Robert B. Parker's Someone to Watch Over Me (Spenser #48)(8)

Mattie pushed herself off the doorframe and walked toward my desk. She took a seat at the edge.

“A most generous gift,” Greebel said. “Along with the return of the lost item.”

“The backpack wasn’t lost,” Mattie said. “My client ran off. She was scared shitless.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he said. “But I hope this will all remain confidential. If you have any further questions, please contact my law firm.”

“Were you sent by the Blackstone Club?” I said.

He shook his head.

“T. W. Shaw?”

He shook his head again.

“Jimmy Hoffa?” I said.

Mattie shook her head. “This guy wouldn’t say shit if his mouth was full of it.”

Greebel started to grin again, wearing a bemused expression while standing up. “Are we through here?”

“Perhaps your client, whoever that might be, might have started off by returning the bag to its rightful owner rather than playing a game of keep-away,” I said.

“I apologize if there was any misunderstanding.”

“The Blackstone Club, of which your client is a member, sent two men to follow my assistant here,” I said. “One of whom was carrying a gun.”

“I have no knowledge of that.”

“No big deal,” Mattie said. “They were fucking idiots.”

“Amateurs,” I said.

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” Greebel said.

“So your client isn’t the Blackstone Club or T. W. Shaw?”

“Or the fucking Easter Bunny,” Mattie said.

“My client will remain nameless,” Greebel said, turning on a heel. “And I hope your client is pleased by the generous gift.”

“And what if they’re not?” Mattie said.

Greebel smiled even bigger. You could play “Sweet Rosie O’Grady” on those teeth. The lawyer held out his hands, showing his palms, and nodded at the backpack before leaving the room.

He left the door open, and we soon heard the hallway door open and close.

“What a freakin’ douche,” Mattie said.

“But a conscientious flosser.”

Mattie scooted off the desk and reached for the bag. She unzipped it, removed the laptop and what looked like a small makeup bag. She continued to pull out notepads and packs of pens until she found the envelope. It was white and sealed and looked to be bulging at the seams. Mattie slit it with a fingernail and began to shuffle through a wad of cash.

“How much?” I said.

“Thousand bucks.”

“Are you satisfied with the offer?” I said.

Mattie held my gaze. And then slowly shook her head.

“Nope,” she said. “No fucking way.”





7


LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Mattie and I met Chloe Turner at Joe Moakley Park on a green park bench overlooking Carson Beach. The rain had stopped and the sun returned, but most of the park and beach remained empty. Puppy Pearl romped and played across the wet grass while I sat down on a concrete retaining wall.

Pearl had taken to Chloe immediately, lapping her face with a thousand kisses, causing her to relax her shoulders and take in deep breaths.

“Thank you,” Chloe said, sifting through her backpack. “But I don’t want the money. I don’t want to have anything to do with that man. I agreed to five hundred to show up. But this makes me feel dirty. I don’t like it.”

“Who told you about meeting this guy?” Mattie said. “About making money from massages?”

“This girl at school,” Chloe said. “Can we not talk about it? I’ll split the five hundred with you like I promised. But I don’t want any more trouble. If my mom found out. Christ. She’d kick me out of the house.”

I smiled at Chloe. She was a cute girl who looked much younger than fifteen. She was as gangly as Pearl, with a chubby little girl’s face. Lots of baby fat and wide-set innocent eyes under blond bangs and shoulder-length hair. She had on khaki shorts and a blue-and-white boatneck shirt like French sailors used to wear.

“What this man did was a crime,” I said. “He should be arrested and go to jail.”

“Taking the T to the Common to go to some fancy men’s club,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “What the hell was I thinking? I got what I deserved. He probably thought I was a whore.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I said. “That’s what he wants you to feel like. People like that feed on power and making others feel weak and useless.”

“Can’t we just let it go?” Chloe said. “Please.”

Pearl had taken to running figure-eight patterns, bits of clipped grass across her brown flank. She seemed possessed of a demon or an adrenaline shot, looping and looping until she ran back to us and flopped on her back. Her small pink tongue lolled from her mouth. Pearl made Chloe smile as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I don’t want to quit,” Mattie said. “I’m not good at it. Who’s the girl?”

“Come on, Mattie.”

“If you don’t speak up,” Mattie said, “he’s gonna do it again to someone else. Some other kid. Only this time, that girl might not get away.”