Robert B. Parker’s the Hangman’s Sonnet

Hump liked that. He felt bad about the old woman dying on them. He felt bad about leaving her there the way they had, propped up against the metal pole in the basement while they looked at her old love letters, touched her underthings, and emptied out her medicines. It wasn’t right to do that stuff, but they had money coming, at least five grand each, maybe a lot more.

“You think we’re gonna get all the money if we don’t find what we’re looking for?” Hump asked as he followed King down the basement steps.

“We’re gonna find it. We’re gonna find it!”

King used his pocket knife to cut through the duct tape and the old woman fell into Hump’s arms.

“She’s as light as a feather.”

“Come on, let’s get her upstairs and get back to work.”

They had her halfway up the steps when the doorbell rang, followed by insistent knocking at the front door.

“Holy crap, King. What are we gonna do?”

“You’re gonna stay here and keep the old girl company and I’m gonna see if I can tell who’s at the door. That’s what,” he said, reaching around under his jacket and grabbing the nine-millimeter he had wedged in his waistband.

At the top of the basement stairs, King hesitated, hoping whoever was at the door would just split when no one answered. He might as well have hoped to sprout wings and fly away. The bell rang again and the knocking continued. King slipped out of his shoes, put his back to the wall, and moved silently toward the vestibule.

“Mrs. Cain. Mrs. Cain, I’ve got a package for you. Mrs. Cain.”

The bell rang a third time, followed by rapping on the front window. King didn’t quite panic, but he realized that if the guy got a good look inside, they were screwed. The furniture in the parlor, like in all the rest of the rooms, had been moved, the rugs rolled back. And now with the old lady dead and without having found what they’d come for, there was no turning back if things went wrong. It wasn’t until King got to the edge of the stairs to the second floor that things really went ass end up.

“Fuck!” he screamed as he stepped on one of the porcelain shards in his stocking feet. He could feel his sock soaking through with blood.

“Mrs. Cain, are you all right? Are you all right? Should I call the police?” The delivery man’s voice was frenzied.

King, dragging his sliced foot behind him, limped quickly to the inside door, opened it, hobbled through the vestibule, undid the lock to the front door, and pulled it open just enough to get the delivery man’s attention. Then King limped quickly back and waited behind the lace-curtained vestibule door. He pulled his T-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth in case he had to confront the guy. He heard the front door open, the thud of the delivery man’s boots on the vestibule floor.

“Mrs. Cain. Mrs. — oh my God!” He’d seen the blood on the floor. “You hold on, ma’am, I’m calling—”

“Put the phone down, hero,” King said, stepping out from behind the door.

But the man in the red, white, and blue coveralls, stunned at the sight of blood on the floor and the situation, didn’t react fast enough to suit King. For the sin of slow reflexes he got the handle of the nine-millimeter to his nose, the cartilage cracking with a sickening snap. The delivery man dropped the package and his cell phone to the floor. He crashed down himself shortly thereafter. King whacked the guy in the back of the head a few times until he was sure the man was unconscious. Then King grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him into the house, he relocked the front door, and called to his partner.

“Hump. Leave the old lady and get up here. We got more trouble.”

“Oh, shit, King!” he said when he saw the mess in the vestibule and front hall.

“You don’t usually have a way with words, Hump, but this time you said it all.”

7

Jesse kept his promise to Molly, getting through the ceremony with a lot less trouble than Suit had. It was Suit who’d dropped the ring when he tried slipping it onto Elena’s finger and Suit who was so nervous when it came time to say “I do” that Jesse had to give him a little poke in the ribs to prompt him. Other than Suit’s endearing missteps, the ceremony had gone smoothly. And Jesse found he was so caught up in the joy of it that he felt lighter somehow. The burden of the recent past weighed heavily on him until Reverend Ross Weber had pronounced Suit and Elena husband and wife.

“I’m proud of you, Luther,” Jesse said, slapping Suit on the shoulder.

The reception was in the back room at the Gray Gull and it seemed like half the population of Paradise was in attendance and happy to be there. But that was the effect Suit had on people. He was the guy everybody liked, the guy you could have a friendly drink with or tell your woes to. Everyone who knew Suit even a little bit called him a friend. It was one of the things Elena, who was by nature much more reserved, loved about her new husband. That was one of the things Jesse admired about Suit.