Dead Men's Dust

    His words faltered at the shake of my head.

    'I don't know Hendrickson from Jimmy Hendrix,' I told him.

    'So who the blazes are you?'

    'Someone who needs answers. And I want them quickly.'

    Petoskey looked at his feet, gave a slow shake of his two-hundred- dollar haircut. Something dawned on him and he slowly raised his face to look at me. A scowl broke across his features. 'This is about John Telfer, isn't it?'

    John was indeed why I was there, but I'd expected to have to draw the information from him like rusty nails from a knotty plank.

    'Where is he?' I demanded. 'If you've hurt him I'll—'

    Petoskey sneered. 'You think I have him?'

'Maybe not here, but I believe you know where he is.'

    'Look,' he said, stepping toward me in defiance, 'I already told your friends I don't know where he is. The son of a bitch took off owing me a substantial sum of money. Do you think if I knew where he was, I wouldn't have brought him back by now? Jesus Christ, how many times have I got to tell you people the same damn thing?'

    I didn't answer.

    This wasn't a put-on. Petoskey's words rang true. He really didn't know where my brother was. So it was pointless questioning him any further regarding John's whereabouts. Time for a change of tack.

    'You've already spoken to my friends?' I asked.

    'Twice!' he said. Full of impotent fury, he held out his hands. An expansive gesture, taking in the entire room. 'And now this?'

    'Okay, Siggy. Just cool it,' I told him.

    'I'll do no such thing.' He lifted a stubby finger toward me. 'You come in here shooting and making demands. Now you want me to act reasonably toward you?'

    'Unless you want me to start shooting again, you will,' Rink drawled from across the room. For emphasis, he aimed the shotgun directly at the group of men in the dog-fighting pit.

    Petoskey wore righteous anger like a dead man's suit. He folded his arms across his chest. Challenged Rink with a sneer. Then he turned it on me. It faltered when I shoved my SIG into the dimple on his chin.

    'Tell me,' I said. 'Who are these friends that you're talking about?'

    'You should know,' Petoskey said.

    'Indulge me,' I said.

    'Your friends from the government. Who else?'

    It was a war to keep my features flat, but this was a surprise, and it probably showed. Petoskey misread me. Maybe it was the way I allowed my gun to drop from his chin.

    'See. I knew it,' he announced. His two friends nodded along with him. One of them opened his mouth to say something. I shot him a warning look. The man clammed up immediately.

    To Petoskey I said, 'You're saying that CIA agents have spoken to you about John Telfer?'

    'Aren't you listening to me? Twice they've been at my office. Twice they've demanded to know the location of John Telfer. I wish I'd never seen Telfer's goddamn face!'

    'These agents actually said they were CIA?' I asked.

    'They didn't need to. I can smell a spook a mile off.'

    'So you're only guessing?' I said, with not a little hope.

    Petoskey shook his head. 'They didn't exactly introduce themselves, if that's what you mean. One of them flashed a badge the first time they came around; they didn't bother the second time. Pretty much the way you haven't now, eh?'

    Again I didn't answer. CIA agents, by virtue of their secretive trade, aren't in the habit of flashing badges or announcing their identities. Petoskey had to be confused, must have misread the acronym on the badge. It would be easily done, I suppose, though I doubted that the Child Support Agency would go to such lengths to trace an absent father.

    Judging my silence to be guilt, he said, 'You can go back and tell your bosses that they're barking up the wrong tree. For the third time, I do not know where John Telfer is. Have you got that?'

    We had lost a major advantage, and unless we started shooting again, it was an unsalvageable situation.

    On the same wavelength, Rink moved toward me. His shotgun still menaced the men in the arena. No one moved. It wasn't so much the fear of being shot as that they thought we were CIA. Worse than going up against the police, they weren't prepared to risk the ire of the government. They wouldn't make a move. Apparently, neither would we. Not now that we'd been uncloaked as government agents.

Petoskey was wearing a smug look on his face.

'Quite a mess, eh?' he crowed.

    Yeah, it was a mess, but not for the reason he thought. We backed toward the demolition job I'd done on the wall.