Valediction Part 17

There were two or three kitchen workers gearing up for lunch, but otherwise there was no one else in the room. My new approach to cutting back on coffee was to drink it with a lot of milk and sugar. After a while it would be easy to wean myself altogether, more milk and less coffee each time, and eventually I'd have it done. The coffee mugs were the old thick white china ones they used to use in diners. I got up and went to a coffee urn and refilled mine, added a lot of milk and some sugar, and went back to the table. The smell of stew and coffee enriched the room.

"And the money?"

"The money is being handled by the trust department at Mr. Hallers's bank and they issue us a check for the interest every month. They said it would be about two thousand a month."

"That be enough?"

"I think so. We are quite self-sufficient and we are going to work on that. This compound is paid for. We raise most of our vegetables and eggs. We're going to preserve fruits and vegetables this year. We can't give people a stipend really, anymore, but they can supplement by working outside and we're considering how to make money."

Sherry had filled out a little. She had a lot of color from working outdoors, and she seemed firmer to me.

"What about Reverend Winston?" she said.

"He's agreed to supply evidence against Paultz," I said. "When the warrants are all in place they will bust Mickey and indict him and Winston will testify and they'll put Paultz away."

"What will happen to him?" Sherry said.

"Winston? I suspect he'll get a suspended sentence, and then maybe they'll give him a new ident.i.ty and he'll disappear in some witness protection program."

"Because Mickey Paultz will try to have him killed?"

"Yes. We've got Winston covered now so Paultz can't get at him. And Paultz thinks he's bought silence with the church donation. But when Winston testifies . . ."

Sherry nodded. She was resting her chin on her clenched right fist and I was struck by the bizarre conjunction of Mickey Paultz and this religious little kid.

"I hope he'll be all right," Sherry said. "Where is he?"

"He's covered," I said.

"Do you know anything about Tommy?" she said.

I shook my head. "Paul says he's canceled rehearsals and they are a week and a half away from a performance."

"My G.o.d," she said.

"Not his style?"

"Oh, Lord, no. Nothing came before performance. Nothing."

The sunlight had moved slightly and now touched her hands where they lay motionless beside her coffee cup on the table. The brightness made her skin seem faintly translucent. And her unadorned hands seemed very vulnerable.

"I hope he hasn't done anything to himself," she said. She was studying the sunlight on her hands.

"Most people don't," I said.

"Would you find out if he's all right?" she said.

She had pulled her hair back from her face and caught it with some kind of pin at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup. Her face as she looked at me seemed almost devoid of experience, as if it had begun just this morning. Her eyes were very pale blue.

"Sure," I said. "I'll take a look."

"We . . . I can't pay you."

"What are friends for," I said.

She reached one of her hands toward me through the splash of sun and took my hand. And held it.

"You are a friend," she said. "I didn't know there were people like you. I've never met anyone like you."

"I am a dandy," I said.

She reached her other hand across and patted the top of my hand.

"Yes," she said. "You are. You do what you say you'll do. You care about people. You aren't mean. You're strong. You're a very wonderful man."

"And I have a winsome smile," I said. "Don't forget that."

She kept patting my hand. "I pray for you each day," she said.

"It can't hurt," I said.

CHAPTER 38.

Looking for Tommy Banks didn't seem too complicated. I'd check his apartment and if he wasn't there I'd check the dance studio, and if he wasn't there I'd think about it. My heart wasn't in it. But if the rigid little b.a.s.t.a.r.d had in fact killed himself, Sherry was going to pull the guilt of it right up over her ears.

The phone rang. I answered. It was Devane, the statie.

"Somebody blew Mickey Paultz away," he said.

"Who?"

"Don't know."

"Why?"

"Same answer. He was sitting in his car on the third floor of the parking garage at Quincy Market. Somebody put two bullets in his head from the pa.s.senger side, probably sitting next to him. Twenty-two-automatic sh.e.l.l casings were on the ear floor. And that's all there is."

"A nice guy like that," I said. "Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"Seems like you went to a lot of trouble to rig something that isn't going to happen."

