Rough Weather Part 16

"You are, as usual, flippant. And you are, as usual, involved in something you don't understand," Rugar said. "Nothing is as it seems."

"The old illusion-and-reality issue," I said. "You're a heavy guy, Rugar."

He gestured to our waitress for another drink.

"I will not," he said, looking at Susan, "do any harm to Dr. Silverman. It would compromise the adversarial dignity of our history."

The waitress set Rugar's drink down before him and took his empty gla.s.s and left.

"You believe me?" Rugar said.

"Your word is good," I said.

"Yes," he said. "It is. And I give you my word that you are blundering about in a situation that you don't understand."

"That's a description of my whole professional life, Rugar."

He nodded and drank some vodka.

"The world would be less interesting," Rugar said, "without you in it. The valid adversary. The worthy opponent. The one who keeps me sharp."

"But . . ." I said.

"But your present course will lead us to a point where you are intolerable," Rugar said.

"And?" I said.

"And I will kill you," Rugar said.

"You tried that already," I said.

"And would have succeeded if you had been other than who you are. I should have made sure."

"You should have," I said.

"I don't make many mistakes," Rugar said, "and I never make one twice."

"You ever run into Harden Bradshaw?" I said.

He looked silently at Susan for a moment.

Then he said, "Perhaps if you spoke with him."

Susan shook her head.

"You think you know him," she said.

"Very well," Rugar said.

"And you think if you threaten him he will walk away from this?"

"I am hopeful," Rugar said, "that he might recognize how much easier life would be if he just enjoyed it with you and didn't have to keep an eye out always for me."

"He might recognize it," Susan said. "He won't do it."

Rugar looked at me.

"On the other hand, I have nothing to lose by trying," Rugar said. "He won't strike first."

"You're sure?" Susan said.

"Yes. Unless I threaten you, which I have said I won't do," Rugar said.

"You think he would kill you if you threatened me?"

"He would try," Rugar said.

Susan looked at me.

"Would you?"

"I'd succeed," I said.

Rugar almost smiled.

"I will not harm Dr. Silverman," he said, and stood.

"But I fear I will have to deal with you."

I nodded.

"You will," I said.

He picked up his gla.s.s, drained it, put it down, and walked away. I returned to my sweet-and-sour pork. Susan looked after him for a while.

"It's almost as if you liked each other," she said.

"We almost do," I said.

"Is his word, in fact, good?" Susan said.

"Yes," I said. "He won't bother you."

"You know that."

"Yes."

"I'm not asking for rea.s.surance," Susan said. "I believe you. But how do you know?"

"Rugar's a professional killer, pretty much willing to do anything. Unless he has some rules for himself, he has no limits, and he's in free-float. There's no tether."

"So he makes some up."

"Yep."

"Do you do that?"

"Don't need to," I said. "I have you."

When we were through eating, I signaled for the check.

"The gentleman in the gray suit has taken care of your dinner," the waitress said.

"Did he give you a credit card?" I said.

"No," she said. "Cash. Quite a lot. He said to keep the leftover as a tip."

I nodded. The waitress left. I smiled.

"Even in his grand gesture," I said, "he's leaving no paper trail."

"And even accepting the grand gesture," Susan said, "you're looking for a paper trail."

The valet brought my car. We got in and started down Charles Street.

"He probably frightened you," I said. "Maybe you should stay the night with me and I'll comfort you."

"Comfort?" Susan said. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"Yes," I said.

28.

On an overcast morning with the temperature in the high thirties, Hawk, carrying a shoulder bag and wearing jeans with a black muscle shirt, came into my office and poured himself some coffee. with the temperature in the high thirties, Hawk, carrying a shoulder bag and wearing jeans with a black muscle shirt, came into my office and poured himself some coffee.

"No jacket?" I said. "It's November."

Hawk flexed a biceps.

"You got the guns," Hawk said. "You put off the winter sleeves long as you can."

"Where's the piece?" I said.

"What make you think I'm packing," Hawk said.

"Hawk, for crissake, you haven't gone anywhere without a gun since you were a pickaninny."

"Pickaninny?" Hawk said.

"I value tradition," I said.

Hawk grinned and opened his shoulder bag and took out a huge, silver .44 Mag with a bone handle.

"Case we get a.s.saulted by a polar bear," he said.

"Good to be ready," I said.

"Understand the Gray Man after you again."

"He is," I said.

"Why don't we just kill him," Hawk said.

"Can't," I said.

Hawk shrugged.

"No harm to ask," Hawk said.

"No."

"Susan says it be about the business on Tashtego," Hawk said.

"It be," I said.

"Would you be, by chance, mocking my authentic ghetto dialect?" Hawk said in his Laurence Olivier voice.

"No," I said. "I be down with it."

"Love when honkies be trying to talk black," Hawk said. "It's like a guy in drag."

"You in on this now?" I said.

"Yep."

"Because Susan called and said so?" I said.

"Yep."

"Any other reason?"

Hawk grinned.