The Professional

Chapter 17

HAWK AND I were having a “Thank God it’s late Thursday afternoon” drink at the far end of the bar in Grill 23.

“What’s the book?” I said to Hawk.

He looked at the hardcover on the bar beside him. The flap was keeping his place about one hundred pages in.

“New one by Janet Evanovich,” he said.

“Good?”

“Course it’s good. Would I be reading it, it’s not good?”

“You reading it, it wouldn’t dare,” I said.

Hawk smiled.

“Don’t suppose you want me to pop Gary Eisenhower for you,” Hawk said.

“There’s nothing going on here,” I said, “that anyone should die for.”

“Just an offer,” Hawk said.

“Thanks,” I said.

Hawk sipped some champagne.

“What are friends be for,” he said, “they can’t scrag somebody for you now and then?”

“I’ll take a raincheck,” I said.

Hawk looked as he always did, as if he’d just been washed and polished. His clothes were immaculate. His shirt seemed to glow with whiteness. His shaved head gleamed in the bar’s light.

“Maybe I should shave my head,” I said.

“White guys don’t look good with their heads shaved,” Hawk said.

“Why is that?” I said.

“Don’t know,” Hawk said. “Don’t look as good with hair, either.”

“Are you making invidious racial comparisons?” I said.

“Uh-huh,” Hawk said.

The bartender came down the bar and replaced our drinks.

“You say he knew the names of the women hired you,” Hawk said.

“Yes.”

“How many women he working, you think?”

“More than four,” I said.

“So somebody tole him,” Hawk said.

“Be my guess,” I said.

“One of them don’t believe she ain’t special to him,” Hawk said.

“You know this how?” I said.

“Simplest explanation,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“People believe what they need to believe,” Hawk said.

“Also true,” I said.

Hawk sipped his champagne. I had a little scotch.

“I got nowhere to go,” I said. “No one will testify, no one will bargain with him. They all want something they can’t have.”

“And there’s a lot you don’t know,” Hawk said.

“Susan says there’s something wrong with Gary,” I said.

“That he has as much sex as he does, with various women about whom he doesn’t care very much.”

“Strange tail,” Hawk said.

“I know,” I said. “I’m not sure Susan gets that, exactly.”

“She gets most things,” Hawk said.

“She does,” I said.

“I been thinking ’bout cutting back myself,” Hawk said.

“Official male attitudes aside, is there such a thing as too much sex?”

“Sure,” Hawk said.

“Even at your tolerance level?” I said.

“Even then,” Hawk said.

“So what does that do for me?” I said.

“You the sleuth,” Hawk said. “I just a simple negro man.”

“Simple,” I said.

Hawk was looking down the bar at a woman in a dark blue suit.

“Attractive to women, though,” he said.

“I thought she was looking at me,” I said.

“She not,” Hawk said.

I sipped some scotch.

“I suppose I could go back a little, get a little history on Gary,” I said.

“He done a triple at Shirley?” Hawk said.

I nodded.

“For swindling some woman?”

I nodded.

“Might make sense to talk to the woman,” Hawk said.

“I’m a man of great intellectual curiosity,” I said.

We finished our second round. The bartender delivered a third.

“You sure that woman isn’t looking at me?” I said.

“What you care?” Hawk said. “You don’t fool around no more.”

I grinned at him.

“I was never fooling,” I said.