Robert B. Parker's Bye Bye Baby E-Book

Ace Atkins

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Spenser Novel
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 324

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Carolina Garcia-Ramirez is a rising star in national politics, taking on the establishment with her progressive agenda. Tough, outspoken, and driven, the young congresswoman has ignited a new conversation in Boston about race, poverty, health care, and the environment. Now facing her second campaign, she finds herself not only fighting a tight primary with an old guard challenger but also contending with numerous death threats coming from hundreds of suspects. When her chief of staff reaches out to Spenser to help find the culprits behind the most credible threats, Garcia-Ramirez is less than thrilled. Since her first grassroots run, she's used to the antipathy and intimidation women of color often face when seeking power. To her, it's all noise. But it turns out an FBI agent disagrees, warning Spenser that Garcia-Ramirez might be in real danger this time. It doesn't take long for Spenser to cross paths with an extremist group called The Minutemen, led by a wealthy Harvard grad named Bishop Graves. A social media sensation pushing an agenda of white supremacy and toxic masculinity, he denies he's responsible. As the primary nears and threats become a deadly plot, it's up to Spenser, Hawk, and a surprise ally to ensure the congresswoman is safe. This is Spenser doing what he does best, living by a personal code and moral compass that can't ever be broken.

Leseprobe

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FORROBERT B. PARKER

‘Parker writes old-time, stripped-to-the-bone, hard-boiled school of Chandler… His novels are funny, smart and highly entertaining… There’s no writer I’d rather take on an aeroplane’ –Sunday Telegraph

‘Parker packs more meaning into a whispered “yeah” than most writers can pack into a page’ –Sunday Times

‘Why Robert Parker’s not better known in Britain is a mystery. His best series featuring Boston-based PI Spenser is a triumph of style and substance’ –Daily Mirror

‘Robert B. Parker is one of the greats of the American hard-boiled genre’–Guardian

‘Nobody does it better than Parker…’ –Sunday Times

‘Parker’s sentences flow with as much wit, grace and assurance as ever, and Stone is a complex and consistently interesting new protagonist’–Newsday

‘If Robert B. Parker doesn’t blow it, in the new series he set up in Night Passage and continues with Trouble in Paradise, he could go places and take the kind of risks that wouldn’t be seemly in his popular Spenser stories’ –New York Times

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR ACE ATKINS

‘The intelligent plot is accompanied by quick-fire witty dialogue and Spenser’s splendid girlfriend. No wonder Parker fans have stayed with Atkins’– Times

‘In this latest in his continuation of Robert B. Parker’s beloved Spenser series, Atkins continues to do the late author proud… The talented Atkins delivers another engrossing thriller’– Booklist

‘A wildly entertaining novel... Fast-paced and thrilling with just the right amounts of humor and pathos’– Criminal Element

‘Atkins is a very worthy successor to Parker and the books remain as fresh as they ever were, with smart dialogue, good plot and immaculately described action’– Crime Review

For Team Spenser:

Joan, Mel, Luann & Jim

Forever Boston pals

1

The reelection headquarters for Carolina Garcia-Ramirez wasdeep in Roxbury at the corner of Proctor and Mass,wedged between an all-night liquor store and a Honduranrestaurant that advertised the bestpollo fritoin Boston.

Thatafternoon, I was dressed appropriately for the dog days ofsummer. A lightweight khaki summer suit, white linen shirt, andpolished wingtips sans socks. I caught a glimpse in theoffice window and thought I might give George Raft arun for his money.

‘May I help you?’ thereceptionist said.

Despite my stunning entrance, the woman had yet tolook up from her computer screen.

‘Can you vouch forthe Honduran place on the corner?’ I said. ‘Isthepollo fritoreally the best in the city?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Never been there.’

‘Seemsworth investigating.’

‘Soul food joint down on Blue Hill’smuch better,’ she said. ‘If you’re into that kindof thing.’

The woman was of a plus size, withlong black cornrows and large brown eyes. I smiled, offeringhalf-wattage so as not to distract her from herduties. She had on a white silk top with bluepolka dots, a nifty little bow at the neck.

Shehadn’t smiled since I walked in the door. Women usuallyswoon or fall onto the floor with convulsions when Iappear.

‘Are you here to see someone?’ the woman said.‘Or just strolling around asking random-ass questions?’

‘Might as well do both,’ I said. ‘The congresswomanis expecting me.’

‘The congresswoman isn’t here,’ she said.‘Is there something else I can help you with?’

‘My name is Spenser,’ I said. ‘Kyle Rosen arrangeda meeting.’

‘Spenser?’ she said. ‘Is that your firstname or last?’

