Pale Kings and Princes

The backup was there, sitting together at a table in the lounge drinking coffee. Susan’s thick dark hair, looking as if it smelled of jasmine, brushed the collar of a big-shouldered crimson leather coat. The frames of her wraparound sunglasses matched the coat. Beside her Hawk had his black lizard-skin cowboy boots cocked up on the chair next to him. He had on starched jeans and a white silk shirt and a black velvet jacket with the collar turned up. The black skin of his shaven head gleamed under the fake Tiffany lighting as if it had been oiled. A black leather storm coat with a lot of brass zippers hung on the back of the fourth chair.

“Clever disguise,” I said. “No one would ever guess you’re outsiders.”

Susan kissed me.

Hawk looked at my layered sweats. “Love yo’ outfit, honey,” he said.

I sat down and ordered decaffeinated coffee.

“Still quitting,” Susan said.

“Almost there,” I said.

“Um,” Susan said.

“Susan told me on the way out,” Hawk said, “how you been spreading your charm around town and now they ready to lynch your ass.”

“Charm can only carry you so far,” I said.

“I hear that,” Hawk said.

My coffee came. I added cream and sugar. Decaf goes down better with cream and sugar. I sipped a little.

“Yum,” I said. “Okay, I assume Suze told you everything that’s going on.”

“Probably a little more than that,” Hawk said.

“I’m a female Jewish shrink,” Susan said. “You expect long silences?”

“I thought shrinks cryptic,” Hawk said.

“Only with patients,” Susan said.

“The only thing I got to add is that there was a state trooper assigned to this thing,” I said, “a sharp kid named Lundquist, and somebody got him reassigned.”

“So there’s folks connected,” Hawk said.

I shrugged. “Cocaine,” I said. Hawk nodded.

“Esteva?” Susan said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe the cops.”

“The Wheaton cops?” Susan said.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe Esteva who the Wheaton cops connected to,” Hawk said.

“Maybe,” I said, “at one end.”

“Till we know,” Hawk said, “probably not a swell idea to call them for help.”

“True,” I said.

“So we’re on our own out here,” Susan said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Don’t suppose you want to just dust Esteva and go on home,” Hawk said.

“We don’t know if he did anything,” I said.

“Done something,” Hawk said. “We know he running coke.”

“But you can’t prove it,” Susan said.

Hawk smiled his warm meaningless smile.

“Proving don’t matter to me, Susan. Knowing’s enough.”

“I want it all,” I said.

“You always do,” Hawk said. “How about this lady?”

“Caroline Rogers?”

“Yeah, we gonna save her too?”

“Yes.”

Hawk’s smile got wider.

“Thought we probably would,” he said.

28

Susan took the Mustang to visit Caroline Rogers.

“Her doctor makes hospital rounds after five today,” I said. “His name’s Wagner.”

“Internist?” Susan said.

“Yeah, I looked him up in the phone book.”

“I’ll speak to him. Sedation helps, but only for so long. After a point it delays the process of reintegration.”

“Don’t want to do that,” Hawk said.

Susan smiled at him. “Different kind,” she said. She looked at me and back at Hawk.

“Take care of each other,” she said. Then she pulled away, spinning her tires, going a little too fast, as she always did.

We got in Hawk’s Jaguar.

“Where we going?” Hawk said.

“Might as well go talk with Esteva,” I said.

“Any chance he might want to shoot us a little?” Hawk said.

“Some,” I said.

“Bet he can’t,” Hawk said. He slid the car into first and we glided out of the parking lot.

The stereo was playing softly.

“What the hell is that?” I said.

“Waylon Jennings,” Hawk said. He reached over and ejected the tape.

“You?”

Hawked looked over at me. “Naw, man. Susan. She into that hillbilly stuff.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I know. She’s smart though, and a good dancer.”

People looked at the Jaguar as we went through Wheaton. There were some workers in the yard at Esteva’s produce warehouse when we pulled up. They stared at the Jaguar. When we got out, they stared at Hawk. He glanced at them and they turned quickly away and went about their business, or made some up to be about.

There was a door near the front of the warehouse. Over it a small rustic sign hung from a wrought-iron arm. It said OFFICE. We went in. There was a desk opposite the door and filing cabinets on the wall behind it. A round-shouldered man with thick black hair and a long nose sat at the desk. The sign on his desk said SHIPPER. “Arthur” was lettered in white script above the pocket of his dark blue work shirt.

“Help you?” he said. He glanced at me and then at Hawk and then quickly back to me.

“Esteva?” I said.

“Mr. Esteva’s got a meeting,” Arthur said. “What’s it about?”

“Tell him Spenser’s here,” I said.

Arthur picked up the phone and dialed. “Arthur,” he said into the phone. “Tell Mr. Esteva there’s a guy named Spenser out here to see him. Another guy with him, too.”

He listened at the phone for about a minute. Then he nodded. “Okay,” he said, and hung up. He pointed toward a door in the wall to our right. “Through there, turn left. There’s some stairs at the far side of the warehouse. Go up the stairs.”

I said, “Thank you.”