“Nah, I wasn’t there for that particular meet and greet. I was down in the D.R., doing some business.”
“D.R.?”
“Dominican Republic.”
“Scouting for the Sox?”
His eyes flashed at me. “No, man, not scouting for the Sox. Can we get on with this shit?”
“Sure, Pepe. Whatever you say.”
By now the pain in my jaw and back was easing, and so was my tension. Having these two men in the house was one hell of a disturbance, and I didn’t like it. They were young, big, muscular, and utterly confident they could force their way in and do and say whatever they wanted. And based on my own condition and the location of my weapons, there was nothing I could do about it.
He nodded. “All right then. Who is this Felix guy?”
“Why are you asking me? I’m sure other people in your … field of interest would have the same kind of information.”
“We asked around, that’s why. Wanted to know who this clown’s friends or acquaintances are. Got a bunch of names but lots of them were women, which I don’t want to deal with, ’cause they get all emotional and shit, and the guys … well, they were too much like him. Or us. And then there’s you. Even found out that you got him freed a while back on a murder charge.”
“He did that pretty much all by his lonesome.”
“Not what I heard.”
“Should I feel honored, then?”
“Dunno. Learned you were a writer, that true?”
“Yes.”
“What do you write? Newspaper? Video games? TV?”
“Magazine columnist.”
He laughed. “Good luck with that, bro. Last time I held a magazine was ten years ago, and it was a whack-off mag, you know? Now, who needs it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s encouraging to know.”
“Look,” he said. “Me and Ramon, we’re thirsty. You got any beer?”
“Maybe in the back of the fridge.”
He spoke to Ramon, who came back with two bottles of Sam Adams Ale. I wasn’t offended that he didn’t offer me one, because I was pretty sure there had only been two in there before. They drank for a couple of minutes and Ramon belched when they had emptied the bottles.
Pepe sighed and said, “This Felix guy, why is he gunning after us?”
“He’s gunning after you because he thinks you have something that belongs to him.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like an antique piece of silver.”
“A … what?”
“Old silver.”
Pepe looked confused. “Silver, like little bars? Coins?”
“No, like a serving platter. The sides curved up. With four little feet made to look like tigers.”
A pause, then. Ramon still there, Pepe staring at me. “He thinks we got his platter, is that the case?”
“Yep.”
“What? We supposed to have gotten this from some wedding reception he was at, his daughter or something, and we jacked it?”
“No,” I said. “It was at an antiques dealer here in Tyler. Maggie Branch, on the Exonia Road. He had left it there for an appraisal, and it appears to be missing.”
“So why does he think we nabbed it?”
“Because it was there before she was killed, and it was gone after she was killed. And some of your guys were there. A car with a license plate traced back to you, plus a packet of yours was left behind.”
Pepe scratched behind his right ear. Ramon stood so still I wondered if his boots had accidentally stepped into some form of superglue and he couldn’t move.
“That’s bullshit, man,” he said.
“What? That you weren’t there? That your heroin was left behind? Oh, and the fact the cops from New Hampshire and Massachusetts are after you?”
Pepe shook his head. “Didn’t kill the old lady. She was alive when we got there, alive when we left.”
“Witnesses said they saw you leaving in a hurry.”
“’Cause the old bitch was threatening to call the cops on us, that’s why. We don’t need that heat in this part of the world.”
“Did she catch you, then?” I asked.
“Huh? Catch us, what?”
“I mean, did she come across you guys breaking in, trying to steal jewelry or cash.”
“Wasn’t like that, bro,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’m not your bro,” I said. “Then what was it like?”
He shrugged. “Pure business deal, that’s all. And we couldn’t reach an agreement, she got pissed, and that’s that.”
“A business deal? You guys were set to sell her stolen antiques? Or jewelry?”
Pepe grinned. “Shit, no. We were going to sell her smack.”
I stared at him. He went on. “You know. Horse. White.”
A pause. “Heroin.”
That took me aback, and I couldn’t say anything for a moment or three. Ramon was still standing like a carved piece of wood, and Pepe had a wide grin on his face. “What, you think our customers aren’t all ages, all places?”
“Uh, let’s just say I’m surprised.”
“Shit, you shouldn’t be, being a magazine writer, somebody who’s supposed to know stuff. All this heroin epidemic people keep on talking about, it didn’t mean shit when it was just brown and black people turning up dead in restrooms or parks, am I right?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
He reached over, gently slapped me on the knee. “Man, an old white man who knows when I’m talking sense. You’re one rare bird. So yeah, nobody gave a crap when it was those people keeling over and dying. Then some years back, the doctors, the big-pharma companies, they started pushing stronger and stronger painkillers, right? And the docs wanted to take care of their patients complaining their knees hurt, their hips hurt, so they wrote script after script. And what happened, then, huh?”
“A new class of addicts were created, and when they couldn’t get the straight stuff, they went to the street stuff.”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t mind doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Poisoning people. Killing them. Ruining their lives.”
Pepe held out a hand, ticked off finger by finger. “Let’s see. Like cigarettes, like booze, like politicians who cut deals so kids drink water filled with lead. Yeah, I’m real broke up about my business.”
“You say Maggie had pain problems, she wanted to score from you?”
“Score,” he said, repeating my word. “Funny word. You watch
