Spenser 11 valediction, p.8
Spenser 11 - Valediction, page 8
I lied to him. I said, “I’m not after you, Bullard. I’m after Paultz.”
He raised his eyes toward me. Salvation.
“You lay it out for me, all of it, how it worked. How much money, where it came from, how much you got off the top for the laundry job, all the things you know.”
“If I do?” he said.
“Like I say, I’m not after you.”
If he’d been smarter, he’d have known I was lying. My ploy to get them pictured together was warning enough for Paultz to eliminate anything incriminating on his lot or in his business. I didn’t care. Whether Paultz ran the heroin store, or Joe Broz, or Harry the horse, made very little difference to me or to the junkies whose lives would be forfeit to it. What I really cared about was Sherry Spellman.
“I’ll tell you all I know,” he said. And he did.
I took notes and when he was through I let him reread my notes and had him sign each page. He did without protest, although I could tell that seeing it written out on paper made him nervous. It was about as I had it figured, although the numbers were higher than I’d guessed. One thing I noticed was that as far as I could tell there was only Winston’s word on the Paultz connection, which meant if Winston were dead, there’d be no real way to tie Paultz to any of this. If I knew it, Paultz knew it. I went to Winston’s desk and used his phone. I left word with Henry Cimoli for Hawk to call me, gave him Winston’s number, and hung up.
“I’m going to wait here for a call,” I said. “Did anyone else in your organization deal with Paultz?”
“No.”
“You’re the only one that knows where the money comes from?”
“Yes.”
“How’d it start?”
Winston stared out through the glass at Commonwealth Avenue. “The first donations were anonymous,” he said in a flat soft voice. “Big donations when we were struggling to get a foothold. Life-saving donations.”
“Seed money,” I said. “It’s the same way they develop a junkie.”
“Then one day Mickey Paultz came and called on me. He introduced himself, explained that he’d been the anonymous contributor, and made another donation. In cash, always cash. No strings. That continued for a while and then he came again and asked for a loan. I was sorry, embarrassed even, but I explained to him that I’d spent all of his donation money on church business. He said that was understandable, that he’d give me a very large donation and ask me to lend that to him. I was puzzled. Naive, I suppose, but I couldn’t see why he’d want to do that. He insisted, and I said that I had never seen anything done like that, and that I felt I should consult an attorney before I did it.”
Winston paused and hunched his shoulders a little.
“Then Paultz explained it to me. He told me where the money came from and why he had given it to me and said that I’d be through if people knew it was dirty money.”
“And?” I said.
“And there’d be no more donations if I didn’t go along.”
I nodded. “Hard to give up,” I said. “The church, the power, the home, the car, the deacons, the whole thing.”
“I couldn’t,” Winston said. “I couldn’t give it up. I’d created it, built it, made it work, made it flourish. I couldn’t.”
We were both quiet until the phone rang.
I answered. It was Hawk.
I said, “I need a body guarded. Can you take the first shift while I work up some more troops?”
“Winston?”
“Yes.”
“Paultz?”
“Unh-huh.”
“Wondered when you’d think of that,” Hawk said. “I be along.”
When I hung up, Winston looked at me and licked his lips.
“What is this about a bodyguard?”
“You’re the only one who can tie Paultz to this,” I said. “He’d sleep better if you were dead.”
Winston said, “Oh, my dear God.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “Hawk will keep you safe for now, and I’ll arrange with a man I know to give you round-the-clock protection.”
“Is Hawk the Negro who told me Paultz had to see me?”
“Yes.”
“The one who was with you when you took the pictures?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll guard me alone?”
“He could guard Yugoslavia alone,” I said.
“I could have some deacons come.”
I shook my head. “If there’s trouble, they’ll just get hurt,” I said.
Winston nodded. There was no resolve left in him. He was scared and it made him weak.
In ten minutes Hawk showed up at the front door carrying a leather gun case and a Nike gym bag. He nodded at Winston, took a box of 12-gauge shotgun shells from the gym bag and set them on the table, put a box of .357 shells beside them, unzipped the gun case, took out an Ithaca shotgun, loaded it, and leaned it against the table. Then he looked around the room.
“Good place to get shot from the street,” he said.
I nodded. Winston seemed to sink back deeper into his chair. He looked smaller than he had when I’d first met him.
“Let’s find an inside room,” Hawk said. He put his ammunition back into the gym bag. Picked up the shotgun.
I said, “I’m going out and work on things. I’ll be back to give you a break.”
Hawk nodded. Winston looked at me as if I were his father leaving him at a strange nursery school. “Do what Hawk says,” I told him. “You’ll be fine.”
He nodded. I left him with Hawk and let myself out the front door.
I went to my office and called Vinnie Morris. He wasn’t there. I asked for Joe Broz. There was no one by that name there. Which was a crock, but Joe had always been shy. I left word for Vinnie to call me and hung up and sat.
Across the street there was something hanging in Linda’s office window. I looked harder. It was a big red heart. I smiled. The phone rang. It was Vinnie.
