Authors: Robert B Parker
Sixkill (10 page)
"Fatso looked a little worried," she said. "The Indian didn't look anything. Nobody looked, you know, like, sad that this kid had died."
"You think they knew she was dead?"
"She didn't look alive," Zoe said.
"Anything else?" I said.
She shook her head. I took my card from a shirt pocket and gave it to her.
"If you or Arnie have any recollections of interest," I said, "give me a call."
"The pig did it, you know," Zoe said.
"You sure?" I said.
"Creepy bastard," Zoe said.
"Be nice if we could hang it on him," I said. "But maybe he didn't."
She shrugged.
"Idle question?" I said.
"Sure."
"How come you were willing to talk with me after I told you Hotel Counsel said no?"
Zoe smiled.
"Fuck him," she said.
18
THE ER DOCTOR
who had worked on Dawn Lopata when they brought her in was a young guy named Cristalli. I talked with him in an examining room near the triage desk.
who had worked on Dawn Lopata when they brought her in was a young guy named Cristalli. I talked with him in an examining room near the triage desk.
"She was dead when she got here," he said. "We tried, why wouldn't we? But she was unresponsive."
"Which is medical speak for dead," I said.
"Just like
discomfort,
" he said, "is medical speak for pain."
discomfort,
" he said, "is medical speak for pain."
"You have a thought about what killed her?" I said.
"I'm not the ME," he said. "But we see a lot of death from trauma coming through here, and I'd say she was strangled."
"You have a theory as to how?"
"Ligature," he said.
"How long before she would have lost consciousness?" I said.
"Ten, fifteen seconds," he said.
"And death?"
"Minutes," Dr. Cristalli said.
"So you'd need to keep the pressure on even after the vic loses consciousness," I said.
"If it's death you're after," he said.
"So can it happen accidentally?" I said.
"Sure. We regularly get people who strangle themselves playing choking games, usually masturbatory."
"You can tell?" I said.
"That it was masturbatory?"
"Yeah," I said.
"It's usually pretty obvious at the death scene," Dr. Cristalli said.
"It is?" I said. "Like how . . . Never mind."
"Never mind?" Cristalli said.
"I can guess, and it's all I want to do," I said.
"Anyway," Cristalli said. "In this case, EMTs told me there was no sign of it."
"She was fully dressed," I said. "Lying on her back on the bed."
"That's what they told me," he said.
"Presumably she'd been having sex," I said. "Odd that she'd be fully dressed."
"I didn't check," Cristalli said. "Once it was clear that she wasn't coming back, she became a problem for the ME."
"So you don't know if she was having sex or not," I said.
"Nope," he said. "But there are a couple things about that, and I admit I wouldn't have registered it. One, she wasn't wearing a bra."
"Not everyone does," I said.
"Nurses insist that she would have."
"Well-endowed?" I said.
"Excessively, I would say, but it is, I suppose, a matter of personal preference."
"What's the other thing?" I said.
"Her underpants were on backward."
"Backward," I said. "I'm not sure I could tell."
"That's what they told me," he said.
I nodded. We were quiet. Outside the exam room, a stretcher came in and stopped at the desk.
"Somebody dressed her," I said.
"The thought occurred," he said.
Zebulon Sixkill VThe deal was, Pat Calhoun said, "I take care of the money. You take care of the football."Zebulon nodded."Well," Pat said. "You 're not taking care of the football no more."They were sitting in the red-leather front seat of Pat's silver Mercedes in a parking lot in Garden Grove.Zebulon was silent."Looking back, I realize," Pat said, "that I'm at fault. I promised your grandfather I'd look after you, and . . . hell, I guess I trusted you too much."Zebulon shrugged."You stopped running your sprints. You stopped pumping your iron. You weren't focused on the game. Hell, Harmon says you forgot half the plays; it's the same offense you ran in last year."Zebulon nodded. Pat shook his head."Too much booze, too much dope, too many prom queens.""Just Lucy," Zebulon said."Sure," Pat said. "Too much fucking.""Don't talk about Lucy," Zebulon said."Right, sorry," Pat said. "Anyway, you're out of shape, you're off the team, and I am not paying your way anymore.""How do I pay tuition?" Zebulon said."Ain't that a good question," Pat said. "How you gonna eat, for crissake?""Need a job," Zebulon said."You do, and because I feel guilty, like I let your grandfather down, I'm gonna give you one. I own a club in Hollywood. They can use a bouncer. Big, tough guy like you. Good-looking don't hurt with the ladies. Don't know what they're paying, but I'll see to it you get enough to keep you going.""How about the condo," Zebulon said."Gonna sell it," Pat said. "I'll give you a month to find another place.""Where's the club?" Zebulon said."Sunset, west of Highland.""What time?""Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Wear black pants and a black T-shirt."Zebulon nodded."Okay," he said.
19
HARVARD STADIUM LOOKED
like a smaller version of the Roman Colosseum. Z and I were in the stadium, on the empty football field. We who are about to kick off salute you.
like a smaller version of the Roman Colosseum. Z and I were in the stadium, on the empty football field. We who are about to kick off salute you.