Alone in my office I shrugged. "I got Winston out of the church," I said.

"And Broz has the heroin trade now, either way," Devane said.

"So who would scrag poor old Mickey?"

"h.e.l.l," Devane said. "Who wouldn't?"

"Anyway, it takes the heat off Winston," I said. "They still going to prosecute him?"

"I don't know," Devane said. "My guess is no. All they've got him for is laundering some money and I figure Rita's got better things to do than spend a week in court getting some guy two years suspended and a thousand-dollar fine."

"You mean a miscreant will be walking the streets of this commonwealth unpunished?" I said.

"I think so," Devane said, and hung up. I got up and went out of my office to check on Tommy Banks.

He wasn't in his apartment, and he wasn't at the studio, so I went back to my office. He wasn't there either. In fact, wherever I went for the rest of the day, Tommy Banks wasn't there. Where was Mr. Keen when I really needed him. I checked with Belson at Homicide. No unidentified bodies that resembled Banks had turned up.

Unrequited-love suicides usually wanted people to know they'd done it. It was a way to say, See what you've done to me, you b.i.t.c.h. See what you've done to me, you b.i.t.c.h. So the fact that no one had found his body was a good sign. I wasn't sure I wanted to explain it to Sherry just that way. I called Sherry at 5:15 to tell her that as far as I could tell, Tommy Banks had not done himself in, and was probably off somewhere sulking. She thanked me. She said if I heard anything, I should let her know. I said I would, and hung up. No wasted conversation. Efficient, neat, economical of movement and gesture. And without a G.o.dd.a.m.ned clue to where Tommy Banks was or where he would be. Some days I thought it might be better to be sloppy and successful. Maybe I should practice dogged determination. I stood and walked over to the window and looked down on Berkeley Street. Spot him from the air. No luck. The late afternoon commuter crowd was moving into the subway kiosk below me. Across the street Linda's office was empty. I called her office. She had left for the day. I called her home. No answer. I hung up and sat in my chair and clasped my hands behind my head and put my feet up. So it would be a quiet evening. Paige was up visiting Paul and they were going to a concert. Linda had left for the day. Susan was on the West Coast with a guy friend. That was the bad news. The good news was it would give me lots of time to think about Mickey Paultz getting wasted. I looked at my watch, 5:24. I thought about someone shooting Mickey Paultz in the head with a.22-caliber automatic at close range. I tried to wonder why. I tried to care. I looked at it from every angle I could conceive. And finally I gave it up. I looked at my watch again, 5:27. I looked at the phone. It didn't say anything. I looked out the window some more. People were still heading into the subway. n.o.body looked up at my office. n.o.body called. n.o.body came in. I thought about going over to the Harbor Health Club and working out. I thought about going down to the Quincy Market and buying some finger food and walking around looking at tourists. I got my bottle of Old Bushmill out of my desk and had a small snort from the bottle. Decisive. Not a man to sit around and do nothing. I had another small tap from the bottle neck. So the fact that no one had found his body was a good sign. I wasn't sure I wanted to explain it to Sherry just that way. I called Sherry at 5:15 to tell her that as far as I could tell, Tommy Banks had not done himself in, and was probably off somewhere sulking. She thanked me. She said if I heard anything, I should let her know. I said I would, and hung up. No wasted conversation. Efficient, neat, economical of movement and gesture. And without a G.o.dd.a.m.ned clue to where Tommy Banks was or where he would be. Some days I thought it might be better to be sloppy and successful. Maybe I should practice dogged determination. I stood and walked over to the window and looked down on Berkeley Street. Spot him from the air. No luck. The late afternoon commuter crowd was moving into the subway kiosk below me. Across the street Linda's office was empty. I called her office. She had left for the day. I called her home. No answer. I hung up and sat in my chair and clasped my hands behind my head and put my feet up. So it would be a quiet evening. Paige was up visiting Paul and they were going to a concert. Linda had left for the day. Susan was on the West Coast with a guy friend. That was the bad news. The good news was it would give me lots of time to think about Mickey Paultz getting wasted. I looked at my watch, 5:24. I thought about someone shooting Mickey Paultz in the head with a.22-caliber automatic at close range. I tried to wonder why. I tried to care. I looked at it from every angle I could conceive. And finally I gave it up. I looked at my watch again, 5:27. I looked at the phone. It didn't say anything. I looked out the window some more. People were still heading into the subway. n.o.body looked up at my office. n.o.body called. n.o.body came in. I thought about going over to the Harbor Health Club and working out. I thought about going down to the Quincy Market and buying some finger food and walking around looking at tourists. I got my bottle of Old Bushmill out of my desk and had a small snort from the bottle. Decisive. Not a man to sit around and do nothing. I had another small tap from the bottle neck.

