CHAPTER 24

“Who the hell are you?”

It was a man’s voice, a bit on the high side with a very slight southern tinge to it that was common for some of the locals of East Hastings, a result of living so close to the Maryland border.

A flashlight beam pointed down at me. I was lying face down on the carpet and turning my head slightly I could make out a pair of old, scuffed up Timberland work boots with the bottom of pant legs bunched up on the top of each in the outer radiance light beam. They were solid boots, as I discovered when the intruder delivered a swift kick into my ribs.

“I said who the hell are you?”

If there was one thing experience had taught me, considering the way people often feel about journalists, it’s that discretion is often the best course of action. Some might call it lying.

I struggled to get a breath. “I’m a friend of Terri, Tina’s sister. She asked me to watch the cats. Her sister was killed. Who--who are you?”

Another swift kick. “I’ll ask the questions.”

He was getting better with practice. The second one hurt a lot more than the first. I sucked in as much air as I could, but it was painful.

“Right, right, none of my business. If you’re here to rob the place, take anything you want. I won’t say a word. Terri was probably going to give everything away to Goodwill anyway. Save her the hassle of carting it out. Hell, I’ll even help you carry the big stuff to your car if you only stop kicking me.”

He took a few moments and thought things over.

“All right. Roll over and sit up. But don’t try anything or I’ll kick your teeth in. And let go of the bottle.”

I hadn’t realized it was still in my hand. Was it a metaphor for my life, lying flat on my face, battered and surely bruised, and yet keeping a firm grasp on a bottle of whiskey? My head hurt enough as it was, so this was not the time for deep contemplation. Maybe later, if I got through this alive, I’d pour myself a glass of Powers and search for profound meanings. Right now, I’d just do as I was told.

I released my grip on the bottle, rolled onto my back, and, with a slight groan, pushed myself into a sitting position. He moved from my side to stand directly in front of me, keeping the flashlight trained on my face. The bright light shining directly into my eyes caused my head to throb. I still couldn’t make out any of the features of the figure standing before me because of the light in my eyes, but from the height of where the beam was coming from, I could tell the intruder was not a very tall man.

“Why are you lyin’ to me,” he asked. “Now that I’ve got a look I can see who you are. You’re that damned reporter whose car me and Tina stole. She pointed you out to me at Stevie’s funeral. You’re the reason she’s dead.”

So, Puddy Salvatore was the intruder. He must have been the bald guy sitting with Tina in the pew at the church.

“Listen, I had nothing to do with Tina’s death. I wasn’t even there when it happened.”

“Yeah, well you might just as well as stuck the knife in her--stupid bitch, stealing the car back. She had to have known they’d come after her. And now they’re going to come after me.”

“So you didn’t kill her?”

“Kill her? Why would I want to kill her? I--I loved her, man. I would’ve protected her--from them--from you.”

“From me? Look Puddy--and you are Puddy Salvatore, right? Well, Puddy, I had no idea what was going on. Hell, I still don’t,” I answered. “All I know is that Tina brought my car back and wanted me to drive her out of town in the morning. She had a bottle of vodka. I went to get something to mix with it, and when I came back, she was--she was lying dead on my bed. Next thing I know I’m in an interrogation room and the police are asking me about you.

“Asking about me? Ah, shit.”

“Sure. You called her cell phone that night--at the hotel--and I answered it. They think we’re in it together.”

“So I called her, so what? That proves I didn’t kill her. I was nowhere near that damn hotel.”

I kind of remembered covering a hostage situation in Boston and the police telling me that in circumstances like that they were trained to get the hostage-taker talking, try to make a personal connection somehow. I decided to give it a try.

“You know, that’s what I told them, but the police, they’re always ready to jump to conclusions. Anybody who knows you would probably tell them you’re not a killer.”

“That’s right. They can ask anybody. I mighta gotten in a fight every now and then--who doesn’t?--I mean people always making fun of me cause I’m short, and I mighta had to stick a person every now and then, but only if they pulled a blade first. But I’d never really try to kill somebody, especially a girl, especially Tina.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s what I said--that they’re looking for the wrong guy--hey, you wouldn’t mind if I sat up on the couch would you and we put a light on? It’s not very comfortable here on the floor and my head’s screaming what with that flashlight glaring in my eyes.”

