd get back to them, trying maybe, to get a phone number out of them, or any other info. They said they'd call me back tonight, no more stalling, and hung up." A quick grin lit up Vinnie's face. "It was tempting, believe me." The grin disappeared. "But why kill off a steady employer? The problem working for you is, if we as a team arrest or take out all the kingpins and mob bosses, I won't have any work. I actually think that maybe that is what this is all about. All these bosses are tired of you messing with their businesses, jailing all their people or them. It's time to take you out of the equation."

Wow, lots to think about. I don't think I ever heard Vinnie say that many words in a month.

"Hmm, maybe, just maybe, you should take the job. Not really kill me, of course, but we pretend that you did. Somebody is going to have to surface to verify the deed, to pay you off, even indirectly. Of course I'd have to disappear for a while," I explained. "Start a trail of crumbs that lures out whoever is behind this."

Chapter 6

Hawk drove us back to my car, and I headed for Susan's. I stopped at the local Chinese restaurant and made a takeout order. While waiting, I tried to organize in my mind everything Vinnie had said, what we agreed to do, and how we're going to do it.

I got to Susan's and drove around the block, looking for a parking space. I found one at the end of the block, across the street from her house. Susan had a driveway, but we left it open for her clients. I only used it on weekends and most evenings if she didn't have any late sessions. While walking down the block, I noticed one of the plainclothes sitting in a car down at the other end. Quirk had three guys on this working around the clock. He took the guy off of my place on Marlborough. Lately, I was never there anyway. I met the guys earlier, but didn't really know them. This one was munching on a bag of chips when I nodded to him. He nodded back and continued munching.

I entered the house, ran up to the second floor, and knocked on the door. I heard the bolt and chain slide, and Susan swung the door open. She had finished up early today and just had a set of sweats on. She stepped into my arms and kissed me.

"I missed you and worried about you," she said.

I kissed her back and said, "I missed you, too."

"How was your day, or should I ask?"

"I'm okay. I didn't even get shot at today."

She gave me a dirty look that said, "Don't even go there."

Pearl ran up to me, and I patted her head and scratched her behind the ears. Susan had been sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine. She went to sit back down and grabbed her magazine. Pearl jumped on the sofa and laid her head on Susan's lap, at least until I cracked open the bag of Chinese food. Then she was at my side, with her tail continually smacking my left leg.

"Well, we have shrimp and lobster sauce or General Tso's chicken with broccoli. You could have either one or both," I said.

"I'll try a little bit of each. I started a pot of oolong tea about ten minutes ago."

"Good. Let's dig in. I'm starving."

I led Pearl into the bedroom and closed the door. Otherwise we'd have no peace at all.

As we ate, we made small talk, but there was this underlying uneasiness in the air. I knew Susan was worried sick about the whole situation. I desperately wanted to comfort her, but I knew she didn't want me trying to downplay the real danger.

After eating, we cleared away all the boxes and dishes and tea cups.

"Did you make a decision about having Hawk and Vinnie keeping an eye on you?" I asked.

"Actually, I've decided to go away for a while. It's for the best. Hawk and Vinnie need to keep an eye on you, not me. You're the one being shot at. Remember when I graduated from Harvard and went to San Francisco for a while to clear my head and sort of find myself?"

"Yes, I remember that you were seeing another man while you were there. That wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience for me."

"Well, that was a long time ago, and I certainly don't have any other man lined up, waiting for me there."

I nodded. "You're right. It is the best thing to do right now. If it keeps you out of harm's way, it's worth it. But I'm still going to miss the hell out of you."

Tears came to her eyes. I expected it. I loved her so much right then, that I was speechless. Words would just make things worse. Nothing I said would help.

Susan finally said, "I know we've been over this a thousand times, but I'm really, really getting sick of spending our lives in these situations. I don't want to sound like some whiny housewife. Why can't you do nice, boring things like investigating divorces or insurance fraud? I know that's not you, but it would still be nice. I want to grow old with you, but there's a very good chance of that not happening."

I finally managed to get my voice back. "Well Suze, actually, this particular case started out with nothing more than me looking into George Hogan's sexual antics, as Ellen described them. I thought it was just a divorce thing. Now they're both dead and I don't know why. And people are trying to kill me and I don't know why. It started out pretty straightforward and routine, but not anymore."

Susan put her arms around me and laid her head on my chest. We embraced, and we stayed that way for a long time.

Chapter 7

It was Wednesday morning, and I was back in my office. I made a celebratory pot of coffee to go with the box of donuts I brought with me. While the coffee was brewing, I opened the windows behind my desk to get some fresh air and dilute the new paint smell that permeated the room. It was sunny and cool outside-a pleasant start for the day. I also did a little dusting after all the sanding that went on earlier in the week. I bought a new frame for my PI license, but had to wait for the new copy to come in the mail.

Quirk had called me last night and said that he'd stop by with some new information for me. I also had plans to meet Hawk down at the Harbor Health Club for an overdue workout later in the morning.

I unlocked my desk and opened the top, center drawer. I pulled out the .357 Colt Python and checked the cylinder. Still loaded. I set it back in and closed the drawer. The .40 Smith & Wesson compact auto was on my right hip. I had loaded that earlier, at Susan's. And my old trusty .38 snubnose revolver was in my jacket pocket. I hated having all these weapons around. I felt like I was running an armory. But the situation dictated it.

There was a rap on my door and it suddenly cracked partially open. My right hand immediately went for my hip. A huge open black hand appeared, and a deep voice said, "Don't shoot."

Hawk strolled through the door with that enigmatic smile on his face.

"Was that necessary?" I asked. "I thought I was meeting you at the club."

"I got me an early start, and I wanted to hear what Mr. Police had to say."

"Did you ever hear from Vinnie? Because I sure didn't."

Hawk just shook his head, and the smile left his face.

This was bad. Real bad. Either something happened to him or he found out something that required him falling off the radar. All of our plans might have gone out the window.

Hawk grabbed the doorknob and swung the door wide open to the wall. He then grabbed a chair and leaned it against the open door. He sat down, pulled his .44 magnum out of the shoulder holster, and set it in his lap.

"If anybody come off the elevator or hit the top of the stairs and even look suspicious, they gonna have their head removed."

"Just don't shoot Quirk," I said. "He should be here any minute."

Just then the elevator pinged and the door opened. Hawk laid his hand on the huge revolver, then smiled and backed off. Quirk sauntered into the office.

"You weren't going to shoot me, were you?"

Hawk just kept smiling.

"I smell coffee and donuts. Don't try to hide them," Quirk said, smiling.

"Just got done brewing. Dig in," I said.

Quirk poured a cup of coffee, grabbed a donut out of the box, and sat on the couch.

"They did a nice job on the office. Let's not repeat what happened the last time."

"So what'd you find out?" I asked.

"Do you know a PI by the name of Lee Wallace?"

"Does sound familiar. I may have met him once. I think he works on the other side of town, by the naval yard."

"Not anymore. They found his body floating in Fort Point Canal under the Congress Street Bridge."

"Shit," I said.

"And guess who his last client was?" Quirk asked.

"Okay, how about Ellen Hogan?"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. An educated guess. I knew there had to be more to this."

Quirk got up from the sofa and went to grab another cup of coffee. "That's not all," he said. "We looked into George's financials and found all kinds of large deposits and other hidden accounts. According to Wallace's notes, Ellen was trying to find the sources of all the money. She hired you to look into his sex life and Wallace to search his financials. I think Wallace did find the source of at least some of the money. Hence, his death."

"Were you able to identify any of the sources?" I asked.

"No. They must have killed him in the discovery phase. He never got that far. Because Ellen hired both of you, I guess our "friends" think you know at least as much as Wallace did."

"Unfortunately, I don't know a damned thing."

Quirk finished his coffee and donut, and left.

"What now, Boss?" Hawk stood up and holstered the revolver.

"My head hurts. I need to think. Let's head to the club." Maybe I'll sweat some ideas out of all the confusion.

Chapter 8

I was hitting the heavy bag hard, real hard. My taped fists were sore. Sweat was pouring down my back. Hawk was doing his usual warmup on the free weights, bench pressing 250 pounds like he was hanging curtain rods.

We were both keeping an eye on a young lady working out on a rowing machine. Her body was truly magnificent. Wrapped in Spandex. Beautiful long, shapely legs, firm breasts, and long blonde hair hanging down her back in a ponytail. Top it off with a bright pink sweatband. The only drawback was her face. As Dashiel Hammett would say, "She had a nose."

Hawk and I were getting pretty old for this extreme workout, but we liked to stay in some sort of shape. It's good for the mind and the spirit. Not that you needed much muscle these days. The times were indeed a-changin'. People don't muscle you around anymore. They shoot you. They kill you. Even young kids. They kill each other over a pair of sneakers. Guys get into an argument in a bar and start shooting. Whatever happened to a good, old-fashioned, cowboy fistfight?

Henry Cimoli, who owned the club for decades, came over to us with two cold bottled waters.

"You guys are gonna kill yourselves, you keep up that pace."

We both took a break and guzzled the water down.

Henry threw each of us a clean, dry towel. "So, when's Susan leaving? I was going to offer a helping hand, but I guess it's not needed."

"Thanks, Henry. She's got a 5:00 AM flight out Friday morning. I'm going to sneak her out of the house about 2:30 or 3 and head for the airport. No lights. No clues. Quirk's men already know the plan. Just up and leave. Susan was able to reschedule a lot of her patients or pawn them off to some of her colleagues for now."

"I gonna be there, too. For backup," Hawk said. "I'll tail you out to the airport to make sure you ain't bein' followed."

It had been like twelve hours since Vinnie was supposed to get his call. Nothing. Where in hell was he? I wished I could piece this damned thing together. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded.

While I was talking of Susan leaving, I could already feel that emptiness that started to take over my life. It happened whenever she left, but especially those long absences. I didn't know how long it was going to take to clear up this mess. I just wished it would go away and leave us alone. Maybe when this was over, I could just meet her out in San Fran and take a long, deserved vacation. Together.

Chapter 9

Tonight would be the last night I'd be sharing with Susan for a while—at least until we could straighten out this problem I had.

Too many unknowns, too many variables.

It was a cool evening with a light drizzle coming down. I stopped by my apartment on Marlborough Street to pick up a few odds and ends. Then it was over to Susan's to spend some intimate time together. The emptiness I felt inside was already eating me alive.

I pulled onto Susan's block and drove around looking for a parking space. I wasn't sure if she had an evening session or I'd have used the driveway. I also liked to make sure the plainclothes cop was still on the job.

I spotted a space after circling the block, but hadn't yet spotted the plainclothes. I crawled around a second time, checking the parked cars as well as the yard and shrubbery around Susan's house. Nobody. Maybe he was inside checking on something.

After turning the corner, I grabbed a space on a side street. I jumped out of the car and walked quickly down the block towards Susan's, again checking out the cars and landscaping along the way.

After running up the steps, I opened the door and was standing three feet in front of a guy wearing the same kind of trench coat as the plainclothes. He wasn't one of the regulars.

The guy was very nervous. His eyes shifted back and forth. His hands were in his coat pockets, the right-hand bulge a lot bigger than the left.

I stuck out my hand and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Spenser. How ya doing tonight?"

The guy tried to avoid my stare.

"Er…ah…hi, how are ya?"

His right hand came out of the trench coat, gun included.

I immediately stepped inside his space to crowd him and rammed him with my right shoulder, almost knocking him over. Before he could bring it up, I grabbed the gun with my left hand and his wrist with my right.

He snatched a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, almost tearing my scalp off.

I let go of his wrist and slammed my elbow into his Adam's apple as hard as I could.

He quickly let go of the gun and the hair and wrapped his hands around his throat, wheezing and trying to breathe. I really did a job on his trachea.

Then I turned to face him and proceeded to kick a 50-yard punt using his groin as a football. His body immediately folded in half. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out from the pain. I pocketed his revolver and pulled out mine.

