Playmates

18

TUESDAY morning, Hawk and I went to see Gerry Broz. Gerry was a second generation thug, been to college, graduated into the old man's business. He spent every morning in a coffee shop near Oak Square in Brighton. He'd have breakfast, read the paper, drink some coffee, make a few phone calls, receive a few visitors. Joe still ran things, but Gerry was the crown prince.

"Joe's garbage," Hawk said as we were walking across Washington Street toward the B&D Coffee Shop. "And Gerry's nowhere near the man Joe is."

"I know," I said. "Cops will be glad when Gerry takes over. They figure the organization will turn into pot shards in about a year."

"Pot shards," Hawk said.

We opened the door to the coffee shop and went in. The air was steamy with the scent of coffee and bacon and cigarette smoke. There was a rusty-colored marble counter and four booths by the big front window. The place looked as if it had originally been built to be a variety store and been converted, home style, by either B or D or maybe both.

Gerry was in his booth, farthest from the door by the window. There was a thick guy with curly black hair sitting opposite him with his overcoat on.

The first time I met Gerry he was still an undergraduate, selling coke and blackmailing women when he wasn't studying for midterms. Now he was about twenty-seven and looked younger. He had a soft face and a limp black mustache. He'd put on some weight, none of it sinew, and he hadn't adjusted his wardrobe, so that while he wore very expensive clothes they were a little tight everywhere.

He spotted us when we came in and said something to the man across from him. The man across from him put one hand inside his coat as he turned and looked at us over his shoulder.

"What do you want, creep?" Gerry said.

"Gee, Gerry," I said, "getting porky hasn't improved your style any, has it?"

The man across from him had twisted himself around in the booth with one leg resting in the seat, so that he was fully facing us. Hawk stepped up to the counter and ordered two coffees.

"The gentleman there wants it on his tab," Hawk said. The counter woman nodded and shuffled after the coffee.

"I asked you a question," Gerry said.

"Commendable," I said. "So many people these days are always talking me, me, me, but you've developed listening skills. You're a sensitive guy, Ger."

Hawk came over with a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup. I took it and had a small sip. Hawk went back and sat on a stool at the counter and leaned one elbow on the counter and watched.

"Love a Styrofoam cup, don't you, Ger?"

"Spenser, I know you think you're a fucking scream, but I don't, and I'm a busy man. You got something to say to me, say it. And get the fuck out of here."

"I want to talk with you, Gerry. Unlike everybody else in the world."

"Talk," Gerry said.

"Tell your gunboat to beat it," I said. "It's just me and you."

Gerry shrugged. He made a hand gesture at the counter.

"Over there, Jojo," he said. "For a minute." Jojo slid out of the booth carefully, his hand still under his coat, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and Hawk. He took a stool beside Hawk.

"How's it going," Hawk said pleasantly.

Jojo shrugged. I slid into the booth across from Gerry.

"Okay, what do you want?" Gerry said.

"Bobby Deegan," I said.

"Who's he?"

It was a standard reaction for a guy like Gerry. If I'd said George Washington he'd have said the same thing. College hadn't helped Gerry all that much.

"My question exactly," I said.

"Why ask me?"

"Because Bobby mentioned your name to my associate," I tipped my head toward Hawk, "and suggested you were a tight personal friend."

Gerry raised both hands in front of him palm out.

"Never heard of the guy," he said.

"Bobby says he asked you to point him at a good hitter, and you sent him to Hawk." Gerry pushed out his lower lip and shook his head.

"I was supposed to be the hittee," I said. There was a little movement in Gerry's eyes for a moment and then nothing.

"Would I send a guy to Hawk if he wanted you hit?" Gerry said. "How stupid you think I am?"

"Awful stupid," I said. "Bobby didn't tell you who he wanted hit."

"Look, asshole," Gerry said. "I told you I don't know nothing about no Bobby Deegan. You unnerstand? Nothing."

"Gerry," I said, "I've known you since you were a boy."

"You're a pain in the ass. You been a pain in the ass to the old man and you're a pain in the ass to me. The old man let it slide. I don't know why. He does what he does. But I ain't going to let it slide. You hear me talking? You get in my way and you're going to sleep with the fishes." Gerry's voice was soft, but he leaned forward and his face was reddish-looking as he spoke.

I turned toward the counter.

"Hawk, you hear this conversation?" I said. Hawk shook his head.

"Gerry says if I get in his way I'm going to sleep with the fishes."

Hawk's quiet face broke into a slow widening grin.

"Sleep with the fishes?" he said.

I was smiling too. "Yeah."

Hawk began to chuckle quietly and then to laugh and finally he bent over on his stool and pressed his hands against his stomach and laughed.

"Sleep with the fishes," he said, his voice shaking. "Sleep with the fucking fishes." There was a slim black guy who looked like a cabbie sitting next to Hawk at the counter, and in another booth there were two Irish looking women, who had probably walked the kids to school and were on their way home. All three studiously ignored the hilarity.

"Guppies," I said to Gerry, "could I sleep with some guppies? I always sort of liked guppies."

Gerry was redder than before. He jerked his head at Jojo and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Jojo slid off the stool and stood by the booth as Gerry edged out of the booth and stood up. "Does this mean you're not going to tell me about Bobby Deegan?" I said.

"Fuck you," Gerry said, and stomped out of the coffee shop. Jojo barely got to the door in time to hold it for him. Through the window I saw them get into a charcoal gray Mercedes sedan, Jojo behind the wheel, and drive away.

Hawk got off the stool and stood beside me looking through the window.

"Not productive," I said.

"Counterproductive," Hawk said. "Now we got to worry about Bobby Deegan putting a hit on you cause you screwing up his scam, and we got to worry about Gerry putting a hit on you cause you hurt his feelings."

"Had to ask," I said.

"Sure," Hawk said.

"Hurting Gerry Broz's feelings isn't a bad day's work," I said.

"True," Hawk said.