“Well, I dunno...”

“Please. I promise not to try anything. I mean I know better than to mess with you.”

“All right, but if you make one move I’m gonna stick you,” he answered, holding a knife--another guy with a knife--up right before my eyes so I could get a good look at it.

“Thanks,” I answered, moving very, very slowly, rolling over onto my hands and knees, crawling over to and around the coffee table and then pulling myself up to sit on the couch. Not very dignified, but in the whole scheme of things I’d take being alive over dignity any day.

I held out my hands, palms up, then reached over with my left hand, and switched on the floor lamp. The room filled with light.

Puddy Salvatore stood before me. He was short, maybe five foot three or four, and chubby. I was a little surprised because I thought he’d be taller based on seeing him from behind sitting in the pew next to Tina at Stevie’s service. Then again, short people do have a way of sitting tall, whereas someone tall, like me, tends to slouch a bit when they sit. His head was large and round, and seemed to just rest on his shoulders, as if its weight had gradually driven his neck down between his collarbones. He had on blue jean overalls and a red T-shirt.

“Thanks, that’s better, and you know you really don’t need that thing,” I said, nodding toward the knife in his hand.

A slight smile creased his stubbly bearded face and he turned the weapon over in his hand. “I kinda like the way it feels, if it’s all the same to you. You ever been stabbed?” he asked, his smile growing bigger so that I could see his small, yellowy teeth.

“No, can’t say that I have,” I answered.

Puddy didn’t seem to hear my answer or even care to. He was looking at his knife. “Goes into the body like a hot knife through butter, just schhhhh--easy peasy. Person being stabbed doesn’t seem to know what’s hit ’em till the blade’s been pulled out, and they feel their warm blood coming out of ’em.”

This wasn’t going quite the way I hoped. I tried to remember if the Boston police had actually saved that hostage back then. It seemed a good time to try something different.

“And you’re going to let whoever did that to Tina get away with it? I thought you said you loved her.”

His head snapped up from his knife and he glared at me. “What are you talking about?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“You said ‘Tina should’ve known they’d come after her.’ You know who killed her, don’t you?”

“I...um...I--I’m sure as hell not going to tell you. Or anybody,” Puddy answered. “Even if I did know, which I don’t,” he added unconvincingly. “Not that I’m afraid or give a damn about any of them. Just that I’m not a rat. You can put that in your newspaper--Puddy Salvatore is not a rat!” He punctuated his point by stabbing out with his knife, holding it menacingly about a foot from my face, the blade glinting in the light.

“Sure, right. Whatever you say, Puddy--big type, right there in the headline, right where everyone can see it. ‘Puddy Salvatore is Not A Rat.’”

“You makin’ fun of me?” Puddy asked, moving a step closer, the knife still held out.

“No, Puddy. No way. It’s just that I’m a little wobbly here from hitting my head and I’m having trouble concentrating, but I want you to know I’m on your side. We both want the same thing, right? To see that whoever killed Tina gets caught.”

“How do you know what I want? Want me to tell you what I want? I want you to shut the hell up, that’s what I want. I want to get out of this town and as far away as possible alive, that’s what I want.”

He paused for a moment. He’d gotten himself all worked up, his breathing hard and one vein visibly pulsing on the side of his forehead. Puddy looked around the room, his eyes resting on a collection of empty boxes Terri had brought to fill up with Tina’s stuff left and left behind. He sidled over to the boxes, keeping the knife raised and his eyes on me. He quickly glanced into the boxes and then back up at me. That shitty smile returned to his face.

“And you know what else I want? I want you to give me all the money you got on you. How about that?” He walked back over toward me, keeping the dining room table between us and reached out his non-knife bearing hand. “Big-time reporter like you must be loaded. Nice and easy now, give me your wallet.”

“I hope you’re not going to be upset if it’s not as much as you think,” I answered, leaning forward and lifting my butt as I reached for my wallet with my right hand. I began to slide it out of my pocket when, I guess still a bit woozy from the earlier fall, I lost my balance and started falling face first toward the table top. I reached out my left hand just in time to prevent smashing my face into the table. Puddy jumped back as I did so, and when I looked up at him I could see the slightest trace of fear in his eyes before he regained his tough guy composure. He was not a killer.

