Title:Boston Noir
Author(s): Dennis Lehane
Publisher(s): Akashic Books
Pages: 240
Year: 2009
Format: MOBI
Language: English
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That was the first thing Marcella Ahn had said on the phone, that she was a poet. She was, in fact, the uber-image of a poet, straight black hair hanging to her lower back, midnight-blue velvet pants, lace-up black boots, flouncy white Victorian blouse cinched by a thick leather belt. She was pretty in a severe way, too much makeup, lots of foundation and powder, deep claret lipstick, early thirties, maybe. Not his type. She stumbled through Cafe Pamplona$prime;s small door and, spotting Toua, clomped to his table.
«Am I late? Sorry. I$prime;m not quite awake. It$prime;s a little early in the day for me.» It was 1:30 in the afternoon.
She ordered a double espresso and gathered her hair, the ruffled cuffs of her blouse dropping away, followed by the jangling cascade of two dozen silver bracelets on each wrist. With exquisitely lacquered fingers, silver rings on nearly every digit, she raked her hair over her shoulder and laid it over her left breast.
«Don$prime;t you have an office? It feels a little exposed in here for this type of conversation.»
Actually, this was precisely why Toua Xiong liked the cafe. The Pamplona was a tiny basement place off Harvard Square, made to feel even smaller with its low ceiling, and you could hear every tick of conversation from across the room. Perfect for initial meetings with clients. It forced them to lean toward him, huddle, whisper. It didn$prime;t lend itself to histrionics or hysterics. It inhibited weeping. Toua didn$prime;t like weeping.
Besides, he no longer had an office. After Ana, his girlfriend, had kicked him out of their apartment, he$prime;d been sleeping in his office, but he$prime;d gotten behind on the rent and had been kicked out of there too. These days he was sacking out on his former AA sponsor$prime;s couch.
«You used to be a cop, Mr. Xiong?» she asked, pronouncing it Zee-ong.
«Yeah,» he said, «until two years ago.»
«You still have friends on the force?»
«A few.»
«Why$prime;d you quit?»
«Complicated,» Toua said. «Shee-ong. It$prime;s Too-a Shee-ong.»
«Chinese?»
«Hmong.»
«I$prime;m Korean myself.»
«What is it I can do for you, Ms. Ahn?»
She straightened up in her chair. «I have a tenant,» she said in a clear, unrestrained voice, not at all inhibited. «She$prime;s renting one of my houses in Cambridgeport, and she$prime;s on a campaign to destroy me.»
Toua nodded, accustomed to hyperbole from clients. «What$prime;s she doing?»
«She$prime;s trying to drive me insane. I asked her to move out. I gave her thirty days$prime; notice. But she$prime;s refused.»
«You have a lease?»
«She$prime;s a tenant at will.»
«Shouldn$prime;t be too difficult to evict her, then.»
«You know how hard it is to evict someone in Cambridge? Talk about progressive laws.»
«It sounds like you need a lawyer, not a PI.»
«You don$prime;t understand. Recently, she started sending me anonymous gifts. Like candy and flowers, then things like stuffed animals and scarves and hairbrushes and, you know, barrettes—almost like she has a crush on me. Then it got even creepier. She sent me lingerie.»
«How do you know it was her? Maybe you have a secret admirer.»
«Please. I have a lot of admirers, but she$prime;s not one of them. I know it was her.»
«Well, the problem is, none of that$prime;s against the law, or even considered threatening.»
«Exactly! You see how conniving she is? She$prime;s diabolical!»
«Uh-huh.» He took a sip of his coffee. «Why do you think she$prime;s doing these things?»
«I don$prime;t know. I$prime;ve been nothing but charitable toward her.»
«Although there was that minor thing of asking her to move out.»
«Look, something really strange has been happening. I got a high-meter-read warning from the Water Department. The bill last month was $2,500. You know what that amounts to? She$prime;s been using almost ten thousand gallons of water a day.» She dug into her purse and produced the statement.
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