HARD AS NAILS A JOE KURTZ NOVEL DAN SIMMONS
"As nails," added Charley Bates.
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
CHAPTER ONE
And at much greater expense to the woman who was standing next to him when the shots were fired.
He had a two P.M. appointment with his parole officer and he was there at the Civic Center on time. Because curb parking around the courthouse was almost impossible at that time of day, Kurtz used the parking garage under the combined civic, justice, and family court complex. The best thing about his parole officer was that she validated.
Actually, Kurtz realized, that wasn't the best thing about her at all. Probation Officer Margaret «Peg» O'Toole, formerly of the Buffalo P.D. narcotics and vice squad, had treated him decently, knew and liked his secretaryArlene DeMarcoand had once helped Kurtz out of a deep hole when an overzealous detective had tried to send him back to County lock-up on a trumped-up weapons charge. Joe Kurtz had made more than a few enemies during his eleven and a half years serving time for manslaughter in Attica, and odds were poor that he'd last long in general population, even in County. In addition to validating his parking stubs, Peg O'Toole had probably saved his life.
She was waiting for him when he knocked on the door and entered her second-floor office. Come to think of it, O'Toole had never kept him waiting. While many parole officers worked out of cubicles, O'Toole had earned herself a real office with windows overlooking the Erie County Holding Center on Church Street. Kurtz figured that on a clear day she could watch the winos being dragged into the drunk tank.
"Mr. Kurtz." She gestured him to his usual chair.
"Agent O'Toole." He took his usual chair.
"We have an important date coming up, Mr. Kurtz," said O'Toole, looking at him and then down at his folder.
Kurtz nodded. In a few weeks it would be one year since he left Attica and reported to his parole officer. Since there had been no real problemsor at least none she or the cops had heard abouthe should be visiting her once a month soon, rather than weekly. Now she asked her usual questions and Kurtz gave his usual answers.
Peg O'Toole was an attractive woman in her late thirtiesoverweight by current standards of perfection but all the more attractive in Kurtz's eyes for that, with long, auburn hair, green eyes, a taste for expensive but conservative clothing, and a Sig Pro 9mm semiautomatic pistol in her purse. Kurtz knew the make because he'd seen the weapon.
He liked O'Tooleand not just for helping him out of the frame-up a year ago this coming Novemberbut also because she was as no-nonsense and non-condescending as a parole officer can be with a "client." He'd never had an erotic thought about her, but that wasn't her fault. There was just something about the act of imagining an ex-police officer with her clothes off that worked on Kurtz like a 1,000-cc dose of anti-Viagra.
"Are you still working with Mrs. DeMarco on the SweetheartSearch-dot-com business?" asked O'Toole. As a felon, Kurtz couldn't be licensed by the state of New York for his former jobP.I. but he could operate this business of finding old high school flames, first via the Internetthat was his secretary Arlene's part of itthen by a bit of elementary skip-tracing. That was Kurtz's part of it.
"I tracked down a former high school football captain this morning in North Tonawanda," said Kurtz, "to hand him a handwritten letter from his former cheerleader girlfriend."
O'Toole looked up from her notes and removed her tortoiseshell glasses. "Did the football hero still look like a football hero?" she asked, showing only the faintest trace of a smile.
"They were both from Kenmore West's Class of 61," said Kurtz. "The guy was fat, bald, and lived in a trailer that's seen better days. It had a Confederate flag hung on the side of it and a clapped-out 72 Camaro parked outside."
O'Toole winced. "How about the cheerleader?"
Kurtz shrugged. "If there was a photo, it was in the sealed letter. But I can guess."
"Let's not," said O'Toole. She put her glasses back on and glanced back at her form. "How is the WeddingBells-dot-com
business going?"
"Slowly," said Kurtz. "Arlene has the whole Internet thing set upall the contacts and contracts with dressmakers, cardmakers, cakemakers, musicians, churches and reception halls set in placeand money's coming in, but I'm not sure how much. I really don't have much to do with that side of the business."
"But you're an investor and co-owner?" said the parole officer. There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice.
"Sort of," said Kurtz. He knew that O'Toole had seen the articles of incorporation during a visit the parole officer had made to their new office in June. "I roll over some of my income from SweetheartSearch back into WeddingBells and get a cut in return." Kurtz paused. He wondered how the felons and shankmeisters and Aryan Brotherhood boys in the exercise yard at Attica would react if they heard him say that. The D-Block Mosque guys would probably drop the price on his head from $15,000 to $10,000 out of sheer contempt.