it all," I said.
"But?"
"But I did the best I could with it."
"Yes," Susan said, "you did."
A squirrel leaped with no apparent anxiety from a high branch to a low one. Pearl's large ears pricked forward, and her shoulders tensed. The squirrel jumped from the tree to a fence, and ran along the top of it. Pearl watched closely until it disappeared and, ever hopeful, for a time afterward.
"What happened to Boots?" Susan said.
"He wire-transferred five million dollars to an account at Rita's firm. It'll be invested on behalf of Luther Gillespie's surviving child."
"Does Rita know about investing?" Susan said.
"My guess is that Rita can't balance her checkbook. She'll have one of the trust lawyers manage it, and she'll godmother it."
"What will that provide for the child?" Susan said.
"More than one hundred thousand dollars a year," I said.
Susan nodded. We watched as two women with long, gray hair, one with it braided, strolled past us toward Mass. Ave.
"Is Cambridge the long, gray hair capital of the world?" I said.
"Un-huh."
"Great look," I said.
"Un-huh. Where is he now?"
"Boots?"
Susan nodded.
"Part of the deal," I said. "Boots comes up with the five million, Hawk lets him stroll."
"Just walk away?"
"Yep."
"So he's free and alive?"
"For the moment."
"For the moment?"
"Boots won't be able to leave this alone," I said. "Eventually, he'll make a run at Hawk, and Hawk will kill him."
"You're so sure," Susan said.
"I am."
"Why did Hawk let him go?"
"Part of the deal," I said.
"But why would he need to keep a bargain with a man like Podolak?" Susan said.
"Wasn't about Podolak," I said.
"No," Susan said. "Of course it wasn't."
"Hawk let him go because he said he would," I said.
"Yes," Susan said. "I understand. I just forget sometimes."
"You don't forget a hell of a lot," I said.
"Other than that, is it over?" she said.
"Not quite."
54
MARSHPORT WAS PEACEFUL. There were still some State Police cars parked at some intersections, and in Boston the legislature was discussing forming a committee to consider authorizing somebody to think about looking into what the hell happened in Marshport. Maybe. But for the moment, the horse parlors were in business. The numbers runners were hustling. The dope dealers were their usual active selves. Cartons of highjacked cigarettes were selling well off the backs of trucks, and somewhere, probably, Icarus was falling into the sea. Hawk and I had walked peaceably into City Hall and up the elegant front stairway to sit with Tony Marcus and Brock Rimbaud in Boots's former office. Ty Bop and Junior stood silently in the hallway on either side of the door. I smiled at them as we went in. Neither of them seemed to notice. One of the big Palladian windows in the office was secured with plywood. The far corner of the big office was draped in polyethylene wrap. There were scorch patterns on the vaulted ceiling. The Gray Man sat behind Boots's former desk. Tony and his son-in-law sat in front of the desk.
"Mr. Mayor," I said courteously.
The Gray Man tipped his head.
"Things under control?" Tony said.
"For the nonce," the Gray Man said.
Hawk looked at me and silently repeated the word "nonce?"
"For whatever," Tony said. "Is it our city now?"
The Gray Man nodded.
"You going to run the town?" Tony said.
The Gray Man had his fingers tented in front of him, tapping his chin lightly.
"Until the mayor returns…"
Tony snorted.
"Or until a new mayor is duly chosen by the electorate."
"Or the city is in receivership," I said.
"But for now," the Gray Man said, and smiled faintly, "I am in control here at City Hall."
"So let's talk about plans," Tony said.
Sitting beside Tony, Rimbaud was jiggling his knee.
"You wouldn't be in City Hall," Rimbaud said, "wasn't for us."
Tony glanced at Rimbaud for a long, silent moment.
I did my always-popular Bogart impression.
"All the son-in-laws, in all the world…"
"What's that mean?" Rimbaud said.
"Means you need to be quiet," Tony said to him.
He looked back at the Gray Man.
"I want Brock to run the street business," he said.
Again, the Gray Man smiled fleetingly. Things amused him. But not a whole lot. He nodded.
"You met the supervisor?" Hawk said.
"You're so sure there is one?" the Gray Man said.
"You meet him?" Hawk said.
The Gray Man picked up the phone and spoke into it briefly.
In a moment, a door opened to the left of the polyethylene drapes and a tall handsome man came in, wearing a good charcoal-gray pin-striped suit. He had a nice short beard with gray in it, and his hair was longish and combed back over his ears.
"This is Mr. Johnson," the