If he was scared, he was doing a masterful job of covering it. He probably wasn't scared. Being scared would have been too human for Haskell. He was probably too mean and too shallow to be scared.
The gun I'd taken from him was a cheap semi-automatic I'd never heard of. I took out the magazine, ejected a round from the chamber, dropped the gun and magazine on the floor, and kicked the gun under the bed. I was still between Haskell and the door.
"I don't know what the game is," Haskell said, "but you are getting yourself in deeper, pal."
Haskell was probably wearing different clothes than he had the last time I saw him, but he looked just the same. Haskell would always look pretty much the same.
"You broke the rules," I said.
"What rules?"
"You don't take it home," I said. "You don't involve family."
"What family?"
"Susan Silverman."
"Who the fuck is she?"
"My family," I said.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Haskell looked momentarily at the window. It was to the right of the door as you come in, one of those fixed metal frame jobs with the air-conditioning unit on the floor under it. It wouldn't open. To go out it, you'd have to go through it.
"When Buster made his run at me," I said. "I was with Susan, outside her house."
"What the fuck do I care where you were," Haskell said.
"That's the point of my visit," I said.
"Who knew it was your girlfriend," Haskell said. "Shit happens."
"I can't let it slide," I said.
"So, whaddya want? Money? What? How much you need?"
"You have a choice," I said. "I can take it out of your hide, or you can buy me with information."
"Information? About what, for crissake?"
"What the deal was with you and Gavin and Brad Sterling."
"Sterling?"
"Uh huh."
"I don't know no fucking Sterling."
I sighed and hit Haskell in the stomach with my left hand. He gasped and stumbled back a step and bent over. As he was bending I jabbed him on the nose and straightened him back a bit. His nose started to bleed. He tried to stop the bleeding by pinching his nose and stepped back another step and sat on the bed.
"You busted my fucking nose, for crissake," he said.
"Not yet."
"I'm telling you I don't know no whatsisname Stevens."
"Sterling," I said. "Okay, tell me about you and Gavin."
"Gavin's my lawyer. You know that."
"How are you and he connected to Galapalooza?"
"To what?"
I reached over and tapped him on the nose with the back of my left hand.
He said, "Ow," and scrambled backwards on the bed to stay away from me.
"Galapalooza," I said.
"Honest to God," Haskell said, his voice thick because he was holding his nose. "I don't even know what a Lala-whatever is."
Haskell was winning this. I was okay at fighting, but I wasn't much at beating people up. I was hoping he'd fold before I'd gone as far as I could go. But he wasn't folding and I was about out of beating.
"What's the current scam?" I said. "You and Gavin?"
The blood was seeping between his fingers and staining his shirt front. He could see himself in the mirror, and I think it scared him.
"We run a little money through him," Haskell said.
"He wash it?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"He never said. Talk to him, for crissake. I don't know what he's doing."
It made sense. Galapalooza was an excellent money-laundering vehicle. Haskell wasn't winning this. He really didn't know anything. I went into the bathroom and got a hand towel and soaked it in cold water and wrung it out and went back and handed it to Haskell.
"Okay," I said. "I'll mark your fine paid. I'll talk to Gavin. I find out you lied, I'll be back."
"I ain't lying."
"Anybody, you, someone employed by you, someone related to you, someone that knows you, comes within sight of Susan Silverman again and I'll kill you," I said.
"I don't know her. I got nothing to do with her," Haskell said.
"Keep it that way," I said. "One reason for this meeting is to help you understand that I can get to you."
Haskell was pressing the damp towel against his face. It muffled his voice.
"Talk to Gavin," Haskell said.
chapter forty-three
I MET RICHARD GAVIN for lunch at a steak house in Quincy Market. The weather was good and thcy had opened the atrium doors so that you could eat your steak and still feel connected to the ceaseless mill of people in souvenir tee shirts and plaid shorts mispronouncing Faneuil Hall and looking for a fried dough stand.
Gavin and I sat at a table next to the atrium door. A rangy guy in a tan suit stood just outside the atrium. Another guy shorter and a bit wider stood on the other side of the opening. He wore a gray suit. Both of them had on official security service sunglasses and little microphones in their lapels. I knew the rangy guy. His name was Clarke. He'd been in the Marshal Service. Now he worked for a big private security firm in town. When we sat down I shot at him with my forefinger. He nodded briefly.
"Why the bodyguards?" I said.
Gavin shook his head.
"You said you had a proposal," Gavin said. "You want to make it?"