Bad Business

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Authors: Robert B. Parker
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him is he looking for divorce evidence. You know? It’s one thing to see her with some other guy. It’s another thing if they get into court.”
    I nodded.
    â€œHe says he wants to know everyone she sees,” Francis said. “Men, women, everybody. I think to myself, what is she, an equal opportunity cheater? But I don’t say nothing because we ain’t doing so well we can be messing with prospective clients, you know?”
    â€œMaybe you should downgrade the location,” I said.
    â€œImpresses the clients,” he said.
    â€œSo you tailed her,” I said.
    â€œYep, two shifts, sixteen hours a day. Mario took one, I took the other. We figured she had to sleep eight hours.”
    â€œGet a third partner,” I said. “You can offer twenty-four-hour service.”
    â€œThen we could get that eye, you know, says we never sleep ?”
    â€œI think somebody already used that,” I said. “What did you observe?”
    â€œObserve? Whoa, you can really talk.”
    â€œI know a woman with a Ph.D.,” I said.
    â€œShe hot?”
    â€œYes. What did you see?”
    â€œMarlene ain’t got much of a life,” Francis said. “She goes to the market couple times a week. Goes to the hairdresser on Wednesdays. Has a personal trainer come in three times a week. Went to a play at that theater near Harvard Square Friday night.”
    â€œThe American Repertory Theater,” I said.
    â€œWhatever,” Francis said. “Thing is, she went alone. She goes every place alone. In the time we been tailing her I never seen her with anyone except her trainer, and Mario says he ain’t either.”
    â€œTrainer a man or woman?”
    â€œMan.”
    â€œGet a name?”
    â€œSure, traced his tags. Name’s Mark Silver. Lives in Gloucester.”
    â€œShe go places with her husband?” I said.
    â€œI never saw him except that once. Maybe he came home after eleven at night when we wasn’t on the clock.”
    â€œWeekends?”
    â€œNever seen him.”
    â€œSo you call him at work to report.”
    â€œNope. He calls us. I don’t even know where he works.”
    â€œSo where do you send the bill?” I said.
    â€œDon’t,” Francis said. “He come in every Friday and paid us for the week ahead.”
    â€œCheck?”
    â€œCash.”
    â€œDoesn’t that seem a little funny to you?”
    â€œSure,” Francis said, “but it was a lot of cash.”
    â€œWhy would a guy have you tail his wife and go to so much trouble to conceal his identity?” I said.
    â€œFigured we could always find him if we had to,” Francis said. “We got his home address.”
    â€œMaybe,” I said.
    Francis was still sitting tilted back, hands behind his head. He remained in that position for another momentthen slowly picked his feet up and put them on the ground. The chair tilted forward. He unlaced his hands and put them palms down on his desktop and drummed his fingertips lightly.
    â€œYou think it ain’t him?” Francis said.
    â€œYou ever see them together?”
    â€œJust that one time.”
    â€œWhat’s he look like?”
    â€œMedium-size blond guy,” Francis said. “Very blond, little mustache. Rimless glasses. Looks in shape.”
    I nodded.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Sounds like him.”

18
    I went to see Elmer O’Neill at his office in a converted gas station in Arlington. The gas pumps were gone, but the low concrete pedestal on which they’d once sat was still there.
    â€œI see what you mean about low overhead,” I said when I went in.
    â€œOverhead any lower,” Elmer said, “and I couldn’t stand up straight.”
    â€œRight in the heart of the action, too,” I said.
    â€œWhaddya need?” Elmer said.
    â€œBernard Eisen,” I said. “What’d he look like?”
    â€œGuy hired me to tail

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