‘Last.’

She asked me my firstname and I told her. The woman stopped clicking thekeyboard and picked up the phone, speaking so quietly Icould barely understand what was being said. After a fewmoments, she nodded and pointed out a group of vinylchairs that looked to have been swiped from a RamadaInn lobby.

‘Gonna be a minute.’

I took a seatby a large plate-glass window. The chair’s split seamshad been repaired with silver duct tape.

As I waited, astaff of a dozen or so milled about second-handdesks and wobbly chairs. The paneled wood walls brightened withposters of Congresswoman Carolina Garcia-Ramirez looking as bold andconfident as Che Guevara.change, now, andfor the peoplewritten in block lettering. It sounded like most of thestaff was cold-calling potential voters about next month’s primary.

One exasperated young man kept repeating the congresswoman’s name beforefinally relaying the sad news: Tip O’Neill had died longago.

Fifteen minutes later, I spotted Kyle Rosen through the plate-glass window. We had never actually met, but I’d seenhis picture and read his profile inThe Globe.

Iwatched him crawl from a black SUV and hold thedoor open for another passenger. I stood as Carolina Garcia-Ramirezstepped out, dressed in a black pantsuit, hair in atight bun, with a phone firmly clamped on her ear.She was tall, black, and striking. Even if you didn’tknow who she was, she looked like somebody.

Another man,small and thin, with hair bleached nearly as white asTedy Sapp’s, followed from the front passenger seat, carrying avery large leather bag. He struggled to get ahead andopen the door.

I looked to the receptionist. She smiled andnodded in their direction.

‘Mr Spenser,’ Rosen said. ‘I’msorry we’re late. The flight from D.C. was delayed twice.’

Rosen was a young guy, late twenties or early thirties,with wild, frizzy brown hair and black-framed glasses thathadn’t been hip since Buddy Holly died. He was mediumheight and skinny, wearing jeans and an oversized black T-shirt that saidbe the change.

I followed Rosen intoa private conference room filled with floor-to-ceiling boxesand large stacks of posters. A long oval table wascluttered with coffee cups and fast-food containers, a fewlegal notepads and office supplies. A sign on the wallreadi’m not your mother, kids. please clean up yourdamn mess.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Rosen said.

‘Anyfriend of Rita’s.’

‘I met Miss Fiore at afundraiser last month,’ he said. ‘What a dynamitelady. She told me there’s no one better at whatyou do.’

‘Besides having a pair of million-dollar legs,she also happens to have a top-notch legal mind.’

The mention of Rita’s legs caused Kyle to flush. Althoughtough and sexy as hell, she was probably the sameage as his mother.

‘Please excuse our offices,’ hesaid. ‘When you have a reelection every two years, noone wants to sign a long-term lease.’

‘Ionce had an office in the Combat Zone.’

‘Really?’he said. ‘I’ve heard stories.’

‘Grown men still weeprecalling the Teddy Bare Lounge.’

Carolina Garcia-Ramirez walked into theroom and stopped cold before tucking her cell back intoher purse. When Rosen introduced me, she seemed abit confused.

‘I thought we covered this,’ she said.

Rosenheld up a hand to ask her to let himspeak. He got as far as opening his mouth.

‘Ido not want, nor do I need, a bodyguard.’

‘Carolina.’

‘Damn it, Kyle,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted. Ourschedule is backed up for the rest of the week.And I don’t have the time.’

Rosen took in along breath and seemed to be seeking a moment ofZen. He offered me a reassuring smile as he himselfappeared to be slightly less assured.

I smiled back. Good olefriendly Spenser.

‘Mr Spenser does a lot more than justsecurity.’

‘I’m also a song-and-dance man,’ Isaid. ‘May I serenade you with a bit of “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered”?’

The congresswoman offered a sourexpression. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

Thecongresswoman was tall and athletic, with light coppery skin, adelicate bone structure, and a longish neck. She was whatmany would call pretty if it were not offensive tojudge a lawmaker solely based on her appearance. Her blackpantsuit was stylish and neat, an American flag pin onthe collar. She wore gold jewelry subtle enough that evenSusan Silverman would approve. The toes of her pumps pointedenough to strike fear in cockroaches everywhere.

‘I really thinkyou need to hear us out,’ Kyle said.

‘I’veheard all of you and I said no.’

‘Well,’I said, shrugging. ‘It’s been a delight.’

‘Carolina, please,’Rosen said. ‘If you’re going to win this thing,you need to focus on the damn issues and quithaving to look over your shoulder every five minutes.’

‘Howam I supposed to explain personal security to my donors?’ she said. ‘That’s an extravagance we can’t afford rightnow.’

