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I was getting tired of asking questions, but I repeated myself again. “Are you Thad Paulus?”
He came down slowly off the steps, still focused on his friends on the ground. “Yeah. Who are you?”
“My name's Joe Tyler,” I said. “I tried asking your friends if you were here and they wanted to fight me instead. I asked them not to. They didn't listen.”
Paulus looked at me, still not comprehending.
Jay groaned again on the walk, but made no effort to get up.
“Is he dead?” Paulus asked, pointing to Billy.
“No. Just unconscious,” I said. “I'd like to talk to you.”
He squinted at me. “You just show up here and beat the crap out of my friends? And now you want to talk to me?”
“Your friends wanted to fight me,” I repeated. “I told them not to. They didn't listen. I didn't want to fight anyone.”
He didn't say anything.
“Do you know Patrick Bullock?”
His lip curled. “Do you know how to fuck off?”
“Not really.”
He frowned. “I'm gonna call the cops.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
He didn't move.
“Do you want my phone?” I asked, shoving my hand into my pocket to get it. “Or do you want me to call?”
He looked down at his friends again. Jay was trying to get his faculties back and was rubbing at his back where I'd punched him. He didn't appear to be in any hurry to get up.
“Who are you?” Paulus asked.
“I told you,” I said. “My name is Joe Tyler.”
“Why are you here?”
“I'm an investigator,” I said. “Do you know Patrick Bullock?”
He eyed me. “You have some I.D.?”
“That says I'm an investigator? No. I'm working for a friend. I can show you my driver's license that will show you I'm not lying about my name.”
“Then you can get lost,” he said.
“I don't care about the heroin inside,” I said. “I just wanna talk about Patrick.”
He flinched when I said heroin and he realized he'd flinched. He couldn't walk it back now.
“I know you aren't gonna call the cops,” I said. “And if you want to verify my story about being here, I can call Patrick's uncle. He's a cop and can vouch for me.”
Paulus frowned. He had no idea what was going on and no idea what to do. Which worked out well for me because I felt like I had him off-balance.
“I don't know him,” he mumbled.
“You sure? Because I have phone records that tell me you've talked quite a bit with him,” I said.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Fine. Yeah, I know Patrick.”
“How?”
He started to answer, then stopped. Jay had moved to a sitting position, but with the disposition of a scared puppy. Billy was still napping.
“I can make a phone call and make this a lot worse for you,” Paulus said, holding up his phone. “I don't think you want that.”
I shrugged again. “You can try. But I guarantee it'll be worse for you before whoever you call gets here.” I glanced at his friends on the ground. “And you're gonna need to call guys who are way better than they are.”
He looked down at them.
He was waffling, and that told me everything I needed to know about him. He wasn't some big time dealer. He was running his own show and just making some cash. Maybe it was a lot of cash, but he certainly wasn't the mastermind behind some big operation. If he was, he would've had better people out front who didn't just want to fight, and he wouldn't have hesitated to do whatever he needed to do to be rid of me.
“Can we just drop the theatrics here?” I said. “I really don't give a shit about whatever you've got inside the house, and you aren't going to convince me I need to be scared of anyone you call here. I'm not here to bust you. I'm not a cop. I can't do anything like that. This'll go a lot better if you just acknowledge that.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You've got five minutes.”
I knew I'd get as long as I needed, but I didn't point it out to him. “Tell me how you know Patrick.”
“We're friends.”
“What kind of friends?”
He made a face. “We hold hands a lot and like to play army. What do you think I mean?”
I didn't say anything.
He sighed. “We're friends. I've known him for a while. We don't hang out or anything like that.”
“He buys from you?”
“Come on, man—”
“Does he buy from you?”
He thought for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Billy finally managed some sort of grunt and shook himself to life. He rolled over, his eyes glassy, his gaze unfocused.
“Is he gonna be alright?” Paulus asked, worry flickering across his face.
“He'll be fine,” I said. “Probably a concussion, maybe a busted jaw. But he'll be fine.”
“Jesus.”
“Does Patrick buy heroin from you?” It was time for specifics.
He hesitated. “Yeah, sometimes.”
“How often?”
“I don't keep a log, man,” he said, frowning again, like answering questions was painful for him. “Goes in spurts. Sometimes I hear from him a lot, sometimes not so much.”
I nodded. “Alright. Was he dealing for you?”
Paulus looked down at the ground. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
“Was he?”
He sighed again and moved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Not for a long time, though. He just needed some cash so he asked me about it. We set it up.”
“Was he selling a lot for you?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. I wouldn't say a ton, but he was making several hundred a week, probably.”
Several hundred a week probably felt like striking gold to someone in Patrick’s position.
“For how long?”
Paulus started to say something, then stopped.
Jay pushed himself to his feet, keeping his distance from me as he stood.
Paulus was done answering questions. “Look, I don't know who the hell you are or what you want, but this is bullshit,” he said. “You can get the fuck out of here right now. And if you follow me into the house, I will call the fucking cops.” He turned and headed for the steps.
“Patrick's dead,” I said. “I found him.”
Paulus froze. “Bullshit.”
I shook my head. “None whatsoever.”