Life's Work by Jonathan Valin Page A

Bluerock get to expressing a doubt. And I was certain that his doubts went a lot deeper than he was letting on. I had the feeling that that was why he'd suddenly decided to talk to me about Bill. Of course, he hadn't really said anything that could get Bill in hot water-nothing about the drugs that Laurel said Parks had been abusing. And nothing about Kaplan's part in supplying them. While Parks might have left camp to visit home, I couldn't see Bluerock getting worked up about it. But if he thought his friend was in some cocaine trouble, that would be a damn good reason to get worried. And he had shown a special interest in my conversation with Walt Kaplan. I had nothing to lose by bringing the subject up.
    "Bill didn't mention Kaplan on Monday night, did he?"
    Bluerock shook his head. "Just Jewel."
    "That kind of surprises me," I said. "Kaplan implied that he'd been in constant contact with Bill. And from what I hear, Bill had good reasons to stay in touch with him."
    "What did you hear?" Bluerock asked ominously.
    "That Bill had a nose problem -at least, before he met C.W. And that Kaplan or somebody at the gym was his supplier."
    Bluerock pulled himself up on the couch with a jerk and stared at me for a long, unsettling moment. "You know, sport, guys can get killed for spreading rumors like that."
    "I know that," I said. "Is it true?"
    "I'm not one of Walt's disciples. How the hell should I know if it's true?" he said defensively.
    I took that as a probable yes. "You know, I'm not going to arrest Parks, Blue. I'm just trying to find him."
    "Then what do you care whether Bill has a nose problem or not?"
    "Because if he does, Kaplan's going to care -a lot. Walt has already made it pretty clear that he doesn't want me on this case. Of course, he didn't tell me why. He just said I was butting in where I didn't belong."
    "You are, sport," Bluerock said. "You really are. Look, Harry, I don't think you have any idea of what you're getting into. Three of my teammates have already been busted for possession of cocaine, and a lot of other people are getting mighty goddamn paranoid. You're not dealing with school kids, sport, snotty college punks who do a line or two on the weekends. The guys you're talking about are big, dangerous cats. Believe me when I tell you that you would not stand a chance against either one of them. Kaplan would eat you alive and spit out the parts he didn't like. And Bill -Bill is the toughest son-ofa-bitch I've ever met."
    "I'm thin, but I'm wiry," I said meekly.
    Bluerock laughed at me. "I'm going to do you a favor, Harry. I guess I owe you one. You go ahead and find Bill, if you can. Maybe he did go to Missoula. Or maybe he's shacked up with C.W. You're better positioned to find out than I am. But when you do find him, you call me. Understand? You don't try to talk things over with Bill, you don't call Petrie, and you sure as hell don't call Walt. You call me. Maybe I can keep you from getting killed."
    "You think it's that serious, then?"
    "I don't know for sure," he said, shaking his head. "But the way people are worked up, it fucking well could be."
 

    XIII
    It was a little past two thirty when I got back to the Delores. By then, I was too damned tired to care about the summer heat, which had moved into my apartment for the month of July, or about C. W. O'Hara, Bill Parks, and Walt Kaplan. I sat down on the couch, thinking that I would make the trip to the bedroom in easy stages, unbuttoned my shirt, and fell asleep where I was.sitting. At three A.M. the ringing of the telephone woke me with a start.
    Even hard-boiled detectives associate late-night phone calls with catastrophic news, and I could feel my heart pounding as I walked over to the desk and picked up the receiver. In the back of my mind, I was wondering who had died.
    I didn't even have a chance to say hello. The woman on the other end was too perturbed to exchange courtesies. In fact, she was close to hysteria. It took me almost a