Hush Money by Robert B. Parker

like it might pop the weave in the tee shirt.
    “Half hour,” I said.
    “You need mouth to mouth?”
    “Not from you,” Hawk said and put his hands out for Henry to unlace the gloves. When we were both glove free, Henry nodded at the small refrigerator next to his desk.
    “Trick I learned when I was fighting,” he said. “Keep some good sports drinks handy so as to replenish the electrolytes.”
    I opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of New Amsterdam Black and Tan.
    “You can use my office, you want,” Henry said. “I got to go suck around the customers.”
    “You too teeny to run a health club,” Hawk said. “The same people come here year after year, since the place stopped being a dump. Nobody lose weight. Nobody put on muscle. Everybody look just like they did when they signed up to get in shape.”
    “One difference,” Henry said. “They are a little poorer, and I am a lot richer.”
    Hawk grinned at him.
    “Maybe you ain’t too teeny after all.”
    Henry jumped up and kicked the palms of his outstretched hands with his toes, and landed easily and laughed and went out to the gym floor.
    “Agile too,” Hawk said.
    “Easy to be agile if you’re the size of a salt shaker.”
    “Almost beat Willie Pep once,” Hawk said.
    “I know.”
    Hawk sat in Henry’s chair and took a pull at the beer. He swiveled the chair so he could look out Henry’s picture window at the harbor.
    “You getting anywhere on Susan’s friend’s stalker.”
    “I got a guy I like for it.”
    “Time for me to go reason with him?” Hawk said.
    “No. I’m not sure he’s the one.”
    Hawk shrugged. He put his feet up on the windowsill and crossed his ankles and took another drink of beer.
    “Thing I like about Henry,” Hawk said. “He keep the sports drinks cold.”
    “That’s a good thing.”
    We were quiet for a moment. One of the big harbor cruise boats eased past, all glass and sleek lines, on a luncheon cruise to nowhere. It loomed close to the window. We could see the people, mostly couples, seated at tables in the main cabin.
    “You think Robinson connected to the Lamont kid?” Hawk said.
    “I don’t know yet. I hope not. That thing shows every sign of being a mess.”
    “See any connection with Abdullah?”
    “Nothing you don’t know,” I said.
    The cruise ship had moved out of sight. For a moment the only activity out the window was the wake of the cruise boat and the gulls that swooped ever hopeful behind it. I finished my beer and Hawk reached over without taking his feet down and got two more out of the refrigerator.
    “What’s going on with Abdullah?” I said.
    Hawk didn’t move. He continued to look out the window at the harbor. He raised the bottle and took another drink of beer.
    “You’re completely pragmatic,” I said. “You don’t care what people call you. You don’t care if people are annoying. You don’t care about color. You don’t get mad, you don’t get sentimental. You don’t hold a grudge. You don’t get scared, or confused, or boisterous, or jealous. You don’t hate anyone. You don’t love anyone. You don’t mind violence. You don’t enjoy violence.”
    “Kind of like Susan,” Hawk said.
    “Okay,” I said. “You don’t love many. My point stands. You taking a run at Amir Abdullah because he called you a Tom is bullshit. You don’t care about insults any more than you care about fruit flies.”
    Hawk drank the rest of the beer in his bottle and put the bottle on the desk. He dropped his feet off the windowsill, swiveled around, and got another two bottles out of the refrigerator. He put one on the desk in front of me, opened the other, and leaned back in Henry’s chair facing me. His face had no expression. His black eyes were bottomless. I waited. I was barely into my second beer.
    “I got you into this,” Hawk said.
    I nodded. One of the water taxis from Logan Airport plodded past. Few couples in this one. Mostly men, a scattering of women.