I hadn't seen Linda Thomas since the shootout in the weeds. Broad had no sense of adventure. She'd liked Darth Vader okay. What was wrong with me.

I had some more whiskey.

Nice date. We'll go to the movies and after, I'll shoot four guys. We'll go to the movies and after, I'll shoot four guys. Linda probably wanted to get a snack afterward. No imagination. Sit around, eat and drink. Get logy. Probably take in too much salt and saturated fats. Movies and a shootout, now that was different. If you skipped b.u.t.ter on the popcorn, it was cholesterol-free, non-fattening, and low sodium. Linda probably wanted to get a snack afterward. No imagination. Sit around, eat and drink. Get logy. Probably take in too much salt and saturated fats. Movies and a shootout, now that was different. If you skipped b.u.t.ter on the popcorn, it was cholesterol-free, non-fattening, and low sodium.

I drank some more, and swiveled around and put my feet up on the windowsill, and watched the sky get slowly dark over Linda's empty building.

CHAPTER 39.

I found Tommy Banks through a combination of luck and good detective work. The luck part was that I was in my office thinking about coffee when Banks walked in the door. The good detective work involved saying, "Ah-ha, Tommy Banks."

He looked awful. He was hollow-eyed and gray-faced and there wasn't much verve in his step. There was about him a kind of exhausted rigidity that kept him unlimber, but slow, as he moved.

"She's still seeing that f.u.c.ker Winston," he said.

I knew who "she" was. I did the same thing.

When I said "she" it was always Susan. When he said it he meant Sherry.

"I've been looking for you," I said.

"Me? What for?"

"She asked me to," I said.

He shook his head. "s.h.i.t," he said. "She's worried what I'd find out."

"Yeah?" I nodded toward my guest chair.

"Yeah." He sat.

"Why shouldn't she see Winston?" I said. "There's probably stuff he knows about running the church that she needs help with."

"She don't need to stay all night," Banks said.

I raised my eyebrows. It was what I did when I didn't know what to say. This summer they'd been up a lot.

"Did she?" Banks was insistent that I respond. He leaned stiffly toward me. "Did she?"

"No," I said. "I wouldn't think she'd have to stay all night."

"Now do you believe me?" Banks said.

"Believe you about what," I said.

"That something's going on there. That there's been something going on for a long time and they're fooling all of you."

"Tommy," I said. "The woman you love is sleeping with another guy, maybe. That's awful for you. But it happens. It's not something I can prevent."

"They're doing something," Banks said. "They been doing something since I first talked to you and you never found it out. You think she's a little gingham sweetie that likes to pray. That's not her. She's been jerking you around just like she did me."

"What do you think they're doing," I said.

"I don't know, but she is not a Holy Roller. I know her. I know her better than anyone. That's why at first I figured they'd kidnapped her. She wouldn't go Jesus freak on her own."

"That's why you made up the kidnap stuff?"

"Yeah, I figured it was true but I figured you wouldn't look all that hard for her if I just said I thought so."

"And you still don't think she's there 'cause she wants to be?"

"She wants to be there okay. Like she wants to f.u.c.k Winston. But not for G.o.d."

"Love?" I said.

He shrugged. "I don't know how much she's willing to sacrifice for love. I never saw much sign of it."

"So you think there's something else."

"Smart," Banks said. "You are really smart." I sighed.