“For crissake, don’t you know better than to ask for Joe,” he said.
“Self-amusement,” I said. “You still want to help me on the Paultz thing?”
“Depends.”
“I need some people to keep Bullard Winston alive.”
“The minister or whatever the fuck he is?”
“Yes. He’s all we’ve got on Mickey.”
“You with him now?”
“No. Hawk’s got him.”
“He’s safe enough for now,” Vinnie said, “ ‘less he annoys Hawk.”
“How about you pick it up at eight o’clock, give you time to organize it.”
“Sure. Where is he?”
I told him. “I’ll be there at eight to meet you. Come yourself so I’ll know they’re your people.”
“No sweat, just make sure you don’t jerk us off on this one, buddy boy. We do this and you don’t dump Paultz and Joe is going to say it ain’t cost-effective. You understand?”
“Would I mislead you, Vinnie?”
“Yes,” Vinnie said. “But only once.”
I said, “See you at eight,” and hung up.
Before I left the office I drew a large smile face on a piece of typewriter paper and taped it into my window facing Linda’s heart.
CHAPTER 24
I made some Xerox copies of my notes of Winston’s spilled beans. I put a copy in the safe-deposit box, took out one of the photos, and went back to my office. I got out two manila envelopes. In each I put a copy of the notes and a picture of Paultz and Winston. Then I went to see Sherry Spellman.
She was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt that said DO YOU KNOW JESUS across the back, and was hoeing beans in a garden in back of the Salisbury branch of the church. She stopped when she saw me and looked a little less serious. Life would never be bubbly for Sherry.
We sat in the front seat of my car and I showed her the picture first.
“Reverend Winston, you recognize. The other man is Mickey Paultz, whose primary source of income is the processing and sale of heroin.”
Sherry looked at me and widened her eyes. I gave her the notes. “Notice,” I said as she began to read, “that each page is signed by Reverend Winston.”
She read on and then stopped and looked at me and read some more. When she got through she shook her head.
“No,” she said.
I nodded.
“No. He wouldn’t have done this. I don’t know what you’re doing but it’s not true.”
I waited. There was the hum of locust in the air, and the sound occasionally of a dog, and now and then the rush of a car past us on Route 1.
“Why does he say these things?” I said.
“He didn’t. You made them up and forged his signature.” She looked at me. I waited.
She shook her head again. Her eyes were wet.
“No,” she said. “You wouldn’t do that.”
She began to read the notes again. Halfway through she put her head down in her hands and began to cry. I patted her shoulder softly.
Finally she stopped crying. “It’s true,” she said. Her voice was clogged.
“Yes,” I said. My throat felt a little achy.
Sherry hunched very tightly, her shoulders pressing in toward her small breast. “Isn’t there anyplace for me?” she said.
“You like this church?” I said.
She nodded. “I know you think it’s junk,” she said. “But it is home for me. It is peace. We’re not crazy cults or anything. We love God and trust Him and try to live like Jesus. And now it’s gone.” She was crying again. “And now I have no place.”
I held her against me. My breath was heavy balanced against her sobs.
“It’s not gone,” I said. “I’ll fix it for you.”
A crowd of chickens came around the side of the building clucking and pecking at the ground and began to mill around the yard near the front door. Feeding time. Sherry’s body shook as I held her.
“I’ll fix it,” I said. “You don’t need Winston. You are the church, not him.”
She tried to speak, but she cried too hard. It wasn’t intelligible.
“You can run it,” I said. “I’ll get you financing. I’ll get you help.”
A young woman in a plaid shirt and a wraparound denim skirt and cowboy boots came out of the front of the church building and began scattering feed to the chickens. They made a lot of noise about it. As she scattered the feed she looked uneasily at me and Sherry in my car.
Sherry stopped crying. She sat up and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweat shirt. “How?” she said.
“You’ll see,” I said.
“Do you really know how?” she said.
“Yes, but it’s better if I not tell you.”
“You really know?”
“I have a plan,” I said.
CHAPTER 25
I left Sherry with the confession and picture, back in the envelope. I took the other envelope and drove down to Quincy to visit Mickey. This time when I went in the two sluggers were there along with Paultz.
I tossed the manila envelope on the desk. The squinty-eyed one was chewing a toothpick. Nobody spoke. Paultz picked up the envelope and looked at the contents. He read my notes of Winston’s spilled beans. Then he put the picture and the notes back into the envelope and put the envelope on the table next to a dirty white coffee mug that said Canobie Lake Park on it in red letters.
“This is going to get you killed, pal,” Paultz said to me.
“Yeah, but only once,” I said.
“You got copies of this shit,” Paultz said.
I didn’t comment.
“But that’s all you got,” he said. “And when Winston’s dead you’ll have even less.”
I waited.
Paultz sucked a little on his lower lip. “And when you’re dead you’ll have nothing at all.”
“Be restful though,” I said.
“You’re going after a very big fish with a very goddamned small piece of bait. It doesn’t make sense.”
