"Shame, ain't it?" he said.
"Been a shame for a long time," I said.
"Went to a meeting, couple weeks ago," Jackson said. "Some politician thought it'd be a good idea to get some influential folks together, talk about how to save the children. Asked me to stop by, maybe answer some questions."
"And let me guess," I said. "How many of them had grown up in a project."
"Just me," Jackson said. "They're all white. They all feel that the parents needed to be more involved. They say that they all have faced problems in their schools. Students been defacing desk tops in Marblehead, and they been writing dirty words on the lavatory walls in Newton."
"Better get a police presence in there quick," I said.
"And the whole evening nobody uses the word `black' or the word `Hispanic,' Like there ain't a racial thing going on. Like there's a bunch of white Anglo kids in the inner city, walking around looking for the fucking malt shop. So I say, you people have simply got to stop talking 'bout fucking inner city when you mean black. And you really got to stop talking about fucking parents. Kids in the inner city got the usual biological folks. But mostly they ain't got no fucking parents. Mostly the only family they got is the gang, and the only thing that they can insist on is respect. And the only things they got to insist on it with is balls and a gun."
"Makes you tired, doesn't it?"
"I'm used to it."
"Well, at least they're asking the right questions," I said.
"They ain't asking the right people," Jackson said.
"Hell," I said, "even if they were."
Jackson nodded.
"Yeah. Only thing will help is if people change."
"You think they're going to?"
"Been a cop thirty-four years," Jackson said.
"Yeah."
We were quiet. It was the second Monday after Labor Day, and the kids who went were back in school. It had been a dry summer, but it was promising to be a rainy fall. It had been ominous for five straight days and each day seemed heavier with rain than the last one. The TV meteorologists were almost climactic.
"Just don't get romantic on this one," Jackson said. "Ellis is a bad guy. Maybe he didn't have much choice about that, but it don't mean he ain't bad. You get him loose, you may be doing him a favor. You ain't helping anyone else. And you probably ain't helping him. You get him out, he gonna go back."
I nodded, looking at the still-green leaves stirring apprehensively in the overcast.
"You think you can eliminate crime?" I said. Jackson snorted.
"So what do you do?" I said.
"Do what I can," Jackson said in his deep slow voice. "nere's nobody perpetrating a crime on this corner, right now. That's 'cause I'm here. Somebody's perpetrating something someplace else, maybe, but right now this corner
is okay It's not much. But it's all there is."
"Yeah."
Jackson looked at me for a while. Then he nodded slowly.
"Okay," he said. "You too. Okay."
We were quiet again. The street was almost empty now as if everybody were inside somewhere, waiting for the storm.
"Just don't expect too much from Ellis Alves," Jackson said.
"I expect nothing," I said.
"Be about what you'll get," Jackson said.
Chapter 4
SUSAN AND I were sitting together on the couch in my place in front of an applewood fire. She had come straight from work without changing, so she was in a dress and heels. The dress was black and simple and set off with some pearls. Her black hair was shiny and smelled like rain. I had my arm around her, which I was able to get away with, because Pearl the Wonder Dog was asleep on her back, in the armchair next to the fireplace, with her feet sticking up in the air.
"I always felt that Rita Fiore had designs on you," Susan said.
"Me too," I said. "I've always liked that about her."
"I suspect, however, that you are not the only one."
"Boy," I said. "You spoil everything."
"You think I'm wrong? Me, a shrink? And a female shrink at that?"
"No," I said, "I think you're right. That's what spoils it."
"How many times she been married?"
"Twice, she told me."
"Any kids?"
"Not that I know of."
The fire, being expertly built, settled in on itself as the logs burned. Pearl twitched a little in her sleep and made a snuffing sound.
"What do you suppose she's dreaming about?" Susan said.
"Everybody always says chasing rabbits," I said. "But how do they know. She might be dreaming about sex."
"The baby?"
"Maybe," I said.
"I hope not," Susan said. "Are you going to try and get this Ellis person out of jail?"
"I'm going to try and find out the truth," I said.
Susan bumped her head on my chest a couple of times, which seemed to mean approval.
"That's almost always the best thing to know," she said.
"We both have to believe that," I said. "Don't we."
"It's more than wishful thinking," Susan said. "There's a lot of ostensive evidence to support the opinion. Happiness is not the art of being well deceived."
"So much for Alexander Pope," I said.
"So much," Susan said. "You have any champagne?"
"Sure," I said.