"Susan! Susan?"

I ran into the office where Susan saw her clients. Nobody was in the waiting room. I opened the door to the actual study with her desk and the infamous couch that the clients lay on. Again nobody.

"Susan! Susan!"

I ran back to the foyer. The guy was still passed out. I proceeded down the hallway towards the back entrance. The real plainclothes cop was laying there with two holes in his chest. No breathing. No pulse.

"Susan!"

I raced back to the foyer and up the stairs to Susan's apartment. The door was open. The jamb was all splintered where the chain had been. The dead bolt must have been either picked or bump-keyed. I ran through the living room and kitchen to the bedroom. The door was ajar.

"Susan?"

I kicked the door wide open, with my gun up and ready to fire. Nobody. I slowly moved to the far side of the bed and found Pearl lying on her side in a pool of blood.

I softly petted Pearl on the head. She was already getting cold.

"Jesus Christ! No. Not this!"

What have I done? What did I get her into? Who would go this far?

I pulled out my cell phone and called 911. I also left a message for Quirk.

In a rage, I raced back through the apartment and down the stairs. Our intruder was up on his feet with his back against the wall, trying to regain his composure. Trying to control my anger, I spoke slowly and distinctly.

"Where is the lady?"

He replied in a raspy whisper, "I don't know, man."

I proceeded to punch the guy in the nose, hard. Probably breaking it. His head slammed against the wall, and he would have slid to the floor, except that his legs were spread out and locked at the knees.

I stuck the barrel of my revolver into his left nostril.

"Where is the lady?"

Still wheezing, he said, "I really don't know, man. My job was just to distract the plainclothes. That's all."

"I think you did a little more than distract him," I said.

"He got a little too persistent," he rasped, as blood poured out of his nose.

I stuck the barrel farther into his nose.

"You had to have seen something. Heard something."

He smiled, with his teeth covered in blood.

"What are you going to do, shoot me? You're a cop. You ain't allowed to shoot me."

"You just pulled a gun on me, asshole. I could have blown your brains out, and they'd have called it self defense. You may as well talk. You're finished anyway. You already killed a cop."

"I'm not the only one who's finished, man," he said. "You're a dead man walking."

He stopped to catch his breath, then continued, "Rumor has it that they hired some professional, real professional, to take you out. Some spic, some Mexican dude from L.A."

I just stared at him. I knew what was coming. I just didn't want to believe it.

"Some dude by the name of Chollo."

Chapter 10

Good God. Not Chollo. Anybody but Chollo.

I worked with Chollo a few times in the past when I was on the West Coast. We actually got along, even though he worked with mobsters and was a professional assassin. Like the guy said, a real professional, not just another thug with a gun. He's one of the best, if not the best.

I came back to reality to find the intruder still smiling at me. I looked around for something to tie him up with until the cops got here, but found nothing. So I proceeded to punch him in the face, which again, slammed his head against the wall. Then I kicked him in the groin again, which again, caused him to fold up and pass out. This guy wasn't going to be walking straight for a long time.

Two squad cars screeched to a halt out front. Two uniforms jumped out of the first car, and Quirk and Detective Frank Belson jumped out of the second. I was standing on the outside stoop.

I nodded to the two uniforms and pointed to the open door.

"Get that scum out of here."

Quirk came up the steps with Belson behind him.

"What the hell happened here?" Quirk asked.

"They got Susan," I said. "They got her. And that bastard in there killed Sam, the plainclothes. Rear hallway. They also killed Pearl, Susan's dog. Upstairs."

"Jesus. This is really getting out of hand," Quirk said.

To Belson, he said, "We want an APB out immediately. Make sure the airports are covered and notify the State boys."

I took out my wallet and slipped out a picture of Susan. I handed it to Belson. He ran to the squad car and started the search, scanning the picture to all the police departments in the area.

The two uniforms appeared in the doorway standing on either side of the intruder. They half-dragged, half carried him to the squad car.

"Well, you certainly did a job on him," Quirk said.

"Some guys just won't talk," I said. "I should have just wasted him."

"When we get done with him, he'll talk," Belson said, returning from the squad car. "He'll talk or he'll be singing for the Vienna Boys Choir."

Just then, Hawk came tearing around the block and parked in the middle of the street. He ran from the car and up the steps. I explained what happened.

"We gonna find her. We will," Hawk said, with a very determined look on his face.

I then related to everyone what the intruder had said about Chollo.

"Oh man, he's good. He's too good," Hawk said.

Belson cut in. "So you actually know this guy, Chollo? You'd think he'd hesitate killing someone he knew. Someone he worked with."

"He's a real pro," I said. "Once they accept the job, once they're actually on the job, you can't talk to them. You can't reason with them. They will not stop until you're dead."

"Well, we'll just have to kill him first," Hawk said.

"We have to find Vinnie. We have to," I said.

"If he ain't already dead," Hawk said.

"Is this Chollo as good as Vinnie?" Belson asked.

"Vinnie can shoot a flea off a dog's ass without touching the dog. Chollo can shoot the ass off of a flea and leave the rest intact," I replied.

To Hawk, I said, "I need to have a talk with Tony Marcus. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Quirk cut in. "Be very careful, Spenser. I know you're concerned about Susan. So are we. But if you're going to start a vigilante war, I'll have to lock you up. You can't go around killing everybody in Boston until you find her."

"I'll be very diplomatic," I said, smirking.

"Anyway, we need you down at headquarters," Quirk said. "You need to give a written statement about everything that happened here today."

"Yeah, yeah," I said reluctantly.

I pulled Hawk over to the side. "Let me know when Marcus is going to be in his club. Sometime early in the day."

"You want me to set you up with an appointment?"

"No," I said. "Let's arrive unannounced."

"Mr. Police ain't gonna like it."

"Neither will Marcus," I said.

Chapter 11

I woke up with a bottle of Murphy's Irish Whiskey in my arms. The bottle was over half empty. It was the only way I managed to get any sleep. I hadn't slept in days and didn't even know what time it was. I didn't want to know.

I thought I felt empty before, when I thought Susan would be gone to avoid harm. Now I didn't know if she was even alive.

I continued to hug the bottle.

The noise from the living room snapped me out of the daze I was in. Hawk and I decided to stay at my apartment on Marlborough Street. Susan's house was now a crime scene and off limits. I was in my bedroom and Hawk took the couch in the living room.

The smell of coffee hit my nose, and a feeling of alertness as well as a sharp hangover brought me back to life.

There was a rap on the bedroom door. Hawk peeked in.

"You okay in there? The coffee's done brewin'."

"I'll be out in a minute. Thanks, Hawk."

I reluctantly set the bottle on the end table and forced myself out of the bed. I trudged to the adjoining bathroom and scrubbed my hands and splashed my face. Time to rejoin the living.

Hawk was scrambling some eggs and frying a couple strips of bacon. He moved to the coffee maker and poured me a nice, big mug.

"Make you some eggs?" he asked.

"No, no. Can't handle that right now." I welcomed the coffee mug and I went for the ubiquitous box of donuts on the counter. "I'll force a couple of these down, thanks."

After the first mug and a glazed donut, the fog started to lift. "Why did they take her? What do they want?"

Hawk was scraping up his eggs. "Well, they obviously want somethin'. Otherwise, they'd a just killed her. Maybe what Vinnie said be true. Maybe they tired of us messin' with them. Maybe payback."

"Maybe. It just seems like there's a lot more to it. Bringing Chollo into this opens up a whole new can of worms. All I know is, I'm tired of this shit and it's time to take the offense. Did you figure out when Marcus was going to be at the club?"

Hawk finished his meal and grabbed a donut. "Rumor has it, right after lunch."

"Remember the last time they kidnapped Susan? That was a long time ago. I swore that would never happen to her again. I was so wrong."

"We gonna find her. Don't let it eat you. We got work to do."

"Yes, we do."

Chapter 12

It was early afternoon. Cool and cloudy, but no rain.

We were in Hawk's Jag when we pulled up to the curb next to Tony Marcus' club. We got out and checked the street, which was pretty empty this time of day.

There were three teenagers standing outside a tobacco shop down and across the street. They were too busy goofing off to pay us any attention.

Hawk opened the trunk of the Jag and pulled out a shotgun, laying it along side his right leg to make it less obvious.

We walked into the club and closed the door behind us.

Hawk raised the shotgun, an old 12-gauge Mossberg, into shooting position. I pulled the .40 Smith and Wesson off my hip and raised it, ready to fire. The entrance and table area were dark, but the bar was dimly lit. Mood lighting. We slowly approached the bar.

There were two old black men at the bar nursing their drinks and carrying on a muted conversation. When they saw us, they slowly stood up, raised their hands, and sidled along the bar towards the door.

"Please close the door when you leave," I said, smiling.

They did.

The bartender had been busy behind the bar, washing out glasses, when he noticed the motion of the old men and then us.

"Show me your hands," Hawk yelled, as he pointed the old Mossberg at him.

At the same time, one of Marcus' bodyguards came running down the back hallway, firing two shots at us. One of the shots whistled past my left ear. Damn. The other skinned Hawk's raised elbow, which immediately began bleeding through his jacket.

He never flinched.

I fired two quick shots at the bodyguard, hitting him in the chest and the gut. He spun half around, falling against the hallway wall and sliding down, landing on his rear.

Hawk never took his eyes off the bartender, who in the commotion, grabbed a long-barreled revolver from behind the bar. As soon as the gun appeared over the lip of the bar, Hawk fired.

The bartender's face exploded into a mist of blood. He crashed up against the back mirror with all the booze bottles lined up along it. The whole works went crashing to the floor.

We proceeded down the back hallway, stepping over the bodyguard, to a closed door at the end and tried the doorknob.

Hawk pounded the door with his fist. "Open the door, Tony, or we open it."

Hawk pounded again. No response. He nodded at me. I turned around and walked about eight feet down the hallway. He then fired four rounds into the door, splinters flying everywhere.

When I turned back around, there was a huge gaping hole where the doorknob and lock assembly had been. Those damn double-ought magnum loads are something else.

Using one of his huge feet, Hawk kicked the door in, slamming it against the inner office wall.

Tony Marcus was sitting at his desk in the corner away from the door. He had his elbows on the desk with his chin resting on his clasped hands.

"You gentlemen sho' know how to make an entrance," he said, with a smile.

Tony was wearing one of his usual thousand-dollar suits, a dark gray with white pinstripes. He finished it off with a bright white shirt and a hundred-dollar yellow silk tie. He nonchalantly pulled a handkerchief out of his lapel pocket and wiped his nose. He returned the hanky to the pocket.

"Forgive me. I have this terrible cold. Nose won't stop runnin'." Then looking at Hawk, he said, "Well if it ain't my ol' buddy, Hawk. You big, dumb nigger. You still playin' little black sambo for this white Irish douche bag?"

Hawk totally ignored him. He was busy pulling shells out of his jacket pocket, reloading the Mossberg.

I dropped my arms halfway, still maintaining a full grip on the automatic.

"Where's the lady?" I asked.

"Lady? What lady? I don't keep track of yo' bitches."

"Her name is Susan Silverman. She's a very close friend of mine. Somebody took her, and somebody's trying to kill me. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I don't know what the hell yo' talking about."

He pulled the hanky out to wipe his nose again, and again returned it to the lapel pocket. He still kept his arms up with his elbows on the desk.

"Come on, Tony, we've been through this before. Even if you're not directly involved, you know something about it, so start talking," I said.

Tony started yelling. "I don't know what the fuck yo' talking about. No wonder somebody's trying to kill you. Maybe somebody's sick and tired of some private dick sticking his dick in everybody's business. Ya think? And get that gun outta my face. I ain't afraid of you. Your bitch ain't my problem."