"How far can you sprint?" I said.
"I can run a ways," Z said.
"How far can you do it full-out, like you were running the hundred."
"We did forties when I was playing football."
"Okay," I said. "We'll run some intervals. Sprint one hundred yards, walk two hundred. Sprint one hundred, walk two hundred. See how it works out."
Z shrugged. We walked to the goal line.
I said, "Go," and we sprinted for the other end zone. At the fifty, Z began to flag. And I was waiting for him in the end zone when he came slowly across the goal line, breathing very hard.
"Now we walk back, and then walk back here, and then sprint another one hundred," I said.
"Sure," Z said.
We walked the two hundred at an easy pace. And sprinted one hundred. And walked two hundred. After the eighth sprint, Z threw up.
"Hey," I said. "You're in Harvard Stadium."
Bent over with his hands braced on his thighs, he gasped, "Outta shape."
We sat in the empty stands for a bit while Z's health returned.
"I thought I was in shape," Z said. "I thought I could fight."
"Confusing," I said. "You sure you're a Cree Indian?"
"What they told me," Z said.
"Good," I said. "If you were Irish, Sixkill would be a really funny name."
"Sounds better in Cree," he said.
"Lemme hear," I said.
He said something.
"By God, you're right," I said.
"What about that girl?" he said.
"Know anything?"
Z shrugged.
"I was in the living room," he said. "Jumbo opens the bedroom door, tells me to call."
"He have many guests like that in his room?"
"Every day," Z said.
"Always girls?"
"Girls, boys," Z said.
"Not choosy," I said. "And great natural charm."
"They wanna fuck a star," Z said.
"Dawn like that?" I said.
"Ready to play any game Jumbo wanted."
"He play games?" I said.
"Kinky stuff?"
"Yes."
"Whadda you think?" Z said.
"I'd rather not think about it," I said.
"He used to carry sex tools in a gym bag," Z said.
"Was Dawn Lopata his standard MO?"
"Sure. Had them scheduled, like regular. Days ahead."
"Any trouble before?" I said.
"Not much," Z said. "Couple pregnancies. Paid them off."
"And the boys?" I said.
"None of them get pregnant."
"The press?"
"They write about him, his lawyers go after them hard, and they get sort of discouraged. But what does get printed is Jumbo pretending."
"The public seems less willing to buy this kid's death," I said.
"Which means Jumbo is in trouble," Z said. "You flounder, they let you drown."
"So what is Jumbo Nelson really like?" I said.
Z shook his head.
"Sick," Z said. "Mean."
"I'da guessed that," I said.
Some clouds had drifted in front of the sun, and a light rain began to fall as we walked back to my car. Harvard probably had a deal with nature to clean up after someone barfs.
20
RITA AND I SAT
with Jumbo Nelson in Rita's office. Jumbo's agent was with him, and a new bodyguard he'd imported from Los Angeles, who was wearing a black shirt, a black tie, and a snap-brim hat.
with Jumbo Nelson in Rita's office. Jumbo's agent was with him, and a new bodyguard he'd imported from Los Angeles, who was wearing a black shirt, a black tie, and a snap-brim hat.
The bodyguard leaned on the wall beside the door and folded his arms. The agent was a good-looking woman in a creamcolored pantsuit. She wore rimless glasses with a pink tint.
"I'm Alice DeLauria," she said. "I'm Jumbo's agent."
Rita introduced herself and me.
"Boston is quite lovely in the spring," Alice said. "I hadn't realized."
"Can the fucking schmooze, Alice," Jumbo said. "Tell 'em why we're here."
Alice smiled.
"Isn't he cranky," she said. "But okay, bottom line, we wish to discuss a change."
"Such as?" Rita said.
"Such as getting rid of this asshole," Jumbo said, and jerked his head at me.
I looked at Rita.
"Asshole?" I said.
She smiled.
"I guess he knows you better than I thought," she said.
"I would advise you strongly against getting rid of Mr. Spenser," Rita said. "He is very good at this work."
"He hasn't done a fucking thing to get this cockamamie charge off my back."
"If it can be gotten off," Rita said, "we will do it."
"I'm firing him," Jumbo said.
"You can't fire him," Rita said. "He works for me."
"Then I'm firing you," Jumbo said.
"You can't fire me, either," Rita said. "Because I quit."
"Quit?" Jumbo said. "You can't quit on me."
"Can too," Rita said.
"Well, fuck you, then. There's a few other lawyers around," Jumbo said.
"There are," Rita said. "And if you hire one, I'll bring him up to speed with where I am. Meanwhile, this meeting is over. Beat it."
"Alice," Jumbo said. "Goddamn it. . . ."
"Oh, shut up, Jumbo," Alice said.
She stood up and put her hand out to Rita.
"Well," she said. "Kind of short, but certainly sweet."
Rita smiled and shook her hand.
"Kind of sweet," Rita said.
Jumbo stood up.
"Fuck both of you," he said.
Rita smiled.
"Beautifully put," she said.
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