Ceremony by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

slightly and looked at his switchblade, lying on the table in front of me. Then he looked back at Hawk.
    "I didn't know," he said again.
    "He ever get back-shot or something, I know who to look for," Hawk said. "Never happen," Trumps said.
    Hawk reached down and yanked both groggy men to 64 their feet. The muscles in his upper arms bunched when he did and stressed the sleeves of his leather jacket.
    "Before you go," I said to Trumps. "Have you seen that girl I was looking for?"
    Trumps didn't look at me. He looked at Hawk the way his whore had looked at him. "She's one of Red's," Trumps said. "She work for Red." Hawk nodded. He made a small dismissive gesture with his right hand and Trumps and his helpers left. The helpers were very rocky as they moved through the crowd.
    "Ofay?" I said.
    "I a real traditional guy," Hawk said. He put the Beretta into his belt and slid into the booth beside Red. There was more sweat on Red's upper lip, I thought.
    "Not too many people hassle Trumps," Red said.
    "It's time they started," I said. "How about the girl? April Kyle? She one of yours?"
    "You ain't a cop."
    "No." Red looked at Hawk. "He ain't either," he said. It wasn't a question. I held April's picture up. It was a graduation picture with the hokey overripe color that school pictures always have. April was smiling. Her hair was long to her shoulders and brushed back like Farrah Fawcett. Styles die hard in the subs. The neck of a sweater showed in the picture and the frilly little round collar of her blouse. Behind the bar the first trio of nudes came back onto the runway. The air was hot and thick with smoke—some of it was pot. "Yeah, I had her for a while," he said. "She split."
    "When?"
    Red shrugged. "Week ago, maybe-hard to keep track, you know? I got a lot of girls."
    "Where's she live?"
    "South End, Chandler Street."
    "What address?"
    "Hell, man, I don't remember-she's got a room down there someplace."
    "You remember," I said. "You know where all your girls are. You probably got half a dozen girls in the same building."
    "No way, man, I don't do that. These kids come in here and they don't know their ass from a hole in the ground. They get in trouble. All I do is organize them a little. Look out for them on the street."
    "And they call you Uncle Red and giggle when you tickle them," I said.
    Red looked at his empty coffee cup. "Hey, man," he said in his soft voice.
    "I’m telling you straight."
    I shook my head. "I'm too old to listen to horseshit," I said. "Gimme the address and we'll be on our way."
    Red looked at Hawk beside him. Hawk smiled. Red looked back at me. "I ain't scared of you," he said. He jerked his head at Hawk. "Him either."
    I said to Hawk, "Where did we go wrong?"
    Hawk was motionless with his hands folded on the table before him. When he had no reason to move, his repose was nearly stonelike. His face had a perpetual look of noncommittal pleasure. Without changing his expression Hawk hit Red across the throat with his left hand. Red gasped and rocked back against the booth. He put both hands to his throat and made harsh wheezing noises. Hawk didn't look at him. He was back into repose, his hands quietly clasped in front of him.
    "Soon as you can talk," he said, "tell Spenser the address."
    We sat quietly, listening to the harsh music. The crowd had thinned. The girls shuffled on the runway. The smoke drifted through the pink spotlight in ragged wisps. It was a hot and joyless room, nearly full of people, nearly devoid of humanity. Red was rocking back and forth, both hands clutching his throat. Twice he started to speak and nothing came out. Finally he said in a soft croak, "Three Eighteen and a half. Three Eighteen and a half Chandler Street. Apartment Three B."
    I gave Red a card. "If you run into April, get in touch with me," I said.
    He nodded, still holding his throat. His eyes were wet. Hawk and I got up.
    "Shoulda been scared," Hawk said.

Chapter 10

    The South End was a mix of winos and upscale