Just then, we heard someone in the hallway, scraping along the wall. I thought that I nailed the bodyguard. He was down and out. All of a sudden, the scruffy face of an old, drunk black man appeared around the door jamb. Hawk raised the shotgun and slammed the guy in the forehead with the butt. He slumped to the floor. Poor guy was probably looking for someone to wait on him. Not today.

I turned back around just in time to see Tony's hand go inside his jacket instead of going for the hanky.

I quickly raised the automatic and fired. The 180-grain hollowpoint hit him in the neck, about an inch to the left of his Adam's apple, shredding his carotid artery. The bullet continued through his neck, through the back of his chair, and into the wall behind him.

He grabbed his neck with both hands, trying to stop the blood that was now pouring between his fingers. He stared at me, not believing that I had shot him. Only gurgling sounds came out as he tried to talk. He even stood up momentarily, but fell back into the chair. His hands slowly fell to his sides and his head hit the back of the chair. His eyes stayed open.

I prayed to God that was a gun he was reaching for.

Hawk and I looked at each other, but didn't say anything. Hawk pulled a leather glove out of his jacket pocket and pulled it over his right hand. He stepped over to Marcus, reached under his suit coat, and with only his thumb and index finger, pulled the stainless nine-millimeter automatic from Marcus' shoulder holster. He dropped the gun haphazardly on the desk.

"Just in case there be any questions," he said.

"Quirk is going to be pissed about this one," I said.

"Gino Fish gonna be happy. No more competition."

"We're going to talk to him next. If he wants to play games, the same thing's going to happen to him."

Chapter 13

This was truly puzzling. Marcus knew better. It was like committing suicide. First, his men attacked us, knowing we were fully armed and ready to shoot. Then Tony tried to pull a gun on us with one already pointed at his head. It was like he was expecting this to happen, like he knew he was finished. Somebody was coming to get him and it wasn't just us. Chollo?

I was sitting in Martin Quirk's office, waiting for him to finish up a meeting with the uppity-ups, and trying to sort out everything that had happened.

The door finally opened, and Quirk walked in, with Belson close behind. Belson closed the door and Quirk moved behind his desk. Belson stood by the door. Quirk sat down, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head. He just stared at me.

I stared back.

Finally, he broke. "I should pull your PI license and throw you in fucking jail," he yelled.

"I get that reaction from people sometimes," I replied.

"What the fuck were you thinking? I told you to stay away from Marcus. You went in there locked and loaded, pushing for a fight."

Now I was pissed. "Wait a minute. We went in there looking for information. Marcus knew something. He damn well knew something. And, goddammit, I got to find Susan. I'm tired of playing stupid games. Yeah, we took the offense. We always do. Then they just back down and play nice. Not this time. The bodyguard immediately started blasting away, hitting Hawk in the elbow, and the bartender would have done the same if we hadn't have stopped him."

Quirk sighed. "You went into a private business brandishing a firearm. By law, they had every right to shoot you. So don't say it was self defense. If they were alive, they could claim self defense, not you. Look, most people would say that you did the city a service, me included. But legally, you were wrong. Period. You're too close to this. You should have no involvement at all."

I just shook my head. "How could I not have any involvement? I'm involved whether I like it or not. You forget, they were trying to kill me."

"You know how this works, goddammit," Quirk said. "Killing Marcus created a vacuum. A lot of people want this territory. We could have an all-out fucking war in this city. You're on a very, very short leash. And forget about Gino Fish. I know what you're thinking. You go within a hundred yards of the man and you're arrested."

Belson just stood there and smiled. "You two really ought to get married."

"Fuck you," both Quirk and I yelled in unison, then burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to catch my breath. "I promise to be a good boy. But we'll never get anywhere if we're handcuffed like this. We need information. We're not getting information."

"We need some theories, some plans," Quirk said.

"Okay, here's the latest," Belson said. "After a closer look at George Hogan's financials, some of the biggest deposits originated right here in Boston. Now I think, just a theory, one or a group of the local mob bosses paid Hogan big money to take you out, which he was supposed to do with the first visit to your office. For some reason, he just couldn't do it. He wanted the money, but he just wasn't the type. So the mob bosses killed George's wife for him taking their money and not doing the job. And for her sticking her nose into their business. Not that he and Ellen were getting along anyway. Then the bosses said, 'Now finish the job, or we kill you next.' In a desperate attempt, well, you know the rest. Again, just a theory."

"Then," Quirk cut in, "they hired a bunch of recent releases from Suffolk County to try and finish the job. That also went well. Gino Fish, Marcus, maybe Ventura, and some smaller players could have all been in on this. But kidnapping Susan…I don't see how that fits in. That doesn't follow."

If this was true, Vinnie hit the nail on the head when he told Hawk and me the same scenario.

"Taking Susan gives them leverage, I guess. And then," I said, "this thing about Chollo. It's over and above all this other nonsense. He isn't coming here just for little old me. There's something big going on here. There has to be more to it."

"Speaking of Chollo," Quirk said, "We've been covering the airports and train stations, but no sign of him so far. He could fly to a different city and then drive in."

"Well, we got work to do," I said.

"Please, behave yourself. Please," Quirk begged.

"Against my better judgment, I will," I replied, with a grin.

Chapter 14

It was late evening with a cool drizzle outside. I wasn't sure what time it was, around eleven or midnight.

I was lying in my bed in my apartment on Marlborough. I was dead tired. Except for a couple hours here and there, I haven't slept at all. I never even bothered getting undressed. There was this obsession taking over me to solve this situation. Where was Susan? What are they doing to her? Is she being raped? Is she dead? There simply wasn't enough information.

In my arms was an empty bottle of Murphy's Irish Whiskey, the same one I started the other night. After thinking and drinking and thinking and drinking, the drinking finally won out, and I was officially drunk. I still hadn't solved anything.

I heard the front door open and grabbed my .38 revolver lying next to me on the bed. Hopefully it was Hawk at the door. He had gone out to try and make some connections with his underworld friends and to grab some takeout food for the evening.

Hawk threw the bedroom door open and marched into the room.

"Let's go, Spenser. We got things to do."

I set the revolver down and yelled, "Go away and leave me alone."

Hawk stared at me, and then at the bottle. "We don't have time for this shit. Get up."

I was now very drunk and very belligerent. "Not now. Get lost!"

"Come on, Spenser. We need to move."

"I'm trying to figure out how to find Susan. Don't you care about Susan?"

"Course I care about Susan. What you think?"

Hawk then grabbed the bottle and ripped it out of my arms. Then he shoved it in my face. "Take a good look, Spenser. You see Susan in there? You see her in the bottom of that bottle? You ain't gonna find her in there."

"Leave me alone," I yelled again, and then I took a swing at him.

Hawk ducked out of the way. Then he threw the bottle across the room, and it crashed against the wall in the corner.

"Enough of this shit." He grabbed the lapels of my jacket (yeah, I still had that on, too) and proceeded to lift me completely off of the bed as if I were a toddler and set me on my feet. He faced me toward the open bedroom door and then shoved me through it. I went sprawling on to the kitchen floor.

"Dammit, I told you to leave me alone."

"No way, man. We got things to do."

Hawk pulled me to my feet again using the back of my jacket collar. He shoved me at the kitchen sink, swung the faucet out of the way, stuffed my head into the sink, moved the faucet back, and cranked on the cold water.

I tried to squirm out of the sink, but he had me braced in place.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shouted.

After about thirty seconds, I yelled, "Okay, okay, you're drowning me."

Hawk turned the water off and swung the faucet to the side. He pulled me up out of the sink, and with his hand on my chest, slammed me against the kitchen wall. He then grabbed the tea towel off the sink counter and threw it in my face.

"Dry off and get yo' shit together."

He grabbed the takeout order bag from the table and pulled out two huge coffees, along with two burgers and fries.

"Decaf, I hope," I mumbled, as I dried my face and hair.

"None of that sissy shit. Drink some real coffee."

"I'm not really hungry."

"Eat it or I'll shove it down your throat. Maybe it'll absorb some of that shit you been drinkin'."

I had no fight left in me, so I reluctantly started to nibble on the food and sip the coffee.

We sat in silence for several minutes and finished our food.

I stood and slowly began to clean up the bags and wrappers and cups.

Hawk finally broke the ice. "You feelin' better now?"

"I'm sorry about this, Hawk. This is eating me alive. It's killing me. You caught me at a bad time."

"Now that you thinkin' straight, I made some contacts. Oh, and Vinnie called me," he stated, nonchalantly.

"What? Vinnie's alive? He called you? Why in hell didn't you tell me?"

"You were too fucked up to think straight. Now you're not," he said, smirking.

"Where is he? What did he say?"

"Vinnie's alive, but he may not be for long. This is big. Might even be too big for us. Vinnie was partly right. The local bosses were out to get you. They had Susan kidnapped. He still not sure who's holding her. But there's also something else."

"Chollo?" I cut in.

"A syndicate out of L.A. has its fingers in the entire West Coast pie. All of a sudden they got an interest in the East Coast, too."

"And they want to start right here in good ol' Boston," I said. "The state and FBI may have to get in on this one."

"Last night old Joe Broz was shot to death right through his apartment window."

"Joe Broz? He must be ninety years old. Why kill him? He doesn't even run anything anymore."

Hawk just shrugged. "They don't give a shit. They're hittin' everybody they can. That's not all. Julius Ventura's in the hospital with half his left shoulder blown off. The only reason they didn't blow his brains out is he tripped on the curb gettin' into his limo."

"So that's who called Vinnie," I said.

"Yeah, the syndicate, but somehow they found out he been a little too friendly with law enforcement lately. So now they out to get him, too."

"And Chollo?"

"Vinnie contacted Chollo-how, no clue. So Chollo purposely accepts the job to take you out before somebody else gets it. Maybe he could keep you alive a little longer this way. He's also supposed to take Vinnie out if he can. Chollo tells Vinnie he's on our side, only the syndicate don't know it."

"That puts Chollo and Vinnie in a world of shit," I said. "The syndicate's going to hang Chollo out to dry when they find this out."

Hawk nodded. "Vinnie say he stay underground a while longer. Too many people out to get him. Maybe find out more about Susan at the same time."

"Maybe we'll give him a helping hand and make a few house calls," I said.

Hawk's award-winning smile was back. "I do like it when you get yo' shit together."

Chapter 15

I should have relayed all this information to Quirk, but that would only complicate matters at this time. I really don't care who's running the mobs in Boston. No matter who you get rid of, somebody will fill in the gap. All I wanted to do right now is find Susan, alive hopefully. I can deal with the mob bosses later.

Hawk and I strolled up the walkway to Gino Fish's mansion. It was one of those big, gaudy affairs with stained glass windows and two big white columns out front. I was carrying my .40 automatic on my hip. Hawk had his long-barreled .44 magnum in his shoulder holster.

"I feel like I'm underdressed," I said.

"Maybe we shoulda' wore our tuxes," Hawk said.

"Make sure you behave like a gentleman."

"I always a gentleman."

I rang the doorbell, then looked for any movement in the windows. No answer. I rang again. The door swung open.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Patrick. We came to see Mr. Fish. We'd like to talk to him," I said.

Patrick stared at me and then at Hawk. To me, he said, "I'm sorry, but you don't have an appointment, and Mr. Fish is very busy right now."

"Patrick, we really need to talk to Mr. Fish. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you in right now."

I started to move toward the doorway, but Patrick stepped in front of me.

"I'm sorry," Patrick insisted, "but not now."

In my peripheral vision, I saw a blur on my left side. When I focused back on Patrick, he was lying on his back in the foyer, unconscious. Hawk had slammed Patrick in the forehead with a huge fist.

"Well, that was rather gentlemanly," I said.

"I thought so," Hawk said with a grin.

We walked across the foyer to the door of Fish's study. I knocked on the door.

"Not now, Patrick. Oh, while you're out there, pull the car up front. I'm leaving very shortly."

It was Fish. I pulled the automatic off of my hip and tried the door. Locked. I nodded to Hawk.

