Rough Weather - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,32

in western Mass,” Quirk said.

“Ty-Bop’s never been west of Brighton,” I said.

“I’m sure he hasn’t,” Quirk said. “Tony’s got a white lawyer, too, guy named Stackpole. Got a suit just like Dillard’s. Tony uses him for white specialty stuff.”

“You think Tony sent Dillard?”

“Whether he sent him or not, Tony knows he’s here,” Quirk said. “And he don’t disapprove.”

I nodded.

“I wonder what Tony would have to do with two guys from Whatzistan,” I said.

“Nothing legal,” Quirk said.

“Maybe we’ll find out,” I said.

“We won’t get anything on Tony,” Quirk said. “One of Dillard’s jobs, if Tony’s involved, is to make sure Tony don’t get mentioned.”

“Language barrier doesn’t help,” I said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Quirk said. “I got a call in to Epstein, see if he can find us somebody.”

“I wonder where Ms. Glas is from,” I said.

“We’ll find out,” Quirk said. “Before the ADA gets here, you got anything you want to tell me about why two immigrant gunnies want to kill you?”

“Why would anyone?” I said.

“Hard to imagine,” Quirk said. “You think it’s got anything to do with Tashtego?”

“You know I’m still involved with that?” I said.

“I keep track of you,” Quirk said. “For my scrapbook.”

“Might be Tashtego,” I said. “You remember the Gray Man.”

“Yep.”

“He might have become annoyed.”

“What I know about the Gray Man,” Quirk said, “he’d have done it himself.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That bothers me a little, too.”

34

It was nearly an hour before Dillard came into Quirk’s office and sat down beside me, facing Quirk.

“Ms. Glas is with my clients,” Dillard said. “They were confused when I asked them earlier, language problems, all that. They now say that their injuries were the result of police abuse.”

“Wow,” Quirk said. “They were confused.”

“How would you like to handle this?”

“The police abuse? I got ten independent witnesses to confirm the street altercation where they received the injuries.”

“Who was the black man in that altercation,” Dillard said.

“An interested third party,” Quirk said.

“When we get to trial, I can compel you to reveal his name,” Dillard said.

“Uh-huh.”

“If we get to trial,” Dillard said.

“Uh-huh.”

A heavy young woman with short black hair and a strong nose reached in to knock on the open door to Quirk’s office. She had large horn-rimmed glasses, and a gray pant suit that didn’t fit very well.

“Come in, Esther,” Quirk said.

“Hello, Martin,” she said, and looked at Dillard. “How are you, Lamar?”

She put her hand out to me.

“I’m Esther Gold,” she said. “I’m the ADA on this case.”

I gave her my name.

“You the complainant?” she said.

“I guess so,” I said.

She looked at Quirk.

“Spenser has worked with us in the past,” Quirk said. “I’ve asked him to sit in.”

Esther nodded.

“Lamar, you’re representing the two guys whose names I can’t pronounce?” she said.

“I am,” Dillard said.

“So let’s talk,” she said.

“Mr. Dillard,” Quirk said, “was just questioning if we had to proceed to trial with these guys.”

“What would be our alternative?” Esther said.

She rummaged in her bag as she spoke and came out with a Kleenex and wiped her nose. She sounded like she might have a cold. She looked around for someplace to throw the Kleenex and found nowhere and stuffed it back in her bag.

“I don’t know,” Dillard said. “But it’s something we might explore. All lawyers would rather go to trial, Esther, you know that.”

“I do,” Esther said. “Go ahead. Explore.”

Dillard leaned back a bit in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, placed the tips of his fingers together in front of him, and rested his chin on them.

“They are part of a four-man crew,” Dillard said, “here for reasons not germane to our concerns. The leader of the crew was in the car that escaped the shootout. They fear he may have been the passenger, now presumably dead. He was the one who spoke English, and it was he who negotiated the contract on Mr. Spenser. They were told that the name of the man who put the contract out was Rugar. He was described to them as dressing all in gray. Apparently, they found it amusing.”

Dillard paused.

“That’s it?” Esther said.

“They have no record, they have committed no serious crime.”

“Other than conspiracy to murder,” Esther said. “Possession of an unlicensed firearm, illegal immigration.”

Dillard opened his briefcase and took out a manila envelope.

“Gun permits and immigration papers,” Dillard said. “They were fearful and hid them for fear the police would confiscate them.”

Quirk looked at me. I grinned. Esther saw it.

“Captain?” she said.

“How long ago did you fill in the names?” Quirk said.

“Captain,” Dillard said. “Your work has