“Here, take it,” I said, sitting back up and handing him my wallet. “But just tell me why, if you’re getting out of here, you won’t give me the name of Tina’s killer so I can tell the police. It’s the least you can do. I won’t say where I got the information.”

Puddy took my wallet and looked down at me like I was a complete idiot.

“Tell the police? They’re the last people who want to find Tina’s killer. You sure don’t know how things work around here, do you?” He took a step back to create more space between us and, holding my wallet in his left hand and without letting go of the knife that was in his right hand, used the thumb of his right hand to open the billfold. The disappointment on his face was immediate, and I was actually embarrassed that all the money I had left in the world was such a downer for Puddy Salvatore.

“This it?” he said, pulling the bills out of my wallet and holding them up. “Shit, you’re worse off than I am.” He stuffed the bills into his right breast overall pocket and then looked back down at my wallet. “At least there’s a couple credit cards.”

“Sorry, but--um--they’re pretty much maxed out,” I said sheepishly.

Puddy fired the wallet at me with a flick of his wrist, and it hit me in the chest with a slap.

“I shoulda known from that cheap piece of crap you drive. Ya know, that had to be one of the shittiest cars I’ve ever stolen, even if the parts are worth somethin’. Man, I don’t know how you drove that thing around.”

“It has...well, sentimental value.”

“Sentimental value? What a bunch of crap. The way Tina talked about you, she made it sound like you were some great reporter, that you were going to find us out, expose the whole operation, but you ain’t nothing but a loser, a big goddamned loser.” The vein on his head began to bulge and pulse again. “That car fits you perfectly...and because of you, Tina’s dead and I have to leave my mother and all my friends...goddamn it...”

He reached down and grabbed the underside of one end of the coffee table with his left hand and with one violent motion lifted and threw the table from between us. He stepped closer to me, his breathing shorter and heaving. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe he was a killer.

“Lie flat down on the floor on your stomach. Now!” he commanded. I dove onto my knees and then flat out in one swift motion. “Put your hands behind your back!”

I did as I was told but turned my head to watch him walk over to the empty boxes. At least I thought they were empty. He reached in to the top one and pulled out a roll of silver duct tape. Terri must have packed it to tape the boxes shut after she’d filled them.

He walked over and straddled me. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I heard the sound of a strip of duct tape being pulled from the roll.

“Ya know, you’re more than a loser,” he began, pulling my wrists together and my arms up and away from my body. I could feel the flat edge of the knife blade against my forearm, so I knew he still had the knife in his right hand. “You’re a goddamned coward. Most men would’ve put up some kind of struggle here, maybe tried to get the knife away from me, but not you.” He jerked my arms higher and viciously began wrapping the tape around my wrists. “I bet you wouldn’t have tried to stop Bones even if you were there.” He tore the tape and dropped my tightly bound wrists.

“Who’s Bones?” I asked.

“Shut up,” he said, giving me another swift kick. “Put your feet together,” he ordered and I did so. He was working quickly. Again, the sound of duct tape being stripped from the roll, then my feet being pulled up and the tape wound around them like I was a calf getting tied at a rodeo.

“What was it Tina said they called you in school? ‘Wus’ instead of ‘Wes’ because you never fought back when guys picked on you?”

He pulled my bound feet toward my head, bending my knees. Once more the zzzzzzippppp of the duct tape and this time I could feel him wrapping it between the tape at my ankles and up through the tape at my wrists, so that my shoulders and knees rose off the floor and I balanced on my chest and stomach.

I strained to answer. “Listen, Puddy,” I said. “I would have done anything possible to save Tina. If I’d known someone--Bones--was coming for her I never would have--”

That’s all I got out before Puddy grabbed my hair, lifted my head, and slapped, then tightly pressed, a piece of duct tape across my mouth. Still holding my hair, he bent down to look me in the eyes. He brought his face close to mine. His breath was putrid.

“I know I’ll never see you again, but if I do, you better believe I’ll kill you. ’Course if you keep poking around, someone else will do it first.”

He walked over and turned out the lamp. The room was dark for a moment before he turned on his flashlight and turned to leave the room. Before he did though, he left me one parting gift--another hard kick to the ribs.

“That’s for Tina,” he said. Then he walked out the door.