Robert B. Parker's Cheap Shot Read online

  THE SPENSER NOVELS

  Silent Night

  (with Helen Brann)

  Robert B. Parker’s Wonderland

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Robert B. Parker’s Lullaby

  (by Ace Atkins)

  Sixkill

  Painted Ladies

  The Professional

  Rough Weather

  Now & Then

  Hundred-Dollar Baby

  School Days

  Cold Service

  Bad Business

  Back Story

  Widow’s Walk

  Potshot

  Hugger Mugger

  Hush Money

  Sudden Mischief

  Small Vices

  Chance

  Thin Air

  Walking Shadow

  Paper Doll

  Double Deuce

  Pastime

  Stardust

  Playmates

  Crimson Joy

  Pale Kings and Princes

  Taming a Sea-Horse

  A Catskill Eagle

  Valediction

  The Widening Gyre

  Ceremony

  A Savage Place

  Early Autumn

  Looking for Rachel Wallace

  The Judas Goat

  Promised Land

  Mortal Stakes

  God Save the Child

  The Godwulf Manuscript

  THE JESSE STONE NOVELS

  Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Fool Me Twice

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Robert B. Parker’s Killing the Blues

  (by Michael Brandman)

  Split Image

  Night and Day

  Stranger in Paradise

  High Profile

  Sea Change

  Stone Cold

  Death in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Night Passage

  THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS

  Spare Change

  Blue Screen

  Melancholy Baby

  Shrink Rap

  Perish Twice

  Family Honor

  COLE/HITCH WESTERNS

  Robert B. Parker’s Bull River

  (by Robert Knott)

  Robert B. Parker’s Ironhorse

  (by Robert Knott)

  Blue-Eyed Devil

  Brimstone

  Resolution

  Appaloosa

  ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER

  Double Play

  Gunman’s Rhapsody

  All Our Yesterdays

  A Year at the Races

  (with Joan H. Parker)

  Perchance to Dream

  Poodle Springs

  (with Raymond Chandler)

  Love and Glory

  Wilderness

  Three Weeks in Spring

  (with Joan H. Parker)

  Training with Weights

  (with John R. Marsh)

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Copyright © 2014 by The Estate of Robert B. Parker

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Atkins, Ace.

  Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot / Ace Atkins.

  p. cm. — (Spenser ; 42)

  ISBN 978-0-399-17135-2

  1. Spenser (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Massachusetts—Boston—Fiction. 3. Football players—Fiction. 4. Kidnapping—Fiction. 5. Mystery fiction. I. Title.

  PS3601.T487R56 2014 2014003821

  813'.6—dc23

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For Bob and Joan.

  Still here.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  1

  I had dressed for Chestnut Hill: a button-down tattersall shirt that Susan had bought me, crisp dress khakis, a navy blazer with gold buttons, and a pair of well-broken-in loafers worn without socks. The lack of socks implied a devil-may-care attitude understood by the wealthy. Even though the wealthy individual I was calling on today was a two-hundred-and-sixty-pound NFL linebacker with a twenty-inch neck named Kinjo Heywood. I’d seen Kinjo toss around quarterbacks like rag dolls and doubted that he’d notice the missing socks.

  Kinjo’s agent had sent a private car for me. A private car was not needed or requested to find Chestnut Hill, but there w
ere some ground rules that had to be discussed on the ride over. I tried to remain attentive and alert as we turned off Route 9 and made our way up and around on Heath Street. The homes were very old and stately, with lots of brick and ivy. The leaves had started to turn loose on the oak branches overhead. As we drove, it all felt like a ticker-tape parade.

  “You can’t discuss this case with anyone, Mr. Spenser,” said Steven Rosen, Kinjo’s agent. He was a beefy guy with thick black hair and dark, humorless eyes. He smelled like a quart of Brut aftershave and was dressed in a pin-striped suit with wide lapels and a purple shirt open at the neck.

  “Will he sign my bubblegum card?” I said.

  “You’re trying to be funny,” Rosen said, making a sour face. “But Boston is a sports-crazy town and everyone is up in Kinjo’s business. If it gets out he’s hired a private investigator, this thing will become even more of a pain in the ass.”

