The Professional - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,1

to detail here, they discovered that he had exploited four of them, often simultaneously, over the past ten years.”

“Have you met this guy?”

“No.”

“Well, if you do,” I said, “be careful.”

“I think I’ll be all right,” she said.

“So the seduced and abandoned have joined forces?” I said.

“Yes.”

“And what do they want?”

“They’d like to see him castrated, I’m sure, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, good,” I said.

“They came to me as a group because I was the only lawyer that any of them knew, and we agreed that pursuing him for the money would cause them embarrassment. Their husbands would find out. It might make a great tabloid story. So they agreed to move on, sadder but wiser, so to speak.”

“But,” I said.

“But he has returned. He has contacted each of them. He says he has proof positive of each adultery and will expose them to their husbands and the world if they don’t pay him.”

“What kind of evidence?” I said.

“They thought they were being discreet,” Elizabeth said. “These women are not stupid, nor, I guess, inexperienced.”

“No letters,” I said. “No e-mails, no messages on answering machines.”

“Yes.”

“Hidden cameras, hidden tape recorders?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I guess he was planning on shaking them down all along.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Sometimes people like to keep a record. Allows them to revisit these special moments, when things are slow.”

“So,” Elizabeth said, “maybe shaking them down was an afterthought?”

“Maybe,” I said. “They don’t want to pay.”

“Don’t want to, and can’t. Their husbands control all of the substantial money.”

“So you want me to make him cease and desist, without causing a stir,” I said.

“Can you?” she said.

“Sure,” I said.

Chapter 2

I MET THE FOUR WOMEN in a bigger conference room than we needed at Shaw and Cartwright. Elizabeth Shaw sat at one side of the table. The women sat two apiece on each side of her. I sat across from them.

Elizabeth introduced them.

“Abigail Larson, Beth Jackson, Regina Hartley, Nancy Sinclair.”

They each had a small notepad in front of them. And a ballpoint pen. Doubtless provided by the firm. They all smiled at me. All of the smiles displayed white, even teeth. They were all extremely well dressed. They all had very good haircuts. They all looked in shape. None looked older than thirty-five. It is easier to be good-looking when you’re thirty-five, and even easier if you’re rich. Though Elizabeth Shaw, who was probably neither, was holding her own. I smiled back at all of them.

No one said anything. They all looked at Elizabeth. “Perhaps you could tell us a little about yourself,” Elizabeth said to me.

“I used to be a cop, now I’m a private detective,” I said.

“Do you have a gun?” Regina said.

“I do.”

“Have you ever shot anyone?” she said.

“I have.”

“Could you tell us about that?” she said.

“No.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Regina said.

She had very black hair, which she wore in bangs over her forehead. Her eyes were large and made to seem larger by her eye makeup. She had on a simple print dress that had probably cost more than Liechtenstein, and her skin was evenly tanned, which in October, in Boston, meant she had either traveled to warmer climes or used an excellent bronzer.

“If we’re going to hire you, I think we should be able to ask you questions,” Abigail said.

I think she was trying to sound stern, but her voice was too small for stern.

“You can ask anything you want,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

“Well, how are we supposed to decide,” she said.

“Me telling you about shooting somebody won’t help.” Abigail was blonde, with a short haircut that had probably cost as much as Regina’s little dress. Her eyes were blue. She looked tan.

“I just think it would be so interesting,” she said. “I mean, I bet nobody here even knows anyone who has shot someone.”

“I am hopeful that I won’t have to shoot anyone on this job,” I said.

Abigail said, “I wouldn’t actually mind if you shot the bastard.”

“No,” Beth said. “I don’t think any of us would mind.” Both Beth and Abigail were blonde. In fact, everyone at the table was blonde except Regina, and me, and Elizabeth. Maybe they did have more fun.

“Tell me about him,” I said.

All the women looked at Abigail. She shrugged.

“He’s one slick item,” she said. “He’s handsome, charming, fun to be with, wears clothes beautifully, and he’s very sexy, the sonovabitch.”

“So far, except for sonovabitch,” I said, “we could be talking about me.”

The women all looked at me without response.

“So much for