Promised Land

Chapter 19

After lunch I called the New Bedford Standard Times and inserted an ad in the personals column of the classified section: ”Sisters, call me at 555-1434. Pam.“

Then I called 555-1434. Pam Shepard answered the first ring.

”Listen,“ I said. And read her the ad. ”I just put that in the New Bedford Standard Times. When the sisters call you arrange for us to meet. You, me, them.“

”Oh, they won’t like that. They won’t trust you.“

”You’ll have to get them to do it anyway. Talk to them of obligation and sororal affiliation. Tell them I’ve got a gun dealer who wants to talk. How you get us together is up to you, but do it.“

”Why is it so important?“

”To save your hide and Harv’s and make the world safe for democracy. Just do it. It’s too complicated to explain. You getting stir-crazy there?“

”No, it’s not too bad. I’ve seen a lot of daytime television.“

”Don’t watch too much, it’ll rot your teeth.“

”Spenser?“

”Yeah.“

”What’s wrong with Harvey? What did you mean about saving Harvey’s hide?“

”Nothing you need worry about now. I’m just concerned with his value system.“

”He’s all right?“

”Sure.“

”And the kids?“

”Of course. They miss you, Harv, too, but they’re fine otherwise.“ Ah, Spenser, you glib devil you. How the hell did I know how they were? I’d seen one of them my first day on the case.

”Funny,“ she said. ”I don’t know if I miss them or not, sometimes I think I do, but sometimes I just think I ought to and am feeling guilty because I don’t. It’s hard to get in touch with your feelings sometimes.“

”Yeah, it is. Anything you need right now before I hang?“

”No, no thanks, I’m okay.“

”Good. Suze or I will be in touch.“

I hung up.

Susan in faded jeans and a dark blue blouse was heading down Cape to look at antiques. ”And I may pick up some young stud still in college and fulfill my wildest fantasies,“ she said.

I said, ”Grrrrrr.“

”Women my age are at the peak of their erotic power,“ she said. ”Men your age are in steep decline.“

”I’m young at heart,“ I said. Susan was out the door. She stuck her head back in. ”I wasn’t talking about heart,“ she said. And went. I looked at my watch. It was one-fifteen. I went in the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, toweled dry and headed for New Bedford.

At five after two I was illegally parked outside the New Bedford police station on Spring Street. It was three stories, brick, with A dormers on the roof and a kind of cream yellow trim. Flanking the entrance, just like in the Bowery Boys movies, were white globes on black iron columns. On the globes it said NEW BEDFORD POLICE in black letters. A couple of tan police cruisers with blue shields on the door were parked out front. One of them was occupied, and I noticed that the New Bedford cops wore white hats. I wondered if the crooks wore black ones.

At the desk I asked a woman cop who was handling the Bristol Security robbery. She had light hair and blue eyeshadow and shiny lipstick and she looked at me hard for about ten seconds.

”Who wants to know?“ she said.

Not sex nor age nor national origin makes any difference. Cops are cops.

”My name’s Spenser,“ I said. ”I’m a private license from Boston and I have some information that’s going to get someone promoted to sergeant.“

”I’ll bet you do,“ she said. ”Why don’t you lay a little on me and see if I’m impressed.“

”You on the case?“

”I’m on the desk, but impress me anyway.“

I shook my head. ”Detectives,“ I said. ”I only deal with detectives.“

”Everybody only deals with detectives. Every day I sit here with my butt getting wider, and every day guys like you come in and want to talk with a detective.“ She picked up the phone on the desk, dialed a four-digit number and said into the mouthpiece, ”Sylvia there? Margaret on the desk. Yeah. Well, tell him there’s a guy down here says he’s got information on Bristol Security. Okay.“ She hung up. ”Guy in charge is a detective named Jackie Sylvia. Sit over there, he’ll be down in a minute.“

It was more like five before he showed up. A squat bald man with dark skin. He was as dapper as a guy can be who stands five six and weighs two hundred. Pink-flowered shirt, a beige leisure suit, coppery brown patent leather loafers with a couple of bright gold links on the tops. It was hard to tell how old he was. His round face was without lines, but the close-cropped hair that remained below his glistening bald spot was mostly gray. He walked over to me with a light step and I suspected he might not be as fat as he looked.

”My name’s Sylvia,“ he said. ”You looking for me?“

”I am if you’re running the Bristol Security investigation.“

”Yeah.“

”Can we go someplace and talk?“

Sylvia nodded toward the stairs past the desk and I followed him to the second floor. We went through a door marked ROBBERY and into a room that overlooked Second Street. There were six desks butted together in groups of two, each with a push-button phone and a light maple swivel chair. In the far corner an office had been partitioned off. On the door was a sign that read SGT. CRUZ. At one of the desks a skinny cop with scraggly blond hair sat with his feet up talking on the phone. He was wearing a black T-shirt, and on his right forearm he had a tattoo of a thunderbird and the words fighting 45TH. A cigarette burned on the edge of the desk, a long ash forming. Sylvia grabbed a straight chair from beside one of the other desks and dragged it over beside his. ”Sit,“ he said. I sat and he slid into his swivel chair and tilted it back, his small feet resting on the base of the chair. He wasn’t wearing socks. A big floor fan in the far corner moved hot air back and forth across the desk tops as it scanned the room.