‘We will work it out,’ he said.

‘And,damn it, it makes me look weak,’ she said.

Rosenwrapped his arms tight around his body and screwed up his mouth to show it was tightly shut. Helooked to me and then to Carolina. I looked backand forth to both of them. I felt like akid standing between feuding parents. I leaned against the walland felt into my suit pocket for a silver cointo flip. George Raft would’ve brought a coin.

‘I don’tmake sales pitches,’ I said. ‘But perhaps you mighttell me a little more about the issue at hand?’

‘Can you help a country deeply divided by sexism, homophobia,and systemic racism?’ Carolina said.

‘It’s all on thebusiness card.’

‘I hire someone that looks like you andI look like I’m running scared.’

‘And what exactlydo I look like?’

‘Like a leg-breaker from Southie.’

‘If it helps, I live in Charlestown with myGerman short-haired pointer, Pearl,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I residein Cambridge with my significant other. Usually the weekends.’

Carolinaleaned in to the table, the conference room hushed andquiet. She seemed unfazed by the mess as she tooka sip from a stainless-steel water bottle.

‘I’ve hadhaters on me since I announced my candidacy,’ she said.‘They more than doubled when I got enough signaturesto be on the ballot and went off the chartswhen we actually won. I’ve been called a wetback, anigger, a dyke bitch, a whore, and a communist. WhatI’m saying is that I don’t care. I don’t worryabout the threats, because this bitch is too damn busygetting work done.’

‘People are threatening to physically harm you?’ I said.

The congresswoman started to laugh so hard shenearly did a spit take with the water.

‘Physical harm?’ she said. She looked over to Kyle Rosen andshook her head. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? They wantto kill me in so many different ways. Shoot me.Electrocute me. Poison me. Hang me and then rape mycorpse. Come on. I knew what I was getting into.’

‘So why now?’ I said. ‘Why does thisfeel any different?’

Carolina stared at me while Rosen staredat her. She slowly nodded and Rosen turned in mydirection. ‘Some recent threats show some inside knowledge of Carolina’sschedule in Boston. That’s worrisome.’

‘You think it’s someoneon her staff?’ I said.

‘We don’t know,’ hesaid. ‘We think maybe our computers have been hacked.’

CarolinaGarcia-Ramirez continued to stare at me, looking me upand down. Her face had a slight sheen of sweat.The dog days of summer were upon all of us.

‘May I see the messages?’ I said.

‘I can printout the emails,’ Rosen said. ‘They were sent directto the congresswoman’s private account. We had a tech guyfrom MIT take a look, but they’ve been bounced aroundto different accounts under different names. But they’re always thesame. Written in the same style and asking the samething.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘For Carolina to drop outof the primary or they’ll kill her,’ he said.‘The emails are a reminder each day of what aneasy target she is.’

‘Do you have protection ofany kind?’ I said.

‘It depends on where we are,’ Rosen said. ‘She has full protection of the Capitolpolice in D.C.’

‘But back in Boston,’ I said,‘you’re pretty much on your own.’

Carolina had yetto speak since she ran down all the offered methodsof her assassination. She continued to stare at me ina way that would make most mortal men uncomfortable.I stared back. After a while, I widened my smile.

Shecouldn’t help herself. The congresswoman smiled.

‘Okay,’ she said.‘What exactly can you offer?’

‘Personal protection,’ I said.‘And when I’m not doing that, I can offermy sleuthing services.’

‘Excuse me for asking,’ she said,raising an eyebrow. ‘But how can you investigate threats sentfrom an unknown person from unknown sources and sent ina way even a kid at MIT can’t figure itout?’

‘“Faith, it does me,”’ I said. ‘“Though it discolors the complexion of my greatness to acknowledgeit.”’

‘Are you shitting me?’ the esteemed congresswomansaid. ‘Shakespeare?’

‘I also cook.’

She looked over atRosen and then back at me. She shook her head.

‘I hope you’re as good as you are cocky,’ shesaid.

The congresswoman watched me as if I were thecenter of a sprawling congressional inquiry. I felt the suddenneed to lean in to a microphone.

I cleared my throatand said, ‘I’m even better.’

2

‘Well,’ Susan said.‘You have to do it.’

‘Is that an ultimatum?’

‘That’s a fact,’ Susan said. ‘Carolina Garcia-Ramirez isthe best thing to happen to Boston since the coloniststossed sacks of black tea into the bay.’

