That night, I flew back to Boston. I had been in Sunnydale for three days, but it had felt like three months. Susan met me at the airport, wearing a sleeveless black t-shirt and white shorts and thin black flip flops that alone probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Seeing her was like seeing iced lemonade after walking for a week in the desert. It probably didn't help that on the drive back there was a news story on the radio about some preacher being arrested for public indecency after being found hugging a naked woman. We stopped at my apartment on Marlborough Street, where we showered together, then tried out my bed, then showered again. The next morning, Susan went back to Cambridge and to Pearl, and I went to my office. There was another check from Hank Summers in the mail, but there was no phone message from him. No questions about how the case was going. I closed up the office and drove to New York.

Hank Summers worked for Sunset Development Associates, a Los Angeles based company that managed land investments. They had taken advantage of the real estate boom in Southern California in the 1970's and expanded into an international company. The New York Offices were located on the thirteenth and fourteenth floors of the Baxter Building. The receptionist at the desk was an attractive black woman with very white teeth and a very flattering white dress.

"Mr. Summers is out of the office," she chirped. "Shall I tell him who called for him?"

"Sure," I said, and handed her my card. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"I certainly don't, Mr. Spenser," she said. "But I will certainly tell him you called when he comes back."

"Well I certainly thank you," I said.

I went down to the lobby, where there was a Doublemeat Palace. I've always found their chicken and beef sandwiches to be inedible. I ordered two, with fries and a Diet Coke and a coffee. As I sat at a table, I listened to a young teenage couple at the table next to me. They were talking about physics or biology or both, I could understand maybe every fourth word the boy said, every fifth word the girl said. The boy was taller than I was and had short brown hair. The girl was blond and very good looking, and maybe Buffy Summers' age. As I finished my sandwiches and my Coke and started on my coffee, a guy I recognized got off the elevator and walked into the restaurant. Another man was with him. While the other man went to the counter to order, the guy I knew walked up to my table and sat down.

"Hello, Jacky," I said.

Jacky Wax was the right hand man for Mr. Milo, the wealthiest crook on the Eastern Seaboard. He was also Mr. Milo's shooter. He looked pretty much the same as when I saw him last, but his hair was now predominantly white with black streaks instead of black with white streaks. It was still long, and slicked back. He was wearing a black suit with a black shirt and a white tie. He looked very much like the authentic gangster that he was.

"Waddya want with Hank Summers?" he asked.

"What, no preamble? No how are you, Spenser? No good to see you again, Spenser? No how's the weather in Boston, Spenser?"

"It ain't good to see you again, Spenser, you are a pain in the ass."

Jacky's companion joined us, bringing a tray with a coffee and a soft drink. Jacky took the coffee and his companion took the soft drink. The companion looked like another Jacky, but maybe twenty, twenty five years younger. His hair was long and slicked back like Jacky's, but jet black. He wore a black suit that matched Jacky's, but his shirt was blue and his tie was red.

I jerked my head towards the younger guy.

"Chip off the old block?"

Jacky nodded. "John Weatherwax, Junior."

"Pleased to meet you, Junior," I said.

Junior didn't acknowledge me, didn't sit down. He drank from his soft drink without taking his eyes off me. His gaze was flat. There was no anger, no concern, no affect. I noticed that he held the drink with his left hand and kept his right hand free and close to his jacket.

Jacky's gaze was very much the same, as were the positions of his hands.

"Hank Summers," he said. "I want you to tell me what your interest is in him."

"Well, I gather he is doing some business for you," I said. "In fact, I am guessing that you were in his office when I came to see him. You got my name from the receptionist, and decided to find out what was up."

"My Pop asked you a question, jackass," Junior said. "You're gonna want to answer it."

"Junior, go sit in the lobby and wait for me," Jacky said. He didn't take his eyes off me.

"You sure, Pop?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Junior took a long pull from his soft drink, threw away the cup, and walked out into the lobby. He didn't appear to be offended by his dismissal. I took a drink from my coffee. Jacky kept looking at me. I put the coffee cup down.

"Jacky, whatever your business is with Hank Summers, I don't know and chances are I don't give a rat's ass."

"Summers says he hired you to find his daughter."

"That's right."

"So, you just reporting to him?"

"That, and I have some questions to ask him concerning his daughter."

Jacky took a drink from his coffee and made a face. Doublemeat Palace's coffee was only slightly better than their sandwiches.

"Don't think we got a problem with that. We'd like to sit in while you talk to him."

"As long as he doesn't have a problem with it, I don't have a problem with it."

Jacky smiled. His teeth were white and I thought of a shark. "He won't have a problem with it."