been.
He put his own gun away and smiled at Haffner. “So, what were they asking you?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Ski Mask turned toward us. “What’s his name?”
Kunkle looked at me in amazement. “Is that him?”
I might have laughed if I hadn’t felt such an enormous sensation of menace in this man. Ski Mask was like a panther who had stalked his prey for days on end, calming his growing hunger with thoughts of the inevitable feast. The tone in his voice indicated that mere thinking was no longer doing the job, that some action was required, at whatever cost to all concerned. I was scared to hell for everyone in that hot and fetid room.
I felt all this because he was obviously taking a calculated chance. The two questions he had asked-Haffner’s name and the topic of our conversation-indicated just how much he was gambling that this one half-dead man might give him a crucial advantage. In fact, if we were lucky, he’d gambled too high; I was thinking of the tail Kunkle had insisted upon.
“His name’s Ted Haffner, but he’s got nothing to tell you. He’s a dead end.”
“Maybe that’s because you don’t know how to ask the right questions.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long, black, cylindrical object. It clicked sharply in his hand, and a thin, tapered blade sprang into view, glinting in the half-light. “Or maybe your methods are ineffective.”
Haffner started to squirm on his bed. “Who the hell are you, man?”
“I’m here to collect all the answers you weren’t going to give these gentlemen.”
“What do I get out of it?” Haffner’s voice didn’t carry much conviction.
“Nothing.”
“We were looking for a drug dealer. The one who sold Bill Davis his junk,” I interrupted.
“Why?”
‹›
“Why not? It might give us something. It was a long shot.”
“Not a hot lead, huh?”
“Not with him. He was our first stop of the day.”
Ski Mask turned his back to me. “That right, Ted?”
“Yeah. I know nothin’ about nothin’.”
I heard Ski Mask chuckle. He grabbed one of Haffner’s hands and placed the point of his knife at the hollow of his arm, on the inside of the elbow. “Have you ever carved a chicken, Ted?”
Haffner’s eyes were huge and white against his grimy face. “Sure.”
“You know how you’ve got to get your knife right into the joint to cut off the drumstick?”
Haffner didn’t answer.
“It’s a good thing the bird’s dead, because that little maneuver hurts like hell.” He applied a little pressure. Haffner let out a small noise and a single drop of blood appeared at the knife’s point.
“Jesus, man. What do you want?”
“I want the simple truth. What were they asking you?”
I spoke up again. “What I told you was the truth. You’re going over the edge.” My hope in the backup car was fading fast.
He didn’t even look at me. He just pushed the knife a little harder. Haffner whimpered. Ski Mask’s voice was absolutely flat. “Joe, every time you interrupt, I’ll stick him a little harder.” He shifted his weight slightly. “Now, what were they asking you?”
“They wanted to know who bought the junk that ended up at that nigger’s place.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
“I’ve done this before, Ted. The pain is like nothing you’ve ever known.”
“I swear to God; I really do. I got no reason to lie to you. I don’t know who bought the stuff. It wasn’t someone anybody knew. It was a one-shot deal. No one ever saw the guy again-honest.”
“Then who sold it?”
Haffner’s face was shining with sweat. It was dripping off his chin. His breath began to come in quick gasps. “Oh, Christ, what was his name?”
Ski Mask’s arm moved ever so slightly. “No, no, stop, please. Wait-I remember. It was Hill. Lew Hill. Lewis Hill.”
“Where does he live?”
“Now? I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. People move around a lot down there.”
“Where? Where did he live, last you knew?”
“Near the old organ warehouse, on Birge.”
“What’s the address?”
“Jesus, the address. I don’t know. Who knows addresses? It’s a big place, near the turn-off to the bridge. They call it the Misery Hilton. People know it around there; just ask. I’m sorry, I don’t know the number.” He was weeping now; the sweat and saliva sprayed from his lips as he spoke. His entire body was trembling.
Ski Mask let him go and withdrew the knife. Haffner suddenly closed his eyes hard. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and then everything ceased. A final breath of air escaped from between his lips, causing a line of bubbles to drip down his chin.
Ski Mask placed a finger alongside the carotid artery, paused for a moment, and then stood up. He carefully replaced the knife in his pocket. “Heart attack, I would guess.”
Kunkle and I watched in stunned silence as he left. We heard him walk to the front door and slam it behind him. Then all was quiet, and we watched the sweat dry on Haffner’s face.
23
Kunkle and I were uncoupled a full hour and a half later by two very sheepish plainclothes patrolmen who had been cooling their heels at the entrance of the trailer park, watching for a man who had apparently come and gone at his leisure. Kunkle’s fury was such that it rendered him speechless, a fact for which I, and certainly the other two, were extremely grateful.
All personnel-every patrolman and detective-were sent out to find Hill before Ski Mask did, and I later felt that if there was a God, he displayed his mercy by allowing Kunkle to come up the winner. Hill was located two hours later in the back room of Login’s Cafe, bracing himself for the day ahead with a half bottle of scotch. As it turned out, he needed all the numbing he could get-he was already the worse for wear by the time Kunkle dragged him through our doors.
I raised my eyebrows at the spreading blue and red bruise on the dazed man’s cheekbone.
“He resisted,” Kunkle muttered and shook Hill by the collar as if to show the fight was still undecided.
It seemed to me Kunkle’s grip was the only thing keeping Hill on his feet. He rolled his eyes and whined, “Resisted, hell. I didn’t even know who the son of a bitch was. I ought to sue somebody.”
I walked with both of them downstairs to the holding cells. “Consider yourself lucky to be alive. The reason you’re here is because somebody is out to kill you.”
Hill twisted around to stare at me. “Who?”
“You remember Ted Haffner?”
“Haffner? Give me a break. He can’t even get out of bed.”
“I won’t argue with that. He died two hours ago, right after he put the finger on you.”
“What the hell did I do?”
Kunkle shoved him into a cell and slammed the door shut. The metallic crash reverberated off the concrete walls. Kunkle hit the switch ght tthe collarof a flood lamp for the closed-circuit surveillance camera aimed at the cell. Hill shrank under the effect. His voice was little more than a murmur. “What are you guys talking about?”
“We’ll be back.”
We returned upstairs. I asked Kunkle to start filling out the report on this morning, and then I called Dunn’s