  “Mum’s the word.”

  “And this all may turn out to be nothing.”

  “Of course.”

  “And we’re straight on the fee offered?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  I told him my standard rate.

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded modestly. “As you know, a fee separates the pro from the amateur.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The Town Car slowed and we dipped down off the road past a stone fence and toward a very large stone house with two identical white Cadillac Escalades parked outside. Before the driver got out, I opened my door and waited for Rosen to follow.

  The air smelled of a good fire burning and crisp autumn sunshine. A brisk wind warned of cold days to follow.

  The front door opened. Rosen ushered us toward the brick walkway. He seemed less than enthused with having to clean up the latest mess for his client.

  An old woman with copper-colored skin and dressed in a gray maid’s uniform led me into the foyer. The foyer led into a great room, where a very large black man was watching an old samurai movie on a very large television. A skinny white woman with enormous breasts and blond hair sat across from him, drinking a red drink in a martini glass. The furniture was all leather and glass and too modern for such an old house.

  “What’s up, Kinjo?” Rosen said. “My main man.”

  Kinjo pressed pause on the DVD player. He looked up, surprised that he had guests, and stood up as if he’d been dozing. The woman with the large breasts continued to sip her drink. She wore a white tank top with gold embroidery, gold hoop earrings, and blue jeans so tight they might have been applied by Earl Scheib.

  Kinjo was much larger than me. I wasn’t used to meeting anyone larger than me except for Hawk. And Hawk stood only a half-inch taller. Kinjo was made of muscle the way a jaguar is all muscle. He moved with a strong confidence, eyes shifting from me to Rosen to his wife with just a flick. He had a mustache and a goatee and kept his hair in long cornrows. He wore a light blue Adidas tracksuit and no shoes. I’d read that he was twenty-seven, a Pro Bowl selection for the last two years, and faster than a cheetah.

  “You the detective?” Kinjo said.

  “Yep.”

  “You look like a detective. Or a cop.”

  “A cop would have worn socks.” I pulled up my pant leg.

  Kinjo nodded. A frame of the film remained on the large television screen. Yojimbo. I nodded toward it.

  “Toshiro Mifune.”

  “I’ve seen every movie he’s made.”

  “I’ve always been partial to Seven Samurai.”

  “My mother named me after the emperor of Japan,” he said. “She found it in an encyclopedia, because she wanted me to stand out. That’s how I got into these movies and the way of the warrior. Not a lot of black kids in Georgia digging Kurosawa.”

  “But you played college in Alabama.”

  “Auburn,” Kinjo said. “Don’t ever say I played for the Tide.”

  I smiled. He nodded over his shoulder at the woman with the red drink.

  “That’s Cristal,” he said. “Say hello, Cristal.”

  She said hello. She was slightly tipsy but did not seem drunk. Her eyes took me in with some humor. “Do you carry a gun?” she said.

  I opened my blue blazer and showed the .38 on my hip.

  She said, “Wow.” I tilted my head modestly.

  Rosen seemed impatient with all the small talk. He stood by the housekeeper and pulled an iPhone from his pocket and studied the screen. The maid whispered in his ear. Without looking away from his phone, he said, “Teresa wants to know if anyone would like anything to drink.”

  I said coffee would be nice. Kinjo turned off the film and we sat in the little grouping. Cristal finished the red drink.

  It was one in the afternoon.

  “You gonna catch these guys?” Kinjo said.

  “Sure.”

  “And find out why the hell they following me?”

  “Why not.”

  Kinjo looked to super-agent Steve Rosen and Rosen nodded in affirmation. Goody.

  “So how much do you know?” Kinjo said.

  “I know you and your wife were having dinner at Capital Grille by the Chestnut Hill mall and that someone followed you home. And when you tried to take another route, they kept on following you, and you decided to take matters into your own hands by discharging your weapon on Route 9.”

  Rosen looked up from his iPhone and swallowed.

  “Goddamn cowards wouldn’t get out of their car, so I tried to get their damn attention.”

  “That’s one way to do it.”

