"They will not talk to you, and if they would, I do not think they could," the priest said.
"But Freddie Santiago speaks English," I said.
"Very well, I've heard. If you talk to him, be respectful, and very careful. He is a deadly adversary."
"Wait'll he gets a load of me," I said. "How'd you end up here, Father, in the tail end of hell's half acre?"
"A priest's duty is to serve where God sends him," he said.
As he spoke, he was looking at the barren asphalt playground where the three kids were still drinking wine and smoking dope against the graffiti-covered handball wall.
"And I drink," he said.
Chapter 13
Quirk came into my office like he always does, like it was his, and don't argue about it. He was wearing a tan suit and a blue-striped shirt with a button-down collar and a khaki-colored knit tie. It was as springlike as the weather, which was soft and flowery with a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. He pulled one of my client chairs around and sat down and put one foot on my desk.
"What have you got?" Quirk said.
"There's a guy named Luis Deleon," I said.
"Yeah."
"He's an Hispanic guy from Proctor who Lisa met in a class at Merrimack State."
"Un huh."
"Apparently Lisa had a relationship with him, before she met Belson."
"Un huh."
"You been listening to her answering machine tapes?" I said.
"Yeah. Guy has maybe a little Spanish accent, on the tape. Says he's going to stop by."
"Could be Deleon," I said.
"And?"
"He lives in a section of Proctor called San Juan Hill," I said. "I've talked to some people. He's sort of a figure there. Wrong side of the law, I think. The way I hear it, Deleon may also be on the wrong side of the local Godfather, Freddie Santiago."
"Santiago's got a lot of juice in Proctor," Quirk said. "You speak any Spanish?"
"No," I said.
"You know where this guy Deleon is?"
"No. San Juan Hill someplace, but we don't have an address yet."
"We probably ought to get one," Quirk said.
"She may not be with him."
"Sure," Quirk said. "But it's the best lead you got. What are you waiting for?"
"If Lisa's with Deleon, voluntarily or involuntarily, we need to go a little careful."
"Yeah."
We were quiet. The spring air drifted in through the window and ruffled the newspaper on my desk.
"I'll see what we got on Deleon," Quirk said, "if anything."
Behind her she heard the key in the door lock, and then he came into the room.
"Chiquita, " he said. "You look just as I'd hoped. Turn around, please. All the way around. Now walk toward me. Yes. It is just as I'd hoped."
He was wearing a loose-fitting white shirt, with big sleeves. The shirt was open at the neck and unbuttoned halfway to his waist. He wore tan riding breeches and high cordovan-colored riding boots. She tried to remember the movie poster he was modeling. Lives of a Bengal Lancer? Elephant Walk? She couldn't remember. But she knew that he coordinated what he would wear with the way he dressed her. He would lay out her clothes before he left her the night before, if it was night. She never knew. When he came in the next day, if it was the next day, he would be costumed to match. His very own, anatomically correct mannequin, she thought as she modeled her outfit. He smiled at her and put out his arm, crooked, as if for a promenade. "Come, querida, I have a treat for you."
She remained unmoving, not sure what he wanted.
"Come, come," he said. "We will take a little walk. It is time the queen toured her realm."
She walked slowly to him, and put her hand on his arm lightly. And they turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 14
I took off my tool belt and hung it on a nail on one of the bare studs in the torn-out living room of the old farm house we were rehabbing in Concord, Mass., about three miles from the rude bridge that arched the flood. It was lunchtime. Susan had gone out and bought us some smoked turkey sandwiches on homemade oatmeal bread at Sally Ann's Food Shop. Now she was back and we sat out at our picnic table on the snow-melt marshy grass in the yard and ate them, and drank Sally Ann's special decaf blend from large paper cups.
"I don't know why you kvetch so about decaffeinated coffee," Susan said. "I think it tastes perfectly fine."
Pearl the Wonder Dog hopped up onto the picnic table and stared at my sandwich from very close range.
I broke off a piece and gave it to her. It disappeared at once and she resumed the stare.
"You lack credibility, Suze," I said. "You could live on air and kisses sweeter than wine."
Susan gave half her sandwich to Pearl.
"This is true," Susan said. "But I still can't tell the difference."
Pearl stared at my sandwich some more, her eyes shifting as I took a bite.
"You know, when I was a kid," I said, "neither my father nor my uncles would let the dog up on the dining room table. Not even Christmas."
"How old fashioned," Susan said.
It was one of the first warm days of the year, and the sun was very satisfying as it seeped through my tee shirt. I took one final bite of the sandwich and gave the rest to Pearl. It was big enough to be taken someplace, so Pearl jumped off the table and went into the house with it. Susan looked at me with something which, in a lesser woman, would have been a smirk.