Susan pluckedan olive from her martini and took a bite. Wewere both sitting at the bar at Grill 23, drinkingcocktails and patiently waiting for dinner. My martini was gin.Hers was vodka. It wasn’t that I disliked vodka, Ijust didn’t think it should be called a true martini.Susan and I had argued on the subject while thewaiter refereed.

‘I heard her speak at a Raising AReader event last year,’ I said.

‘And?’

‘She appearsto be committed to the cause,’ I said.

‘Iadmire a woman who’s small on talk and big onaction.’

‘As do I,’ I said, raising an eyebrowat her.

Susan rolled her eyes. ‘Sometimes I think youare a thirteen-year-old trapped in a grown man’sbody.’

‘When I was thirteen, the only thing I knewabout women was what I saw in my uncle Bob’sPlayboycollection.’

Susan reached for my martini and took asip. She scrunched up her face and set it backonto the bar.

‘And?’

‘Ick.’

‘The gin is handmadeby British monks,’ I said.

‘My grandmother would’ve calledthat bathtub hooch.’

Grill 23 was all polished wood andbrass, with leather seating and marble accents. The lighting wassoft and pleasant, with the restaurant having the added bonusof being within walking distance of my office. The bartenderset a filet in front of me and scallops infront of Susan. Susan looked at the filet and thenlooked at me. She asked the bartender to switch theplates.

He switched plates. I handed her a knife.

‘I didn’trealize we were sharing,’ I said.

‘Neither did I.’

Susan looked and smelled lovely sitting next to me. Shehad on a fitted black motorcycle jacket over a redsheath dress. Her black hair was pinned up and shewore diamond earrings along with an antique silver bracelet I’dgiven her for her birthday. I stared at her whileshe cut off a small bite of steak.

‘We shouldsave some for Pearl.’

‘Need I remind you that isa petit filet?’ I said.

‘Selfish.’

Susan nodded tothe bartender and asked for a glass of pinot noir.He poured her a glass and looked to me. Iordered a second martini.

‘Gin?’ he said, smiling.

‘Is thereanything else?’

Susan chewed for a moment and swallowed. Shetook a sip of wine. ‘When would you start?’

‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘They’re going to email me aschedule. It’ll be early. I was told the congresswoman hasan aggressive campaign schedule.’

‘Against that putz Tommy Flaherty.’

‘He wasn’t a bad congressman,’ I said. ‘Served thedistrict for many years.’

‘He’s a chauvinist pig,’ shesaid. ‘I hope she trounces him in the primary.’

‘What’s your definition of a chauvinist pig?’

‘Haven’t youseen the ads?’ she said. ‘He’s trying to bringback the old Boston establishment. The private men’s club. Idon’t think he knows what year it is.’

I namedthe year. Susan said I wasn’t even close.

‘Her campaignmanager could be our kid.’

‘Hell,’ Susan said. ‘Thecongresswoman could be our kid. If we’d been a littlereckless when we first met.’

‘I recall many recklessnights.’

I smiled and cut into my scallops. They’d beenartfully arranged with asparagus and a broiled tomato and appearedslightly larger than Gronk’s fists.

‘You know she refuses totake corporate money or handouts from billionaires?’

‘I was toldthis wouldn’t be a lucrative endeavor.’

‘I think you’lllike her,’ Susan said. ‘She’s like you. She hasa code.’

‘A luxury few politicians can afford.’

Susan cutinto her artfully arranged asparagus. Before taking a bite, shetook a sip of wine. Every movement meaningful and precise.

‘Success hasn’t seemed to have changed her,’ Susan said.‘She’s kept focused on those who got her elected. Peopleof color. Lower-income neighborhoods. I read her father wasa mechanic. Her mother a hotel maid. Both Dominican.’

‘Funny,’ I said. ‘In all my years of sleuthing,this is the first time you’ve been impressed with apotential client.’

‘I guess I admire her chutzpah,’ shesaid.

‘I love it when you talk Yiddish to me.’

‘Play your cards right, mister, and I’ll help you enlargeyour vocabulary.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘You’ll drink toanything.’

‘True,’ I said. ‘But some things aremore cause for celebration.’

3

Not so bright but earlythe next morning, I rode shotgun in a black SUVbeside a burly bald guy from Quincy named Lou, withthe congresswoman, her personal assistant, and Kyle Rosen in back.

Thefirst order of the day was an interview at WBUR,then a photo op in Mattapan for a community centerexpansion, and later a meet-and-greet with Boston Firein the Back Bay. Somewhere in that time, I hopedwe might eat lunch. Fortunately, Lou had stopped by Starbucksand brought us all coffees. The coffee made the sluggishtrip through Brookline a little less intolerable.

Carolina and KyleRosen were both talking on their cells. The cross-patternof conversation confusing to even an advanced eavesdropper such asmyself.

