Stardust

“They kicked me out,” he said. “I was drinking.”

“Worcester Tech?”

He nodded. “I was drinking more. I dropped out.”

“Still drink?” I said.

He shook his head. “AA,” he said. “Been sober five years in March.”

“So you called Jill Joyce and she told you to take a hike, and you kept calling and finally a guy named Randall came to see you.”

“He was very scary,” Pomeroy said. He was staring down at the ground in front of him.

“What’d he say?”

“He shoved me around a little, and he said I was to stay away from Jill Joyce or I’d be sorry. He was kicking my dogs too.”

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I kicked him in the balls a few days ago.”

Pomeroy looked up at me, a little startled. “You did?”

“Thought you might like to know that.”

“I would. Ah, you… you must be pretty tough.”

“I think so,” I said. “You ever threaten Jill Joyce?”

“Me? No. I couldn’t…”

“You know anyone named Babe Loftus?” He shook his head.

“You work?” I said.

“A Iittle, lawns in the summer. Shovel some sidewalks. Mostly-mostly I get welfare.”

“Anything from Jill?” He shook his head.

“You got any idea why anyone would threaten Jill Joyce, want to kill her?”

“Somebody tried to kill her?”

“Somebody killed her stunt double. Whether it was a mistake or a warning, none of-us know.”

“I wouldn’t want her to get hurt,” Pomeroy said.

“Lot of people would, I think. I don’t know what she was in San Diego twenty-five years ago, but she’s turned into a high-octane pain in the ass since.”

Pomeroy didn’t say anything. We turned away from the swale and walked back through the woods, the dogs coursing ahead of us, one or another of them looking back over its shoulder now and then to be sure we were there.

“Took your damned sweet time,” Phillips said when we got there.

“Boy, that police training,” I said. “You don’t miss a trick.”

Chapter 18

HAWK sat in perfect repose on the wide window sill in Salzman’s office, with the winter landscape behind him. He had on a white shirt and black jeans and black cowboy boots and a black leather shoulder holster containing a pearl-handled, chrome-plated .44 mag, excellent against low-flying aircraft. Salzman was at his desk. Jill was on the couch, her legs tucked demurely under her, a bright plaid skirt tucked around her knees. I was pacing.

“You tell me you don’t know Rojack,” I said. “I go out there and find out you do. You tell me you never heard of Wilfred Pomeroy. I go out there and he tells me you’re married.”

“Man’s a liar,” Jill said serenely. “I never have heard of him.”

“He tells me that you never got a divorce.”

“I did too,” Jill said. “I told you he’s a liar.”

Hawk smiled from the window sill, like a man appreciating a fu

“If you had told me the truth you’d have saved me a couple of days’ driving and talking.”

“Sandy,” Jill said, “are you going to let him treat me this way?”

“He’s trying to help you, Jilly, like we all are.”

“The hell he is,” Jill said. “He’s trying to dig up a lot of dirt from my past and make something out of it.”

“Like sense,” I said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was really working for one of those shows,” she said. She glanced at Hawk.

“Geraldo Spenser,” Hawk said.

“Don’t be fooled,” I said, “by my good looks. I’m just a simple gumshoe.”

“Simple snoop,” Jill said. She was warming to her role. She’d decided her motivation and had a real handle on her character. “I hired you to protect me, not to snoop around looking for cruddy gossip.”

“That’s a tautology,” I said.

“Whaat?” Jill said. She cocked her head a little and her eyelashes nearly fluttered. Cute was what she did when she didn’t understand something.

“All gossip is cruddy,” Hawk said.

“I don’t care,” Jill said. “I don’t want him around; get rid of him. Hawk will protect me.”

“Nope,” Hawk said.

Jill’s head swiveled toward him and there was real alarm in her face.

“No?”

“I work for him.” Hawk nodded toward me. “He go, I go.”

“You work for me,” Jill said.

Hawk smiled pleasantly and shook his head. Jill looked back at me and then to Hawk.

“You don’t mean that, Hawk,” she said. She moved her body a little on the couch and waited for Hawk to bark. He didn’t.

“Jill…” Sandy said.

“You fucking men.” Jill’s face was red. “You’re good for one thing. All I deal with is men, I got no one to trust, no one to talk to, no one who gives a shit about me.” Tears started down her face. “I want them gone, off this set, out of here. Now. Goddamned…”

Salzman got up and walked around his desk. “Jilly,” he said and put an arm around her shoulder. “Jilly, come on. We’ll work this out. You work so hard, you’re tired.” He patted her shoulder. She leaned her head against his hip. “Jilly, take a break. Here, I’ll get Molly to walk over to your trailer with you. Come on.”

He eased Jill to her feet and with an arm around her edged her to the door.

“Oh, Sandy,” Jill was sniffling. “Oh, Sandy, sometimes I feel so alone.”

“You’re a star, honey. It happens to stars. But I’m here for you, all of us are.”

“Not those two bastards,” Jill said.

“Sure. I’ll straighten that out, Jilly,” Salzman said. He sounded like he was talking to an excitable puppy.

They walked to the door. Salzman opened it.

“Molly,” he said to a woman at the desk in the outer office. “Take Jill to her trailer and stay with her. She’s not feeling well.”

“Sure, Sandy.”

Molly put her arm through Jill’s and squeezed it. “Got some coffee over there, Jill?” Molly said. “Maybe get some cake. Some girl talk? Who needs men.”

Jill went with her. As they left, Molly, who was dark-eyed and thin-faced, gave Salzman a look of savage reproach over her shoulder. Salzman shrugged and came back into his office and closed the door. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Christ,” he said.

He stood that way for a moment, rubbing his face, then he turned and went back behind his desk. He looked at me and Hawk.

“How are we going to work this?” he said.

“Can you stand her?” I said to Hawk.

“Seen worse,” Hawk said.

“Jesus,” Salzman said. “I’d like to know where.”

I said, “So we’ll keep Hawk with her, and I’ll try to run this thing down. You can tell her you fired me and prevailed upon my, ah, colleague to stay on.”

“What are you going to do?” Salzman said.

“I’ve got another name. I’ll go see if I can find the name and ask some questions and get other names and go see them and ask them questions and…” I spread my hands.

“Magic,” Hawk said.

“What’s this go

“A round trip to San Diego,” I said.

“Can’t you call?” Salzman said.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. You don’t see people, you don’t notice peripheral things, people don’t see you.”

“Why should they see you?” Salzman said.

“Case you big and mean-looking like him,” Hawk said, “might be able to scare them a little.”

“Ahhh,” Salzman said. “Okay, probably cheaper than Jill’s bar bill, anyway.”

Chapter 19

THE slender mirrored face of the John Hancock Building rose fifty stories on the southern edge of Copley Square, reflecting the big brownstone Trinity Church back upon itself. Across the new plaza, snow covered now and crisscrossed with footpaths, opposite the church was the Public Library. There were Christmas lights in the square, and the uniformed doorman at the Copley Plaza stood between the gilded lions and whistled piercingly for a cab. I’d always wanted to do that and never been able to. Anyone can whistle, any old time, easy. I pursed my lips and whistled quietly. I put two fingers in my mouth and blew. There was a flatsounding rush of air. So what? I headed for the library with the doorman’s whistle soaring across Dartmouth Street. The hell with whistling. I went past the bums lounging in the weak winter sun on the wide steps to the old entrance, and went in the ugly new entrance on Boylston Street.