Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)(37)

“Featherstone wasn’t like that,” Kevin said. “You could’ve talked to him. Maybe let him know what we’re doing and how it was going to help the whole department. He’d get it.”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Johnnie said. Smiling, smoke leaking out of his nostrils. The traffic moved to a crawl and Johnny reached across him to the glove box. He pulled out a business card and handed it to him.

“Ever heard of this guy?”

“A private eye?” Kevin said. He sort of laughed. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Are you doubting me?” Kevin said. “I been in this damn thing from the start. So don’t get paranoid that everyone is turning. I said I’d stick with it and I’ll stick with it. We got the whole department hopping. Things are gonna get better for them. The city will take care of them. Give them what they need. Where’d you get that card?”

“Found it someplace,” Johnny said.

“On Featherstone?”

Johnny mashed his horn and threw up his hands. The car in front of him at a dead stop, traffic moving along ahead into Quincy. The bright summer sun going down over the river.

“We gotta find him,” Johnny said. “I know this guy at Engine Eight. He says this guy is a pal of that fat ass Jack McGee. He’s seen them together. If this guy knew Featherstone and Featherstone told him about us, we are royally f*cked.”

“And then where does it stop, Johnny?” Kevin said. “This is to do some good. You can’t get nuts on me. This guy doesn’t know shit.”

“He’s not part of the department,” Johnny said. “This snoop is a f*cking outsider. We need to let him know he’s not welcome to any of this.”

Johnny moved off the bridge and zipped around the big SUV that had been blocking him for the last ten minutes. He gave an old woman the finger and then reached up with his little hand to puff on the cigarette. He tucked the cigarette back in his mouth as he took a turn.

“And how do we do that?” Kevin said. But already knowing the answer.

“You hit a man where he lives and he’ll never get back up.”





31


The next morning, Susan and I lay side by side in lounge chairs facing a large, clover-shaped pool. The pool looked very much the same as it had more than twenty years ago. The hotel not so much. The carpet was dated and the restaurant less than spectacular. Back in the glory days, it was Dunfey’s. Now it was just called the Resort and Conference Center at Hyannis.

“Do you think I look that much different?” Susan said.

She wore a strapless black one-piece. Her shoulders and long limbs were toned and tan. Her hair was wet, shiny, and black. Her sunglasses were large and white, looking like something lifted from Audrey Hepburn.

“Not a bit,” I said. “But I think I’m taller. And have more stamina.”

“You did last night.”

“Aren’t you impressed I got us the same room?”

“With the same décor,” she said. “I guess the hotel is into nostalgia, too.”

“Would you rather move to the Chatham Bars?”

“Yes,” she said. “But no. We came here for a reason. And it’s a very good one.”

I had on a pair of black Wayfarers, my Braves cap, and red swim trunks. Sometimes, you don’t mess with the classics. “Shall I sing ‘Happy Birthday’ now or at dinner?”

“Is it just you?” she said. “Or have you arranged for an entire orchestra?”

“The Pops were busy,” I said. “How would you feel about Spenser and the Dropkick Murphys? ‘Happy Birthday, Dear Suze’?”

Susan lowered her sunglasses a hint, raised an eyebrow, and arched her back before settling into the lounge chair. Outside the pool, a couple of men practiced on a small putting green and talked about what little they knew about athletics. I’d been told there was an excellent golf course on the premises. The problem was that I had never played golf or ever intended to play.

“Enjoy the break,” I said. “Things might get complicated when we get home.”

“Work?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if Susan could even tell, with the big white sunglasses on.

“Anyone particularly mad at you?” she said. “Or too many to count?”

“I may have focused some interest on the wrong man,” I said. “Who is a very bad man. Just not the right man for what I suspected.”

“You made a mistake?”

“I know,” I said. “Can you believe it?”

“And how’d you find out you’d upset him?”

“Vinnie let me know,” I said. “He recommended we leave town for a bit.”

“Did that annoy you?” she said. “That you had already planned this trip and some might infer it was connected?”

“Very much so.”

Susan’s attention drifted for a moment. A young woman in a black top and small white shorts walked around the pool, checking on guests. Susan tapped her index finger on her lower lip, deep in thought. “Is it too early for a cocktail?”

I looked at my watch. It was after eleven a.m. I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”