‘Been doing this work long?’ Lou said.

‘For abit,’ I said.

‘Were you a cop?’

‘Once upona time.’

‘Didn’t like it?’

‘I liked being acop,’ I said. ‘Didn’t care for the politics.’

‘You don’t like politics?’ Lou said. ‘Ha. Well, you’repretty screwed, then. That’s all these people live and breathe.’

‘How about you?’ I said.

‘Fifteen years with QuincyPD,’ he said. ‘Best day of my life waswhen I got shot and went on disability. Got afriend who had a security company. Started driving for afew big shots and decided I liked it.’

‘AnyoneI might know?’

‘Bunch of stuffed shirts,’ he said.‘Beacon Hill crowd. The mayor before the last mayor. StevenTyler from Aerosmith. You know, the skinny guy who lookslike a woman? He was nice. Brought some actors backand forth to some movie sets. All those fuckin’ Wahlbergs.’

‘How long have you been with the congresswoman?’

‘Sincethe election,’ he said. His eyes peered into therearview. ‘She says I’m the smoothest driver in Boston.Right, Carolina?’

‘Bullshit,’ Carolina said, not dropping her currentcall. ‘Lou tries to hit every pothole he canfind.’

‘Haha,’ Lou said.

I drank my coffee as thefirst light hit the old Victorians and brownstones along PowellStreet. Lou was taking us the back way up towardComm Ave and the front entrance to the station onSt. Paul. When Lou took a hard left turn, Inoted a bulky shape on his right hip.

He notedwhat I’d seen and winked.

When we arrived, I got out,looked about, and, not spotting anyone with a bazooka,opened the back door for the congresswoman, her assistant, andKyle Rosen. Rosen appeared downright dapper that morning in ablack blazer over a gray Mickey Mouse T-shirt andtattered blue jeans. A pair of cheap sunglasses worn highon his head.

It was cool and breezy. You could almosttaste and smell the fall out there somewhere.

We wereushered through security and into the studios, where a youngwoman with a clipboard greeted the congresswoman. The rest ofus waited in the green room, where I helped myselfto a bagel and orange juice, and refilled my emptycoffee cup. Kyle disappeared into the hallway while Lou stayedwith the SUV.

Carolina’s assistant took a seat across from me.He was young and rail-thin, dressed in a fittedwhite dress shirt with a red bow tie, skinny navypants, and white suede bucks. His hair was blond andstylishly cut. A large leather bag hung from his shoulderand looked to outweigh him by fifty pounds.

‘Welcome aboard,’ the kid said.

We shook hands. His handshake was light.

‘Have Gun Will Travel,’ I said.

‘Adam Swift,’ hesaid. ‘CGR’s body man.’

‘Body man?’ I said.

‘If I don’t carry it,’ he said, ‘she doesn’tneed it. Lipstick, comb, bottled water, breath mints.’

‘Kind oflike a cornerman.’

Swift raised his eyebrows.

‘Works the fightwith the trainer,’ I said. ‘They carry the tape,the towels, gauze, and water. End-swells and icepacks.’

‘Does a cornerman whisper in the ear important names, dates,and pieces of legislation?’

‘Not often,’ I said. ‘Butthere’s a first for everything.’

‘I try to keepCGR on track.’

‘You call her CGR?’

‘We alldo,’ she said. ‘Try saying Carolina Garcia-Ramirez twenty timesfast.’

I tilted my head and shrugged. I took abite of the second half of the bagel. I didn’tattempt his challenge.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Adam Swiftsaid.

I waited. I found it best to leave long silencesin conversation to elicit nervous replies.

‘We all begged herto get help,’ he said. ‘We were all scared.Especially after what happened in D.C.’

‘Of course,’ Isaid.

I had no idea what had happened in D.C.

‘That whacko just came out of nowhere,’ he said. ‘Right on the Capitol steps. I was there. I gotsplattered, too.’

‘Splattered with what?’

He looked at me wide-eyed, shocked that I didn’t know all the details. Heleaned in and whispered, ‘The urine. The guy hadpeed in a cup and tossed it on CGR andme. I think Kyle got the worst of it. Althoughlet’s face it. He needs to burn most of hiswardrobe anyway.’

‘Did they catch who did it?’

‘Yeah,’he said. ‘Some loon. The Capitol cops were onhim. He’d come all the way up from Georgia. Hisfamily said he was off his meds. But I don’tknow. What if it had been a gun? What then?’

I nodded and walked over to the coffee urn andrefilled the cup. I returned to the seat and pretendedto be making small talk. I sat down, slow andrelaxed. Just passing the time while the congresswoman spoke withMorning Edition.