With all 230 pounds, Hawk rammed his shoulder into the door. The lock gave way and the jamb splintered into pieces.

There were suitcases sitting in the middle of the floor and Fish was rushing around, trying to finish his packing.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled.

"Going somewhere, Gino?" I asked.

"You're damn right I'm going somewhere. Didn't you hear about Joe Broz and Ventura? I'm getting the fuck out of here."

"Where are the bodyguards?" Hawk asked.

"I found them dead inside my Mercedes, in the garage, shot to death," Gino said.

"We don't want to hold you back, Gino," I said. "We just have one quick question. Where's Susan Silverman?"

"Who?" he asked, obviously distracted.

"The lady. Where's the lady you helped kidnap?"

Fish continued rushing about, gathering things and stuffing them into, hopefully, the last suitcase.

"I really don't have time for this. I got a plane to catch."

As he flitted past us again, Hawk reached out, and with one hand, grabbed Fish by the throat and lifted him off the ground. He carried him to the nearest wall and slammed him against it, holding him there. Fish's feet dangled off the floor.

"Please, you're choking me," he wheezed.

"Now that we have your attention, where's Miss Silverman?" I asked.

"Okay, okay," he rasped.

I nodded to Hawk, and he let go of Fish, who crashed to the floor, his legs buckling under him. He sat on the floor, massaging his neck.

"Okay, so where's the lady?" I asked again.

"I really had nothing to do with this, or the planning, or anything. I just said I'd go along with it and that's all," Fish said, babbling.

"And the lady?"

"Broz got her. He's the one who planned it all and actually had her taken."

"You mean Gerry Broz?"

"Yeah, yeah," Fish said, nodding and still rubbing his throat.

Gerry Broz? He's been out of the business for years. He was supposed to take over from his father, Joe, but just couldn't handle it. Sonny Karnofsky ended up with the territory. Gerry's been under the radar for a long time. No criminal activity recently that I know about.

"So where's Gerry?"

"He's gone, and I guess he took the broad with him. Soon as he heard about the old man getting shot, he was gone, fast."

"And you don't know where?" I asked.

"No clue. He just took off fast as he could. That L.A. mob is killing anything that walks on two legs."

"Have a pleasant trip, Gino," I said. "And don't bother coming back."

Hawk and I walked out, and past Patrick, who was now standing in the foyer holding his forehead.

"Thanks for all your help, Patrick," I said, grinning.

When we got to the car, Hawk looked at me. "We just gonna let him go?"

I shook my head. "He isn't going anywhere. I'm calling Belson and have him picked up at the airport, trying to flee. Gino is, at the very least, a material witness and may be a kidnapper. Not to mention the possibility that he aided and abetted the murder of Sam, the plainclothes cop. We'll see."

"Wow, you sound like a real policeman," Hawk quipped.

"And they say I'm a smartass?"

Chapter 16

We were all gathered in my office, drinking coffee and eating donuts. I was sitting at my desk with my feet up, looking through the open door of my office at the travel agency across the hall. It had been closed since our first incident. We strongly suggested that they use their own resources and take a nice, long vacation until this was over.

Quirk stood in front of me and chewed my ass out—again. It seemed to be the norm lately.

"I told you to stay away from Fish. If he wasn't busy running for his life, he would be suing the hell out of us right now. He still can, you know. Nothing he told you can be used in court. Not the way you acquired it."

"Acquired?" Hawk asked, looking up from his book. He was sitting next to the open doorway, just like the last time, with his .44 magnum in his lap.

"You stay out of this. You should have been in jail before any of this started," Quirk said.

Hawk just smiled and went back to reading his book, Go Down Dead, by Shane Stevens, an old classic from the late sixties. It was a very raw, straightforward account of ghetto life at the time.

I nodded at Quirk. "You're right. We may not be able to use all of this information in court, but we now know Gino's part in it. And we now know who has Susan. We just don't know where he is—yet."

Quirk sat down on the couch to finish his coffee. "Your methods keep destroying our chain of evidence."

"Right now, all I care about is finding Susan. After that, I'll get you all the evidence you need. At least I didn't kill Fish. It certainly crossed my mind."

Frank Belson had been sitting quietly in one of the client chairs, taking it all in. He finally spoke up. "Well, we still have Fish in custody right now. We'll see if we can get anything out of him before he lawyers up. Right now, he may want to stay in jail just for the protection. Oh, and your intruder friend. He finally did a little talking, but not much. Said they paid him a grand just to distract the plainclothes and unlock the back door of the house. And two guys wearing all black and ski masks entered the house from the back, ran upstairs, broke in, and chloroformed the lady. That's when they shot the dog. Then they rolled the lady up in a rug and carried her out the back, threw her in the back of an SUV, and took off."

Talking aloud, but to myself, I said, "Why'd they have to shoot Pearl?"

Quirk shook his head. "I'm sure she was making a real pain in the ass out of herself, just like a dog should do in that situation."

Hawk looked up from his book. "I wanna kill the bastards just for doing Pearl, let alone kidnappin' Susan."

Belson cut in. "Unofficially, I hope you do."

"Now we just have to find Gerry Broz," I said.

"If our friends from L.A. haven't already killed him," Quirk said.

I still hadn't told Quirk about Vinnie calling Hawk, or about Chollo. Not now. Maybe I'll never tell him, depending on how all this plays out. Some things are better left unsaid.

Quirk got up to leave. "I certainly hope we find Susan alive and well, but we still have the problem of an all-out war going on in this city."

"Yes, we do," I said. "I know you don't like to hear this, from a legal standpoint, but I hope they all kill each other off."

Quirk was standing in the doorway with Belson. "I agree with you, as long as no innocent people go down with them. I don't need this aggravation. We'll be on the lookout for Broz."

As they walked out, Quirk looked at Hawk and just shook his head.

Hawk smiled back and watched them go down the hallway. He then looked at me. "I think Mr. Police don't like me."

"What's not to like," I said.

"That's what I say."

"To him, you're a necessary evil. You can get away with things they're not allowed to do. And you're very good at it. Otherwise, you WOULD be in jail right now."

Hawk smiled. "My feelings are hurt."

"You have feelings?"

"Ah…no. I get along much better without them. They don't work for me."

"I know."

Chapter 17

Hawk and I stayed in my office the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. I had a ton of paperwork to fill out for Quirk. Hawk stepped out briefly to pick up some food and beverages, but returned to his post, guarding the doorway and reading his Shane Stevens novel.

This also gave me time to think.

Okay, so what do we have so far? The mob bosses were out to get me. That much is pretty clear. They hired George Hogan to take me out. He took the money, but couldn't deliver. Of course, if it weren't for Vinnie, he would have delivered eventually.

Ellen Hogan paid dearly because George couldn't deliver at the time, and for sticking her nose into the mob finances. And she took Lee Wallace along with her.

Then a couple of thugs just released from Suffolk County, like Victor Sanchez, took a stab at it. Didn't work out for Sanchez or my intruder friend. I forgot to get his name from Belson.

They kidnapped Susan. That DID work out for them—so far. She must be alive or there wouldn't have been any point to the kidnapping. They still haven't made any contact in that regard. Strange.

Then they hired Chollo to take me out. But even if Chollo was hired to take me out, he was also hired to take THEM out. The bigger scheme from L.A. was to take out the mob bosses as well and take over the entire Boston mob enterprise. Or start an all-out war so that maybe they'll kill each other off, and then just walk in and take over.

Damn. It made my head hurt just thinking about it.

It was time to make a phone call to L.A. Let's get all the cards on the table.

"Hello, Bobby Horse. How are you?"

"Mr. Spenser, I am well. Haven't heard from you in a long time. I'm sorry that Chollo isn't here to greet you. He is presently on a job in your part of the country."

"Yes, Chollo is in my neck of the woods. I plan on meeting with him shortly. I called to speak with Mr. del Rio if he is available."

"Yes, Mr. del Rio is here. I'll see if he is available to talk with you."

"Thank you, Bobby Horse."

We always had to go through this ritual when I wanted to talk with Victor del Rio. Victor was the mob boss for the Latino mob scene in L.A. His main hitmen were Chollo and Bobby Horse. I've borrowed one or both of them from time to time when needed for jobs I've had on the West Coast. Very efficient people.

After about ten minutes, Victor picked up.

"Spenser, good to hear from you. How can I be of service?" he said in his deadpan voice.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. del Rio. I don't want to take up too much of it. I'm just seeking a little information."

"Any way I can help," del Rio said.

"I'm just curious as to what job Chollo may have been assigned to. Rumor has it, Chollo is here in Boston to kill me. Just curious," I said.

"Ah, yes," del Rio replied, "I did hear about that, Spenser. Here is the situation: Nicky Fellscroft needed an expert for a particular job. It seems that someone killed his best gunman, who was also his son-in-law, Stephano DeMaria. That someone, I later found out, was you, Spenser. So you see, Nicky has a soft spot in his heart for you."

As I mentioned, Victor runs the Latino mob in L.A. Nicky runs the white mob in L.A. The black mob is run by various gangs throughout the city. Hence, the constant violence.

"And you leased Chollo to Fellscroft to take me out?" I asked.

"Spenser, we've known each other for a long time. And we disagree on a lot of issues. Let's say, we're on opposite sides of the same coin. But I respect you, Spenser. Your word is good. And I know you respect me."

Victor was a crook, a shyster, and indirectly, a murderer, but he had always been honest with me.

"You're right, Mr. del Rio, I do respect you. You've never lied to me."

"And I'm not lying to you now. I leased Chollo out to Fellscroft never knowing what he was going to use Chollo for. He paid a very generous fee to me and to Chollo. It was a simple business transaction, nothing more. I didn't know anything until after Chollo left for Boston. I didn't even know he was leaving L.A."

"I believe you, Mr. del Rio. Thank you for your honesty and your time."

"Good-bye, Mr. Spenser."

So, Nicky Fellscroft was looking for a little payback. His son-in-law, Stephano DeMaria got a little too pushy for his own good. Zebulon Sixkill and I had to get rid of him. I wonder how old Z is doing now. Nicky's also trying to get his foot into the Boston mob scene at the same time. He probably sent more people here than just Chollo. There may be a whole team of people. This was getting more complex all the time.

He also may have had everything to do with kidnapping Susan. What better payback? He may have paid Gerry Broz the big bucks to take her.

But they just killed off Gerry's old man, Joe. Unless Gerry was part of the new regime. You join us and help us take over, or we kill you, too. It's hard to know for sure.

No wonder they could afford to pay our intruder friend a grand just to distract poor, old Sam. Fellscroft was swimming in money.

Of course, I could be wrong about all of this.

Gerry Broz better hope that Quirk finds him before I do, because I'll tear the little bastard to shreds.

After I find Susan, of course. God, I miss her.

"Come on, Hawk. Let's go home."

"It's been a long day," Hawk said.

I can't remember the last time I slept.

Chapter 18

When Hawk and I got to my apartment building, we went through our routine we created over the past couple of weeks. We would split up, and then we'd each walk around the block in opposite directions. We'd each check the area around the building, along with the parked cars and any landscaping. I would then go into the front entrance and Hawk would enter the back. We'd eventually make our way to my apartment.

All was fine tonight until we reached my apartment. The door was wide open. The guns came out. I slowly reached around the wall and found the light switch. The place had been ransacked.

"Looks like we had some visitors," Hawk said, slowly moving from room to room.

"Yes, but what were they looking for?"

I had some rainy-day cash hidden in the back of a lower dresser drawer in the bedroom. It was still there. No stereo or TV equipment was missing either.

"It obviously wasn't a robbery. There's really nothing missing," I said.

Hawk nodded. "Just more intimidation, I guess."

"They were probably looking for me. I wasn't here, so they wrecked the place. There's no way I'm cleaning this mess up tonight. I'm too tired. I got to get some sleep."

Hawk closed the door and then dragged the couch across the room. He forced it against the door. "They ain't getting' in here without waking me up. Try and get some sleep."

