Part 22 (1/2)

”And Paultz didn't know anything about her?”

”No reason he should,” I said. ”And a lot of reason, once Winston was backing away from the church, that he shouldn't. Maybe Winston always knew he might need a straw. Maybe he kept her relations.h.i.+p with him secret so he could use her when he needed her.”

”How about Banks,” Rita said. ”What made him suspicious all of a sudden?”

”Jealousy. He may have known her better than he could admit. He may have always known she was b.i.t.c.hier than she acted. But until he lost her and couldn't get her back, he didn't care. I think he started following her simply for a way to keep in contact. Knowledge is power, you know, and if he could spy her out and follow her around and know what she was doing . . . It was like he still had some control. I don't think he was suspicious about the heroin deal. I think he just stumbled on it and decided to use it as a way to get her back. It's all he ever really wanted. To have her and control her and, you know, own her.”

”Ain't love grand,” Rita said.

”So what happens to the Bullies?”

”Norfolk County doesn't care,” Rita said. ”Unless they get back in the skag business again. They got a nice trust fund, I understand, and doubtless a new and charismatic leader will emerge to help them spend it.”

”Ah, Rita, so young, so cynical,” I said.

”But literate,” she said. ”And s.e.xy.”

”Perhaps,” I said, ”when I get out of here I should buy you a drink and discuss books with you.”

”Good thought,” she said. ”Keep in mind, too, when you get out of here, that Joe Broz will not be among your boosters. He wanted Winston's source and he got nothing. It will annoy him.”

”A day is not wasted if you've annoyed Joe Broz,” I said.

”Well, be a little careful,” she said. ”At least until we've had our drink.”

”And had a literate discussion,” I said.

”Literate and s.e.xy,” she said.

”Yes.”

CHAPTER 48.

It was nearly ten at night in Boston when I called Susan in San Francisco.

”How are you,” she said. Her voice still small with pain. ”Paul said you were out of town.”

”I'm good,” I said. ”How are you?”

”I'm . . . I'm not good,” she said. ”I'm in therapy.”

”That should help,” I said. ”In a while at least.”

”Yes,” she said. The pause seemed longer on the open phone line. ”I . . . how bad has it been about my friend?” she said.

”Worst thing that ever happened to me,” I said.

”How do you stand it?”

”Tough kid,” I said. ”Always been a tough kid.”

Again the silence stretching across the darkening land.

”He's gone,” Susan said.

It was like not drowning. I took a breath. Steady.

”He's gone back to his wife,” she said.

”He's got a wife?”

”Yes.” Susan's voice was tiny.

”Jesus Christ,” I said.

And then her voice wasn't small. ”I will not leave you,” she said.

”In a manner of speaking.”

I could hear the smile in her voice. ”In a manner of speaking.”

”He wanted to move in?” I said.

”He wanted to divorce his wife and marry me.”

”And you wouldn't.”

Again the strength. ”I will not leave you,” she said.

”Nor I you,” I said.

”Do you suppose you could get away for a little while?” Susan said.

”In two weeks I can get away for as long as I want to.”

”Would you come to San Francisco and visit me?”

”Yes.”

”In two weeks?”

”Yes.”