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Thad Paulus stared at me for a moment, his eyes wide, like he was seeing me for the first time.
Jay looked back and forth between us, trying to maintain his balance, rubbing at his side.
Billy was curled up on his side on the ground, moaning softly.
“Patrick is dead?” Paulus finally asked.
I nodded.
His Adam’s apple bobbed once, then twice. “When?”
“I found him two days ago.”
“You found him?”
I nodded again.
“Shit,” Paulus muttered.
“Who the hell is Patrick?” Jay asked, then winced as he pressed his hand into his side.
“Shut up,” Paulus muttered. He gestured at Billy. “Get him up and go inside. Or take him to a doctor. I don't give a shit.”
Jay eyed me warily.
“I'm done with you,” I told him. “I'm not gonna touch you. Pick up your friend and go.”
Jay frowned, but it was clear he wasn't up for a second round. He bent down, clutching his side with one hand, and picked Billy up off the ground. Billy whined like a wounded animal, his head lolling to the side as Jay got him to his feet and wrapped Billy's arm around his neck.
“I'd take him to the ER,” I said. “His jaw is out of place and it's gonna hurt like hell.”
Jay frowned again at me as he trudged up the steps to the house, keeping Billy upright.
“How did he die?” Paulus asked once they were inside.
“I don't know yet,” I lied, not looking to share what I knew with someone I didn't trust. “Do you know anything about it?”
“Fuck no, I don't know anything about it,” he said, angrily. “Shit.”
His initial reaction told me he was telling the truth. He was genuinely shocked. I didn't think he was that good of a liar, or that good of an actor.
“Why are you so upset?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed onto the back of his neck. “Why the fuck do you think I'm so upset? I consider Patrick a friend, alright? We don't hang out, but we were square. He was straight up with me and I was straight up with him. But, shit.” He shook his head, his brows furrowed together. “This could come back to me and then I'd be fucked.”
“Why?”
He looked at me again like I wasn't very smart. “Why do you think, dude? If Patrick had other stuff on him or they find my name or something, then they'll come looking for me. And that will fuck everything up for me.”
It looked as if Thad Paulus's own self-interest was outweighing his grief, at least for the moment.
Shocking.
“Walk me through his dealing for you again,” I said.
“I already did.”
“Do it again.”
He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “It's like I said. He told me he was low on cash and couldn't get a job because of his band. So he asked if we could work something out. Normally, I wouldn't have been interested. Too much of a hassle. But Patrick's a good guy. Or was or whatever. So I told him okay. 60/40 split, which was a deal for him, but I wasn't trying to screw him over or anything like that. I wouldn't give 40 to anyone else.”
I couldn't decide if he was telling me the truth or trying to make himself look good.
“And back to what I asked you before,” I said. “How long had this been going on?”
He thought for a moment. “I'd say about the last two months or so.”
That lined up with what Erin told me.
“So you fronted him the product, he sold it, then you took 60 percent?” I clarified.
“Yeah.”
“He have any trouble selling it?”
Paulus shook his head. “Nope. He was checking in with me about every two weeks.”
“Any idea who he was selling to?” I asked.
Paulus shrugged. “No clue. When we first talked about it, he said he knew a few people he could sell to. I told him the one thing I didn't want him doing was selling to people he didn't know because he could get fucked. He said it wouldn't be a problem.” He shrugged. “Far as I know, it never was.”
Everything he was telling me made sense. Patrick had gone to him because he knew he could make money and it wouldn't conflict with the band. It might not have been legal, but for him, it was operating in a world he knew and the cash was easy. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I could see how Patrick could've rationalized it to himself.
“You sell anything else?” I asked.
Paulus eyed me. “I thought we were just talking about smack.”
“We were, and now I'm asking if you sell anything else.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It matters because your friend is dead and because I'm trying to figure out what happened to him,” I said. “It matters because I'm trying to get a read on what was going on his life. It matters because I'm asking.”
“So?”
“Can we not do this?” I asked. “I've been clear with you why I'm here. If I really wanted to jack you up, I would've done it by now. Stop being paranoid and wasting our time.”
His mouth twisted in a couple different directions and he looked away from me.
I really didn't have any intention of jacking him up. I didn't care about his operation or what he was selling or any of that. I only cared about things that were related to Patrick.
Unless he stonewalled me.
“I sell some other stuff, too,” he finally said, shrugging.
“What other stuff?”
“Weed, because it's easy,” he said. “Pills and stuff, too. I don't do coke or meth because the people in that world are insane.”
It was crazy to me to hear that heroin had moved out of the insane world and into the casual user world, but I knew from everything I'd read that was probably true. It was still hard to envision people jabbing a needle into their arm casually, though.
“What kind of pills?” I asked.
“Oxy,” he admitted, his eyes flickering toward mine, then away. “Xanax, Valium, shit like that. Ambien sometimes. I don't do a lot of it because it's cheap and people can just find it in medicine cabinets. Doesn't make a lot of sense for me to hold and then try to move it.”
Xanax and Valium.
Benzodiazepenes.
“You ever sell anything like that to Patrick?” I asked. “Either for him to use or to sell?”
Something buzzed in Paulus's pocket and he pulled out his phone. He frowned at the screen, then turned toward the house. “Don't do shit! I'm fine!” He turned back to me. “They wanted to know if they should call other people to come over.”
“Good advice on your part,” I said.
“I don't even know why I let them hang around,” he said, shaking his head. “They fuck up more shit than they help with.”
“Patrick,” I said again, trying to steer the conversation back to where it needed to be. “You sell him any of the pill stuff?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
“You sure?”
He thought again, then nodded. “Yeah. I really don't think I did. And I mean I didn't sell it to him and I didn't give it to him to sell.”
“Was he into it at all? Like, did he talk about it or ask about it?”
He shook his head again. “No, I really don't think he did.”
“Thad? Look at me.”
He seemed surprised and met my eyes.
“Don't lie to me on this one,” I warned. “I believe you so far, but don't lie to me on this. It matters.”
He shuffled his feet backward like he was afraid of me and shook his head one more time. “I swear. I don't remember Patrick ever even asking about that stuff. Or weed. Was just the smack. And I think I'd remember selling to him because if I had, it would've been one time and it would've stuck out, you know?”
I nodded. “I'd think you would remember, yes.”
“So, I'm telling you,” Paulus said. “I swear. I didn't sell him anything.”
“I believe you.”
He started to say something, then stopped himself. He looked down at the ground, his brows furrowed together again.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t respond right away. “I think I sold to someone else,” he finally said.
I cocked my head. “I don't get what you're saying.”
“I think I sold benzos to someone else,” Thad Paulus said. “In the band.”