‘Have there been others?’ I said.

Swift clenchedhis upper lip. He closed his eyes before taking along breath and letting it out quickly. ‘If Kyle didn’ttell you about this,’ he said, ‘maybe I shouldjust shut my mouth.’

‘Whatever you tell me isbetween us,’ I said. ‘We both work for Carolina.Right?’

Swift nodded. He adjusted the bag in his lapand then looked back at the doorway where Kyle Rosenhad disappeared.

‘I’ve never met a woman more loved andhated at the same time,’ he said, whispering. ‘Theredon’t seem to be many in the middle. They eitherthink she’s Joan of Arc or Attila the Hun. Everything,everyone, has become so polarized. I don’t think of herissues as that radical. Nor do most people in ourdistrict. But get outside of Cambridge and people want tocrucify her. There’s one old congressman from Louisiana who toldher that she was going to burn in hell.’

‘And why would that be?’

‘He said she was anti-American and needed to go back where she came from.’

‘Roxbury?’

‘Exactly,’ Swift said. ‘I mean, I’m fromthe South, too, Mr Spenser. I’ve seen my fair shareof racism. But the letters and emails we’ve received shockeven me.’

‘How many people know about Carolina’s schedule?’

‘It changes on the fly,’ he said. ‘Our mainscheduler is in D.C., but we have another here. Youmet Monique at the front desk? Of course, Kyle andme. And Steph Heller.’

‘And who’s Steph?’

‘Comms director,’ he said. ‘Big part of everything Carolina does.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘We try and keep CGR’s schedule on aneed-to-know basis,’ he said. ‘I don’t eventell my boyfriend where I’m going each day. Sometimes heaccuses me of actually being a gay secret agent.’

‘Well, are you?’

Swift put his index finger to hislip and winked as Kyle Rosen walked into the roomand started to pace. He made it back and forthacross the green room twice before stopping in front ofme. Sweat dappled his face and long frizzy hair.

‘Wegot trouble,’ he said.

I stood up and placed myright hand in my pocket. The lights were dim inthe green room in an effort to calm the guests.‘You know troubleismy business.’

‘We have awelcoming committee at the community center,’ he said.

‘A largegathering of adoring supporters?’

‘I wish,’ he said. ‘Some real assholes, holding nasty signs and yelling nasty things.Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t confront them unless they make amove. These people feed off fear and hate.’

‘I’ll domy best.’

‘Rita said you often settle scores withyour fists.’

‘Only when a good hug fails.’

4

Ihad Lou drive past the community center twice to geta feel for the reception committee that had formed. Icounted a little more than a dozen men and threewomen. The men all appeared to be white, with mostwearing white polo shirts and khaki pants. Many of themsported full mountain-man beards, while some were clean shaven.As we rolled by, they held up hand-painted signsthat called into question Carolina’s citizenship, ethnicity, mental acuity, andsexual preference. Although I couldn’t hear what was being said,they yelled with such intensity that veins bulged fromtheir necks.

‘What should we do?’ Rosen said.

‘What wecame to do,’ Carolina said. ‘Drop us off upfront, Lou.’

I spotted only four patrol cars and eightcops on the street. Rosen had spoken with the districtsergeant, who promised to keep the crew back the allottedfive hundred feet from the entrance. BPD had dutifully carvedout a nice path, which made my job a biteasier.

‘We won’t be inside more than twenty minutes,’Rosen said. ‘The center has been a passion forCarolina since before the election. She first volunteered there whenshe was just a teenager.’

‘This was supposed to bea quick photo op,’ Carolina said. ‘With local newsonly.’

Several news trucks had set up across the street,with reporters and cameramen waiting by the front entrance. Iabsently felt for the .38 on my right hip, althoughthe police seemed to have the situation in hand.

‘I’llwalk in beside the congresswoman,’ I said.

‘The hellyou will,’ she said.

‘For you to do your job,’ I said, ‘you need to let me do myjob.’

‘How about you just carry me in yourarms?’

‘To the top of the Pru Center and batdown airplanes?’ I said. ‘If something happens, it mightbe tough to reach for my gun.’

‘You thinkyou’re funny?’

‘Some have said they find me mildly amusing.’

I turned in the front passenger seat to face her.Adam Swift grinned, but Carolina and Rosen didn’t look atme. Lou slowed down, and when he stopped, I reachedfor the door handle and went around to get thecongresswoman’s door.

Carolina was up and out of the carfaster than a caged jaguar. I did my best tokeep up as we walked under a portico with waitingdoors at the other end. The reception committee was awakenow, spewing out racial and sexist epithets. None of themvery clever. Bitch, dyke, several variations on her being blackand Latinx.

