Felix said nothing, went into the house, and came back with one of my winter coats. He draped it over my shoulders, gave my good shoulder a squeeze, and went to work.
The rain started coming down.
I didn’t move.
CHAPTER TEN
Dinner was barbecue steak tips, some sort of potato logs—fresh-made, not frozen—and asparagus spears. I’m usually not fond of green items at dinner, except for a salad, but Felix had expertly grilled them and sauced them so that even I would eat most of what he served me.
We ate at the kitchen counter, just as the heavy rains rolled in and started their drumming on my roof and deck. Remembering what I had experienced that morning, I said, “You get lots of dreams?”
“All the time.”
“Weird ones? Scary ones?”
“Yes, yes, and more than that.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged his strong shoulders. “You know the kind. Little snippets of memory, running like video clips.”
“Yeah. Those disturb you?
“Well … I’ve done things in the past I’m not proud of. You try to move on, try to forget, try to atone if necessary. And I do hate those little night reminders. Especially if they involve gunfire or blood. Funny how those types of dreams don’t bring back happier times.”
We ate some more and he asked, “What brought that up? You have an odd dream?”
“Pretty damn odd. I … somebody from my past was there, in my bedroom, talking to me.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s been dead—for a while.”
“Oh. Chrissy, the one you were with, back at the Pentagon.”
“Cissy,” I said, saying her name aloud, so she would not be forgotten. “Cissy Manning.”
“You dream of her often?”
“No, which is odd. She came to me and told me—”
“What?” Felix asked, eyes steady on me.
I went back to eating. “Never mind.”
When we were through and the dishes were done, I made some coffee and we retired to the living room. “What’s up with the arm?” I said.
He twisted it to and fro. “A little weak, but I’m working on it. The stitches should come out in a few days. In the meantime, I’m on the hunt for Pepe and his gang of merry men.”
“They scatter?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “And I think once they found out I was still mobile, still looking for them, they scattered even further, like the proverbial herd of cockroaches scattering when the light hits them.”
“You still believe their story? About going to Maggie’s place to do a quick robbery, and that they found her there dead?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “What I’m looking for now is the whereabouts of my great-granddad’s silver, and making an … arrangement concerning the young man who shot me.”
“That should be interesting for all involved, but it’ll be a crowded hunt. The Tyler police and the state police know about Pepe and his friends being there.”
There was the slightest tightening around Felix’s eyes. “Go on. Do you know how this amazing bit of information got to them?”
“Maybe I gave you up.”
The eyes tightened more and then his face broke out in a wide grin, showing me once again why he does so fine with the ladies.
“Yeah. Right. What was the real deal then?”
“The forensics folks found a glassine envelope with heroin in it, marked with a bluebird, which signified it came from an outfit in Lowell and Lawrence.”
“Okay.”
“So how did it get there? Dropped during the panic?”
“Maybe.”
“Because I don’t see Maggie Branch dealing.”
“Maybe she was a customer,” Felix said quietly.
“Felix,” and then I shut up. I had read the news stories, seen the news reports. The heroin epidemic was cutting a wide swath through my home state, and it wasn’t picky about age or condition.
“Maybe she was,” I said.
“I’m sure the police will be looking into it,” he said.
“Have you gone to them about your granddad’s silver?”
“Have you taken leave of your senses? Never talk to cops unless otherwise necessary, and always have a couple of alibis and stories ready to come out when needed. Besides, they’re busy with Maggie and other crimes, right?”
“Not sure about other crimes, but—”
Hold on, I thought. Just hold on.
“Felix.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not keeping track of such things, but how’s the market for silver nowadays?”
“Up,” he said. “Like all precious metals. Gold, silver, platinum. Usually goes up when news is bad.”
“You collect?”
“Nope,” he said. “I collect other valuables. Freeze-dried food, water, ammunition. I figure if and when the collapse comes, the essentials will come first. What are you driving at?”
“You mentioned other crimes,” I said. “There was a break-in at the Tyler Chronicle the night before last.”
“What did they take? Old lead letters?”
“Close. Darkroom sludge. From chemicals that have been used in developing film at the Chronicle for decades. Supposedly sludge like that can contain a fair amount of silver, especially when market demand is up.”
Felix nodded slowly. “Interesting. Great-granddad’s silver goes missing, and silver sludge is stolen from the Chronicle. Could be a coincidence, but you know me. There’s no such thing.” He glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, I need to go hunting.”
“Wish I could go along with you.”
Felix stood up. “Are you nuts? Long hours driving around, asking questions, visiting grungy places, meeting people out in the shadows. Doesn’t sound much like fun.”
“I didn’t say it would be fun,” I said. I took a long view around my living room. “I’m going a bit stir crazy. I need to get out and about.”
Felix smiled, gave my good shoulder a squeeze. “What are you complaining about? Part of you is already in California.”
That night I watched three more episodes of Band of Brothers. Once again I envied the clarity of what was going on back then, though I’m sure if I had been a paratrooper in the famed Easy Company of the 506th, I’d be more concerned with food, sleep, my buddies, and not getting my ass shot off instead of the great moral issues of that war.
It was getting late and I was wondering if I would be able to fall asleep—the caffeine consumption and the news was keeping me awake.