"You too, Hawk." I made my way to the bedroom, fell onto the bed, and actually passed out.

I slept the entire night.

I awoke at almost exactly 7:00 A.M. to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It was Frank Belson. I told him about our little visit last night.

"You're not the only ones who had an interesting night," Belson said. "Me and Quirk managed to get a warrant to search Gerry Broz's apartment. When we got there the place was a complete mess. Found two bodies ripped to shreds, just like the room. We also found a trip wire about four feet inside the doorway. Apparently, the wire was connected to two hand grenades. Glad we didn't get there any sooner."

"Were you able to identify the dead guys?" I asked.

"Not yet. May be part of the team from L.A. Who knows?"

"Man, it's getting nasty out there. Thanks, Frank." I hung up.

I'm glad we hadn't visited Broz yet. That was my next stop. Gerry was really getting paranoid now. I had to find him before he did something totally irrational and got Susan killed.

Hawk and I moved around the mess and managed to cook up some breakfast and lots of coffee, while I told Hawk about Belson's call.

He shook his head. "Mr. Police was right. We got ourselves a war goin' on—literally. You give up on decaf?"

"I need all the help I can get right now. Have any idea where Gerry Broz might hole up when the pressure is on?"

"Hard to say. Lots of possibilities. He and his old man Joe owned a number of warehouses over near the naval yards."

I nodded. "That's a real labyrinth over there. It could take days to weed him out, if he's even there."

"He sure ain't goin' home," Hawk said with a grin.

"No. He knows they're out to get him. He has to dig in until the pressure's off."

So maybe I was wrong about Broz working with Fellscroft. Nicky probably figured it's easier to just kill Broz than to trust him with anything. But Broz still has Susan. Why? He could use her as leverage against me, but it won't help him with Fellscroft. Nicky would just kill Gerry, Susan, AND me without thinking twice about it. And, if the two guys in Gerry's apartment were working for Nicky, he's going to be even more willing to kill Gerry. Or Nicky kills off Gerry and keeps Susan to use against me. Like I said before: what better payback?

And Susan was in the middle of all this.

Shit.

Chapter 19

Things were slowly coming to a head. It was getting ugly.

We were gathered in Quirk's office—Quirk, Belson, Captain Healy from the Massachusetts State Police, Williams from the FBI, and me. Hawk was out in the lobby, reading old magazines and eyeing the receptionist.

Quirk was sitting upright behind his desk with his folded hands in his lap. His dark blue tie matched his suit.

Healy was sitting in a swivel chair next to Quirk's desk with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His arms were crossed on his chest. He was wearing a light-weaved, gray suit with a white dress shirt and no tie. Relaxed.

Belson was standing, leaning against the wall next to the closed door. He had left his jacket in his cubicle. The sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to the elbows.

The two folding chairs were taken by me and Williams. I had on my dark brown leather jacket. Williams was wearing the typical black FBI suit with the typical black FBI tie and typical white FBI shirt.

Healy grinned at me. "Spenser, you sure love all this attention, don't you?"

"I can't help it," I said. "I'm a natural. People can't get enough of me."

Quirk cut in, "Okay, Spenser, tell us what you got so far."

It was time to come clean. There was too much going on and too many people involved to hold back any information. I hated to admit it, but I needed help. Especially, with getting Susan back. I proceeded to tell them about Vinnie and Chollo, and the call to del Rio, and about Fellscroft. And, of course, about Gerry Broz. I even told them about my conjectures and theories.

"You've been one busy man," Belson quipped.

"When you're working twenty-four hours a day because you can't sleep to save your ass, it's amazing how much work and thinking can be accomplished," I said.

"Well, here's something else to chew on," Quirk said. "Last evening, Julius Ventura was released from the hospital and got ambushed on the way home. He, his wife, and the chauffeur were okay. Bullet-proof limo. Two of his bodyguards are dead. We also found two other dead gunmen at the scene. Ran the prints through AFIS and came up with two known convicts from L.A. The bullets found in them didn't match any of the guns at the scene. Weren't even close."

"Sounds like Vinnie and/or Chollo at work," I said.

"Why would Chollo take out his own men?" Williams asked.

"Well, strictly speaking, they're not his men. Fellscroft hired Chollo to take out anybody in any Boston mob, and me, but Chollo still hates Fellscroft. Fellscroft and del Rio are rivals in L.A. If Chollo can get Fellscroft to fail, so much the better. Fellscroft won't know how his men died. He'll just think they died in the shootout."

"I don't know how many people Fellscroft sent here, but that's four of his gunmen dead so far," Belson said.

Healy cocked his head and looked at me. "So who killed Fish's bodyguards?"

"That's a tossup so far. Could have been L.A., Vinnie, Chollo."

"You guys really do have a war going on," Williams said. "I wonder where Broz got the hand grenades."

"Real military hardware," Quirk said. "That's a good question. We haven't heard from Broz in a good while. God only knows what he's been up to."

"All I know is the bastard has Susan," I said.

"We don't even know if he's still in the state," Williams said. "Kidnapping across state lines would certainly invite the FBI in. We could also look at him for the military hardware."

"We'll broaden the search and get the surrounding states involved," Healy added.

"Well, we certainly appreciate all your help," Quirk said. "Let's keep the lines of communication open. Thanks for coming."

We all shook hands and slowly filed out of the office.

I rejoined Hawk, and we started walking out of headquarters, when Healy came up behind us.

"You guys interested in stopping for a drink?"

"Sure," I said. "You look like you're not done talking."

"Just looking for some more insight."

"I'll drive," Hawk said.

We ended up at Clery's Bar on Dartmouth. I was nursing a Killian Red, Hawk had a standard vodka martini with two olives, and Healy was sucking on a Bud Light. Healy set his bottle down.

"You guys are in over your heads. You're right in the middle of a mob war."

"Don't I know that," I said.

Healy took another drag of Bud. "Tell me about Tony Marcus. What happened there?"

"Exactly what do you want to know? Are you here to bust our chops, or are you here to hang us?"

"No, no, this is all off-the-record stuff. Rumor has it, it wasn't a clean exchange. Just wanted to hear your side of the story. Just curious."

"It really baffled us, too. It was as clean as you could make it with Tony. The only way to have an honest conversation with Tony Marcus was to have a gun pointed at his head. We've had several of these so-called conversations. He'd back down and we'd exchange a few snotty comments. Once in a while he's actually provide some worthwhile info. This time, somebody or something had his head in a vise. There was no way out. It was like he thought we were there to assassinate him. Period."

Healy was twisting his empty beer bottle back and forth with his fingertips. "And Gino Fish's bodyguards?"

"That's another odd one. It had to have happened right before we got there. The only thing I can figure is somebody caught the bodyguards off-guard and forced them into the garage and then into the Mercedes. Shot them dead using silencers and were going for Fish next when we showed up. Scared them off. Sure as hell scared Fish when he checked the garage. He must have heard something. I'm surprised they didn't get him on the way to the airport."

Healy stood up. "Well, it's been very enlightening, gentlemen. It's time to put the squeeze on these people. Keep in touch and watch your backs. Oh, and, thanks for the beer. I'll just grab a cab."

"Hey, I thought you were buying," I said.

"Now why would you think that?" he said.

"We shoulda known," Hawk said. Then to me, "So why did we just have that conversation?"

"It's Healy's way of keeping us in line. He's making sure that we stay within his legal parameters."

Hawk nodded. "Nice try."

Chapter 20

It was 3:30 A.M. I was half-asleep in bed in my apartment. Hawk was, again, sleeping on the couch in the living room. It had become routine for him to brace the couch against the door before retiring to keep out any intruders. I'm sure he was sound asleep. Hawk could probably sleep through a war with no problem.

My cell phone rang, and I jumped up to a sitting position. The suddenness of the move made my head spin temporarily.

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, hello, Spenser. Good to hear your voice. It's been a while."

"Gerry? Is that you?"

"With all the action going on lately, I haven't had time to collect my ransom. Too busy dodging bullets. You understand," Gerry Broz said.

"Gerry, where's Susan?"

"She's here, keeping me company," Gerry said, laughing.

"Put her on, Gerry. I want to talk to her."

I suddenly heard yelling in the background. "Spenser! Spenser?"

"Susan? Susan. Put her on, Gerry, goddammit, put her on," I yelled.

"No, I'm not putting her on. You already heard enough to know that she's still alive."

"Okay, okay. What do you want?"

"You know damn well what I want. You. You are the ransom. It's time to pay up, Spenser. When you're dead, she goes free. Not a second before. Understand?"

"No, I don't understand. Why are you doing this? What good is it doing you, except maybe getting you life in prison, or killed."

"You've been jacking people off for a long time, Spenser. Not to mention the fact that you probably had something to do with killing my father. It's time to pay the price. It's either you, or this pretty lady gets her throat slashed."

"I know you don't believe it, but I had absolutely nothing to do with Joe's death. That was totally out of my hands. You're playing a dangerous game here, Gerry. There's no way you can get away with it. There's people all over the city looking for you—either to arrest you or kill you."

"That's right. Which means I've got nothing to lose."

"You could forget all this. Leave the country. You got plenty of money. You could be living like a king somewhere in South America. They'd never find you."

"That's a good idea, Spenser. Maybe I'll do that—after you're dead."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"I'll call you back when I'm damn good and ready." Gerry hung up.

"Gerry? Dammit!" I stared at the phone. I was holding it so hard I thought I was going to crush it.

Hawk had been standing in the bedroom doorway. "Well, nice of Gerry to finally make contact, the sleazy bastard."

I nodded. "Now he's toying with us. There's no way to know where he called from."

Well, that ended any sleep I was going to get. There was really nothing we could do right now, unless Broz miraculously called back, which I'm sure wouldn't happen. He'd know I'd be sitting here stewing over this whole thing, and he'd probably be enjoying it immensely.

I told Hawk to go back and get some sleep if he could. I needed to think some more.

I could sure use a drink right now, but I promised Hawk I'd stay away from it for the time being. He was right. It didn't help to get stinking drunk. I wouldn't find Susan that way.

At least Susan was alive. Thank God for that.

She was alive.

Chapter 21

Hawk wouldn't admit it, but I was sure that he was getting tired of babysitting me every night. I had told him on several occasions that he didn't have to do that. He felt that the one night he wasn't here, was when the attack would take place. For the most part, I was quite capable of taking care of myself, and Hawk knew that. He just didn't want to miss out on the action, if or when it happened.

Now that Gerry Broz had made contact, I was pretty certain that it was down to him and me. The rest of the conspirators were dead, wounded, or arrested. At least those that I knew of. The gang from L.A. certainly made their point in cleansing the mob scene, even though most of them are now dead.

"I don't know if Nicky Fellscroft is sending another team of people to take over operations now that a lot of the dust had cleared. There were still people like Julius Ventura, who was wounded, but still capable. And Sonny Karnofsky, who supposedly fled to Miami after the first couple of gunshots, but who could step right back in and either continue the battle or join Fellscroft in world domination."

"You talkin' to me?" Hawk asked.

"Just thinking out loud." I replied.

Hawk just shook his head. "The trouble with you, Spenser, is you think too much."

"You think so?"

"You complicate matters when you think too much. You need to keep your thinking on a more primitive level."

"Primitive?"

"Yeah, primitive."

We were sitting in my office again. I was at my desk with my feet up and reading the newspaper. Hawk was sitting next to the open door, reading a gun magazine.

"Maybe I buy a new gun," Hawk blurted out. "Especially with all the money you gonna pay me when this is all over."

I lowered the paper and glared over it. "What money? I haven't had a client since Ellen Hogan and she was killed before she had a chance to pay me. I can't get it off of her husband George because he's dead, too. It's been a long, dry spell."

"You're my client now," Hawk said. "It's like I'm the PI, and I'm working for you. You're my client."

"You mean you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Goodness won't pay for my high-end lifestyle or for a new gun," Hawk said, smiling.

