Read Online A Savage Place by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online

corner; there was no balcony beyond us. The one next to us on the other side was mine. The ones on the next floor were directly above. It would be a hard shot. And you’d have to have been smart enough or lucky enough to get a room above us with the right angle. I said, “Okay, the balcony is good. But we’ll turn the lights off. No point in making a better target than we need to.”
    The bellhop brought the bottle of Remy Martin, a soda siphon, two glasses, and a bucket of ice. I watched while Candy added in a tip and signed the bill. Then we shut off the lights and took the tray out onto the balcony.
    Lights speckled the Hollywood Hills. There was a faint sound of music from the rooftop lounge above us. On Beverwil Drive a cab idled. I opened the bottle and poured two drinks over ice with a small squirt of soda. Candy took one and sipped it. She had kicked her shoes off and now she put her stockinged feet up on the low cement railing of the balcony. She was wearing a plum-colored wraparound dress, and the skirt fell away halfway up her thigh. I stood leaning against the doorjamb and watched the other balconies. Mostly.
    “Tell me about yourself, Spenser.”
    “I was born in a trunk,” I said, “in the Princess Theatre in Pocatello, Idaho.”
    “I know it’s a corny question, but it’s still a real one. What are you like? How did you end up in such a strange business?”
    “I got too old to be a Boy Scout,” I said.
    I could smell flowers in the soft California evening. Candy sipped her brandy. The ice clinked gently in the glass as she rolled it absently between her hands. Mingled with the smell of flowers was the smell of Candy’s perfume.
    “That’s not an entirely frivolous answer, is it?” she said.
    “No.”
    “You want to help people.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Makes me feel good,” I said.
    “But why this way? Guns, fists, hoodlums?”
    “Because they’re there,” I said.
    “You’re laughing at me, but I will proceed. It’s why I’m a good reporter. I keep asking. Why not be a doctor or a schoolteacher or”-she spread her hands, the glass in one of them-“you get the idea.”
    “Systems,” I said. “The system gets in the way. You end up serving the medical profession or public education. I tried the cops for a while.”
    “And?”
    “They felt I was too creative.”
    “Fired?”
    “Yes.”
    Candy poured herself another drink. I squirted in some soda. “Are you attracted to violence?” she asked.
    “Maybe. To a point. But it’s also that I’m good at it. And there’s a need for someone who’s good at it. Someone needs to keep that fat guy from smacking you around.”
    “But what if you meet someone who’s better?”
    “Unthinkable,” I said.
    “No,” she said. “It isn’t unthinkable at all. You’re too thoughtful a man not to have thought of it.”
    “How about unlikely then?”
    “Maybe, but what happens? How do you feel?”
    I took in a deep breath. “Talking about myself seriously has always seemed a little undignified,” I said. “But…” The cab on Beverwil got a fare. Must be going a long way. I had the feeling Beverly Hills closed at sundown.
    “But what?” Candy said.
    “But the possibility that you’ll meet somebody better is part of”-I gestured with my right land-“if that possibility didn’t exist,” I said, “it would be like playing tennis with the net down.”
    Candy drank her brandy and soda and got another from the tray, and when she had the drink rebuilt, she looked at it. and then looked at me. She took a sip and then held the glass against her chin with both hands and looked at me some more.
    “It’s a kind of game,” she said.
    “Yes.”
    “A serious game,” she said.
    I was quiet. I poured a small splash of brandy in my glass and added a lot of ice and a lot of soda. Be embarrassing to pass out in front of the client.
    “But why can’t you play that same game inside a system? In a big organization?”
    “You’re