‘Just wind,’ I said.

‘Fuck ’em,’ shesaid. Smiling through clenched teeth.

Not once did she acknowledge theirpresence. Nor did I.

The reception inside the center wasdecidedly more pleasant. A gathering of children, board members, andvolunteers clapped as she entered. Carolina hugged several and stoopeddown to accept a bouquet of roses from a littlegirl. TV news crews and photographers recorded every moment. Everythingwas as well staged and constructed as the photo opneeded to be.

‘This truly is Carolina’s home,’ Rosen said.‘She volunteered here all through high school and betweenher summers at BU. Even when she was waiting tablesat the Quincy Market and bartending, she never forgot aboutwhere she came from and about these kids. They offerlegal assistance for immigrants, meals for the elderly, and HeadStart for kids.’

‘Can you get me a list ofeveryone who got the press release on today’s schedule?’

‘That’s like a hundred different outlets in Massachusetts,’ Rosen said.‘I know you’re good, but that seems like afool’s errand.’

‘I’ve been called worse,’ I said.

‘Whatabout the crew outside?’

‘I thought you didn’t want meto engage?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did you recognize any faces?’ I said. ‘Any repeat customers?’

‘Maybe,’ Rosen said.‘I try not to look at them. They feedoff being acknowledged.’

‘You think you could ID a few?’

‘I can try.’

‘What’s with the white polos?’

‘You didn’t hear?’ he said. ‘It’s the new racistaesthetic.’

We followed Carolina down a long hallway under fluorescentlights and across scuffed linoleum into a gym where kidswere playing dodgeball. Before Rosen could stop her, Carolina hadkicked off her shoes and joined in the game.

I leanedagainst a concrete-block wall and watched. The cops hadstayed outside. There were four entrances to the gym, includingtwo emergency exits. I made sure I was within fifteenfeet of the congresswoman at all times.

I watched everyentrance and exit. I scanned the gathering of teachers andpress.

Carolina couldn’t’ve cared less, as she was too busy slippingthe balls and giving it back even harder. She didn’thave a bad arm. When it got down to justher and a Latino boy about nine or ten, Iwatched as she purposely took the hit in the back.She laughed, her face shiny with sweat, as she walkedover to pick up her shoes.

Rosen came up andstood next to me against the wall. He was chewinggun and checking his cell phone. ‘She’s a natural,’he said.

‘I had the same thought.’

‘You see howshe deeply cares for this district.’

‘Don’t waste yourbreath,’ I said. ‘I’m not a registered voter.’

‘Whatgood are you?’

For once, Rosen cracked a smile. Ismiled back.

‘I guess time will tell.’

‘There aresome additional ground rules we need to discuss,’ Rosen said.

‘Don’t tell me I can’t have the cookies and punchwe were offered?’

‘Worse,’ he said. ‘Carolina doesn’twant you keeping watch after hours. She only agreed toyou keeping watch at official events.’

‘No long nights?’I said. ‘No cold coffee?’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘Ithink it’s a terrible plan,’ I said. ‘That threatcould come from anywhere at any time. Whackos don’t punchthe clock.’

‘What do you recommend I tell her?’

‘“The question is not what you look at, butwhat you see,”’ I said.

‘And what does thatexactly mean?’ Rosen said.

‘That she needs full-time protection.’

‘I’ll work on her,’ Rosen said. ‘Carolina canbe very stubborn.’

As Carolina said goodbye, I took aleisurely stroll across the street, by the barricade and pastthe gathering of miscreants. I pretended to be talking, thephone against my ear, as I snapped off dozens ofphotos. Most of the men were under twenty, many overweightand out of shape. Some were middle-aged, with grayin their beards. They all looked odd in the whitepolos. Like the Oak Ridge Boys had decided to crasha country club reception.

They were so intent on watching forCarolina, they didn’t notice me. Just another white guy strollingamong them.

I opened the door for Carolina and walkedaround to ride shotgun with Lou.

‘I’ve seen a fewof them before,’ Lou said. ‘But don’t know anynames.’

‘Got to start somewhere.’

5

After I parted wayswith the congresswoman and her entourage, I drove downtown andmet Hawk at the Harbor Health Club for an early-evening workout. We followed a new plan that combined poundingthe heavy bag, jumping rope, and multiple bodyweight exercises. Aswe hit the fourth round, Hawk made this set oftwenty pull-ups as effortless as his first.

‘Shit ain’tas easy as it used to be,’ Hawk said.

‘Speak for yourself, John Alden.’