"How many guns do you go through in a year?" I asked.

"Depends on the jobs and the number of jobs. Jobs of a dubious nature require me to eliminate the guns being used."

"Dubious?"

"Dubious."

Sometimes Hawk sounded like he just crawled out of a ghetto. Other times he sounded like a college professor.

I nodded. "I wonder how many hundreds of guns are lying on the bottom of Boston Harbor or the Charles River?"

"Several hundred, probably several thousand," Hawk said, still flipping through his magazine. "Did you hear any more from Broz?"

I just shook my head. "No. Nothing. I don't like it."

"He just wants you to sweat."

"Well, he's doing a good job at that. Did you hear any more from Vinnie? Or Chollo?"

"No, but I know they out there. I hear things when I go out and mingle. They will sniff out Broz. They're good at sniffing."

"I hope you're right. As long as Susan doesn't get hurt."

Hawk closed his magazine and threw it on the edge of my desk. "Well, it's time to go out and mingle again. And do some more reconnaissance. Maybe I can find that bastard."

Take care," I said.

"Yeah."

Chapter 22

"Hey, Spenser, talk to me." Hawk's deep voice droned out of my little cell phone.

"Where in hell are you? You went out to mingle and disappeared for almost two days. I thought you caught a bullet."

"I'm still breathing. I'm in L.A. right now."

"L.A.? I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing."

"I was doin' some thinking of my own and decided to approach this whole situation from a different angle. I just may have a little talk with Fellscroft."

I heard myself sigh. "Hawk, you have no backup out there. They'll hunt you down and exterminate you before you even get near Fellscroft."

"I just want to apply a little pressure in the right places and put Fellscroft on the defense for a change. If he even suspects that someone is after him, he may take some focus off of Boston."

"Yeah, and put it right on you."

"That's the whole idea," Hawk said. I knew he was smiling, even though I couldn't see him.

"Fellscroft, like del Rio, runs a very efficient operation. They probably spotted you as soon as you got off the plane."

"Actually, I flew to Vegas and drove in. Give me a little more breathing room before they notice me."

"I could call del Rio back and maybe rent out Bobby Horse, if he's available. He's not as good as Chollo, but damned close."

"That, in itself, would create notice. No, I don't want to kick up any dust. Just a little sting and get out. Make Nicky sweat a little."

"Well, keep in touch. I want to know what's going on out there."

"You just worry about what's going on in Boston. You got enough problems. I see you in a couple days." Hawk hung up.

I don't want Hawk starting another war out there. One war is more than enough. I also didn't want him killed.

I had been standing in my office again when I talked to Hawk. I set the cell phone on my desk and grabbed my coffee cup. The pot was still gurgling, but almost done.

I heard the elevator ping through my still-opened door. Without Hawk here, I didn't know if it was safer to keep the door open or keep it closed. I looked up to see Quirk standing in the doorway.

"You're timing is flawless, as usual," I said.

"I can smell fresh-brewed coffee miles away," Quirk said, chuckling.

"Sorry, no donuts. I had a bagel before I came in."

"No donuts? What kind of hospitality is that?"

"If I knew you were coming, I'd a' baked a cake."

"Doesn't an old song go like that?"

"Now you're showing your age," I said. "Got anything new for me?"

"Nothing of great interest. We've combed over half of Boston and haven't found Broz yet. He's really dug in somewhere. He could be in another city, another state."

"I appreciate your help."

"It's been a strange situation," Quirk said. "I never expected to be protecting a criminal mob boss like Ventura from getting killed, but we need to stabilize the territory if we can."

"Yeah, the bodies are piling up fast."

"Where's your tall, mysterious friend?" Quirk asked.

"I never know for sure. Hawk is very mercurial. He shows up or disappears at the blink of an eye."

"I just hope he's behaving himself. I wouldn't want him to get into trouble."

"Hawk can take care of himself. And he knows all about the law," I said.

Quirk nodded. "He also knows how to break it."

Chapter 23

The first thing Hawk did when he arrived in Los Angeles was make a quick call to me, just to let me know his location. Not that Hawk normally checked in with anyone. But since he had been helping me out on a daily basis, he thought it best to notify me so that I wouldn't expect to see him for a few days. I was on my own.

The second thing Hawk did was head to the South Central section of L.A. to find himself a good, illegal gun. It's virtually impossible to get on a plane these days with a firearm, so he had to leave his faithful .44 magnum at home. With the right amount of money and connecting to the right people, you could buy anything you could think of, legal or illegal.

Hawk ended up with a relatively puny .357 magnum. The gun would still do the job, no problem. And if he had to use it for some reason, it would need to be disposed of anyway, either in the ocean or in the L.A. sewer system.

The only things left to do were to find a decent hotel to stay in, find a decent meal, and find Nicky Fellscroft. The hardest one to do would be finding Fellscroft. Although sometimes it's easier to let them find you.

Depending on the people and their connections, just buying the gun probably set off a chain reaction of events, and they may already be looking for Hawk. It's amazing how quickly these things can happen.

Hawk found himself a room at the Continental in downtown L.A. After a dinner of Chilean sea bass and couscous with a bean sprout salad in the hotel restaurant, Hawk planned on turning in early, which for Hawk is around midnight, and ordered a bottle of champagne while he was eating to be sent up to his room.

When Hawk had first entered the hotel, a guy with blond hair, wearing an open, gray sport coat and black slacks, had been sitting in the lobby, reading the Los Angeles Times and glancing at him. After Hawk had eaten and returned to the lobby, the guy was still in the lobby.

Now, not too many people wait for someone that long or spend five hundred dollars a night for a room so they can waste the entire evening sitting in the lobby reading the newspaper.

While Hawk had been eating dinner, there had also been a guy at the bar, nursing a drink and giving Hawk the evil eye. Nothing like being obvious. The tentacles of organized crime were everywhere.

Hawk had to play this very carefully. He did not want to get involved with the L.A. police, but he also didn't want to be found dead in an alley somewhere.

It was time to start the ball rolling. Hawk's room was on the seventh floor, so he strolled on to the elevator and took it up to the fifth floor. He got off and checked to make sure no one was around. He then waited for a few minutes and got back on the elevator and took it up to the ninth floor. This time he got off, walked to the end of the hall where the stairwell entrance was, and walked down to the seventh floor. He slowly cracked open the stairwell door and looked down the hallway.

The guy that was in the lobby reading the newspaper was now standing outside of Hawk's room, holding a gun in one hand and a key card in the other. The other guy from the bar was standing in front of the elevators, leaning against the wall, with his right hand inside his jacket, ready to draw from a shoulder holster should the right person step off the elevator.

Across the hall and diagonal from the stairwell door was an alcove that contained the ice machine and other vending machines for that floor.

The lobby guy must have stolen a key card from the maid because it opened Hawk's room door immediately, and the guy cautiously walked in.

At this time, Hawk swung the door to the stairwell wide open, slamming it against the wall, and then darted over to the alcove to hide. When the stairwell door slammed shut, the guy in front of the elevators ran over to the door and opened it. Hawk ran across the hall and followed the guy in, pushing him up against the railing on the stairwell landing. He then grabbed the guy by the coat collar and the groin, and threw him over the railing. After dropping through seven stories of stairwell, the guy hit the bottom hard, real hard.

Again, Hawk cracked the stairwell door open to check the hallway. The door to his room was still open. He, again, swung the stairwell door wide open and darted into the alcove, this time yelling down the hallway, "Hey, there he is!" With a quick glance, Hawk saw the lobby guy run out of his room and start down the hallway as the stairwell door slammed shut.

Just before the lobby guy got to the stairwell door, Hawk clotheslined him, smacking the guy on the bridge of the nose with the barrel of the .357. The guy's legs went out from under him, and he landed flat on his back, moaning and rubbing his forehead and his now-bloody nose.

Hawk half-knelt beside the guy and smacked the guy's hands away from his face. He stuck the barrel of the .357 into the guy's right eye and cocked the hammer back.

"You tell Mr. Fellscroft that I'm looking for him, and I'm not going to stop until he's dead. Understand?"

The guy grunted and nodded his head. Hawk then uncocked the hammer, turned the revolver around, and with the butt, slammed the guy's left temple, knocking him out cold. He holstered the revolver.

Hawk then swung the stairwell door open, grabbed the guy's feet, dragged him into the stairwell landing, and left him there.

Returning to his room, he grabbed his bag and the bottle of champagne (couldn't forget that), and left the hotel, never to return. He jumped into his rental car and headed back to South Central.

Contact had been made.

Hawk got himself a hotel room in South Central and proceeded to submerge himself into the underworld of black gangs. Fellscroft would never even consider looking for him there. Between the black gangs and the Latino gangs, it would be suicidal. Hawk would dig in and remain there until it was time to strike.

And strike he would.

Chapter 24

It was another fine, late-spring morning in Boston. I seriously thought about walking past my office and just keep on going. But duty calls.

I'd finally been sleeping at night, knowing that Susan was alive, though not well. When you get tired enough, you just collapse, whether you want to or not. There was still absolutely nothing I could do until, or if, Gerry Broz called me.

Speaking of which, when I made it to the hallway outside of my office door, I could hear my office phone ringing. I hurriedly fumbled with the keys, opened the door, and ran to the phone on my desk.

"Spenser," I said with heavy breathing.

"Spenser, I need to have a conversation with you."

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Nicky Fellscroft. Who the fuck do you think you are, trying to pull a stunt like this?"

"Well, well. The one and only Nicky Fellscroft. You've been a busy little gangster lately. Exactly what stunt am I trying to pull?"

"Sending your big nigger friend over here to take me out."

"His name is Hawk. And Hawk is Hawk. Nobody sends Hawk anywhere. Whatever Hawk did, he did on his own."

"You killed my son-in-law. He was a good man," Fellscroft said, quietly.

"Let me get some tissue so I can dry my eyes," I said.

"You think this is a fucking joke?" he yelled.

"Oh, it's no joke. Your son-in-law was a scumbag. And I killed him—in self defense."

"I'll see to it that you never live in peace again," Fellscroft growled out. "I'll be sending your boy back to you in a pine box."

"Your bigotry is only exceeded by your ignorance. I'm sorry that you feel that way. If that's the case, then I hope Hawk completes his mission. I may never live in peace again, but you may never live again. Period. If you know Hawk, and I know him better than anyone, then I hope your will is up to date. The only way to call off Hawk is for you to get your business the hell out of Boston and stay out."

I hung up.

We could spend the entire day threatening each other, but there wasn't much point to it. Maybe Hawk was right to pressure Fellscroft, as long as he didn't get killed doing it. He could also start another war, and nobody wanted that, except maybe Hawk.

Fellscroft had a lot of balls complaining about Hawk when he's the one who hired Chollo to take me out. I didn't hire Hawk to reciprocate, but Fellscroft insisted that I did and nothing was going to change his mind. I didn't even know Hawk went to Los Angeles until he called me.

This whole situation just kept on snowballing out of control. It had to come to a head eventually, hopefully before everybody involved was dead. If Hawk called again, I would try to persuade him to call it off and come back to Boston. But Hawk was going to do what Hawk was going to do.

I pitied anyone who got in his way.

Chapter 25

Nicky Fellscroft put out his own version of a BOLO (Be On the LookOut) for Hawk. He was not going to let some stranger from the East Coast dictate how he ran his business, let alone try to assassinate him. He had killed some of his own people who tried to suggest a different way to run things. Nobody was going to touch his territory or infiltrate his business.

Hawk got himself the shabbiest hotel room he could find to maintain a low profile. He only went out at night and, when he did, he dressed like a homeless person. This whole environment was second nature to him. He grew up and spent several years in this setting.

Before finding a room in South Central, he had driven his rental car back to the nearest Hertz location and turned it in. He then proceeded to find a beat-up piece of junk with a decent engine for a couple hundred bucks, so he fit right into the neighborhood. He also parked a couple blocks away from the hotel to draw less suspicion. He wouldn't stay there for long. What do they say about a moving target?

