Part 12 (1/2)

”Are you a version of him?”

”I got feelings,” I said. ”I love.”

”Yes, you do,” Susan said. ”And quite well too. Let us take this last bottle of champagne to the bedroom and lie down and drink it and continue the conversation and perhaps once more you would care to, as the kids at the high school say, do it.”

”Suze,” I said, ”I'm a middle-aged man.”

”I know,” Susan said. ”I see it as a challenge.” We went into the bedroom and lay close in the bed, sipping the champagne and watching the late movie in the air-conditioned darkness. Life may be flawed but sometimes things are just right. The late movie was The Magnificent Seven. When Steve McQueen looked at Eli Wallach and said, ”We deal in lead, friend,” I said it along with him. ”How many times have you seen this movie?” Susan asked. ”Oh, I don't know. Six, seven times, I guess. It's on a lot of late shows in hotel rooms in a lot of cities.”

”How can you stand to watch it again?”

”It's like watching a dance, or listening to music. It's not plot, it's pattern.” She laughed in the darkness. ”Of course it is,” she said. ”That's the story of your life. What doesn't matter. It's how you look when you do it.”

”Not just how you look,” I said. ”I know,” she said. ”My champagne is gone. Do you think you are, if you'll pardon the phrase, up for another transport of ecstasy?” I finished the last of my champagne. ”With a little help,” I said, ”from my friends.” She ran her hand lightly across my stomach. ”I'm all the friend you've got, big fella.”

”All I need,” I said.

25.

Next day Susan drove me to the airport. We stopped on the way in the hot bright summer morning at a Dunkin' Donut shop, and had coffee and two plain donuts apiece. ”A night of ecstasy followed by a morning of delight,” I said, and bit into a donut. ”Did William Powell take Myrna Loy to a Dunkin' Donut shop?”

”He didn't know enough,” I said. I raised my coffee cup toward her. She said, ”Here's looking at you, kid.” I said, ”How'd you know what I was going to say?”

”Lucky guess,” she said. We were quiet on the ride to the airport. Susan was a terrible driver and I spent a lot of time stomping my right foot on the floorboards. When she stopped at the terminal she said, ”I'm getting sick of doing this. How long this time?”

”Not long,” I said. ”Maybe a week, no longer than the Olympic games.”

”You promised me London,” she said. ”If you don't make it back to pay off I'll be really angry with you.” I kissed her on ”I love you, Suze.” She said, ”I love you too,” and I got out and went into the terminal. Two hours and twenty minutes later I was back in Montreal at the house near Henri Boura.s.sa Boulevard. It was empty. There was O'Keefe's ale in the refrigerator along with several bottles of champagne. Hawk had been shopping. I opened a bottle of O'Keefe's and sat in the living room and watched some of the games on television. At about two-thirty a man knocked at the front door. I stuck my gun in my hip pocket, just in case, and answered. ”Mr. Spenser?” The man was wearing a seersucker suit and a small-brimmed straw hat with a big blue band. He sounded American, although so did half the people in Canada. At the curb with the motor running was a Dodge Monaco with Quebec plates. ”Yeah,” I said, very snappy. ”I'm from Dixon Industries. I have an envelope for you, but first could I see some ID?” I showed him my PI license with my picture on it. I looked like one of the friends of Eddie Coyle. ”Yeah,” he said, ”that's you.”

”It disappoints me too,” I said. He smiled automatically, gave me back my license and took a thick envelope out of his side coat pocket. It had my name on it, and the Dixon Industries logo up in the left-hand comer. I took the envelope. The man in the seersucker suit said, ”Goodbye, have a nice day,” went back to his waiting Monaco, and drove off. I went in the house and opened the envelope. It was three sets of tickets for all the events at the Olympic stadium for the duration of the games. There was nothing else. Not even a preprinted card that said HAVE A NICE DAY. The world becomes impersonal. Hawk and Kathie returned while I was on my fourth O'Keefe's. Hawk opened some champagne and poured a gla.s.s for Kathie and one for him. ”Haw old Suze doing?” he asked. He sat on the couch, Kathie sat beside him. She didn't say anything. ”Fine. She said h.e.l.lo.”

”Dixon go along?”

”Yeah. I think it gave him another purpose. Something else to think about.”

”Better than watching daytime TV,” Hawk said. ”You turn up anything yesterday or today?” He shook his head. ”Me and Kathie been looking, but we haven't seen anyone she know. Stadium's big. We haven't looked at it all yet.”

”You scalp some tickets?” Hawk smiled. ”Yeah. Hated to. But it's your bread. Been my bread I might have taken them away. Hate scalpers.”

