Robert B. Parker remembered

Robert B. Parker remembered



(In a fictional sort of way, which would be fine with him, I think.)

Friends and neighbors come to the door of the house on the quiet street in Cambridge. They're here to pay respects and drop off a covered dish or a plate of cookies. I always thought it ironic that a creator of so many tough guys would live in the shadow of Harvard, but they say he was happy here. Bob Parker. Robert B. Parker. He died this morning, you know. Novelist. Friend, neighbor, grand liver of life. Tireless and gifted writer. I'm sure "gifted" applies, but I think "skilled" is more to the point... he built the appeal that drew so many people to his pages.

It's dark, now, and there is a modest stream of callers to the house. I'm by the sidewalk, out front. There's a large crowd across the street... they're quiet, watching the house. They don't approach. It's funny; I see them, but then I'm not really sure I see them. I've never seen any of them before, but I recognize all of them.

There's Capt. Quirk -- shirt crisp, trousers creased, shoes shined despite the hour -- and Belson, needing a shave, the stub of a cigar in his teeth. That's Capt. Healey with them, and next to Healey, Jesse Stone and Molly and Suit. Sunny Randall is there... that must be Spike next to her, he's big enough. Samuelson looks very LA in tinted glasses. I see Rita Fiore... she really does have great legs. My God, there's Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch and Everett's got the eight-gauge on his shoulder. There are so many of them, silent, watching the house. They're there, but not really; people walk along that side of the street and seem to pass right through them.

So many...

Chollo and Teddy Sapp and Bernard J. Fortunato and Bobby Horse. Vinnie Morris, who could shoot. Candy Sloane. Major Johnson and Tall Boy. Rachel Wallace and Patricia Utley and April Kyle. Terry Orchard, from "Godwulf," back at the beginning. Paul Giacomin. Both Pearls and Rosie.

The bad people are there, too, although they don't seem to conflict with the good guys. Tony Marcus, elegant, a camel hair coat draped over his shoulders, smoking a thin cigar. Ty-Bop, jittering, Junior, "who was the size of Des Moines, but meaner." Penny Clive. Russell Costigan. Franco in a flowered shirt, The Preacher and Pony, Bragg and Vern Buckey. Cathal Kragan. Joe Broz and his kid. Phil and Jacky Wax. Mr. Fish. And Crow.

Three people stand off by themselves -- a beautiful woman with dark hair, a tall African-American man who "looked like he'd just been washed and polished," and a wide-shouldered, sturdy guy with a look about him: dogged. He's wearing a Utica Blue Sox baseball cap, so I really can't see his face, which is just as well, because I would probably see tears.

They have come to say goodbye.

Me, too.


William McGrane