Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot

65

The next morning, Ray Heywood knocked on my office door and walked inside.

He held a large Nike gym bag in his hand and set it on the floor.

“We need you to deliver this,” he said.

“Old jockstraps?”

“A half-million dollars,” he said.

“Price has gone up on jockstraps,” I said.

“Kinjo is a man of his word,” Ray said.

I leaned back in my office chair. “He promised all five million.”

“You don’t think your guy will be happy with this?” he said, smiling. “Isn’t he wanted by the cops?”

“Yep.”

“So this should help him get out of town.”

“Sure.”

Ray was still standing. He shifted from one leg to another. He was wearing a gray rollneck sweater with a matching scally cap. A large diamond glinted from his right earlobe.

“You’ll be paid, man,” Ray said.

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my desk. I put my right hand to my face and rubbed my jaw. My contemplative look was stunning.

“We straight?”

I reached out and closed my morning paper. I covered the top of my fresh large coffee with the plastic lid. I looked right up at Ray Heywood and said, “Nope.”

“Nope?” he said. “What do you mean fucking ‘nope’?”

“I mean I don’t deliver bounties,” I said. “I agreed to bring back Akira. Akira has been brought back.”

“To his mother, man,” Ray said, snorting. “Shit. You should have waited until Kinjo flew back. Do you work for Nicole or for us?”

“Neither,” I said. “Our business is done.”

Ray bit in his cheek. He started to turn around and then caught himself. He turned to me with his index finger outstretched. “I see how it is. Now you’re through with us. Don’t need shit from the Heywood brothers anymore.”

I tilted my head and nodded a bit. “Only one thing.”

Ray crossed his fat arms across his fat body. “What’s that?”

“You were with Kinjo the night Antonio Lima was killed.”

Ray’s eyes wandered over my face. He stared at me for a while and then broke the glance and shook his head with disgust. “What are you trying to say?”

“Why would you keep on paying Lela Lopes and not tell Kinjo?”

“’Cause that’s what I do,” he said. “I look out for my brother so he can keep his head right for the game. And that’s all I need you to do, is look out for us and pay off this piece of shit like we agreed.”

“You shot Antonio Lima,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

“Bullshit.”

“You never showed up in the reports.”

“’Cause I wasn’t there.”

“Kinjo had three men with him at the club,” I said. “Sometime later, that third man disappeared from the stories of Kinjo and his teammates. A few witnesses remembered but thought you were another player. Why wouldn’t he tell police you were with him?”

Ray looked at me for a while. I leaned back in my chair and waited. It was a beautiful day on Berkeley Street, and the sunlight filled all of my office.

“You crazy.”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s beside the point.”

Ray shook his head some more but did not deny it. “Will you take the money?”

“No.”

“How will the man get paid?”

“That’s your problem,” I said.

“Must be nice to be blameless, man,” he said. “Spotless and clean.”

“Nobody is clean in this,” I said.

Ray picked up the Nike bag and left in a huff. He didn’t even bother to shut the door behind him.

I reached for my coffee, removed the lid, and watched the steam roll out. I opened the newspaper and resumed reading the argument between Arlo & Janis.