Ceremony by Robert B. Parker

By Robert B. Parker

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Like me. He blended with the august Bostonian exterior of the Copley Plaza like a hooded cobra. People glanced covertly at him, circling slightly as they passed him, unconsciously keeping their distance. He wore no hat and his smooth black head was as shiny as his jacket and boots. I pulled the MG in beside him at the curb and he got in. “This thing ain’t big enough for either one of us,” he said. ” “It goes with my preppy look,” I said. ” I let the clutch in and turned right on Dartmouth. ” Hawk said.

I ate one with some coffee. I didn’t figure that April Kyle would be working the streets at 9:30 in the morning. Susan was in school. I’d already run my five miles along the river. The Ice Age art exhibit had departed the Science Museum. I’d read The New Yorker. Only an animal would lift weights at this hour. I was reading Sartoris that month, but I’d left it at Susan’s. The Ritz Bar didn’t open until 11:30. Why not sit around and look at the Gurwitz place? There was nothing else to do. Looking at Amy’s place wasn’t much to do.

Kyle said. “I would rather spend the rest of my life at a Barry Manilow concert,” I said. Kyle looked at Susan, “I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” he said. Susan looked half mad and half amused. ” “When I came,” I said, “I didn’t know you. Now I do. ” Bunni Kyle said, “Mr. ” Susan said, looking at me at full voltage, “The girl, the girl needs help. ” “Never mind,” Kyle said. ” “For me,” Susan said, looking right at me. “A favor. ” I took in a deep breath. Mrs. Kyle was looking at me.

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