uninterrupted for nearly twenty hours.
Joe was wearing a black suit with a matching vest. His shirt was white with cutaway collar, and he wore a gray and white striped tie with a big Windsor knot. Along the left wall was a full bar, complete with brass rail. Leaning against the bar with his elbows resting was Vinnie Morris.
"Usually," Joe was saying, "you are in the way, and it surprises me to this fucking moment that I haven't had someone hack you."
He had a deep phony voice, like the guys that call up and give you a recorded sales pitch on the phone. He spoke as if diction were hard for him and he had to be careful not to speak badly.
"Everyone makes mistakes," I said.
"And every time I talk to you and listen to your smart mouth it surprises me more." He leaned back in his high-backed blue leather chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "This time we might have a common interest."
"I'd hate to think so," I said.
"Spenser," Vinnie Morris said from the bar, "we're trying to work something out. Whyn't you button it up a little bit."
"We could take a different approach," Joe said.
"Like Gerry did," I said.
"Gerry's got a temper," Joe said. "Who worth his salt don't have a temper?
Huh? Tell me that. Guy's going to inherit this." Joe made an inclusive mo tion with his right hand. "Guy's got to have some pepper. Right, Vinnie?"
"Like you, Joe."
"That's right. I always had the fucking pepper. People knew it. Kept them in line. They knew I wouldn't back off. And they know Gerry's a piece of the same work."
Joe had unlaced his hands from behind his head and placed them flat on the desk where he was leaning over them, looking at me hard when he talked-a picture of intensity. But there was nothing there. It was a performance. Broz didn't believe it anymore. Vinnie and I never had.
Joe was silent for a minute, leaning forward over his desk, staring at me.
I had the feeling he might have forgotten what he was saying.
"So what do you want to talk about?" I said.
Joe frowned at me.
"You want to say what the problem is with Gerry and Rich Beaumont?" Vinnie said to Joe.
"He wearing a wire?" Joe said.
"No, Joe."
"You checked him before?"
"Like always, Joe. Every body, every time."
"Good," Joe said. "Good."
We were quiet for a moment.
"Richie Beaumont," Vinnie said.
"Yeah. Richie." Joe shifted a little in his chair so I could see his profile against the rain-translucent picture window. "Him and Gerry were associated in a deal we had going."
"What kind of deal?" I said.
Joe raised the fingers of his left hand maybe two inches. "A deal. We have a lot of deals going."
"And Gerry's involved in all of them," I said.
Joe's shoulders shrugged. The movement was minimal, maybe a half an inch.
"He's my son," Joe said.
"So what makes this deal special?" I said.
Joe shrugged again. His shoulders hunched higher this time.
"Nothing special, just another deal we were doing."
I looked at Vinnie. He shook his head. I sat still and waited.
"Gerry's my only kid," Joe said.
I nodded. He was silent. On the window the rain twisted into thick little braids of water in places.
"I'm seventy-one."
I nodded some more.
"Like anybody coming into a business, he needs some room. Some room to make mistakes, unnerstand? Some chance to learn from the mistakes. How we all…" Joe made a little vague circle with his right hand. "How we all learned, got to be men. You and me, Spenser, we're men. You know? Vinnie too. We know how men do things. Because we learned. We made our mistakes and we survived them and we…" He made the gesture again with his right hand. "We fucking learned is all."
"Gerry made a mistake," I said.
"Sure," Joe said. "Sure he did. Everybody does when they're starting out.
You can tell them, and tell them. But it's not the same, they got to do it themselves, and fuck it up. Like we did."
"Sure," I said.
Out across the harbor I could see a DC 10 angling down out of the overcast, slanting in through the rain
Joe was wearing a black suit with a matching vest. His shirt was white with cutaway collar, and he wore a gray and white striped tie with a big Windsor knot. Along the left wall was a full bar, complete with brass rail. Leaning against the bar with his elbows resting was Vinnie Morris.
"Usually," Joe was saying, "you are in the way, and it surprises me to this fucking moment that I haven't had someone hack you."
He had a deep phony voice, like the guys that call up and give you a recorded sales pitch on the phone. He spoke as if diction were hard for him and he had to be careful not to speak badly.
"Everyone makes mistakes," I said.
"And every time I talk to you and listen to your smart mouth it surprises me more." He leaned back in his high-backed blue leather chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "This time we might have a common interest."
"I'd hate to think so," I said.
"Spenser," Vinnie Morris said from the bar, "we're trying to work something out. Whyn't you button it up a little bit."
"We could take a different approach," Joe said.
"Like Gerry did," I said.
"Gerry's got a temper," Joe said. "Who worth his salt don't have a temper?
Huh? Tell me that. Guy's going to inherit this." Joe made an inclusive mo tion with his right hand. "Guy's got to have some pepper. Right, Vinnie?"
"Like you, Joe."
"That's right. I always had the fucking pepper. People knew it. Kept them in line. They knew I wouldn't back off. And they know Gerry's a piece of the same work."
Joe had unlaced his hands from behind his head and placed them flat on the desk where he was leaning over them, looking at me hard when he talked-a picture of intensity. But there was nothing there. It was a performance. Broz didn't believe it anymore. Vinnie and I never had.
Joe was silent for a minute, leaning forward over his desk, staring at me.
I had the feeling he might have forgotten what he was saying.
"So what do you want to talk about?" I said.
Joe frowned at me.
"You want to say what the problem is with Gerry and Rich Beaumont?" Vinnie said to Joe.
"He wearing a wire?" Joe said.
"No, Joe."
"You checked him before?"
"Like always, Joe. Every body, every time."
"Good," Joe said. "Good."
We were quiet for a moment.
"Richie Beaumont," Vinnie said.
"Yeah. Richie." Joe shifted a little in his chair so I could see his profile against the rain-translucent picture window. "Him and Gerry were associated in a deal we had going."
"What kind of deal?" I said.
Joe raised the fingers of his left hand maybe two inches. "A deal. We have a lot of deals going."
"And Gerry's involved in all of them," I said.
Joe's shoulders shrugged. The movement was minimal, maybe a half an inch.
"He's my son," Joe said.
"So what makes this deal special?" I said.
Joe shrugged again. His shoulders hunched higher this time.
"Nothing special, just another deal we were doing."
I looked at Vinnie. He shook his head. I sat still and waited.
"Gerry's my only kid," Joe said.
I nodded. He was silent. On the window the rain twisted into thick little braids of water in places.
"I'm seventy-one."
I nodded some more.
"Like anybody coming into a business, he needs some room. Some room to make mistakes, unnerstand? Some chance to learn from the mistakes. How we all…" Joe made a little vague circle with his right hand. "How we all learned, got to be men. You and me, Spenser, we're men. You know? Vinnie too. We know how men do things. Because we learned. We made our mistakes and we survived them and we…" He made the gesture again with his right hand. "We fucking learned is all."
"Gerry made a mistake," I said.
"Sure," Joe said. "Sure he did. Everybody does when they're starting out.
You can tell them, and tell them. But it's not the same, they got to do it themselves, and fuck it up. Like we did."
"Sure," I said.
Out across the harbor I could see a DC 10 angling down out of the overcast, slanting in through the rain
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