Hush Money by Robert B. Parker Page B

power movement?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He change his name?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Amir Abdullah?”
    “Yeah.”

CHAPTER TWENTY
    Susan and I had begun having brunch every Sunday at her home. She’d set the dining room table with flowers in a vase and I’d cook something, and when it was ready, we’d sit in her dining room and eat. Pearl normally joined us. Today I had done huevos rancheros with mild green chilies. We were talking about Hawk.
    “Was it because the professor was gay?” Susan said.
    “I don’t think so,” I said.
    “Would he have reacted the same way if it had been a female professor that hit on him?”
    “No. Femaleness didn’t matter the way maleness mattered.”
    “It was because he was treating Hawk as a means not an end,” Susan said.
    “Avoiding the obvious wise remark about end…” I said.
    “Thank you,” Susan said.
    “… I think so.”
    “The most august and accomplished black man Hawk had ever met and he – what would the street term be – dissed him?”
    “Something like that,” I said.
    “And years later he turns up. Do you think he remembered Hawk?”
    “I don’t know. Hawk’s probably not the only kid he ever hit on. Still most people meet Hawk remember him.”
    “Didn’t he go out of his way to be insulting?” Susan said.
    “Maybe. I think by nature he’s an annoying sonovabitch.”
    “Predators often resent rejection,” Susan said.
    I shrugged. Pearl was resting her head on my thigh. I cut off a small bite of the linguiзa I had substituted for chorizo, and gave it to her.
    “You’re just confirming her in her bad habits,” Susan said.
    “Yes,” I said, “I am.”
    Susan stirred some Equal into her coffee. Pearl heard the spoon click in the cup and left me for a more promising prospect. Susan gave her a small forkful of black beans.
    “Talk about bad habits,” I said.
    “At least I’m teaching her to use flatware,” Susan said.
    “Important for a dog,” I said.
    Susan smiled. She put her spoon down and put her chin on her folded hands and looked at me.
    “It’s very odd,” she said. “It’s like suddenly discovering Beowulf’s childhood.”
    “I met him about the same time this happened,” I said.
    “When you were both fighting at the Arena.”
    “Yes.”
    “You think he’s all right?”
    “Hawk?”
    “Yes.”
    “Few people are more all right than Hawk,” I said.
    “He’s very contained.”
    “Very.”
    “And he pays a high price for it,” Susan said.
    “You think?”
    “The distance between containment and isolation is not so great,” Susan said.
    “He’s got a lot of women,” I said.
    “But not one,” Susan said. “I guess that’s right,” I said.
    “You ought to know.”
    “You think I’m too contained?” I said.
    “You have me,” Susan said.
    “A claim no one else can currently make,” I said.
    “It makes your containment more flexible,” Susan said.
    “More fun too,” I said.
    “You’re just saying that because I balled your ears off an hour ago.”
    “Not just that,” I said.
    Susan ate some of her food.
    “This is very good,” she said.
    “You deserve it,” I said.
    “Because I’m deeply insightful?”
    “Sure,” I said. “And you also balled my ears off about an hour ago.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    I had a couple of ways to go in chasing down Louis Vincent. I could talk to the cops in Hingham where he lived. Or I could talk to people at Hall, Peary where he worked. Hall, Peary was closer, so I called over there and talked with Phyllis Wasserman, the human resources director. She told me that of the five complaints of sexual harassment they’d had in the past year, one involved stalking and remained unsolved. Two others, she said, were much closer to angry disagreement than they were to sexual harassment, and the last two had been resolved by firing the harasses I asked who was involved in the stalking, and she said she was not at liberty. I asked if she would give my name to the victim and