Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

8

Two days later, I knocked off work and walked around the corner to join Wayne Cosgrove for a quick drink at Davio’s. Wayne was late as usual, so I started early with a tall Allagash White. I’d yet to break the foamy head when Mattie sauntered in and took a seat beside me at the bar.

“Startin’ a little early,” she said.

I eyed the beer, then looked over to Mattie. “Thank God,” I said. “You caught me just in time. I was about to chug this entire pint.”

“You could at least wait until five. Or until you got home to let Pearl out.”

“Pearl’s with Susan,” I said. “I’m on my own tonight.”

“Good,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“I’m present in both mind and spirit.”

“Busy?”

“As a beaver.”

“You don’t look busy.”

I took a long sip of cold beer. “I spent half the day checking out our new pal, Greebel,” I said.

“And?”

“He’s a creep, too.”

“And?”

“And I found no mention of a specialty in working with foot-massage enthusiasts.”

“What about the other half of your day?”

I shrugged. “Background work on some cops for a defense case for Rita Fiore.”

“Checking out the cops?”

“Some cops,” I said, “are like Belson and Quirk.”

“And others.”

“Others,” I said, “not so much.”

“I think that Rita Fiore has the hots for you.”

“Shocking,” I said, doing a subtle Sean Connery. “Positively shocking.”

I drained a little bit more of the beer, the foamy head soon gone. Little bubbles rose up and broke the surface as the bartender placed a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar. I decided I might never leave.

“I found Debbie Delgado,” she said. “I waited all day until she came on at that ice-cream shop at Pru Center. I went up, ordered a strawberry cone, and basically shot the shit with her until some customers came up. I told her when she got a break, I wanted to talk with her about maybe hooking me up with her rich friends.”

It was early evening at Davio’s, and much of the dining room was empty. The large U-shaped bar had just started to fill up with the office crowd. Lots of men in loose ties speaking with women in sleeveless silk tops. I liked being among the office crowd after work. Their exasperated faces made me recall why I did what I did.

The bartender returned. Mattie ordered a Coke without ice. The bartender left, and I nodded at her excellent selection.

Mattie picked up a cocktail napkin and began to play with the edges. She had on jeans and her Sox windbreaker, hair pulled into a ponytail and her face scrubbed of any makeup. She looked as wholesome as Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

The bartender set down the Coke and walked away.

“I waited around for like an hour, and finally Debbie comes out and sits with me in the food court,” Mattie said. “I tell her that I’ve heard that she’s got some kind of connection with a rich guy who likes to get his feet rubbed. Actually, I didn’t say feet. I just said some rich guy that likes massages. And Debbie stopped me right there. She said I wasn’t exactly the type. And I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And she says, ‘You’re way too old.’”

“You are ancient.”

“I asked her how young are we talking,” Mattie said. “And Debbie says, ‘the younger the better.’ Can you believe that crap? The younger the better? I didn’t know what to say and just blurted out that that was pretty sick. And Debbie was like it was no big deal. She says the man just liked fifteen-, sixteen-year-olds.”

“Yikes.”

“Debbie said if I knew some girls who might be interested to let her know,” Mattie said. “She says she got two hundred bucks with each new girl. And if I brought some good ones to her, we could split the money.”

“Did she know what had happened to Chloe?” I said.

“If she did, she didn’t mention it,” Mattie said. “I asked her if she didn’t think the whole thing was pervy. She said the guy was super-rich, like crazy rich, and real stressed out. She said young girls made him feel like a kid again. It relaxed him. Like a sleepover or something. It was all real clean. Pillow fights and gossip and all that. Debbie says she did it once or twice and that it was no biggie.”

“Did you find out his name?”

“I asked,” Mattie said. “But she wouldn’t tell me. I told her that he sounded like a fucking child molester. I said that if you’re over eighteen, that’s your own business. But kids, little girls, got no reason to be around some weird old man.”

“And how did she reply?”

“She said I needed to grow the fuck up,” Mattie said. “That the world wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. She said a man like this could change your life. He knew people. Powerful rich people that could make shit happen with the snap of their fingers.”

“Ah,” I said. “The rich are different.”

I’d been studying the menu, contemplating a lobster roll with fries. If I didn’t eat now, I’d have to stop by the Public Market on the way home. But if I did eat now, I’d be fully sustained for the evening. That way I could focus more on sipping Johnnie Walker on ice while I watched The Magnificent Seven on TCM. I’d seen the movie a hundred times and looked forward to a hundred more.

“That’s okay,” I said. “There are other ways to find this guy.”

“Would you hold on one second?” Mattie said. “Christ. Let me finish.”

I turned toward her on the barstool. “Do I sense dogged determination?”

“Duh,” Mattie said. “I said screw it, took the T back to Southie, and found her sister, Sandy. I should’ve just gone to Sandy first. We go way back. To Gates of Heaven. To middle and high school. Both Sandy’s younger sisters are fuckups. Sandy’s been going to Bunker Hill when she’s not working. Studying to be a nurse. Got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Did she know about Debbie’s new friend?”

“Nope,” Mattie said. “But she knew something was wrong. She said Debbie had been acting weird and bragging about having all this extra money. Like a shit ton of money. She knew that money wasn’t coming from slinging ice-cream cones. Sandy had seen Debbie out with some rich lady. Drives a fancy car, clothes outta Newbury Street window, lots of jewelry.”

“A woman of means.”

“Sandy says she had a British accent, too,” Mattie said. “She doesn’t know her name, but Sandy thinks Debbie has been working for the woman as a personal assistant. Running errands. Fetching coffee. Said it was her side hustle on her days off.”

“Hmm.”

“Bet your ass, hmm,” Mattie said. “Chloe said the woman at the club had a funny accent. Right? She’d met the woman when she got the instruction on the massage and the cash.”

“So all we have to do now is catch Debbie with this lady of means,” I said. “And then hopefully connect this woman to Mr. Feet.”

“Really, Spenser?” Mattie said. “I’m like five steps ahead of you.”

“It’s almost as if you’d been trained by a professional,” I said.

“To add a little pressure,” Mattie said, “I told her about what happened with Chloe. How the guy acted like he wanted a massage but then pulled off the sheet and started going to town. I thought Sandy might puke. She promises she’ll call when Debbie’s back with this woman.”

“How often are they together?”

“Sandy says Debbie gets a ride home from her at least twice a week,” Mattie said. “Hey. Tonight might be the night. I’ll let you know. The Delgados live over on Fourth and G. I’ll text you the address if I hear anything. What do you think? You think Susan will let you out of the house to come play?”

“I went to the woods because I wished to live differently.”

“Does that mean yes?”

I tilted my head and nodded. “Yes.”

Mattie left, nearly bumping into Wayne Cosgrove on the way out. Each one unaware of the other’s significance in my life. I waved to Wayne and ordered the lobster roll with fries. And another Allagash.

Stakeouts gave me no pleasure on an empty stomach.