Samuel allowed himself a smirk.
“To be honest…it wasn’t much of a fight. Arthur’s good with the hardware, but he can’t throw fists. I messed him up pretty good. When I figured he’d had enough, I just let him fall to the floor in a heap. I admit, I took sadistic pleasure in crouching down next to him and watching him struggle for air. I looked around. Everyone had slept through the whole thing, even Kelly. I couldn’t believe it. I must have muttered something to myself because Arthur spoke up…as best as he could anyway.”
Samuel proceeded with an unflattering impression of Arthur.
“Yeah Samuel, they’re still asleep. Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if they weren’t? If Bubbs was awake? If Steven was awake? Or Rick? I’ve pulled a Stalin on your ass. It’s just a matter of time before you pay for this, faggot! First you, then your little whore! I’m paraphrasing, of course. And it wasn’t his lame threat that made me leave. They wouldn’t have done anything to Kelly, or me for that matter.”
“Then what made you?”
The answer did not come easily.
“Because the little platinum jerk-off was right. He’d taken the whole thing for himself. We still had the gatherings and the rituals, but the UJ had become a pathetic shadow of itself. It was…done with me. It just took the rambling of an impotent, bloodied waste-of-space to make me face it. And it’s gotten worse since I left. Kelly got me caught up this morning between orgasms…”
“Come on. Really?”
“Sorry. That was uncalled for. The point is, even the painting parties are all but unrecognizable. We had forty members at our peak. What do they have now, fifteen, sixteen? They’re lucky if eight members show up to a regular Saturday gathering. There’s no anonymity; there’s no center. The only thing they’ve managed to rally around is Jeremy’s death, and that’s just a pointless revenge thing. The land and the king are one. Just like Arthur, it’s all about kicking ass and getting laid. It’s a goddam joke!”
Samuel slumped back. Lynch could feel his own feet beating inside his shoes, so he could only imagine what was going on inside his tablemate.
“…so, detective, if you would be so kind, I’d like you to fuck up Arthur for me.”
It was the request of an entitled little prick with no grip on reality. Lynch spoke.
“I’m going to do two things: I am going to assume ‘fuck up’ means ‘arrest,’”
“It doesn’t…”
“…shut up. And I’m going to try to bring you back to Earth by stating the obvious. The only way any of this means anything is if it’s true.”
Samuel gave an understanding nod and randomly crumpled up his napkin.
“Sitting at this table, all I have today is my word. If there’s anything else I can give you, tell me what it is.”
“This whole thing locks in, and your boy goes to jail if I can get in touch with the girl who was assaulted.”
“Oh…is that all? I told you, man. I don’t know who she is. Kelly says the girl left the painting party and disappeared. I’ve seen nothing in the local news about missing persons or suicides. I don’t think she’s from Potterford. Even if you found her, she wouldn’t remember a thing. How’s she going to come forward?”
“Kelly…”
“Ain’t happening.”
“You…”
“Completely ain’t happening.”
“Then think hard, and give me something else.”
For the first time since he sat down, Samuel found himself wrestling with is words. Lynch recognized the look as that of a man protecting a loved one, and he had a pretty good guess as to who it was.
“Samuel, whatever you tell me, Arthur’s the target. Unless he knows the location of Hoffa’s body, he isn’t plea-bargaining. We’re not going to allow him to cop a lower charge to turn in the rest of the UJ.”
“Wow. You are way off.”
“Okay. What then?”
“Look, if you want Arthur, go get him at work. He’s a sales rep for…”
“That’s no good. No one’s accused him of anything. If you won’t come forward, and Kelly won’t come forward, and we don’t know where the girl is…”
“You’ve got Ian Reilly.”
“Not yet, I don’t. Without a witness or an accuser, I need to actually catch Arthur doing something, or nothing will stick long-term. Do you understand?”
Samuel rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands and stared at the ceiling.
“How about this? I was thinking about this the other day. And I’m admittedly just spit-balling here, but The Herald said that Reilly was hit with a brake drum, right? There’s no way Arthur could have thrown one of those things hard enough to hit anyone in the head. My guess is that it was Bubbs, but on a good day it could have been either Rick or Steven. If you can convince Arthur that a witness came forward, and the witness is claiming that he…I mean Arthur…hit Reilly, the prick won’t hesitate to rat out the guy that actually did it. Believe me man, all four of them will instantly turn on each other. You will get more ammunition than you can handle. With a little creativity, you might even be able to get Arthur to cop to the assault on the girl if he thinks it will clear him of any participation in...”
“I still need to get my hands on him, and I need a real reason to bring him in.”
Samuel hung his head in thought. He spoke without looking up.
“Would drug possession be enough?”
“More than enough.”
Samuel scratched his chin, swung his head back up, and regained eye contact with Lynch.
“There’s a painting party tonight.”
Lynch nodded with satisfaction.
“Talk to me.”
“It’s the second reason I chose today to return to Potterford. I wanted to make sure Kelly wasn’t going to the fuckin’ thing. There will be plenty of drugs…maybe even a few concealed weapons.”
“Then we’ve got him.”
“Not quite. I don’t know where it’s being held, and neither does Kelly.”
He explained the UJ’s ineffectual communication procedure and Kelly’s failure