Once he determined Fellscroft's exact location, he would be able to apply more pressure. But it wouldn't be easy. It was amazing how quickly Fellscroft, or at least his men, were able to pinpoint him—in this huge city. They were good—you had to admit that. If they found him that quickly the first time, he was really going to have to dig in this time.

It would be extremely difficult to approach Fellscroft either at his business or at his home. Those places would be too obvious and too well protected. It would have to be out in public, at a restaurant or on the street.

Again, Hawk was not out to kill Fellscroft, he just wanted him to think so.

Fellscroft gave out specific orders: He wanted Hawk dead—not captured, not tortured, not wounded—dead. Unless Hawk left the city, Fellscroft's men would slowly narrow the areas down until they found him. At the very least, they'd have a good idea where he was.

Of course, Hawk didn't know this, but he had to assume it. Otherwise, he'd have been dead long time ago. It's not the first time he'd been in a situation like this. In fact, he purposely put himself into these situations. He loved it. This was his element.

Hawk would give Fellscroft a day or two to narrow down his location and then shift to another area, moving only at night and staying in the homeless sectors. If he could spot someone suspicious, looking for him, he would follow that person, or persons, back to Fellscroft.

Sure enough, the morning that Hawk was going to check out of the South Central hotel and move on, he had a couple of visitors.

It was around 6:00 A.M. and Hawk was returning from another all-nighter. In front of his hotel sat a brand new Lincoln Town Car. He sat in his junker down the street and across the block. Two guys came out of the hotel. They were dressed in leather jackets, dress slacks, and loafers—definitely not a part of the neighborhood. One guy was on a cell phone, and both were obviously carrying. They certainly were taking a chance, but they picked the right time to come. Had they shown up late evening or the middle of the night, they'd have never been seen again. And the Town Car would have been completely chopped by now.

After waiting there for three hours, they must have decided that Hawk wasn't coming back. One of the guys went back into the hotel and, eventually, came out with Hawk's personal bag. They made another phone call and then jumped into the Town Car and moved out.

Hawk followed them, well behind, to an upscale residential area. They were leading him right to Fellscroft.

That could be good, or that could be very bad.

Chapter 26

I was sitting in Quirk's office again, waiting for him to return from a meeting. I've been getting really antsy lately. I wasn't hearing anything from Broz. I wasn't hearing anything from Hawk. I wasn't hearing anything from Vinnie or Chollo. There was nothing I could do. It was driving me crazy.

Belson walked in and closed the door behind him. He strolled over to a file cabinet and started leafing through papers.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"No thanks, Frank. How long is Quirk going to be?"

"Don't know for sure. I thought the meeting was going to be over by now." Belson pulled a file and began scanning some photographs. "You hear anything yet?"

I shook my head. "No, not a damned thing."

"That sucks. Why kidnap someone and hold them, but never make any contact for a ransom or anything?"

"As you know, we deal with some pretty bizarre characters. There's some kind of twisted logic going on that we'll never understand."

Belson chuckled. "I hear you."

Just then Quirk walked in and slammed the door. "Assholes and their politics. They won't just let you do your job," he growled.

"Now you know why I quit the force," I said, smiling.

"Not you again?" Quirk said. "This can't be good."

"Now, now, Marty. Don't get your bowels in an uproar. Just stopped by to see if you have anything new for me."

"Broz is either totally out of the state or completely dug in and not moving. There's no way he could move and not be seen. Everything is covered: the airports, trains, boats, highways. There are still a lot of places to hide, though."

"Don't get me wrong, Marty. I do appreciate your help."

"Don't just thank me. Healey's been all over this, too."

"Yeah, I need to touch base with him. Haven't seen him in a while."

Quirk sat down at his desk and put his feet up. "So where's your friend, Hawk? He was stuck to you like glue, and now he's been gone for days. There's something you're not telling me."

I nodded. "Hawk decided to take a business trip to L.A. to have a little one-on-one with Nicky Fellscroft."

Quirk rubbed his eyes. "Jesus Christ. It's bad enough we have a war going on right here. Now you want to start a war in L.A."

"I didn't send him there. He went on his own. He just wanted to apply a little pressure, and he promised not to kill Fellscroft—if he could avoid it."

"I feel a nervous breakdown coming on," Quirk moaned.

"I'll worry about Hawk. You just help me find Susan. If Hawk calls me back, I'll try to rein him in, but no promises."

Quirk took a sip of his now-cold coffee. "And this is just one of a dozen other cases we're working on."

"That's why you make the big bucks," I replied with a grin.

"Yeah, right."

I got up and headed for the door.

"Where to now?" Quirk asked.

"I'm out to start doing a little looking on my own."

"I thought you were lying low, with all these people out to get you."

"Most of the people are already out of the picture unless Fellscroft sent a whole new team to Boston. I'll find out soon enough."

Chapter 27

I awoke suddenly from a bad dream—a terrible dream—a nightmare. Susan was slowly being tortured to death by Gerry Broz, and I was totally powerless to stop him.

To me, there is nothing worse on the face of the earth than to be helpless, to be unable to help another person in a very painful situation, be it physical or emotional. I would rather be the one tortured than the one who was totally unable to offer assistance—to have to sit there and watch helplessly and hopelessly.

I glanced over at the alarm clock on the end table. It was 4:17 A.M., still the middle of the night. I know that I promised Hawk I wouldn't drink, but I did have one good stiff drink of scotch before I slowly fell asleep around midnight. There was still nothing I could do at this time of the day, especially on a Sunday morning. So I rolled over and tried to get some more sleep.

My cell phone rang.

Hawk? Broz? I scrambled to get the covers off and sat up on the bed.

"Spenser," I said.

"Okay, Spenser, the time is near. Shut up and listen. This evening, eight o'clock sharp. There's an old, abandoned warehouse on the far east end of the naval yards. It's labeled, The United Grain Supply Company, on the top and sides of the building in faded white paint. Directly behind it is an empty lot about the size of a football field. Used to be a laydown area. At the other end of it is a ten-foot, chain-linked fence."

"What street is that on?" I asked.

"It's off of Sixteenth Street, between around Second or Third. You should spot it easily. It's like three stories tall."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Okay, first, you come alone. You still have the old Mustang?"

"Yeah."

"I got spotters all over the place. If we see anybody in the car with you, or another car, within a ten-block area, your girlfriend dies. Period. Next, you pull into the open gate on the south side of the warehouse. You drive to the middle of the field and park. You get out of the car and walk to the far end of the field by the fence. We'll meet you there. Any deviation from that, your girlfriend dies. Period. Got it?"

"What if somebody just happens to be driving around there at that time?" I asked.

"Then the broad dies. Period. The area is normally dead, even during the week. On Sunday evening, it should really be dead. If not, too bad."

"I'll be there. How do I know she isn't already dead?"

"You don't." Broz hung up.

"Shit," I yelled.

Okay, it's hard to believe Broz has that many people to cover the entire area, but I can't take any chances. I have to go alone. He's got me by the balls. There's no way out. The guy's gone off the deep end. I guess it's time to pay the piper.

There was no going back to sleep now. I started a fresh pot of coffee and got a whole wheat bagel out of the freezer. After I toasted the bagel, I covered it with cream cheese.

After eating, I splashed up, put my sweats on, and headed for the Common to run. I managed to put on quite a few miles and a lot of thinking.

Should I care if someone shot me while I was running? I was a dead man anyway. But if I didn't show up tonight, would Broz kill Susan? Even if he was the one who shot me? What if someone else shot me? What would Broz do then? I wouldn't be around to find out.

When I got back to my apartment, I took a long, hot shower. I shaved and then lounged around the rest of the afternoon in my terrycloth robe that Susan had bought for me.

I thought about all the things Susan and I had done and all the things we should have done. I had no regrets except for the times that put Susan in danger. Except for those few times, we've had a good life.

Chapter 28

I arrived at the warehouse at about ten minutes to eight. I parked in the middle of the field and stayed there until five minutes to eight. Those five minutes felt like an hour. Being early June, the days were longer, so there was still a fair amount of daylight, especially with a cloudless, blue sky. I reluctantly climbed out of the Mustang.

After walking slowly to the fence, I turned around to look at the warehouse. Broz was right. The area was about the size of a football field, about a hundred yards to the warehouse.

The warehouse was three stories high and completely derelict. The top two floors were lined with broken windows. The bottom floor had a giant garage on either side. On the south side, the garage door was closed. On the north, that garage door was wide open. I could just make out an automobile inside.

Looking up, I thought I saw movement in the second floor, center window, then a quick flash of red light. I happened to glance down at my chest to find two bright red buttons of light—laser sights. I caught myself gasping for air. I could die any instant now.

While I was taking in everything I could, a black limo pulled in at the south gate I had just entered. It stopped temporarily and waited for the car in the north garage, which I now saw, was also a black limo. They both came toward me. I was approximately twenty-five feet from the chain-linked fence. One limo pulled up behind me and parked alongside the fence. The other pulled up about twenty-five feet in front of me.

Gerry Broz got out of the back seat of the limo parked by the fence and came toward me. The driver also got out.

"Put your hands behind your back," the driver said.

I did so, and he proceeded to cable-tie my wrists and frisk me. He then returned to the limo and stood beside it.

"Evening, Spenser. Beautiful evening, ain't it?" Broz said.

I glanced down at the laser lights. "Okay, Gerry, you got me. Where's Susan? Let her go."

"Easy, Spenser. Not so fast. What's the rush?"

"Gerry, for once in your life, keep your word and let her go."

Broz waved to the limo in front of me. The driver got out and opened the back door. Susan got out, her wrists also cable-tied, followed by another gunman.

"Spenser. Oh, Spenser!" Susan yelled, crying.

"It's going to be all right, Suze," I said. "Take it easy."

Broz strolled over to Susan and stood in front of her. His face was about a foot away from hers. He smiled at her as he talked, but he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to me.

"You had yourself a really beautiful woman here, Spenser. I'll set her free, but after our little interlude, who knows? Maybe she'll take a fancy to me and hang around," he said, laughing.

"You fucking pig!" Susan screamed, and then spat in Broz's face.

Broz smacked her across the face. Susan's head jerked to the side, but she instantly recovered.

"You hit like a girl," she said, mocking him.

Broz, now mad, punched her in the mouth, knocking her to the ground.

"For Christ's sake, Gerry, you have me! Leave her alone, dammit, and let her go!" I yelled.

Broz stomped over to me. "No, she's not free until you're dead." He then punched me in the face, hard.

I licked my lip and tasted the blood oozing out of it, and then shook off the punch to clear my head.

Broz nodded to the gunman escorting Susan. "Say good-bye, Spenser."

The gunman started dragging her back to the limo.

"I love you, Suze," I shouted to her. "Be strong."

Tears ran down her face. "I love you, too," she said.

Chapter 29

The gunman dragged Susan into the limo, slammed the doors, and drove back to the warehouse.

I watched the limo go and disappear back into the north garage. Broz was standing beside me, also watching. We were quiet for a short time.

"Gerry, you'll never get away with this. Why do it? There's nothing to be gained. You'll never escape."

Broz laughed. "There's a helicopter sitting out on the end of Pier 9 right now, all revved up, and ready to take me away. They'll never find me. And you? You'll be sleeping comfortably on the bottom of Boston Harbor, never to be seen again."

Broz grabbed my arm, and we started walking slowly back to the limo parked along the fence. He turned to look at me and then stared at my back. We stopped.

"Shit," he said.

He reached into his left jacket pocket and pulled out a small walkie-talkie. He then spun around to face the warehouse, while leaning against the back door of the limo.

"Hey, wake up, assholes. I told you I wanted him covered. I want those laser sights on him until he's secured in the car. We ain't taking any chances. He makes one false move, shoot him."

I was staring at Broz when suddenly both of his eyes lit up bright red. They looked like the eyes of some alien being in one of those science fiction movies.

