said.
”Come off it, Louis,“ I snapped. ”Pelletier and Ricci. You think you’re talking in court?“
”What went wrong?“
”Well, you know, how smart is it to slap around a couple of clean, cute college kids, for crissake. It gets people mad. Was that what Vinnie wanted done?“
Nolan shook his head.
”What’d Vinnie want done?“ I said. ”He want to make people mad?“
Nolan shook his head again.
”Did he?“ I said.
”No.“
”What did he want done?“
”Shake ’em up a little,“ Nolan said. ”Let ‘em know we mean business.“
”And what happens?“ I shook my head disgustedly. ”The two stiffs get their ass handed to them. The cops come. You gotta bail them out. How does that make us look?“
Nolan said, ”I didn’t know they’d have some pro from Boston with them.“
I leaned forward a little and said it again. ”How does that make us look?“
”Bad,“ Nolan said.
”You goddamned better believe it,“ I said. ”And it don’t make Vinnie happy, and you know who else it don’t make happy?“
Nolan nodded.
”Who don’t it make happy?“ I said.
”Mr. Broz.“
I stood up. ”Keep it in mind,“ I said. Then I turned and walked back out through the dining room and opened the front door and walked to my car and drove away.
I’d found out what I wanted to know, and, as a bonus, I’d made Nolan sweat. Spenser, master of deceit.
Chapter 13
When I got back to my apartment it was quarter to eight in the evening and Paul Giacomin was there. He was lying on the couch reading a New Yorker and drinking a long neck bottle of Rolling Rock Extra Pale.
”You’re right,“ he said when I came in, ”this stuff is habit-forming.“
”World’s best beer,“ I said. ”How are you?“
”Good,“ he said. ”You?“
”Fine,“ I said. ”You eat yet?“
”No.“
”I’ll make something.“
He came out into the kitchen and sat at the counter while I looked into what was available. Rolling Rock Extra Pale was available, and I opened one. Paul had grown since I had acquired him. He was maybe a shade taller than I was now, flexible and centered.
”You’re looking in good shape,“ I said. ”You working hard?“
”Yes. I dance about four hours a day at school, and a couple of times a week I go into New York and work at a gym called Pilate’s.“
”The money coming?“
”Yes, my father sends it every month. Just the money, no letter, nothing. Just a check folded inside a blank piece of paper.“
”Ever hear from your mother?“
He nodded. ”I get a letter every once in a while. Pink stationery, tells me that now I’m in college I have to be very careful in choosing my friends. Important, she says, not to get in with the wrong crowd.“
”How about pasta?“ I said. ”Supplies are low here.“ I put the water on to boil and sliced up some red and some green peppers and a lot of mushrooms. Paul got another beer and opened one for me too.
”You happy with Sarah Lawrence?“ I said. ”Oh, yeah. The dance faculty is very professional. A half hour from New York, you can get people.“
I stir-fried the peppers and mushrooms with a little olive oil and a dash of raspberry vinegar, cooked some spinach fettuccine, and tossed in the peppers, mushrooms, and a handful of walnut meats.
Paul and I ate it at the counter with grated Jack cheese and half a loaf of whole wheat bread that was left in the cupboard.
”How about the wrong crowd,“ I said. ”You getting in with them?“
”Not much luck,“ Paul said. ”I’m trying like hell, but the wrong crowd doesn’t seem to want me.“
”Don’t quit,“ I said. ”You want something, you go after it. I was nearly thirty-five before I could get in with the wrong crowd.“
We opened two more Rolling Rocks. The last two.
”My fault,“ I said. ”It’s what happens when you let your work interfere. How long you home for?“
”Over Thanksgiving,“ he said. ”I go back Sunday.“
”Thanksgiving is
”Come off it, Louis,“ I snapped. ”Pelletier and Ricci. You think you’re talking in court?“
”What went wrong?“
”Well, you know, how smart is it to slap around a couple of clean, cute college kids, for crissake. It gets people mad. Was that what Vinnie wanted done?“
Nolan shook his head.
”What’d Vinnie want done?“ I said. ”He want to make people mad?“
Nolan shook his head again.
”Did he?“ I said.
”No.“
”What did he want done?“
”Shake ’em up a little,“ Nolan said. ”Let ‘em know we mean business.“
”And what happens?“ I shook my head disgustedly. ”The two stiffs get their ass handed to them. The cops come. You gotta bail them out. How does that make us look?“
Nolan said, ”I didn’t know they’d have some pro from Boston with them.“
I leaned forward a little and said it again. ”How does that make us look?“
”Bad,“ Nolan said.
”You goddamned better believe it,“ I said. ”And it don’t make Vinnie happy, and you know who else it don’t make happy?“
Nolan nodded.
”Who don’t it make happy?“ I said.
”Mr. Broz.“
I stood up. ”Keep it in mind,“ I said. Then I turned and walked back out through the dining room and opened the front door and walked to my car and drove away.
I’d found out what I wanted to know, and, as a bonus, I’d made Nolan sweat. Spenser, master of deceit.
Chapter 13
When I got back to my apartment it was quarter to eight in the evening and Paul Giacomin was there. He was lying on the couch reading a New Yorker and drinking a long neck bottle of Rolling Rock Extra Pale.
”You’re right,“ he said when I came in, ”this stuff is habit-forming.“
”World’s best beer,“ I said. ”How are you?“
”Good,“ he said. ”You?“
”Fine,“ I said. ”You eat yet?“
”No.“
”I’ll make something.“
He came out into the kitchen and sat at the counter while I looked into what was available. Rolling Rock Extra Pale was available, and I opened one. Paul had grown since I had acquired him. He was maybe a shade taller than I was now, flexible and centered.
”You’re looking in good shape,“ I said. ”You working hard?“
”Yes. I dance about four hours a day at school, and a couple of times a week I go into New York and work at a gym called Pilate’s.“
”The money coming?“
”Yes, my father sends it every month. Just the money, no letter, nothing. Just a check folded inside a blank piece of paper.“
”Ever hear from your mother?“
He nodded. ”I get a letter every once in a while. Pink stationery, tells me that now I’m in college I have to be very careful in choosing my friends. Important, she says, not to get in with the wrong crowd.“
”How about pasta?“ I said. ”Supplies are low here.“ I put the water on to boil and sliced up some red and some green peppers and a lot of mushrooms. Paul got another beer and opened one for me too.
”You happy with Sarah Lawrence?“ I said. ”Oh, yeah. The dance faculty is very professional. A half hour from New York, you can get people.“
I stir-fried the peppers and mushrooms with a little olive oil and a dash of raspberry vinegar, cooked some spinach fettuccine, and tossed in the peppers, mushrooms, and a handful of walnut meats.
Paul and I ate it at the counter with grated Jack cheese and half a loaf of whole wheat bread that was left in the cupboard.
”How about the wrong crowd,“ I said. ”You getting in with them?“
”Not much luck,“ Paul said. ”I’m trying like hell, but the wrong crowd doesn’t seem to want me.“
”Don’t quit,“ I said. ”You want something, you go after it. I was nearly thirty-five before I could get in with the wrong crowd.“
We opened two more Rolling Rocks. The last two.
”My fault,“ I said. ”It’s what happens when you let your work interfere. How long you home for?“
”Over Thanksgiving,“ he said. ”I go back Sunday.“
”Thanksgiving is
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