  “His actions were ill advised,” Rosen said. “A cop with the Boston police suggested we talk to you.”

  “Instead of Mr. Heywood continuing to pursue the matter himself?”

  “Stevie said if I shoot one of them, it might mess up my new contract.”

  “Ah,” I said. “And the weapons violation?”

  “Mr. Heywood has an attorney to make that disappear if it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Have you seen the same car again?”

  Kinjo leaned forward, elbows on knees, and nodded. “Yesterday. Different car. First time was a new black 4Runner, but it was a green Tahoe yesterday.”

  “Same men?”

  “Couldn’t tell,” he said. “But when I left Gillette, they rode up real close, I took some turns and they didn’t back off until I got home.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  “Got my damn gun, jumped out of my car, and they took off.”

  Rosen held up his hand and smiled at me. “And the reason we called you, Mr. Spenser. You came highly recommended.”

  “By whom, may I ask?”

  “A detective named Belson.”

  Rosen nodded. Heywood watched him nod and then nodded, too. I nodded. We looked like a collection of bobbleheads. Cristal stood and went to the kitchen.

  “Could this have been just some fans?” I said. “Your face is on several billboards, and often on television.”

  “These people didn’t want no autograph,” he said. “This was all business.”

  “How so?”

  Kinjo rubbed his goatee in thought. He tilted his head and met my eye. “They were real aggressive about it.”

  “You want protection for you and your wife?” I said.

  “I don’t need protection,” Kinjo said. “They need protection from me. I just want to know who they are and what they want. And I don’t want to have to shoot no one. That might make me look bad.”

  “Always the trouble with shooting people.”

  He looked to Rosen again. Rosen was too busy texting someone to notice.

  “Any enemies? Anyone who would want to do you harm? People you owe money?”

  Kinjo shook his head. “I got lots of both. Plenty of enemies
and money.”

  “Mr. Heywood just signed a contract extension worth ten million,” Rosen said.

  “Makes you a good target.”

  “Yeah.” Kinjo looked down at his hands and then back up at me. “But I think this shit is personal.”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt you?”

  No one said anything. Rosen unfolded his arms and made way for Teresa, who brought in two coffee mugs on a serving tray. Somewhere in the kitchen, I heard a martini shaker. Rosen shifted in his seat. “I’m sure you read up a little on Mr. Heywood before coming over.”

  I nodded.

  “I pissed a few folks off over the years,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Who would most likely want to get back at you?”

  Kinjo leaned back into the couch. It was a big white sectional in a U shape. He stared right at me. “How much time you got?”

  I shrugged. “I’m paid by the hour,” I said. “Take as long as you’d like.”

  2

  Don’t you need a notebook, Spenser?” Rosen said. “You’re not writing down any of these women’s names.”

  I tapped at my temple with my index finger.

  “You’re kidding,” Rosen said. “Right?”

  “Nope,” I said, turning to Kinjo. “Have any of these old girlfriends tried to contact you recently?”

  Kinjo shook his head.

  “Any asked for more money?”

  “Just my ex-wife,” he said. “She’s always asking for money. I hadn’t even gotten done at the press conference when my cell started ringing. Her lawyer knew exactly how much more I’d be owing her.”

  “If she wants money from you,” I said, “seems like she’d want you healthy.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

  Kinjo continued to stroke his mustache and goatee. Behind him was an expansive bank of windows. Beyond the glass, there was an elaborate play fort made of reddish wood and fashioned like something for the U.S. Cavalry. There were four turrets at each corner topped in a lookout point. In the far-left corner, I spotted a young kid, maybe seven or eight, watching us with binoculars.

  I lifted a hand and waved.

  The child disappeared.

  Kinjo peered over his shoulder and then turned back to me. “My kid,” he said. “Akira. We work things out with games and my schedule.”

  “Your ex lives in Mass?”

  He nodded. “Akira my heart, man,” Kinjo said. “Everything I do is for him. Nicole never liked the name, wanted to name the kid after her uncle George or some shit. But I wanted him to stand out, the way my momma wanted for me. We love anything Japanese. Movies, comics, sushi. How many kids like raw fish?”