Part 2 (1/2)

”He's got nothing to pack,” Giacomin said. ”Everything here is mine. She isn't getting any of it”

”Smart,” I said. ”Smart. I like a man gets out of a marriage gracefully.”

”What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?” Giacomin said.

”You wouldn't know,” I said. ”The kid got a coat? It's about nineteen degrees out. I'll see that she sends it back if you want.”

Giacomin said to his son, ”Get your coat.”

The boy went to the front hall closet and took out a navy pea coat. It was wrinkled, as if it had been crumpled on the floor rather than hanging. He put it on and left it unb.u.t.toned. I opened the door to the stairs and he walked through it and started down the stairs. I looked at Giacomin.

”You've gotten yourself in a lot of trouble over this, Jack, and don't you forget it,” he said.

I said, ”Name's Spenser with an S, like the poet. I'm in the Boston book.” I stepped through the door and closed it. Then I opened it again and stuck my head back into the hall. ”Under Tough,” I said. And closed the door, and walked out.

CHAPTER 4.

The kid sat in the front seat beside me and stared out the window. His hands fidgeted on his lap. His fingernails were chewed short. He had hangnails. I turned left at the foot of Chestnut Street and drove south past the Academy.

I said, ”Who would you rather live with, your mother or your father?”

The kid shrugged.

”Does that mean you don't know or you don't care?” I said.

”I don't know.”

”Does that mean you don't know the answer to my question or you don't know who you'd rather live with?” I said.

The kid shrugged again. ”Can I turn on the radio?” he said.

I said, ”No. We're talking.”

He shrugged.

”Would you rather be adopted?”

This time he didn't shrug.

”A ward of the state?”

Nothing.

”Join a gang of pickpockets and live in the slums of London?”

He looked at me as if I were crazy.

”Run off and join the circus? Make a raft and float down the Mississippi? Stow away on a pirate s.h.i.+p?”

”You're not funny,” he said.

”Lot of people tell me that,” I said. ”Who would you rather live with, your mother or your father?”

”What'll you do if I won't say?” he said.

”Ride around and be funny at you till you plead for mercy.”

He didn't say anything. But he didn't shrug. And he did look at me. Briefly.

”Want me to turn around and take you back to your father?”

”What difference does it make?” the kid said. ”What do you care? It's not your business. Whyn't you leave me alone?”

”Because right now you're in my keeping and I'm trying to decide what's best to do with you.”

”I thought my mother hired you. Whyn't you do what she tells you?”

”I might not approve of what she wants me to do.”

”But she hired you,” he said.

”She gave me a hundred bucks, one day's pay. If you don't want me to take you to her, I'll take you back to your old man, give her back her hundred.”

”I bet you wouldn't,” he said. He was staring out the window when he said it.

”Convince me you should be with him and I will.”

”Okay, I'd rather be with him,” the kid said. His face was still turned to the window.

”Why?” I said.

”See. I knew you wouldn't,” he said. He turned his face toward me and he looked as if he'd won something.

”I didn't say I wouldn't,” I said. ”I asked for reasons. This is important stuff, choosing a parent. I'm not going to have you do it to win a bet.”

He stared out the window again. We were in North Reading, still going south.

”See, Paul, what I'm trying to do is get you to decide what you'd like best to do. Are the questions too hard for you? You want to try watching my lips move?”

With his face still turned to the window the kid said, ”I don't care who I live with. They both suck. It doesn't make any difference. They're both awful. I hate them.”

The soft whine was a little shaky. As if he might cry.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” I said. ”I hadn't thought of that,”

Again he looked at me in an odd sort of triumph. ”So now what are you going to do?”