School Days - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,22

am going to share my concerns with the State Police Homicide Commander in Boston, guy named Healy. If he doesn't hear from me every day he'll be out here looking for me, and he'll know who to ask."

Beside me, Cromwell, still bent over, had started taking deep breaths.

"That aside," I said, "I got no reason to embarrass you. I will leave you out of anything I can, as much as I can, unless you're guilty as hell ... or unless you annoy me."

Cromwell slowly straightened. His shoulders were still hunched, and he kept his hands over his groin, but he was sitting more or less upright.

"Where's my bullets," he said.

I handed the six big bullets to him. He took them and made no move to reload.

"I don't want trouble with you," I said. He didn't look at me.

"But remember one thing," I said. "YOU don't want trouble with me, either. It might work out well if we gave each other a good leaving alone."

Cromwell still wouldn't look at me. I waited a moment. He didn't say anything. So I got out of the car. The three cops looked at me carefully. Several of the kids started to clap, and most of them joined in. I gave them a V -for-Victory sign. Cromwell never moved from the backseat.

Pink Top said, "You go, Big Daddy."

"I do," I said.

And did.

As I strolled off down the street toward my car, with the plaudits of the crowd still ringing in my ears, I had a sort of tense, targety feeling between my shoulder blades.

I'd had it before.

Chapter 22

I HAD A DATE for a drink with Rita Fiore in the late afternoon at the Ritz Bar on Arlington Street. It was raining again, and the cars on Boylston Street had their headlights on early as I walked down from my office with my raincoat collar turned up and my Pittsburgh Pirates cap tugged down over my forehead. People were leaving work, and the sidewalk was a moving jumble of umbrellas. With my natural agility, however, I was able to avoid injury. Rita was at a window table when I got there.

"Why are you wearing a black hat with a P on it," she said.

"Pittsburgh Pirates," I said. "Goes with my raincoat."

Rita was drinking a martini. She had already ordered me a scotch and soda, which sat waiting. I took off my hat and coat and put them on the floor and sat down in front of the scotch.

"Johnnie Walker Blue," Rita said.

"I deserve no less," I said and took a pull.

"Susan still gone?" Rita said.

"Yes."

"Is it possible she's not coming back?" Rita said.

"No."

"Well, it happened once before," Rita said.

"That was two other people," I said.

"So not this time?"

"No."

"Damn," Rita said. "Any chance we could pretend, like for an evening?"

"I could not love thee half so well," I said, "if I loved not honor more."

"Oh ... fuck!" Rita said.

"Or not," I said.

"You probably didn't even quote it right."

"Everybody's a critic," I said.

She reached across and patted my hand.

"How's everything in Dowling?" she said.

"The community is united in its conviction that I'm a nosy pain in the ass and should be stonewalled."

"Poor baby," Rita said.

"The thing is, nobody, not even their parents, seems interested in how two teenaged boys acquired four semiautomatic handguns and ammo, and enough skill to hit two-thirds of their targets."

"Close range," Rita said.

"Maybe. But when people pick up a hammer for the first time, they miss the nail more often than that."

"So you're saying it wasn't the first time."

I nodded.

"Were these kids marginal?" Rita said.

"It's hard to tell," I said. "The Grant kid played football. The kids I've talked with so far say that Clark was sort of a nobody."

"Any pattern to who they killed?" Rita said.

The waiter came by. We ordered another round. He went away.

"I don't know enough yet," I said. "DiBella says no."

"He any good?" Rita said.

"Healy says he is."

"And Healy is good."

"Very," I said.

Trying to stay out of the rain, a youngish woman wearing a stylish red raincoat and walking a small dog pressed in against the window next to where I was sitting. I looked at her.

"Are you looking at her ass?" Rita said.

"I am," I said. "I'm a detective. It's my nature."

The waiter brought the fresh drinks.

"You are right across the table from one of the great asses on the East Coast, and you're looking at her ass out the window."

"I can't see yours," I said. "If you wanted to go outside and press it against the window