"We'd have found each other," she said.

"In fact," I said, "we did it twice."

CHAPTER 13

HAWK, wearing white satin sweatpants and no shirt, was hanging upside down in gravity boots in the Harbor Health Club, doing sit-ups. He curled his body up parallel with the floor and eased it back vertical without any apparent effort. The abdominus rictus tightened and relaxed under his shiny black skin. He had his hands clasped loosely behind his head, and the skin over his biceps seemed too tight.

Around him men and women in bright spandex were working out with varying success. All of them and two of the three trainers that Henry Cimoli employed were glancing covertly at Hawk. His upper body and his shaved head were shiny with sweat. But his breath was easy and there was no other indication that what he was doing might be hard.

I said, "You stuck on that apparatus, boy?"

Hawk grinned upside down and did another situp.

"Damn," he said. "Can't seem to reach my feet." He put out his hand upside down and I gave him an understated low five.

"When you get through struggling with that thing," I said, "I'll buy you breakfast."

"Sure," Hawk said.

We worked out for maybe an hour and a half, and took a little steam afterwards. Then, showered and dressed and fragrant with the cheap after-shave that Henry put out in the men's locker room, we strolled out across Atlantic Avenue toward Quincy Market. It was still early in the day, only 9:30, and the autumn sun was mild as it slanted down at us, only a few degrees up over the harbor, and made our shadows long and angular ahead of us.

"Market's nice this time of day," Hawk said.

"Yeah," I said. "Hasn't turned into a five-acre dating bar yet."

"Get a chance to meet a lot of interesting people from Des Moines," Hawk said. "After lunch."

"And some dandy teenagers in from the subs," I said.

We sat at the counter in the nearly quiet central market building. I had some blueberry pancakes. Hawk had four scrambled eggs and toast. We each ordered coffee.

"I thought you quit coffee," Hawk said.

"I changed my mind," I said.

"Couldn't do it, huh?"

"Decided not to," I said and put a spoonful of sugar in and stirred and drank some carefully. Life began again. Behind us along the central aisle thefood stalls prepared for the day. One would never starve to death in Quincy

Market. Behind us was a shop selling roast goose sandwiches. To our right was an oyster bar. A few tourists strolled through early, wearing cameras, and new Red Sox hats made of plastic mesh that fit badly. Mixed in was an occasional secretary on coffee break, and now and then, resplendently garbed, and moving with great alacrity, were young brokers from the financial district picking up a special blend coffee for the big meeting.

"You have any information on what Gerry Broz is doing these days?" I said.

"No," Hawk said. "You?"

"No, but it involves a guy named Rich Beaumont, who is Patty Giacomin's current squeeze."

"Anything Gerry involved in is not a good thing."

"This is true," I said. "She's missing. Paul wants to find her."

"How 'bout Beaumont?"

"Missing too," I said.

"Un huh."

"Exactly," I said. "You tribal types are so wise."

"We close to nature," Hawk said. The counterman came by and refilled our coffee cups. I managed to stay calm.

"You talk to Vinnie?" Hawk said.

"He talked to me. Wants to be sure we don't get in each other's way."

"He tell you what Gerry doing?"

"No."

"Vinnie can't stand him any more than you or me. .›

"I know," I said. "But he's Joe's kid."

Hawk drank some coffee. Like everything else he did, it seemed easier for him. The coffee was not too hot. He seemed to drink it the way it had been drawn up, perfectly, without any effort. I'd seen him kill people the same way.

"Joe's damn near as bad as the kid," Hawk said. "Vinnie's what keeps the outfit together."

"Vinnie'd be better off without him," I said.

"Vinnie don't think so," Hawk said.

"I know."

"He been with Joe a long time. Since he been a kid."

"Yeah."

A woman with too much blonde hair went past us wearing stretch jeans and very high heels that caused her hips to sway when she walked. Hawk and I watched her all the way down the length of the market until she turned aside in the rotunda and we lost her.

"Stretch fabric is a good thing," I said.

"We going to talk with Gerry?" Hawk said.

"I thought we might," I said.

Hawk nodded and pushed the last of his scrambled eggs onto his fork with the last of his toast. He put the eggs very delicately into his mouth and followed with the toast. He chewed carefully and swallowed and picked up his cup and drank some coffee. He put the cup down, picked up his napkin, and patted his lips.

"Don't sound like you got anybody else to talk to," he said.

"Nope."

"Paul worried about her?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Want me to see I can arrange it?" he said.

I drank more of my second cup. "Soon as I finish my coffee," I said.

CHAPTER 14

PAUL and I went back to see Martinelli. He wasn't there and the shop was closed. We went back to see his sister Caitlin. She wasn't there. And she wasn't there the next day when we called, nor that evening, nor the next morning. And neither was Martinelli. We went back to the real estate women at Chez Vous. They had nothing to add. They didn't know anyone else who would have anything to add. They seemed to know less than when I'd spoken to them first. We talked with three other people we'd tracked down through the answering machine. They didn't know who Rich Beaumont was. They didn't know where Patty might be. At least two sort of hinted that they also didn't care. We called every travel agent in the Yellow Pages and every major airline without success. There was no business listing for Rich Beaumont in the Yellow Pages. The Secretary of State's office had no listing of any com pany with that name in its title. Nobody at either North or South Station could help us. Nobody at either bus terminal could help us. I got Beaumont's registration number, make, and model from the Registry. There was no car that fit the plate or description parked in the garage of the Revere Beach condo or anywhere around. None had been towed by either Boston or MDC police.

"It looks like they disappeared on purpose," Paul said.

We were walking Pearl along the river, past the lagoon, west of the Hatch

Shell. Some ducks were cruising the lagoon, and when Pearl spotted them she got lower and longer and sucked in her stomach and froze in a quivering point. Paul and I stopped and let her point for a moment.

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to mean that. They could simply have gotten in his car and driven off in full innocence. We'd have come up with same zero."

Pearl edged a step closer to the ducks. Her complete self was invested in them. I picked up a small rock and tossed it at them. They rose from the water and swept out toward the river. I said, "Bang," and Pearl broke the point and glanced at me for a moment and then forgot about it and proceeded on, her nose close to the ground, tracking the elusive candy wrapper.