Taming a Sea Horse

32

I made three tries at getting Warren Whitfield on the phone next morning and never getting past the administrative assistant, who remained courteous and implacable no matter how beguiling I became. Finally I sent him a telegram that read:

In regards Ginger Buckey, the Cr Prince Club, and St. Thomas, call Spenser promptly.

I added my phone number and sat back to wait. He didn't call that day. And Hawk and l spent the time considering a number of pressing issues. We discussed whether ethnicity had anything to do with sexual fervor among women. We also examined the issue of why the Red Sox kept building teams around the long ball and the short left-field fence, a practice that had won them three pennants in the last forty years. I quoted Peter Gammons, Hawk referenced Bob Ryan, all four of us agreed. We analyzed the relative merits of California champagne. I opted for Schramsberg, he for Iron Horse. We agreed that Taittinger was the class of the French though Krug and Cristal and Dom Perignon were worth a gulp. We agreed that Tapas Restaurant was the class of Porter Square, that Ray Robinson was the best fighter that ever lived (present company excluded), that Bill Russell was the most dominant basketball player, that Mel Torme could sing; we spoke well of Picasso, and Alan Ameche and the Four Seasons. We engaged in a long sexist analysis of female physiology.

At about four-thirty we turned on my answering machine and walked up the street to Grille Twenty-three and had a couple of beers at the bar. I called Susan and she said she'd meet us for supper. We had a couple more beers. The bar began to fill. The seat next to Hawk remained empty.

"You doing something," I said, "or is it racism?"

"Need a place for Susan," Hawk said.

"You're looking at people when they start to sit there," I said.

"Just a glance," Hawk said.

Susan arrived at a quarter to seven. As she came in she didn't do anything different than anyone else, but somehow she seemed to sweep in. There probably was no hush in the place. I probably imagined it. I always felt like a hush fell when she swept into a place. Hawk moved to the empty seat beside him and Susan sat between us. She kissed Hawk, and kissed me and gave me a hug with her right arm. She ordered a White Russian and looked at Hawk.

"I love you," she said, "but it always makes me nervous when I see you. It means he's into something too much for him to handle alone. Which means it's really too much."

"Maybe I into something I can't handle alone, Susan. Ever think of that?" Hawk said.

"No. Of course, it would work that way too," she said. "I guess I'm Spensocentric."

"Me too," I said, "Want me to get us a table?"

"Not yet," Susan said, "unless you're starving. I'd like to sit a little and come down."

"The crazies getting to you," I said.

"No, not really. I love what I do. And, mostly, I love the patients. But the concentration level is so high and so sustained that I am buzzed when I get through every night."

The bar was crowded now, people standing, mostly suits and ties after work at insurance companies. Police headquarters was right across the street but I didn't see much that looked like fuzz.

"How did you manage to save me a seat?" Susan said.

Hawk smiled. "Luck of the draw, Susan."

She studied him for a moment. "Maybe," she said.

Hawk and I finished our beer. Susan had a second White Russian. Then we went to dinner.

Grille Twenty-three occupied part of what used to be the Salada Tea Building. The building was from the era of vaulted ceilings and marble pillars, and the restaurant had made full use of the space. The dining room was separated from the bar by a railing and a couple steps down. Susan and Hawk and I sat near a display table of fresh produce and bread, which looked, somehow, better than it sounds. We got menus and Hawk took the wine list.

Susan said, "Tell me what you are doing now. I know you're still looking for April. But why Hawk?"

Hawk was absorbed in the wine list. "Well, there was a mystery man named Warren," I said.

"Warren? What kind of name is Warren for a mystery man," Susan said.

"See why I was feeling Prufrockian?" I said.

"Go on," Susan said.

Hawk asked to see the wine steward. I told Susan about Perry Lehman and Warren and Mr. Milo. The wine steward conferred with Hawk, and went away.

"Schramsberg," Hawk said. "They didn't have Iron Horse. I was going to have one of each and do a blind tasting."

"After four or five beers," I said, "to prepare the palate."

Hawk grinned.

"And you knew Hawk would show up when they came to kill you?"

"Un huh."

"Even though you didn't see him and hadn't seen him all day?"

"Un huh."

"Isn't that remarkable," Susan said. "Have you each ever considered how rare that kind of trust is?"

"Yes," I said, "I have."

Hawk simply smiled at Susan.

"He doesn't consider stuff like that," I said. She looked at Hawk.

"It have to do with us both knowing it matters," Hawk said. "Our line of work, you got to do what you say you going to do."

"See," Susan said, "he does think about such things."

"But not too much, Susan," Hawk said. "Doing it, more important than thinking about it."

The waiter brought the champagne. He opened it and poured. Susan ordered grilled salmon fillet. So did I. Hawk had scallops. We sipped the champagne. Susan's hand rested on mine on the tabletop. The room was full of the sound of people talking and dishes being served and steaks being cut and glasses being raised and fish being grilled and wine being poured. I looked at Susan, she smiled and said, "Umph," at me. We both knew what we were feeling. Since Hawk seemed to know whatever he felt like knowing, he probably knew it too.

"Nice to be dining with you both," Hawk said. He gestured slightly with the champagne glass and drank some. Susan and I drank some too.

"We've been together on worse occasions," I said.

"But few better," she said.

The food came. We had a platter of assorted grilled vegetables to go with our entree. The waiter served some onto each plate. Susan smiled up at him when he finished. He poured more champagne and looked at Hawk. Hawk nodded and the waiter went for another bottle.

I said to Susan, "You keep smiling at the waiter that way and he's going to get vertigo and drop his tray and get fired."

"I forgot," Susan said, "I must control this special power."

"Smile at me," I said. "I'm so tough I can take the full force, ear to ear."

The waiter came back with a second bottle and leaned over Hawk. "Lady up there wants to buy you this next bottle, sir," the waiter said. He handed Hawk a business card on which something was written.

Hawk read the card and the message and looked up across the room at a tall blond woman in a tight-fitting red knit dress. He smiled once, and tucked the card into his shirt pocket.

"Your smile seems to be working pretty good too," I said.

"Thermonuclear," Hawk said.

"You know her?" Susan said.

"Not yet," Hawk said, and smiled again.

I put my hands lightly over Susan's eyes. "I know you love me," I said, "but there's no sense taking chances."