Read Online A Catskill Eagle by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online Page B

and tree wax and devoid of human sign. As we moved slowly from room to room sweat began to form on Costigan’s forehead. I understood it. There was sweat on mine, too. The strain of moving always with infinite care, always in a circle of threat, made the world beyond that circle seem insubstantial. The world within was intensely immediate.
    Hawk was humming softly to himself, “Harlem Nocturne,” as we moved from door to door. “He appears to be enjoying this,” Costigan said, his speech constricted slightly by the pressure o Hawk’s gun.
    “Paradigm of the black experience,” I said. The circle of guards moved in perfect concert to our movement. Hawk had Costigan’s collar and I held on to his belt in front, keeping my back to him, facing out toward the guards. The guy with the Uzi was a thin man with a long neck and a big Adam’s apple. The Adam’s apple kept bobbing up and down as he swallowed. He swallowed a lot. The guard next to him had a thick blond mustache; his blond hair was razor cut and blow-dried and sprayed so firmly into place that he looked like he was wearing a helmet. He looked like he was thinking of other things. Surfboards, maybe, or his new Neil Diamond album. The third guard was middle-aged and gray-haired and medium-sized. He didn’t look nervous or distracted or eager or anything. He looked like he might hum along with Hawk soon.
    Of the three I could see, the blond beachboy was the weak link. The guy with the Uzi and the Adam’s apple was the most likely to shoot when he shouldn’t. Gray Hair was the one who’d be the hardest. The other three were Hawk’s problem. I couldn’t see them without looking away from my three, so I didn’t think about them.
    There was no one in any room on the third floor. We moved slowly back down the stairs to the second floor and began the careful, agonizing, complicated business all over again. Nine of us, moving in limited space without ever losing sight of one another. Each door we opened was crucial. Was there a lady in there? Or a tiger? I could feel my shirt getting wetter and clinging to my back. Each door we opened and closed off brought the conclusion closer and none of us had a plan for the conclusion. Even though the conclusion might be eternal. At the bottom of the stairs we had to turn a sharp left. My three guards backed slowly around the corner, I held on to Costigan’s belt and slid around after them.
    “Dosey doe,” I said.
    Hawk had changed tunes, and mode of presentation. He was whistling softly through his teeth now, “Autumn Serenade.”
    “You’re going to go through every room?” Costigan said. His voice sounded strained, as if his throat had narrowed.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “And when you’re finished, and you haven’t found her,” he said. “What then?”
    “We’ll see,” I said.
    We went into a suite of rooms. They must have been the son’s quarters. If The Sharper Image catalogue sold fully furnished suites for young men they would look like this.
    The furniture was mostly of clear plastic, formed in one-piece curved shapes. A huge globe stood on a black lacquer coffee table. The bed had a canopy. There was a whole wall of stereo, television, tape, radio components in gleaming silver, with enormous speakers. In a. living room off the bedroom was a glass and lacquer bar, fully stocked, and a small kitchen: The bathroom included a sauna and steam, there was a Jacuzzi in the tub. All of the appliances and tile were in emerald green with gold accent touches. There were fireplaces in bedroom and living room and over each hung a silver-inlaid shotgun. On the mantel in the bed room was a picture of Susan and a man. The picture appeared to have been snapped at a party.
    “Russell,” Hawk said.
    Susan’s head was back and her mouth was wide open with laughter. Russell’s head was tipped toward her and he seemed to be exhaling cigarette smoke, a wisp of which traced off to the edge of the picture. He was surprisingly