Playmates

33

I didn't have to find Bobby Deegan. He found me. I'd been sitting maybe an hour and a half watching it rain when he walked into my office without knocking. The only light in the room was my desk lamp with the Tiffany glass lamp shade that Susan had insisted would dress up the whole office. When I heard the door open, I swung around and opened the right hand drawer of the desk. I kept a spare gun in there and it was always nice to have it handy. Deegan stood in the doorway with the light from the corridor behind him. He wore an oversized, lightweight trench coat with the collar up, and a gray tweed cap.

"I'm not here for trouble," Deegan said. I waited.

"We need to talk," he said.

I nodded at the chair in front of my desk. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down and stuck his legs out straight in front of him. I took a second glass out of the left hand drawer and put it on the desk and poured some Glenfiddich into it. Deegan leaned forward and took the glass and sniffed it and took a sip. He swallowed, and nodded his head.

"Single malt," he said.

We were quiet, the rain blurring down outside the window behind me.

"You're trouble," Deegan said.

"Nice of you to notice."

"Can't seem to get you out of the fucking way," Deegan said.

I nodded. We both sipped some scotch. Sipped thoughtfully, an ounce and a quarter of Glenfiddich will last half an evening.

"So what are we going to do about this mess?" Deegan said.

"I been giving that some thought," I said.

"Those were good people went after Dwayne," Deegan said. "Brooklyn guys. Guy Dwayne's size, you want the best."

I waited. Deegan would get to where he was going.

"You do them?" he said. I shook my head. "Black guy?"

I nodded.

"Gerry said he was good," Deegan said.

He was holding the glass of scotch in both hands in front of his chin, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He rubbed his chin absently on the rim. I could hear the faint scratch of his beard against it. Deegan looked like a guy who would have to shave twice a day.

"Guys Gerry sent me for you didn't work out too good either," he said.

"Boston guys," I said.

Deegan nodded. He drank a little scotch. I pushed the bottle across the desk and he leaned forward and poured himself another inch, and pushed the bottle back across the desk to me. He leaned back in his chair again.

"I want out of this," he said.

"Un huh."

"I want to deal."

"What you got to deal with?" I said.

"I keep my trap shut about Dwayne," he said.

"And what do I do?"

"You walk," he said. "And I walk and nobody says nothing."

"And nobody shoots Dwayne?" I said.

"Nobody shoots him, nobody bribes him, nobody mentions his name again."

I leaned my head back against the padding on my chair. I was tired. Tired of Deegan, tired of Dwayne, tired of tough guys and cops and guns and deals. I was tired of almost everything but Susan.

"Whaddya think?" Deegan said.

I shook my head slowly, still against the back of my chair.

"No?" Deegan said. "Why no?"

"Davis," I said.

"Davis," Deegan said, "why do you give a fuck about Davis? You got nothing to do with Davis."

"Got to get something for Davis," I said.

Deegan took in a long breath and let it out and dipped his nose into the glass for a moment and swallowed.

"You got to get something for Davis," he said.

I nodded.

"How about getting dead for Davis?" Deegan said.

"Hard to do," I said.

Deegan nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "It is."

He drank again.

"But it's not impossible," he said.

"I can put you away on the gambling charge," I said. "Dwayne will testify. So will I. You're a known hoodlum. You'll be a long time gone."

The wind seemed to have shifted. I could hear the rain being driven at a slant against the window behind me.

"What do you want for Davis?" Deegan said.

"The rest of the OTB crew."

"OTB?"

"You and some other guys knocked over an Off Track Betting parlor in New York. I want the guys you did it with."

"I can't do that," Deegan said. "They'd fucking kill me."

"I'll get you a witness protection deal. You aren't prosecuted and the Feds will give you a new identity and relocate you."

"All to keep you from pushing this gambling thing?" he said.

"And I don't tell your wife about Madelaine," I said.

Deegan looked at me a long time without speaking.

"You are a hard fucking case," he said, "aren't you?"

The question was rhetorical. I didn't comment.

"For a fucking arrogant asshole kid, talks about himself in the third person," Deegan said.

"He's good at what he does," I said.

"So what the fuck is that to you?" Deegan said.

"Girlfriend's nice, too," I said.

"Chantel?"

"Yeah, she sees something in him."

"So what the fuck is that to you?" Deegan said.

"You want to deal, or not?" I said.

Deegan stood slowly, and put his whiskey glass on my desk and walked over to the wall to the right of my desk and stretched both hands above his head and leaned on the wall. He did a couple of push-aways on the wall and then turned and leaned his back against it.

"Who you dealing with in New York?" Deegan said.

I shook my head.

Deegan grinned. "Sure," he said. "Of course you won't say. You don't give a fucking inch on anything."

"You're not dead," I said.

Deegan raised his eyebrows. Then he walked to my desk and poured another shot for himself.

"You get it together in New York, names, promises, the works, in detail and then we'll talk again. Where do I reach you?" I said.

Deegan paused, thought about that for a moment, then shrugged.

"I'll be with Madelaine," he said.

"I'll be in touch," I said.

Deegan picked up the whiskey glass and tossed the rest of the scotch down. He put the glass on my desk again and turned and walked to my door. He tugged his collar up higher.

"Raining like a bastard," he said, and went out.