Bad Business by Robert B. Parker Page A

detective named Healy.”
    â€œHe’s state,” I said. “I’m private.”
    Bernie frowned. He was a short guy, with sharp features. His black hair was slicked back. His black silk suit looked as if it may have cost more than my entire wardrobe, including my lizard-skin ammo belt. He had on a gray shirt with no tie, and managed to appear both professional and relaxed, which was very likely what hewanted to achieve. He looked like a guy who worked out regularly with his personal trainer.
    â€œEmployed by whom?” Gavin said.
    â€œYou knew,” I said to Eisen, “about your wife’s relationship to Rowley.”
    â€œHold it right there,” Gavin said.
    His jaw was hard set. His face was suddenly angular. His little eyes got even smaller. Eisen immediately had the same look.
    â€œYou should know,” I said. “You hired a guy to follow her.”
    â€œDon’t answer that,” Gavin said.
    I said, “Would you prefer to talk somewhere else, Mr. Eisen?”
    â€œHe would not,” Gavin said. “This conversation is over.”
    â€œMr. Eisen?” I said.
    â€œI have nothing to say,” Eisen said. He was giving me as tough a look as a guy his size could give.
    â€œAnd I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Gavin said to me.
    It wasn’t going to go well here. I thought about bouncing Gavin on his crew cut for a while, but decided that it would be self-indulgent.
    â€œHave a lovely day,” I said, and turned, and went.

16
    S usan and I spent Saturday morning together in a series of flossy little stores on Newbury Street, where all the clerks knew her and called her Mrs. Silverman, except for a few of the most seriously expensive, where they called her Susan. Twice I was offered Perrier, but otherwise, they ignored me. Which was fine with me. If the store had someplace to sit, and most of the stores did, I didn’t mind shopping with Susan. I liked to watch her with the clothes. I liked to watch her interact with the clerks. I liked it when she’d come out of the dressing room and model something. I liked it that she cared what I thought. I liked it that she wanted my company. I took a proprietary pleasure when she’d invite me to consult at the dressing room door, where she was half clothed. The fact that in most of the stores I fit in like a warthog at a cat show did not dampen my spirits.
    For lunch we went to the refurbished Ritz Café. Thiswas the original Ritz, not the new one where the Eisens had their condo. It had been spruced and polished and modified, but the windows in the café still gave out onto Newbury Street. We got a seat in the window bay and watched the cold spring rain.
    â€œWhy do you suppose that security man was so icky?” Susan said.
    â€œPart of it would probably be—what do you shrinkos call it?—characterological,” I said.
    â€œShrinkos,” Susan said. “How sweet.”
    â€œAnd some of it, I don’t know. He clearly didn’t want Eisen to answer me.”
    â€œDo you think he’ll talk to you at home, or somewhere away from Gavin?”
    â€œEisen seems eager to be a winner, not a loser, and I’d guess that he got a firm lecture from Gavin on how loose lips sink ships.”
    â€œSo he won’t?”
    â€œProbably not. Unless there’s something scares him more than Gavin.”
    â€œIs Gavin really that scary?”
    â€œHe seems a nasty guy,” I said. “Rigid, anal, mean, spends too much time on his appearance.”
    â€œThat last is not always a fault,” Susan said.
    â€œAs we’ve just recently proved,” I said. “But you aside. This guy looks like he’s assembled by a drill team every morning.”
    â€œIn many firms the chief of security is a middle-management functionary,” Susan said.
    â€œI know,” I said. “You ever hear of a guy named Darrin O’Mara?”
    Susan