”Yeah. How's the security?” Hawk shrugged. ”Tight, but you know. How you gonna be airtight with seventy, eighty thousand people walking in and out two, three times a day. There's a lot of b.u.t.tons around, but if I wanted to do somebody in there, I could. No sweat.”

”And get out?”

”Sure, with a little luck. It's a big place, man. Lot of people. ”

”Well, tomorrow I'll see. I got us all tickets so we don't have to deal with the scalpers.”

”All right,” Hawk said. ”Hate corruption in all its aspects, don't you, Hawk.”

”Been fighting it all my life, bawse.” Hawk drank some more champagne. Kathie filled his gla.s.s as soon as he put it down. She sat so that her thigh touched his and watched him all the time. I drank some ale. ”Been enjoying the games, Kath?” She nodded without looking at me. Hawk grinned at me. ”She don't like you,” he said. ”She say you ain't much of a man. Say you weak, you soft, say her and me we should shake you. I getting the feeling she don't care for you. She think you a degenerate.”

”I got a real way with the broads,” I said. Kathie reddened but was silent, still looking at Hawk. ”I told her she was a little hasty in her judgment.”

”She believe you?”

”No. You buy anything besides booze, like for supper.”

”Naw, man, you was telling me about a place called Bacco's. Figured you'd like to take me and Kath out and show her you ain't no degenerate. Treat her to a fine meal. Me too.”

”Yeah,” I said. ”Okay. Let me take a shower.”

”See that, Kath,” Hawk said. ”He very clean.” Bacco's was on the second floor in the old section of Montreal not far from Victoria Square. The cuisine was French Canadian and they had one of the better country pates that I'd eaten. It also had good French bread and Labatt 50 ale. Hawk and I had a very nice time. I was thinking that Kathie probably did not have nice times. Ever. But she was pa.s.sive and polite while we ate. She'd bought a kind of dungaree suit with a vest and long coat that she was wearing, and her hair was neat and she looked good. Old Montreal was jumping during the Olympics. There was outdoor entertainment in a square nearby, and throngs of young people drinking beer and wine and smoking and listening to the rock music. We got in our rented car and drove back to our rented house. Hawk and Kathie went upstairs to what had become their room. I sat for a while and finished the O'Keefe's and watched the evening events, wrestling and some of the weightlifting, alone in the rented living room, on the funny old TV set with the illuminated border. At nine o'clock I went to bed. Alone. I hadn't had much sleep the night before and I was tired. I felt middle-aged. I was lonely. It kept me awake till nine-fifteen.

26.

We took the subway to the Olympic Stadium. Subway is probably the wrong term. If what I ride occasionally in Boston is a subway, then what we rode in Montreal was not. The stations were immaculate, the trains silent, the service on time. Hawk and I forced a small s.p.a.ce for Kathie between us, in the jam of bodies. We changed at Berri Montigny and got off at Viau. Being a supercool sophisticated worldly-wise full-grown hipster, I was unimpressed with the enormous complex around the Olympic Stadium. Just as I was unimpressed with going to the actual, real, live Olympic games. The excited circus feeling in my stomach was merely the manhunter's natural sensation as he closes in on his quarry. Straight ahead were food pavilions and concessions of one kind or another. Beyond was the Maisonneuve Sports Center, to my right the.Maurice Richard Arena, to my left the Velodrome and, beyond it, looming like the Colosseum, the gray, not quite finished, monumental stadium. Cheering surged up from it. We started up the long winding ramp toward the stadium. As we went I sucked in my stomach. Hawk said, ”Kathie say this Zachary a bone-breaker.”

”How big is he?” Hawk said, ”Kath?”

”Very big,” she said. ”Bigger than me,” I said, ”or Hawk?”

”Oh yes. I mean really big.”

”I weigh about two hundred pounds,” I said. ”How much would you say he weighs?”

”He weighs three hundred five pounds. I know. I heard him tell Paul one day.” I looked at Hawk. ”Three hundred five?”

”But he only six feet seven,” Hawk said. ”Is he fat, Kathie?” I was hopeful. ”No, not really. He used to be a weightlifter.”

”Well, so, Hawk and I do a lot on the irons.”

”No, I mean like those Russians. You know, a real weightlifter, he was the champion of somewhere.”

”And he looks like a Russian weightlifter?”

”Yes, like that. Paul and he used to watch them on television. He has that fat look that you know is strong.”

”Well, anyway, he won't be hard to spot.”

”Harder here than most places,” Hawk said. ”Yeah. Let's be careful and not try to put the arm on Alexeev or somebody.” Hawk said, ”This dude trying to save Africa too?”

”Yes. He... he hates blacks worse than anyone I've seen.”

”That helps,” I said. ”You can reason with him, Hawk.”