‘You hard to understand,’he said. ‘Breathing that hard.’

I followed his lead andperformed the pull-ups. He was right. It wasn’t aseasy as it used to be, but I acted asif I might perform twenty more.

‘Uh-huh,’ hesaid. ‘What did I just tell you?’

‘What wouldyou recommend?’ I said. ‘We take up Jazzercise?’

‘Webetter keep up or next time we don’t get up.’

‘Some of us only improve with age.’

Hawk droppeddown and cranked out fifty push-ups. His form wasso exact it appeared to be mechanical. When he hoppedup, I tossed him a towel to wipe off hisglistening bald head. I followed with fifty of my own,trying to match the pace and precision.

Henry Cimoli eyedus from a leg-press machine, where he selflessly demonstratedhis technique to two young women in sports bras andtiny yoga pants.

‘Sad he doesn’t pay attention to usanymore.’

‘He would,’ Hawk said. ‘We look like that.’

‘A lot of surgery would be required to makeus look like that.’

Hawk jumped onto the dip bar,going so low and easy you could balance a teacupon his head. Henry walked over, standing as tall anderect as Billy Barty on Viagra. A toothpick loose inthe corner of his mouth.

‘Little late for you twomutts.’

‘“A great cause of the night is lack ofthe sun,”’ I said.

‘Sometimes I think I lethim stay in the ring too long,’ Henry said. ‘Got punchy.’

I hopped up onto the dip bar.

‘Don’tgo too low, Spenser,’ Henry said. ‘You might breaka sweat.’

Hawk had rolled into the heavy bag. Iglanced at my digital watch but knew neither of usneeded timing. We could feel a round down to themillisecond. I followed and we continued the program for anothertwo rounds.

After, Hawk passed me a jug of water. Wewere both soaked with sweat.

‘Better,’ Henry said. ‘Butnot great.’

‘Tell us, what would make us great?’I said.

Henry took the toothpick from his mouth andclosed one eye. ‘A goddamn time machine.’

Undeterred and egounbruised, I showered and changed into street clothes, and foundHawk outside a parking deck along Atlantic. I’d slipped intoa lightweight leather jacket and a Mississippi Braves cap. Iwasn’t sure if the tomahawk was cultural appropriation, but madea mental note to ask Sixkill sometime.

‘You going anywherefor a while?’ I said.

‘Staying put in historicold Bah-ston.’

‘Might have something for you.’

‘Inflictionor protection?’

‘Protection.’

Hawk had on black jeans, ablack silk shirt open wide across his chest, and blackcowboy boots. He looked like a bastard child of JohnnyCash.

‘May have something for you, too,’ Hawk said. ‘Looking for a woman.’

‘You’re always looking for a woman.’

‘A woman that disappeared long time back.’

‘A littlequid pro quo?’

‘Acta non verba.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Dominique Fortier,’ he said.

‘Fortier,’ I said. ‘SoundsFrench.’

‘Woman is French,’ he said. ‘Born andraised.’

‘You meet her over there?’

‘Met her here,’Hawk said. ‘Long time ago. Right after me andyou got back from California.’

‘Got an old address?’

Hawkreached into his pocket and handed me a typed sheetof biographical information including date of birth and possible namesof parents. As I glanced through the details, he openedhis wallet and handed me an old photograph. The womanhad long brown hair. She was young and quite striking.Her eyes ice blue.

‘Is this all you have?’

‘You being the master sleuth,’ he said. ‘Might considerit a challenge.’

‘Still live in the States?’

‘Don’tknow.’

‘Where in France is she from?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘You don’t make it easy on me,’ I said.‘Now, do you?’

Hawk shrugged and pushed up the sleevesof his shirt. He raised a fist to pound mine.I pocketed the information and nodded.

‘Same time tomorrow?’Hawk said.

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Want to tell memore about this woman?’

‘Do you really care?’

‘Absolutely,’I said. ‘You care about mine?’

‘Nope.’

I noddedand we both walked in completely different directions.

6

‘Neverpegged you as a political guy, Spenser,’ Wayne Cosgrove said.

‘Most politicians we’ve known turned out to be creeps.’

‘But without the creeps, what the hell would we dofor a living?’

‘We could always join the circus.’

We were sitting next to each other at the oldRitz bar that at one time had been the newTaj bar but now was completely something else. Despite thechanges in ownership, the mood was the same. Foxhuntpaintings on the walls, a lovely view of Arlington Street,and the Public Garden beyond. And a perfect selection ofnuts on a small silver platter. I had a tallscotch with lots of ice. Wayne nursed a club soda.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Cosgove said, taking a sip of club soda