Paultz took his rimless glasses off, and plucked a Kleenex from a blue flowered box on the table and polished the glasses and put them back on.
“I’m missing something,” he said. “What do you want?”
“I want a trust fund,” I said. “One million dollars.”
“Too bad,” Paultz said. “I heard you were different. That you weren’t a chiseler.” He shrugged.
“It’s for the church.”
“Winston’s church?”
“Yes.”
“There ain’t a million in my whole operation.”
“Then I take you down too,” I said.
Paultz smiled faintly. “You think you can do that? You think anyone can find any evidence around here of anything but the construction business?”
“I have Winston’s confession.”
Paultz nodded at the table where the envelope was.
“That won’t stand in court, you know goddamned well it won’t. And Winston will be dead, so he can’t testify.”
“And some of your customers will talk,” I said.
“Who?”
“People you wholesale to.”
“Name one.”
I shook my head.
“And what happens to them when they testify?”
“They get immunity from prosecution,” I said, “and you go away and they take over the company.”
Paultz looked at the ceiling. He sucked his lower lip again.
“Could be Marcus. The big nigger with you today could be from Marcus.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And you could be full of shit,” he said.
Which was getting rather close to home. I had no idea if Broz would let anyone testify with or without immunity. I had no idea if anyone would give anyone immunity.
“And if I go for the trust?” Paultz said.
“I leave you in place.”
“You don’t care if I push junk on helpless children,” Paultz said.
“Someone will,” I said. “You’re no worse than the next piece of dog shit that would run your business.”
The squinty-eyed slugger said, “Your mouth gonna get you hurt bad pretty soon.”
I kept looking at Paultz. “What say, Mickey, want me to get a trust drawn up?”
“Two hundred and fifty,” Paultz said.
“Five,” I said.
“Three fifty,” Paultz said.
“I’ll get it drawn up,” I said.
Nobody said anything else. I left.
CHAPTER 26
“I have a friend,” Susan said on the phone, “a guy friend.”
I felt vertigo way inside. I said, “Yes.”
“I’ve known him for a while,” Susan said. “Before I left.”
“In Washington?” The vertigo spiraled down. Bottomless.
“Yes. He’s from here. And he got me this job.”
“He must be a fine man,” I said, “or you wouldn’t be with him.”
“I don’t live with him,” Susan said. Her voice was steady but I could hear strain in it. “And I don’t wish to live with him or marry him. I have told him that I love you and that I will always love you.”
“Is he content with that?”
“No, but he accepts it. He knows that he’ll lose me if he presses.” The firmness in her voice was chilling.
“Me too,” I said.
Silence ran along the 3000 miles of line and microwave relay. Then Susan said, “You have got to get over Los Angeles. That’s not a condition, or anything. It is truth. For your own sake. You have to be able to fail, to be wrong. For God’s sake, you are human.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m trying. I met a woman, and she helps.”
“Good,” Susan said.
“What’s his name?” I said.
“You don’t know him, no need to name him. He is not part of you and me.”
I said, “That cuts it pretty fine.”
Susan was silent.
“You don’t mind Linda?” I said.
“No. You have to unlock. You have to open up. You’re like a fortress with the drawbridge closed. If Linda helps you, I like it.”
“And it makes you feel less guilty,” I said.
“Maybe, and maybe if there’s someone with you, I worry for you less…sometimes I worry about you so that I can barely breathe.”
“I care about her,” I said. “I guess I sort of love her. But not like I love you. Linda knows that. I have not lied to her about it.”
“The only thing that would be awful,” Susan said, and I knew from her voice that she was speaking of things she’d thought about often, “would be if you said to me, ‘I never want to see you again. I never want to look at your goddamned face again.’ When I think of that I get the awful anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“I will never say that,” I said.
“Maybe you should use words like never and ever less often,” she said.
“I’ll never use them ever again,” I said.
“Weak humor,” Susan said, “but better than none.”
“It hurts only when I laugh,” I said.
“Yes. I’m going to hang up now. You be careful of yourself.”
“I will.”
“I’ll call soon.”
“Yes.”
She hung up and the silence in the room swarmed in on me. I looked at my watch, 10:30. Linda had gone to a meeting of the art directors of Boston. I called her. She was home. I went. It was raining again.
Linda was wearing a pink nightgown when she let me in. I put my arms around her and held her against me soundlessly. After a while she leaned her head back and looked at my face, her body still pressed against me.
“Susan?” she said.
I nodded.
“Come to the bed,” she said. I hugged her harder against me.
She said it again, gently. “Come to the bed. We’ll lie on the bed together.”
I went with her to the bedroom and we lay on the bed. I hadn’t even taken off my raincoat. Linda kissed me for a long time. And she touched my hair and rubbed the back of my neck. And patted my cheek quietly and kissed me again.
I clung to her as if I clung to earth, as if to let go were to disperse into the rainy night.
Linda seemed to know that. She held me as I held her and kissed me and patted me. There was no sexuality to it. There was love and need and solace.
