The Professional - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,22

to see you professionally, and you could berate them.”

“Until they felt guilty enough to cure themselves?”

“Exactly,” I said. “How would that fly at the Psychoanalytic Institute?”

“Banishment, I think,” she said. “It is, however, not a position I’m prepared to take.”

“Is there a position you are prepared to take?” I said.

Susan smiled her fallen-angel smile. One of my favorites.

“How about prone, big boy?” she said.

“Shall I stop on the roadside?” I said.

Susan smiled.

“No,” she said.

Chapter24

WHEN GARY EISENHOWER came into my office on a rainy Monday morning, he had a purple bruise on his right cheekbone and a swollen upper lip. He moved stiffly to one of my chairs and eased himself into it. When he spoke he sounded like his teeth were clenched.

“I need a gun,” he said.

“I would guess that you do,” I said.

“I’m a convicted felon,” he said. “I can’t just buy one.”

“Also true.”

“Can you give me one?”

“Probably not,” I said. “Who beat you up?”

He made a slight movement with his lips, which, if it hadn’t hurt, might have turned into a smile.

“How’d you know?” he said.

“I’m a trained detective,” I said.

“Couple guys came around, tole me to stay away from Beth Jackson.”

“You’re still seeing her?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Even though she hired me to put you out of business?” I said.

“Yeah,” Gary said.

“She your mole in the gang of four?” I said.

“How’d you know there was a mole?”

“You knew who hired me,” I said.

He shook his head and winced.

“And—” I said.

“You’re a trained detective,” Gary said.

“You tell them to take a hike?” I said.

“The two guys?” he said. “No, I said, ‘Sure thing.’ ”

“But?”

He started to shrug and remembered that everything hurt and stopped in mid-shrug.

“But she kept coming around and”—again the try at a smile—“what’s a boy to do?”

“So they caught you again and decided to get your attention,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“One of the guys slim and dark, sort of quiet?” I said.

“Yeah, Zel, he said his name was. The one poured it on me was some kind of ex-pug. He had a funny name, too, but I’m a little hazy about some of the details.”

“Boo,” I said.

“Yeah,” Gary said. “Boo. He liked his work.”

“So now what?” I said.

“I took my beating, but I’m not going away.”

“So you’ll see Beth again?”

“Absolutely.”

“You care that much about her?”

“I like to fuck her,” Gary said.

“She’s not your only option,” I said.

“I told you before, I’m tougher than I seem,” Gary said. “I been punched around before. But I’ll fuck who I want to fuck, and no one tells me who that can be.”

“My God,” I said, “a principled position.”

“So I need a gun.”

I shook my head.

“Can’t give you a gun,” I said. “But maybe I can take Zel and Boo off your back.”

“You?”

“Yep.”

“How you going to do that?” Gary said.

“Sweet reason,” I said.

“ ‘Sweet reason’?” Gary said. “You being funny?”

“I hope so,” I said.

“How quick can you do this?”

“Pretty soon. In the meantime ask Beth to, ah, lay off, at least for a few days,” I said.

“What are you going to do,” Gary said.

“Talk to some people, arrange a few things, call in some favors,” I said.

“Who you gonna talk to?” he said.

“I have friends in low places,” I said. “Can you keep it in your pants for a few days while I save your life?”

Gary nodded.

“Why you doing this for me?” he said.

“Damned if I know,” I said.

Chapter25

BETH IS STILL SEEING EISENHOWER,” I said to Chet Jackson.

He sat across his desk from me, looking as hard-polished and expensive as he had last time.

“You think?” he said.

“It’s why you sent Zel and Boo to see him,” I said.

“They went to see him?” Chet said.

The view through the picture window behind him was still marvelous, but I’d seen it before. It was what I’d always thought about paying for a view. After a day or two you don’t even notice it.

“Boo beat him up,” I said.

“What a shame,” Chet said.

“I don’t want it to happen again,” I said.

“And you think I’ve got something to do with it?”

I said, “Let’s not screw around with this, Chet. I want you to call them off.”

“And let that sonovabitch continue to bang my wife?” Chet said.

“That’s a question to take up with the bangee,” I said. “Not the banger.”

The lines around Chet’s mouth deepened. I could hear Susan’s voice in my brain: “Banger” and “bangee” are sexist distinctions, the voice said, implying aggression on the one side and passivity on the other.

I know. I know. I can’t think of everything. Then I heard her laugh.

“That’s probably true,” he