Free Early Autumn by Robert B. Parker Page B

a silver-gray Jaguar XJ 12.
    Hawk said, “You owe me two bills, babe.”
    I said, “Gimme a ride to Susan’s house.”
    “Smithfield?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That’s the woods, man. That’s your fucking forest primeval out there.”
    “Hawk, it’s thirteen miles north. We could run it in about two hours.”
    “Dinner,” Hawk said. “Dinner and some champagne, I buy the champagne. They sell champagne out in the woods, babe?”
    “We can stop at the trading post,” I said. “Cost plenty wampum, though.”
    We got in and Hawk put the Jag in gear and we purred north over the Mystic Bridge. Hawk put an Olatunji tape on and the car trembled with percussion all the way to Saugus, where Hawk pulled into a Martignetti’s off Route 1 and bought three bottles ofTaittinger Blanc de Blancs. At forty-five bucks a bottle it was cutting a lot of profit off the two hundred I was paying him. He also brought out two six-packs of Beck’s beer.
    “No point wasting the champagne on you,” he said. “You born beer, you gonna die beer. There’s a bottle opener in the glove compartment.”
    Hawk peeled the foil off the neck of one bottle of Taittinger and twisted the cork out with a pop. I opened a bottle of beer. Hawk drank from the neck of his forty-five-dollar champagne bottle as he tooled the Jaguar up Route 1. I drank some Beck’s.
    “Difference between you and me, babe,” Hawk said, “right here.” He drank some more champagne.
    “As long as there is one,” I said. “Any difference will do.”
    Hawk laughed quietly and turned his Olatunji tape up louder. It was a quarter to six when we pulled into Susan’s driveway. My MG was there beside the car Susan had bought to replace the MG. It was a big red Ford Bronco with a white roof and four-wheel drive and heavy-duty this and that, and big tires with raised white letters.
    Hawk looked at it and said, “What the fuck is that?”
    I said, “That’s Suze’s new vehicle. For Christmas I’m getting her some foxtails and a pair of big rubber dice.”
    “That’s a big ten-four momma,” Hawk said.
    We went in. Susan was the only person I’ve ever seen that Hawk seemed to have any feeling about. He grinned when he saw her. She said, “Hawk,” and came over and kissed him. He gave her the two unopened bottles of champagne.
    “Brought us a present,” he said. “Spenser promised supper.”
    She looked at me. “What am I. Howard Johnson’s” she said.
    “You’re a real looker when you’re angry” I said.
    She took the champagne and went toward the kitchen, “Goddamn host of the goddamn highway” she said.
    “You forgot to take my beer,” I said.
    She kept going. Hawk and I went into the living room. Paul was watching a bowling show on television. Patty was sipping what looked like bourbon on the rocks.
    “This is Hawk” I said. “Patty Giacomin and her son, Paul.”
    Paul looked at Hawk and then looked back at the bowling show. Patty smiled and started to get up and changed her mind and stayed seated.
    “Are you the other one?” she said.
    Hawk said, “Yes.” He drank some champagne from the bottle.
    Susan came back into the room with another bottle of champagne in a bucket and four fluted champagne glasses on a tole serving tray.
    “Perhaps you’d care to try a glass,” she said to Hawk.
    “’Spect ah might, Missy Susan,” Hawk said.
    Susan said to Patty, “May Paul have a glass?”
    Patty said, “Oh, sure.”
    Susan said, “Would you care for a glass, Paul?”
    Paul said, “Okay.”
    Patty Giacomin said to Hawk, “I’d like to thank you for what you did today.”
    Hawk said, “You’re welcome.”
    “I really mean it,” Patty said. “It was so brave. I was so terrified. You were wonderful to help.”
    “Spenser gave me two hundred dollars” Hawk said. “I figure it’ll show up in his expense voucher.”
    “Are you a detective too?” Patty said.
    Hawk smiled. “No,” he said. “No, I am not” His face was bright with mirth.
    I