On Sylvia’s desk was a paper coffee cup, empty, and part of a peanut butter sandwich on white bread. ”Okay,“ Sylvia said. ”Shoot.“

”You know who King Powers is?“ I said.

”Yeah.“

”I can give you the people who did the Bristol Security and I can give you Powers, but there’s got to be a trade.“

”Powers don’t do banks.“

”I know. I can give him to you for something else, and I can give you the bank people and I can tie them together, but I gotta have something back from you.“

”What do you want?“

”I want two people who are in this, left out of this.“

”One of them you?“

”No, I don’t do banks either.“

”Let me see something that tells me what you do do.“

I showed him my license. He looked at it, handed it back. ”Boston, huh. You know a guy named Abel Markum up there, works out of Robbery?“

”Nope.“

”Who do you know?“

”I know a homicide lieutenant named Quirk. A dick named Frank Belson. Guy in Robbery named Herschel Patton. And I have a friend that’s a school-crossing guard in Billerica named…“

Sylvia cut me off. ”Okay, okay, I done business with Patton.“ He took some grape-flavored sugarless bubble gum from his shirt pocket and put two pieces in his mouth. He didn’t offer any to me. ”You know, if you’re in possession of evidence of the commission of a felony that you have no legal right to withhold that evidence.“

”Can I have a piece of bubble gum?“

Sylvia reached into his pocket, took out the pack and tossed it on the desk in front of me. There were three pieces left. I took one.

”Take at least two,“ Sylvia said. ”You can’t work up a bubble with one. Stuffs lousy.“

I took another piece, peeled off the paper and chewed it. Sylvia was right. It was lousy.

”Remember when Double Bubble used to put out the nice lump of pink bubble gum and it was all you needed to get a good bubble?“

”Times change,“ Sylvia said. ”Withholding information of a felony is illegal.“

I blew a small purple bubble. ”Yeah, I know. You want to talk about trade?“

”How about we slap you in a cell for a while as an accessory to a felony?“

I worked on the bubble gum. It wasn’t elastic enough. I could only produce a small bubble, maybe as big as a Ping-Pong ball, before it broke with a sharp little snap.

”How about while you’re in the cell we interrogate you a while. We got some guys down here can interrogate the shit out of a person. You know?“

”This stuff sticks to your teeth,“ I said.

”Not if you don’t have any,“ Sylvia said.

”Why the hell would someone make gum that sticks to your teeth,“ I said. ”Christ, you can’t trust anyone.“

”You don’t like it, spit it out. I don’t make you chew it.“

”It’s better than nothing,“ I said.

”You gonna talk to me about the Bristol Security job?“

”I’m gonna talk to you about a trade.“

”Goddamnit, Spenser, you can’t come waltzing in here and tell me what kind of deal you’ll make with me. I don’t know what kind of crap you get away with up in Boston, but down here I tell you what kind of deal there is.“

”Very good,“ I said. ”One look at my license and you remembered my name. I didn’t even see your lips move when you looked at it either.“

”Don’t smart-ass with me, Johnny, or you’ll be looking very close at the floor. Understand what I’m saying to you?“

”Aw come on, Sylvia, stop terrifying me. When I get panicky I tend to violence and there’s only two of you in the room.“ The scraggly haired cop with the tattoo had hung up the phone and drifted over to listen.

”Want me to open the window, Jackie,“ he said. ”Then if he gets mean we can scream for help?“

”Or jump,“ Sylvia said. ”It’s two floors but it would be better than trying to deal with an anirnal like this.“

I said, ”You guys want to talk trade yet, or are you working up a nightclub act?“

”How do I know you can deliver,“ Sylvia said.

”If I don’t what have you lost. You’re no worse off than you are now.“

”No entrapment,“ scraggly hair said. ”At least nothing that looks like entrapment in court. We been burned on that a couple of times.“

”No sweat,“ I said.

”How bad are the people you want left out?“

”They are no harm to anybody but themselves,“ I said. ”They ran after the wrong promise and got into things they couldn’t control.“

”The bank guard that got killed,“ Sylvia said, ”I knew him. Used to be in the department here, you know.“

”I know,“ I said. ”My people didn’t want it to happen.“

”Homicide during the commission of a felony is murder one.“

”I know that too,“ I said. ”And I know that these people are a good swap for what I can give you. Somebody’s got to go down for the bank guard.“

Sylvia interrupted. ”Fitzgerald, his name was. Everybody called him Fitzy.“

”Like I say, somebody has to go down for that. And somebody will. I just want to save a couple of goddamned fools.“

Scraggly hair looked at Sylvia. ”So far we got zip on the thing, Jackie. Air.“

”You got a plan,“ Sylvia said. I nodded.

”There’s no guarantee. Whatever you got, I’m going to have to check you out first.“

”I know that.“

”Okay, tell me.“

”I thought you’d never ask,“ I said.