Burke sat beside Jackie in Rickey’s office.
“Killer was a known killer for hire,” Rickey said. “The police presume it was a case of one criminal shooting another.”
“Fairly close,” Burke said.
“You did a hell of a job, my friend.”
Burke nodded.
“I’m doing more harm than good,” he said.
“Oh?”
“There’s a personal thing going on here,” Burke said. “I’m not protecting Jackie anymore. I’m bringing trouble to him.”
“Do you care to discuss the, ah, personal thing?”
“No.”
Rickey nodded slightly, as if to himself, and took his cigar from his mouth and examined the glowing end for a moment.
“It’s a woman,” Jackie said.
“How often that’s true,” Rickey said. “What is it about the woman.”
“That’s up to Burke to tell you,” Robinson said.
Burke glanced at him. Even in repose there was a kind of energy charge to Robinson. He was not simply black, he was blue-black, Burke thought, and showed no sign that he wasn’t proud of it. Rickey looked at Burke.
“And you, sir?”
“I’m quitting,” Burke said. “You need to get somebody else.”
“I thought you were in this to the end,” Rickey said.
“This is it,” Burke said. “The shooting was too far along for me to stop it by quitting. Now there’s time.”
“Jack?” Rickey said looking back at Robinson.
“No,” Jackie said. “I won’t work with anyone else.”
“You mean that,” Rickey said.
“Burke knows I do,” Jackie said.
It was true. Burke had never known Robinson to say something he didn’t mean. He could feel the force in Robinson, and realized, fully, for the first time, what his passivity in public cost him.
“I’m not preventing trouble,” Burke said. “I’m causing it.”
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Robinson said. “I started this with you. I’m not finishing it with somebody else.”
“Maybe you’ll have to.”
“No,” Robinson said. “I’ll finish it with you. Or I’ll finish it alone.”
Robinson looked steadily at Burke. Rickey was quiet, waiting. It was the morning before a day game. There were peanuts roasting somewhere and the scent of them drifted through the office.
“What about Rachel?” Burke said.
“Rachel would say the same thing.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“How the hell can you be so sure?” Burke said.
Burke had an inarticulate sense that he might be talking about more than the present issue.
“Rachel and I aren’t separate people,” Jackie said. “We are two parts of one thing. She can speak for me. I can speak for her. She feels the same way I do.”
Burke was silent. He rocked very slightly in his chair. What the hell would that be like? Two parts of one thing? He and Robinson looked at each other. Then Burke nodded with only the slightest movement of his head.
“I’ll stay,” he said.
Robinson said nothing at all. But he nodded too, if possible, an even smaller nod than Burke’s.