I then heard two simultaneous thuds and the bright red lights were replaced by two black holes. The back of Broz's head exploded all over the roof of the limo. His body stiffened and his mouth fell open.

In the next split second, there were two red lights side by side on his chest, and then two black holes. And then two red lights, one on each upper thigh, and then two black holes with blood splashing out. And then two red lights, one on each knee cap, and then two black holes.

Broz's body seemingly turned liquid and flowed down the side of the limo, ending up in an indiscernible blob on the ground.

I have never seen anything like this in my entire life. Other than maybe an army or marine sniper, I know of only two people on the face of the earth who could shoot like that.

The driver, who had been standing next to the limo while all this was going on, slowly raised his hands over his head and started walking along the fence. He never looked back, just kept walking, and probably praying, that he didn't get shot in the back.

As the driver was disappearing, I looked back at the warehouse. Three people were walking toward me. By now, it was getting pretty dark, and it was hard to make out faces. I did see Susan in the middle of the three. As they approached, I could see a gunman on either side of her. They each had an arm linked into hers. In their other arms, they were each cradling what looked like an AR-15, or similar weapon. But it didn't look like they were dragging Susan along. It almost looked like she was skipping beside them.

Now that they were within twenty yards, I could clearly see what was going on.

"You got some serious competition here, Spenser. You're going to have to outdo these fine gentlemen here," Susan yelled, laughing.

She let go of Vinnie and Chollo and ran at me. She then threw her arms around me and kissed my face all over.

After coming up for air, I smiled at Chollo. "Chollo, my friend, it's good to see you."

"Mr. Spenser, it's been a while," he said with a grin.

"How in hell did you get mixed up in all this?" I asked.

"I am just a poor Mexican immigrant, trying to make a living in a strange, faraway land."

I just had to laugh and shook my head.

To Vinnie, I said, "So how many is this now?"

Vinnie just smiled and said, "Like I said before…several."

Chollo then walked over to me and pulled a switchblade out of his jacket pocket. The six-inch blade slid out, and he cut the cable tie on my wrists like it was butter.

I immediately threw my arms around Susan and started kissing her. I couldn't keep my hands off of her.

Vinnie finally said, "Enough of this mushy stuff. Get a room. It's time to get the hell out of here."

"Yes, it is," I said. "But there's one more thing I have to do. You three take my car. Follow me to the entrance of Pier 9 and wait for me there.

"What are you going to do?" Susan asked. "I don't want to lose you again after all this."

"It's all right," I said. "Just cleaning up a loose end. You'll see."

I jumped into the limo and pulled away from the fence. When I was driving through the south gate, I noticed the concrete blocks lined up along the gate to hold it open. I stopped and grabbed one of the blocks and threw it onto the front passenger seat. My Mustang pulled up behind me, and we drove out together.

We drove down Sixteenth Street until we reached Pier 9. I shut off my headlights. The Mustang pulled to a stop, and they killed their lights.

I started driving slowly down the exact middle of the pier. As I got closer, I noticed the helicopter on the very end of the pier. Broz was right. It was sitting there idling. I could barely see the blades turning against the now deep indigo sky.

When I got within about fifty yards of the helicopter, I stopped, put the gear shift into Park, and opened the driver-side window. Someone standing in front of the helicopter flashed a light at me three times. I, in turn, flashed the headlights at them three times. I then quickly grabbed the concrete block and stood it next to my right leg. I then proceeded to jump out of the limo and quietly closed the door. I stretched through the window, put the limo in gear, and knocked over the concrete block—right on the accelerator.

I jumped out of the way as the wheels of the limo screeched. The limo lurched forward and sped toward the end of the pier. The guy with the flashlight must have been scurrying about. I could see the light dancing wildly around the helicopter.

I could hear the engine of the helicopter roar and the blades were going full speed. The limo was starting to veer to the left side of the pier, and I was hoping it wouldn't veer too far.

The helicopter was just starting to lift off, maybe a foot off of the pier, when the limo hit.

The limo caught the back half of the helicopter, breaking it off from the cockpit, and smashing it into the posts along the edge of the pier. The cockpit and engine started spinning wildly before it exploded into a huge ball of fire.

I threw myself down onto the pier to avoid most of the shrapnel. The ball of fire quickly died as the helicopter, the limo, everything, fell into Boston Harbor—my planned burial site.

Maybe some day, but not today.

I slowly got to my feet and walked back to the pier entrance, to my Mustang—to Susan.

Chapter 30

We were all in my Mustang, Vinnie and Chollo up front, Vinnie driving, and Susan and I in the back seat, hugging. We were headed back to my apartment.

"So how did you guys manage to get in there without being spotted?" I asked.

"We'd been shadowing Broz for quite a while now, but could never catch him in a situation that would lead us to Susan," Vinnie said.

"Otherwise, we'd have taken him out right there and then," Chollo added.

"We overheard his gunmen discussing some plan going down tonight, but didn't know where or when. So the easiest thing to do was to hide in the trunk of one of the limos. We wouldn't have to know exactly where or when. They would take us there," Vinnie said.

"Although lying in the trunk of a car for four hours isn't exactly fun. At least those limos have big trunks," Chollo said, grinning back at us.

We all got a good laugh at that.

"When they brought Susan back to the warehouse," Vinnie continued, "the gunmen escorting her were taking her back to the second floor, where they were holding her. That's when we popped the trunk and shot them with silenced .22s. Susan stayed on the first floor while we ambushed the two gunmen holding the AR-15s on the second floor. The rest of the story you know."

The guys dropped Susan and me off at my apartment. I shook hands with them, and they each got a big hug and a kiss on the cheek from Susan.

"Take care, guys," I said. "Remember, there's still a war going on out there. We don't know what's going to happen next. Call me tomorrow, late. Drop the Mustang off whenever you switch cars."

Susan and I were scrungy, sore, and very tired. We entered my apartment and tore all of our clothes off. We took turns in the shower. We finally jumped into bed and slept in each other's arms all night and most of the next day.

It had been a very trying experience.

We did not make love.

Chapter 31

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I said.

We were sitting at my kitchen table, wearing our robes, drinking coffee, and eating bagels with cream cheese and strawberry jam.

"Maybe it's too soon," Susan said.

Susan had been through a very physical and psychological trauma. She was demeaned and probably raped by Broz. Not to mention the fact that Pearl was killed right next to her. I don't know if that was before or after she was chloroformed.

"It's all right," I said. "There's no need to dwell on it. Whenever you're ready."

"Are you ever really ready?"

"It's hard to say. Maybe it's best forgotten—if that's even possible."

"I don't think it is."

"I love you, Suze. Whatever you want to do or not do is fine with me. All I know is: we're both alive and together. That's all I care about. Nothing else matters."

"I need time."

"That's fine. However long it takes, I will wait for you."

"I need to go home, get new clothes, reorganize."

"Are you sure you want to do that right now? I could pick up whatever you need and bring it back here."

"I'm good," she said.

Susan stood up, pushed her chair in, and slowly walked to the bedroom to get dressed.

Do shrinks go to shrinks? In a situation like this, maybe they do. People always say that it's better to talk about things like this and bring them out in the open. But is that always true? Would it be better to talk to a shrink than to talk to me? It doesn't matter to me. Whatever helps Susan. That's all I want.

Was she damaged beyond repair? I don't believe that. Susan was very resilient. And being a shrink, she knew how the mind worked. She will get through this. She just isn't herself right now.

I hadn't been back to Susan's house since it was declared a crime scene. I hope to God they didn't leave a pool of blood in the bedroom from Pearl.

While Susan was in the bathroom dressing and applying makeup, I made a call to Henry Cimoli.

"Henry, sorry to bother you, but I need a favor."

"Anything. Just say the word," Henry said.

"I'm sure you've heard the story by now. I need Susan's house cleaned up as soon as possible. She insists on going home."

"It's already done. The day they pulled the crime tape I stopped over there to clean up what I could and then called a cleaning crew to do the rest."

"You're the greatest, Henry. I owe you, big time."

"Don't mention it."

Henry was a true friend. He's not one of those people who say, "Why do you want me to do that?" or "How am I suppose to do that?" He just does it. Period. No questions. Just like Hawk.

Susan was now dressed and standing in front of the bedroom mirror while she brushed her hair. I entered the bedroom and stood beside the bed, starting to dress.

She stopped brushing and looked at me through the mirror. "Is Pearl with our usual sitter or do you have her in a kennel? We could pick her up on the way back to my house."

God help me.

Things weren't bad enough. She didn't know. Now I have to dump this on her—on top of everything else. There was no easy way.

Chapter 32

It was a clear, beautiful July morning. I was standing in my office, looking down on Berkeley Street. The morning traffic was starting to build, just like every morning around this time. I cranked open the window behind my desk to let in the fresh morning air before the pollution and the heat started building later in the day.

I sat down to drink my just-poured cup of coffee and started reading the morning paper. I tried, but couldn't concentrate. My mind kept going back to the phone call I had last night with Susan. She had gone to San Francisco to try and "find herself" as she always put it.

It was where she was supposed to go on that fateful day, months earlier, instead of being kidnapped. The whole sequence of events that followed that incident had put our lives through a meat grinder.

A week after that Sunday evening in early June when Gerry Broz was put down for good, I was putting Susan on a plane to the West Coast. The kidnapping, the confinement, and the rape had totally shattered her psyche. By the time I told her about Pearl, it was almost a non-issue. Yes, she cried, long and hard. But to her fractured mind, it was just another incident in a list of ongoing bad experiences. Why is that any worse than all the other things that had happened? Why should it end there?

Susan had been seeking help. At least she wasn't so far gone that she didn't recognize that she needed it. The shrink that was part of her was still alive and aware.

We managed to talk on the phone once or twice a week, depending on how she felt, or what I was involved with at the time. Our relationship had become purely platonic. When we talked, it was usually about events or work or public commitments, not about personal feelings or emotions. Susan remained very matter-of-fact and never went beyond that. I was sure that it was some sort of protective mechanism to keep her emotions in check.

An unbelievable sequence of events had taken place within a few months, just like falling dominos—one by one. George and Ellen Hogan were dead. As was Lee Wallace. Tony Marcus was dead, Gino Fish was in jail, and Joe and Gerry Broz were dead. Julius Ventura was still recovering from a gunshot wound. At least two dozen gunmen and bodyguards were killed, including Victor Sanchez. Oh, and our intruder friend—I finally found out his name—Frankie Sample, will get life in prison without parole. And Susan was kidnapped and raped.

Talk about a war.

And we also can't forget that Quirk, Lieutenant of the Homicide Division of the Boston Police Department, was shot. Luckily, a minor wound. Hawk was shot in the elbow, but don't tell him that. He won't believe you.

Speaking of Hawk, I still hadn't heard anything from him. It had been weeks. He may be dead by now. Don't know. You never knew with Hawk. He was a walking mystery.

Thankfully, there was a lull in the action here. People were regrouping and forming new alliances.

The phone rang and snapped me out of my concentration.

"Spenser," I said.

"Spenser, now that things are slow, and you and your buddies have killed everybody in Boston, I just wanted to let you know that Sonny Karnofsky is back from Miami," Frank Belson said.

"So, now that the dust has settled, old Sonny is here to take charge."

"Yeah. I don't know if he was in on the conspiracy to take you out, but I thought I'd let you know, just in case."

"Just more scum rising to the surface. Thanks for the heads-up, Frank," I said.

"You betcha." Belson hung up.

So, the vacuum is starting to fill in again. I didn't want to go through another war. I just wanted to be with Susan. But she had to want to be with me. I didn't know if she did. I'd fly to San Francisco right now if she wanted me to, but I can't make her want me. She has to want me.

I was one of the few people in this whole situation that didn't get shot or killed, but I did lose half of my existence. With Susan gone, I felt like I died anyway.

I just exist now, like a potted plant.

They didn't kill me; they just took my life.