Bad Business

53

Hawk showed up in my office just before noon with several sandwiches in a bag. He took one out and handed it to me.

"Six grams of fat," he said. "I figure, I eat enough of these and I get to do one of those commercials."

"Hawk," I said. "You were born with two percent body fat, and you've trimmed down since."

"So we lie to them."

"We?"

"I thought you might want to get in on it," Hawk said. "I'll eat a couple and see if my belt feels loose."

"How 'bout coffee," Hawk said.

"I made a fresh pot," I said.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Be fine," Hawk said.

I poured us two cups and opened one of the sandwiches.

"Long Hair's name is Lance Devaney," Hawk said.

"Lance Devaney?"

"What it say under his doorbell."

"I bet he wasn't always Lance Devaney," I said.

"Probably not," Hawk said. "He lives in the South End, on West Newton Street."

My sandwich was pretty good. I ate some more of it.

"Two-unit town house," Hawk said.

"That so?" I said.

I had known Hawk too long. He was building to something.

"Doorbell on the other unit say Darrin O'Mara."

Hawk never showed anything, but something in the way he sat back a little and took a bite of his sandwich spoke of self-satisfaction.

"Darrin O'Mara," I said.

"Un-huh. So I stick around outside there and I wait and, you know, O'Mara got that seven-to-midnight talk show, so about two-twenty in the morning here he come, lippity lop."

"Lippity lop?"

"Authentic African argot," Hawk said. "I is trying to educate you."

"Lippity lop."

"Yeah, and in he goes right next door to Lance."

"Now that I think of it, I wonder what name Darrin O'Mara was born with," I said.

"I stuck around for maybe another hour and no sign of life so I moseyed on home."

"Not lippity lop?"

"I mosey," Hawk said.

"Of course."

I picked up my phone and dialed Rita Fiore.

"Could a paralegal get me the owner's name at a couple addresses in the South End?" I said.

"If I tell him to," Rita said. I asked Hawk the address.

"Both units?" he said.

"Both."

He gave them to me and I told Rita.

"Who are you talking to?" Rita said.

"Hawk."

"Hawk is right there with you?"

"Yes."

"Oooh!" Rita said.

"Oooh?" I said. "Among criminal lawyers you are generally considered the queen piranha. And I mention Hawk and you say `oooh!'?"

"I am still in touch with my girlish side," Rita said. "I'll call you back. Please tell Hawk kiss kiss for me."

I hung up. Hawk was unwrapping a second sandwich.

"Wow," I said. "You look slimmer already. Rita says to tell you kiss kiss!"

Hawk smiled as if to himself.

"Have you and Rita ever ... ?"

Hawk looked at me blankly. I didn't pursue it, because the phone rang. I picked it up.

"So quick?" I said.

"So quick what?" Healy said.

"Sorry, I was expecting someone else."

"I found the missing private eyes," Healy said.

"In Tulsa?"

"Yep. Gavin arranged for them to get security jobs at Tulsa Kinergy. A Tulsa detective talked with them. They admit the jobs seem like a boondoggle."

"They shed any light on anything else?"

"Not yet. Tulsa's going to talk with them some more, and let me know."

"And you, grateful for my help, will, of course, let me know."

"If I'm not so grateful I choke up," Healy said and broke the connection.

"The missing private eyes," I said to Hawk. "Being overpaid and underworked at the Kinergy Tulsa facility."

"Gavin arrange that?"

"I guess he made them an offer too good to refuse."

"Wanted them out of town."

"I assume," I said. "So we wouldn't find out he'd hired them to spy for him."

"And he done that why?" Hawk said.

"My guess is he got wind of the wife-swapping sex stuff that was going on with O'Mara and was trying to find out what was going on so he could protect Cooper."

"Maybe Gavin not so bad a guy," Hawk said.

"Maybe."

We drank some more coffee. Yesterday's fresh coffee isn't as good as today's fresh coffee, but it is far, far better than no coffee.

"I am only a simple hooligan," Hawk said, "and you the detective. But I notice every time we run down some sort of lead it connect us to O'Mara."

"Keep thinking like that," I said, "and maybe you can be a detective."

This time when the phone rang it was Rita.

"The two town houses on West Newton Street," Rita said, are both owned by Darrin O'Mara."

"Any mention of anyone named Lance Devaney?"

"Lance Devaney?"

"Um-hm."

"Of course not," Rita said.

"Okay," I said. "Hawk says kiss kiss!"

"You're lying to me," Rita said.

"Yes, I am," I said. "But with the best of intentions."

She hung up.

"O'Mara owns both units," I said to Hawk.

Hawk slid into a British public school accent.

"By God, Holmes," he said. "This bears looking into."

"It do," I said. "Perhaps you could stay on Lance Devaney for a while longer."

Hawk stayed with his Holmesian accent.

"Be interesting," he said, "to establish the precise nature of their relationship."

"You're thinking they might be more than friends?"

"Happens sometimes," Hawk said.

"Happens quite often," I said, "in the South End."

"Be kind of cute," Hawk said, "champion of courtly romance turns out to be Oscar Wilde."

"All kinds of love," I said.

"For sure," Hawk said. "And what do you think happens to Matters of the Heart if O'Mara turns out to be homosexual?"

"Might broaden his audience base," I said.

"Might."

"Or everything might go right into the tank," I said.

"Might."

"Why don't you look into it," I said.

"I believe I will," Hawk said.