The Professional - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,41

a guy like you,” Zel said. “Amateurs, he does fine. He can still punch.”

“I meant can he take care of himself in general,” I said. “You know, buy food, balance his checkbook, go to the dentist?”

“I take care of him,” Zel said.

“Been doing that long?”

“Yeah.”

We sat for a minute. Zel sat across the table from me, where he could watch the door to the room that Boo had gone to.

“You got any work now that Jackson got aced?” I said.

“Not right now, but I’m making some calls. People know me.”

“Seen Mrs. Jackson at all?”

“Not since her old man got whacked,” Zel said.

“Know why Jackson got whacked?” I said.

“No.”

“Know who did it?”

“No.”

“Any suggestions?” I said.

“How’d he get it,” Zel said. “I know he got shot, but cops wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“Two in the head,” I said. “One from about eight feet. One from about three inches.”

“Proves it ain’t me. The one from eight feet woulda been enough.”

“That a forty-caliber you took away from Boo?” I said.

“Never noticed,” Zel said. “Jackson capped with a forty.”

“Yep.”

“Boo ain’t much of a shooter,” Zel said.

“From eight feet you don’t have to be much of a shooter,” I said.

“You any good?” Zel said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Know anybody better?”

“Two guys,” I said. “Vinnie Morris, guy from L.A. named Chollo . . . maybe Hawk.”

“That’s three,” Zel said.

“So maybe three,” I said.

“I hearda Vinnie Morris,” Zel said.

“You as good as Vinnie,” I said.

“Ain’t been determined,” Zel said.

“How come you weren’t with Jackson when he got shot,” I said. “I sorta thought that was your job.”

“Told us to take the day off,” Zel said. “Said he didn’t need us.”

“Was Boo with you when Jackson was shot?” I said.

“Boo’s always with me,” Zel said.

“I’d swear that gun you took from Boo was a forty,” I said.

Zel took it out and looked at it.

“Nice call,” he said. “S-and-W forty-caliber.”

“Yours?” I said.

“They’re all mine,” Zel said. “I don’t want Boo carrying no gun.”

“How many you got?” I said.

“Six,” Zel said.

“All of them clean as this one?” I said.

“I keep them clean,” Zel said.

“Tools of the trade,” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

I looked at the door to the room where Boo was sulking. “Too bad Boo never learned to keep his hands up,” I said.

“Everybody tried,” Zel said. “But when the fight started, he could never remember. Even before he got hit, Boo wasn’t the brightest guy you’d meet.”

I nodded. We sat again.

“I hear anything useful,” Zel said, “I’ll give you a shout.”

“Please do,” I said.

Chapter49

I SAT WITH ESTELLE at the café counter in Pinnacle Fitness. I had coffee, and Estelle drank green tea. I didn’t care. I was still bigger and stronger than she was. The hell with green tea.

“Are you working on the murder case?” she said.

“I am.”

Estelle was wearing the tight black sweats and the tight white tank top that was apparently the Pinnacle trainer’s uniform.

“Who hired you?”

“I’m working on spec,” I said.

She looked at me as if I might be odd.

“Do the police have a suspect?” she said.

“No.”

“Have they had any success tracking the note?” she said. “You know, fingerprints? What machine it was written on? Kind of paper?”

“You’ve been watching those crime-scene shows,” I said. “Haven’t you.”

She smiled.

“Especially the one with David Caruso.” She glanced at me sideways. “He’s hot.”

“Hotter than myself?” I said.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Of course.”

She must have had a thing for slim, handsome guys. How shallow.

“It was written on a computer,” I said. “Printed out on paper you can buy at any Staples. No fingerprints that mean anything.”

“ ‘Mean anything’?”

“Well, yours are on it, and Gary’s and Beth’s, and mine,” I said. “That’s because we handled it. There are no unaccounted-for prints.”

“Oh.”

She thought about it for a while.

Then she said, “So how do you solve a crime like this?” “You don’t always,” I said.

“But, I mean, how would you even go about it?” she said. “There’s, like, no clues.”

“You talk to people,” I said. “You ask them questions. You listen to their answers. You compare what they said to what other people have said. You try to assess body language. You try to listen for tone.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?” Estelle said.

“Yes.”

“How am I doing?” she said.

“You’re not telling me anything, but it is sort of enjoyable to study your body language.”

“Enjoyable?”

“It’s a dandy body,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You don’t really think I did it?” she said.

“I don’t think,” I said. “I just ask questions and listen to answers and study bodies.”

“I’ll bet you think,” Estelle said.

“Mostly about sex and baseball,” I