but it’s a fact.”
She reached out and began to rub my thigh. I slapped her hand. The action was involuntary, but effective. She pulled her hand away and burst into tears. I went around my desk feeling completely idiotic and sat down, and breathed in and out as quietly as I could. She cried for a little while and rubbed her hand where I’d slapped it.
“You hit me,” she said.
“Not very hard,” I said.
“It was too hard,” she said.
“Hard is in the eye of the beholder, I guess,” I said, and wished I hadn’t said it quite that way.
KC rubbed her hand some more, and sniveled a little. It didn’t seem to me like a good time to tell her that Louis Vincent was almost certainly the guy who was stalking her. Or that she was but one of a fairly long list of women he stalked. Perhaps there was another way to approach that problem.
Then she said, “I don’t understand you, most men would jump at the chance to fuck me.”
“Of course they would.”
“Don’t you think I’m beautiful?” KC said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“As beautiful as poopie old Susan?”
“No less,” I said.
“You’re not even married to her.”
“I know,” I said.
“I need a man to hold me.”
“Maybe you just want one and think it’s need.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged.
“Just a thing to say.”
“Well, I’ve been through hell,” KC said with a breathy sorrowful catch in her voice.
I nodded.
“And I don’t need a lot of holy-than-thou crap from some guy I’ve hired.”
“I think that’s holier,” I said, “holier than thou.”
“And don’t patronize me.”
Lucky I was a liberated guy and perfectly correct in my sexual attitudes or I might have said something under my breath about women.
“KC,” I said. “I’m trying, with some difficulty, and against most of my genetic programming, to avoid sex with you in a pleasant fashion. Maybe it can’t be done. Maybe the closest I can get to it is to patronize you.”
She sat and looked at me and thought about that. She was gorgeous. I knew virtue was its own reward, but sometimes I wondered if the same might be true of vice.
“So tell me about Susan,” she said. “What is it she does to make you like this?”
“It has to do with love, I think.”
“But how does she get you to do what she wants?”
“She doesn’t,” I said. “I want to do what she wants.”
“But she must do something.”
“What she does,” I said, “is she tries not to want me to do things I don’t want to do.”
“I’m serious,” KC said.
“Me too,” I said.
KC stared at me, she crossed her bare legs and stared some more. Finally she said, “I don’t get it.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I took a rosewood-paneled elevator up to the top floors of the State Street Building where Hall, Peary flourished. There were five guys in striped shirts and red suspenders riding up with me. For a guy who kept all his money in his wallet, I was spending a lot of time with stockbrokers. When I went into Louis Vincent’s big corner office I closed the door behind me. Louis was contemplating his computer screen, breathless with adoration.
“Hello there,” I said. Spenser, the genial gumshoe.
Vincent looked up.
“Oh, hi. Come on in, or, well, you are in, aren’t you.”
“I bring you greetings,” I said, “from KC Roth, and Meredith Teitler, and a woman in Hingham whose name I do not know, but whose significant other is a large fierce man named Al who says he will remove your head if he ever encounters you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Vincent said.
“Don’t dick around with this, Vincent. You’ve stalked a number of women in the past and you are stalking KC Roth currently.”
He got to his feet.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
I walked around the corner of his desk and put a good short left hook in under his rib cage on the right side. He gasped and staggered back, and began flailing at me
She reached out and began to rub my thigh. I slapped her hand. The action was involuntary, but effective. She pulled her hand away and burst into tears. I went around my desk feeling completely idiotic and sat down, and breathed in and out as quietly as I could. She cried for a little while and rubbed her hand where I’d slapped it.
“You hit me,” she said.
“Not very hard,” I said.
“It was too hard,” she said.
“Hard is in the eye of the beholder, I guess,” I said, and wished I hadn’t said it quite that way.
KC rubbed her hand some more, and sniveled a little. It didn’t seem to me like a good time to tell her that Louis Vincent was almost certainly the guy who was stalking her. Or that she was but one of a fairly long list of women he stalked. Perhaps there was another way to approach that problem.
Then she said, “I don’t understand you, most men would jump at the chance to fuck me.”
“Of course they would.”
“Don’t you think I’m beautiful?” KC said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“As beautiful as poopie old Susan?”
“No less,” I said.
“You’re not even married to her.”
“I know,” I said.
“I need a man to hold me.”
“Maybe you just want one and think it’s need.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged.
“Just a thing to say.”
“Well, I’ve been through hell,” KC said with a breathy sorrowful catch in her voice.
I nodded.
“And I don’t need a lot of holy-than-thou crap from some guy I’ve hired.”
“I think that’s holier,” I said, “holier than thou.”
“And don’t patronize me.”
Lucky I was a liberated guy and perfectly correct in my sexual attitudes or I might have said something under my breath about women.
“KC,” I said. “I’m trying, with some difficulty, and against most of my genetic programming, to avoid sex with you in a pleasant fashion. Maybe it can’t be done. Maybe the closest I can get to it is to patronize you.”
She sat and looked at me and thought about that. She was gorgeous. I knew virtue was its own reward, but sometimes I wondered if the same might be true of vice.
“So tell me about Susan,” she said. “What is it she does to make you like this?”
“It has to do with love, I think.”
“But how does she get you to do what she wants?”
“She doesn’t,” I said. “I want to do what she wants.”
“But she must do something.”
“What she does,” I said, “is she tries not to want me to do things I don’t want to do.”
“I’m serious,” KC said.
“Me too,” I said.
KC stared at me, she crossed her bare legs and stared some more. Finally she said, “I don’t get it.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I took a rosewood-paneled elevator up to the top floors of the State Street Building where Hall, Peary flourished. There were five guys in striped shirts and red suspenders riding up with me. For a guy who kept all his money in his wallet, I was spending a lot of time with stockbrokers. When I went into Louis Vincent’s big corner office I closed the door behind me. Louis was contemplating his computer screen, breathless with adoration.
“Hello there,” I said. Spenser, the genial gumshoe.
Vincent looked up.
“Oh, hi. Come on in, or, well, you are in, aren’t you.”
“I bring you greetings,” I said, “from KC Roth, and Meredith Teitler, and a woman in Hingham whose name I do not know, but whose significant other is a large fierce man named Al who says he will remove your head if he ever encounters you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Vincent said.
“Don’t dick around with this, Vincent. You’ve stalked a number of women in the past and you are stalking KC Roth currently.”
He got to his feet.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
I walked around the corner of his desk and put a good short left hook in under his rib cage on the right side. He gasped and staggered back, and began flailing at me
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