He looked at her and she remained silent until he said, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, Tony. I got all night.” She didn’t mean to make it sound like a crack about their attempt to make love, but that’s how it came across.
He swallowed hard and said, “I wanted to talk about the other night.”
“You’d have to be more specific.” She liked the way he squirmed. It was cute.
He took a deep breath and said, “The other night when I was unable to perform in bed.”
She kept quiet.
He looked off to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about the incident.”
“The incident? That’s what it was like for you? A homicide scene? It was an incident?” Her voice raised even though she wanted to cut the guy some slack.
“That’s a poor choice of words. I’m sorry. What I’ve really been thinking of is you. You and me.”
“Is there a you and me?”
“I–I don’t know. What I was talking about was my problem.”
“Couldn’t it be our problem?”
He seemed to be concentrating on what he would say, not what she was saying.
Mazzetti said, “I don’t think you understand. It’s not you, it’s me.”
She let her anger seep away and smiled at the cute, nervous guy. “Relax Tony, I figured it out all by myself.”
“You did? How?”
“I’ve been around a little, I’m not an idiot.”
“What are you talking about, Patty?”
“I know you’re gay, and your secret is safe with me.”
“What? Gay? Me? No, wait a second, you really don’t understand.”
She held up a hand to shut him up. “Don’t sweat it, Tony. I’m not judging you and know you think the guys in the bureau could be tough on you if they knew, so I won’t say a word. But I think you’re wrong. It’s the new millennium. I doubt it’d make any difference at all to the detectives here. They already don’t like you because you’re an asshole.”
He looked like he had more to say, but he started to hyperventilate, panting like a big dog on an August afternoon.
She watched him breathe faster and shallower until she got concerned. Then scared.
Thirty-one
John Stallings had let the analysts and Mazzetti scramble to find out all they could about the video from the beach cam. All it meant to him was another girl was missing and he’d failed in another pledge.
He’d been hitting the streets hard all day trying to find out who might’ve seen someone or something that could connect the dots in the investigation. He tried not to think of the anguish the family of the missing girl, Stacey Hines, was going through. He’d been there. Instead, he was out doing something. At this moment he was stopping in the Law and Order Pub to get some food into a young man he’d met off Bay Street who looked like he had not eaten in a week. He’d only give his first name-“Dan”-and not much else. Stallings could tell he was at least twenty, but something in his face told Stallings the young man needed a little help whether it was official or unofficial, so dinner sounded like a start.
As he was about to hold the door open for Dan, several uniformed cops came out of the pub, laughing. The first two nodded to Stallings and gave Dan a cursory, dismissive glance.
The last cop out stopped and said, “Hey, Stall, who’s your friend?”
Stallings looked up at Rick Ellis. “This is Dan, and we’re going to grab a bite.”
Ellis took a few seconds to reassess Dan but said nothing about the dirt caked on his neck and face, ripped T-shirt that used to be white, mismatched flip-flops, or hair frozen in place by grime. His face made it clear he’d caught the odor.
He looked back to Stallings and said, “Anything new on the big case?”
Stallings waited a second as Dan wandered a few feet away to look at a plant. “You heard about the video from the beach cam.”
Ellis nodded.
“We’re gonna release it tomorrow to see what we can stir up.”
“Sounds like a plan. My bosses don’t want me working with your task force again without clearing it through them first.”
“Not surprised. Shootings make command staff nervous.”
Ellis eyed Dan as he turned back toward them. “Gotta go. Keep in touch, Stall.” The big sergeant was moving away from the smelly homeless man before Stallings could say good-bye.
William Dremmel checked the results of his drug trial so far. The detailed notes and a chart he’d made up showed that Stacey Hines slipped into a deep, unconscious state with a combination of Ambien and Nembutal. She’d do the same with Seconal but had a harder time waking up. Her mood had not stabilized yet even with Wellbutin included in her meals. The antidepressant hadn’t had enough time to take hold, and she’d been distracted by her new surroundings. This was within the expected normal parameters of the trial.
Tonight he intended to ease her concerns, and the first way he’d do that was by giving her some time out of the chains. It would help her circulation. Maybe help her adjust. But he wasn’t unprepared. In the rear pocket of his jeans he had a handheld stun gun he’d bought at a gun shop for $39.99. It looked like a pistol with no barrel-square and scary. The shock delivered through two electrodes at the end of it when he squeezed the trigger was guaranteed to incapacitate any human. If Stacey stepped out of line, he wanted to be able to act without leaving any serious marks on her perfect skin.
He moved to the locked room near the front of the house, checked to make sure his shirt covered the stun gun, smoothed his thinning hair, and taking a deep breath before using the single key to unlock the door, he entered. She was awake, but as usual didn’t say anything when he first appeared.
He smiled, reassuring her that nothing would happen to her. At least nothing right now. After a few seconds he bent down to unlock first her feet, then the handcuffs holding her in place.
He said, “Thought you might like to walk around and maybe use the toilet by yourself.”
She didn’t say a word as she slowly sat up in bed, letting the blood flow stabilize, shaking her hands and wiggling her feet. He reached down to help her to her feet after more than a minute of sitting. She accepted and stood unsteadily for another minute, massaging her arms, then her legs. She stood straight, not hiding her nakedness. A defiance and elegance that he’d note on his report later.
She slowly stepped toward the toilet, leaned down like she was stretching, then, without preamble, turned with the hard plastic toilet in her hands, swinging the boxy solid commode, striking him in the head so hard he fell off his feet, slid across the terrazzo floor, and started to lose consciousness.
Tony Mazzetti’s chest felt tight as he gasped for air. It might be a coronary, lashed through his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to croak in the Land That Time Forgot, leaving the beautiful Patty Levine still believing he was gay.
He shook his head and could only repeat, “Not”-gasp, “Not”-gasp. “I’m not,” This time he sucked in more air.
Patty squatted next to him with her small hand on his back. She leaned in to see his eyes and said, “Tony, I’m calling fire/rescue.”
He shook his head violently and used what strength he had left to grasp her ankle as she stood up to rush to the phone. She paused at his grip and he gulped down some more air to finally spit out, “I’m not gay.” He collapsed onto the thin carpet. Now that he had said it he was ready to die. At least that weight had been lifted off him. As he thought it, and lay on his back, he suddenly started to feel much better. Air flowed into his lungs, and his head cleared.
