11
I took a long hot shower before I went to bed, and drank three bottles of Rolling Rock extra pale, and ate a meatloaf sandwich on wheat bread from Rebecca's. My copy of Sartoris still lay on the bedside table at Susan's, so I made do with a novel by John le Carry. And liked it. I fell asleep after one more beer and dreamed that Hawk and I were being chased by George Smiley, who looked just like Alec Guinness. I kept looking without success for Susan.
I woke up at ten past seven with the sun making the dust motes dance in the air. It was Saturday. Susan would be off. If I was prompt, we could have breakfast together.
No one was in front of the bowling alley as I drove toward Smithfield at ten of eight. Plenty of time for hanging out, good seats available all day. Life moved easy in Smithfield. In Boston women were already hooking in the Combat Zone. When I got to Susan's she was up and wearing a blue warm-up suit with a white stripe down the leg. She gave me a kiss when I came in the kitchen door.
"I was going to run," she said. "Want to come along? I'll slow down for you."
The running stuff I kept at Susan's was somewhat more informal than hers: maroon sweat pants with a drawstring, a black wool turtleneck sweater, and a gray sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off to wear over the sweater. My gray New Balance running shoes had a lot of shoe glop patching.
"You look like you run for the Rescue Mission Track Club," Susan said.
We jogged slowly along Main Street. Susan's pace was not a challenge. The temperature was in the forties. There was no wind. The sun splashed clean shadows on the road ahead of us. Nobody much was out in Smithfield at 8:15 on a Saturday.
"No luck on April," Susan said.
"No." "Do you know if she is in fact a whore?"
"Yes. She's got a pimp named Red. I've talked with him. I talked with Amy Gurwitz. Hawk and I found a place on Chandler Street where she'd been. There was a picture of her house on the wall."
"Her house?"
"Yeah. No Mommy and Daddy, no friends or siblings just the house." We passed the junior high school, its lawn still green in November. Its circular drive empty of cars.
"That's very sad," Susan said.
"Yes."
"You've brought Hawk into this?"
"Yeah."
"Is this a more complicated thing than it looked when you started?"
"Maybe," I said. "I aggravated a pimp, and I figured I'd better have Hawk to watch my back. Also Hawk knows the guy that runs most of the street prostitution around there. Guy named Tony Marcus. I figured he'd be useful."
"And you haven't found her, you and Hawk?"
I shook my head. Susan looped around the circular drive at the junior high school and headed back toward her house.
"This is going to be about two miles," I said.
"Yes. That's what I always run."
"You're doing the two hardest," I said. "The first and the last miles are always bad."
"If I did more than two," Susan said, "I wouldn't do any."
We'd had the conversation twenty times before. I nodded.
Susan said, "Isn't it odd that you and Hawk together can't find her? I mean, if she's in the Combat Zone. It's not that big."
"Yes. It's odd. We could keep missing her while she's plying her trade, but…" I shrugged.
Behind the small shopping center in the center the same barrel-bodied Lab I'd seen before was foraging in the dumpster near the market. The buildings around the Common were square and graceful, the sun emphasizing their whiteness, the unleaved trees black in filigreed contrast. We were quiet. As we turned down Susan's street I could smell wood smoke.
Conservation chic.
"A shower will feel good," Susan said as we walked in her driveway.
"I'd better stay with you," I said. "Never can tell who might be lurking in behind the shower curtain."
"Golly," Susan said. "I feel so safe with you."
I built a fire in the living room while Susan started the coffee. Then we showered. Susan's downstairs shower was very roomy with a sliding door and we were damned near hysterical with laughter in there
I took a long hot shower before I went to bed, and drank three bottles of Rolling Rock extra pale, and ate a meatloaf sandwich on wheat bread from Rebecca's. My copy of Sartoris still lay on the bedside table at Susan's, so I made do with a novel by John le Carry. And liked it. I fell asleep after one more beer and dreamed that Hawk and I were being chased by George Smiley, who looked just like Alec Guinness. I kept looking without success for Susan.
I woke up at ten past seven with the sun making the dust motes dance in the air. It was Saturday. Susan would be off. If I was prompt, we could have breakfast together.
No one was in front of the bowling alley as I drove toward Smithfield at ten of eight. Plenty of time for hanging out, good seats available all day. Life moved easy in Smithfield. In Boston women were already hooking in the Combat Zone. When I got to Susan's she was up and wearing a blue warm-up suit with a white stripe down the leg. She gave me a kiss when I came in the kitchen door.
"I was going to run," she said. "Want to come along? I'll slow down for you."
The running stuff I kept at Susan's was somewhat more informal than hers: maroon sweat pants with a drawstring, a black wool turtleneck sweater, and a gray sweat shirt with the sleeves cut off to wear over the sweater. My gray New Balance running shoes had a lot of shoe glop patching.
"You look like you run for the Rescue Mission Track Club," Susan said.
We jogged slowly along Main Street. Susan's pace was not a challenge. The temperature was in the forties. There was no wind. The sun splashed clean shadows on the road ahead of us. Nobody much was out in Smithfield at 8:15 on a Saturday.
"No luck on April," Susan said.
"No." "Do you know if she is in fact a whore?"
"Yes. She's got a pimp named Red. I've talked with him. I talked with Amy Gurwitz. Hawk and I found a place on Chandler Street where she'd been. There was a picture of her house on the wall."
"Her house?"
"Yeah. No Mommy and Daddy, no friends or siblings just the house." We passed the junior high school, its lawn still green in November. Its circular drive empty of cars.
"That's very sad," Susan said.
"Yes."
"You've brought Hawk into this?"
"Yeah."
"Is this a more complicated thing than it looked when you started?"
"Maybe," I said. "I aggravated a pimp, and I figured I'd better have Hawk to watch my back. Also Hawk knows the guy that runs most of the street prostitution around there. Guy named Tony Marcus. I figured he'd be useful."
"And you haven't found her, you and Hawk?"
I shook my head. Susan looped around the circular drive at the junior high school and headed back toward her house.
"This is going to be about two miles," I said.
"Yes. That's what I always run."
"You're doing the two hardest," I said. "The first and the last miles are always bad."
"If I did more than two," Susan said, "I wouldn't do any."
We'd had the conversation twenty times before. I nodded.
Susan said, "Isn't it odd that you and Hawk together can't find her? I mean, if she's in the Combat Zone. It's not that big."
"Yes. It's odd. We could keep missing her while she's plying her trade, but…" I shrugged.
Behind the small shopping center in the center the same barrel-bodied Lab I'd seen before was foraging in the dumpster near the market. The buildings around the Common were square and graceful, the sun emphasizing their whiteness, the unleaved trees black in filigreed contrast. We were quiet. As we turned down Susan's street I could smell wood smoke.
Conservation chic.
"A shower will feel good," Susan said as we walked in her driveway.
"I'd better stay with you," I said. "Never can tell who might be lurking in behind the shower curtain."
"Golly," Susan said. "I feel so safe with you."
I built a fire in the living room while Susan started the coffee. Then we showered. Susan's downstairs shower was very roomy with a sliding door and we were damned near hysterical with laughter in there
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