Promised Land Read Free Page A

things. He’ll find the ass off of a thing. Ain’t that right, Spenser?”
    “You always been one of my heroes too, Hawk. Where you staying?”
    “Ah’m over amongst de ofays at de Holiday Inn, Marse Spensah.”
    “We don’t say ofays anymore, Hawk. We say honkies. And you don’t do that Kingfish dialect any better than you used to.”
    “Maybe not, but you should hear me sing ’Shortnin‘ Bread,’ babe.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet,” I said.
    Hawk turned toward Shepard. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Shepard,” he said. They shook hands and Hawk left. Shepard and I watched him from the front door as he walked down toward the Caddie. His walk was graceful and easy yet there was about him an aura of taut muscle, of tight coiled potential, that made it seem as if he were about to leap.
    He looked at my ‘68 Chevy, and looked back at me with a big grin. “Still first cabin all the way, huh, baby?”
    I let that pass and Hawk slid into his Cadillac and drove away. Ostentatious.
    Shepard said, “How do you know him?”
    “We used to fight on the same card twenty years ago. Worked out in some of the same gyms.”
    “Isn’t that amazing, and twenty years later you run into him here.”
    “Oh, I’ve seen him since then. Our work brings us into occasional contact.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You know, I could sense that you knew each other pretty well. Salesman’s instinct at sizing people up, I guess. Come on in. Have a cup of coffee or something? It’s pretty early for a drink, I guess.”
    We went into the kitchen. Shepard said, “Instant okay?”
    I said, “Sure,” and Shepard set water to boiling in a red porcelain teakettle.
    The kitchen was long with a divider separating the cooking area from the dining area. In the dining area was a big rough hewn picnic table with benches on all four sides. The table was stained a driftwood color and contrasted very nicely with the blue floor and counter tops.
    “So you used to be a fighter, huh?”
    I nodded.
    “That how your nose got broken?”
    “Yep.”
    “And the scar under your eye, too, I’ll bet.”
    “Yep.”
    “Geez, you look in good shape, bet you could still go a few rounds today, right?”
    “Depends on who I went them with.”
    “You fight heavyweight?”
    I nodded again. The coffee water boiled. Shepard spooned some Taster’s Choice from a big jar into each cup. “Cream and sugar?”
    “No thank you,” I said.
    He brought the coffee to the table and sat down across from me. I’d been hoping, maybe for a doughnut, or a muffin. I wondered if Hawk had gotten one.
    “Cheers,” Shepard said, and raised his cup at me.
    “Harv,” I said, “you got more troubles than a missing wife.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “I mean I know Hawk, I know what he does. He’s an enforcer, what the kids on my corner used to call a legbreaker. He freelances and these days he freelances most often for King Powers.”
    “Now wait a minute. I hired you to find my wife. Whatever business I’m in with Hawk is my business. Not yours. I’m not paying you to nose around in my business.”
    “That’s true,” I said. “But if you are dealing with Hawk, you are dealing with pain. Hawk’s a hurter. You owe Powers money?”
    “I don’t know a goddamned thing about Powers. Don’t worry about Powers or Hawk or anybody else. I want you looking for my wife, not peeking into my books, you know?”
    “Yeah, I know. But I’ve spent a lot of years doing my business with people like Hawk. I know how it goes. This time Hawk came and talked to you, pleasantly enough, spelled out how much you owed and how far behind you were on the vig and when you had to pay it by.”
    “How the hell do you know what we were talking about.”
    “And at the end he told you, with a friendly enough smile, what would happen if you didn’t pay. And then I came and he said goodbye politely and he left.”
    “Spenser, are you going to talk about this anymore or are you going to get