"But you said no."
"That's right, and you know it. I don't work with drugs, not at all. Too many crazy people out there."
"But you know Nick, and he seems to be right out there in craziness world. You mean to say you didn't know he liked to beat up women, liked a little rape action?"
He shook his head. "Didn't know and didn't care."
"Find that hard to believe, a man with your talents."
I think he was tempted to smile but didn't succumb to temptation. "Nick and I don't live in the same worlds. He's petty little crap jobs, like burglaries and smuggling, stuff I don't care about. He came to me with a straight job and I turned him down. End of story. If I knew he had done that rape, I would have tracked him down myself and dropped him off at Diane's doorstep. Think of the mileage that would have gotten me."
I took some breaths and my ribs howled at me, and I was tired of it, tired of it all, and I looked at Felix and was surprised to find out my eyes were beginning to fill up.
"I guess I want to believe you, Felix."
His sharp look softened some and he gingerly freed his hands and placed them in his lap. "Look, I can take care of everything, right now, and prove I didn't know anything about what he did. You give me the word and I'll take him out back and he'll have a drowning accident, and it's taken care of. Do you want that?"
I was really hurting now, hurting something awful, and my ribs and jaw and wrist were all playing a concert of throbbing pain, of an agony I had never felt before, and with my hand on my revolver, I pushed it over the counter to him and sat back.
"No, he doesn't belong to us," I said. "He belongs to Diane."
A while later I was on his couch, sipping an Irish coffee, feeling the gentle numbness of painkillers work their magic across my bruised and battered body. Felix had cranked up the thermostat and the room was toasty warm, for I was only wearing a pair of loose shorts. Felix had taken a black jump bag out of his closet and had gone to work, wiping down my wounds, washing away the grime, and laying on a few butterfly bandages. He worked quickly and efficiently, and through all his gruff and bluster, his touch was gentle and sure.
The coffee was hot and stung a bit, but I did all right. "You'd make a great nurse, if only your bedside manner improved."
He finished taping a bit of gauze on my right side. "There's nothing wrong with my manners concerning the bedroom, and you should know that."
"Thankfully, I don't."
He laughed and gathered up his supplies and I said, "You do good work, Felix."
"Thanks," he said. "Nothing school-taught. Just fieldwork, all out of necessity. Sometimes... well, sometimes you get into a situation where either you or a buddy can't go to the local emergency room. So you do your own work, and you learn pretty quickly."
"You missed your calling."
"No, I didn't." He stood up and grabbed the bag, then looked down at me and said, "I think you're going to have a new scar or two by the time you heal."
"I think I'll get over it."
He rubbed at his chin. "You ever going to tell me where you got those old scars, back when you were at the Pentagon?"
The Irish coffee tasted wonderful, making everything warm "No, I won't."
"I figured." Then he bent over and put his hand to my cheek for a moment. "You just watch yourself. The ladies don't mind a scar or two, it gets them tingly, but anything more and they'll think you’re a freak."
Then he moved his hand back and I said, "Thanks for the advice," but by then, a tad self-conscious, he had walked back to his bedroom.
Another ten minutes later and I was feeling even better, a blanket across my lap, and Felix joined me in the living room with his own Irish coffee and said, "All right, what is to be done?"
"With our guest downstairs?"
"Among other things," Felix said. 'Why did you bring him here?"
"I went to Diane's place, but she wasn't home. I didn't feel like waiting in a parking lot with Nick trussed up in the back seal, and I didn't want to take him to my place, so your place went rig'" to the top of the list."
"Thanks, I think."
"Well, I figured you were still in the Caymans, and wouldn't mind me using the place for a while."
He leaned forward, coffee cup in his hands. "When we first started on this little adventure, you weren't too sure what we'd do if we found the bad guy. You wanted to protect Diane and her career, and you said when we got to this point, then you'd figure something out. I think you're figuring on giving him over to Diane, right?"
"Yeah."
"What changed your mind?"
The wind outside had risen some, and I was glad to be under the blanket and drinking the hot coffee and whiskey. I burrowed under the blanket a bit more.
"Not my decision," I said. "It's Diane's. She wanted this guy, and as her friend, I made a promise to her to do just that. I can't make her decisions about her career. That's her job. She wanted the rapist of her lover and best friend delivered to her for punishment, and that's what I'm giving her."
I glanced down at the empty coffee cup. "Kara will probably end up hating me, once Diane finds out what her brother did. That might break up the two of them, and then Diane will end up hating me, too." I looked up at Felix. "But I made a promise. That's what I'm going to do."
Felix nodded. "Promises can be pretty heavy."
"Yeah, well, this one is about ready to break my shoulders," and I started yawning, and my mouth was fuzzy with all the painkillers and coffee and whiskey I had imbibed.
Felix got up and took my cup from my not-so-strong fingers and said, "Why don't you stretch out there and go to sleep? It's late and you've had a hellish day."
"So I have," I said, moving around some. "And what about your cellar guest?"
"I'll bring down some blankets and make him comfortable, but he better hope he enjoys sleeping on concrete," Felix said from the kitchen.
I laid back and closed my eyes. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere…"
"He won't," Felix said.
I closed my eyes and heard some footsteps downstairs, and the mutter of voices, and then felt a blanket being tossed about me.
I woke up, wincing from the pain and stiffness. Felix was in the kitchen cooking something up, and said, "You look like crap."
"And good morning to you."
"And you look like you need a shower and a meal, so why don't you get to it?"
So I did. I slowly made my way to the bathroom, grimacing from the little tugs and whispers in my body. I showered slowly and carefully, looking at the ugly black-and-blue marks along my ribs and legs, and at the bandages. Felix had left out a new toothbrush for me, but even brushing my teeth hurt. I looked at myself in the mirror, saw the haunted look in my eyes, and then I looked away.
When I got out of the bathroom some clothes were folded on the floor before me. I got dressed, went back down to the kitchen, and gingerly ate breakfast with Felix, letting the scrambled eggs and toast go down slowly. My jaw ached and my tongue was swollen.
We talked a bit about politics and when the weather would finally warm up, and when Felix had finished washing the dishes he tossed a towel over his shoulder and said, "We need to talk about our downstairs guest."
"Not much to talk about," I said. "We make a call to Diane and set up a time and place, and his ass belongs to her."
He frowned and took the towel off his shoulder, then started rubbing his hands.
"You might want to talk to Nick," he said, looking a bit troubled.
The breakfast didn't seem to be settling so well. "Why's that?" "He's got something to say, that's all. Something you might want to think through before you start calling Diane."
I didn't like what was going on. "Are we playing word and sentence games here, or can you tell me what's up?"
He wiped down the counter for the third time. "Let's go downstairs, and then we'll talk."
"Fine."
Felix led the way down to the cellar, and Nick looked up at
us, his face sharp and tight and deeply stubbled. I could see where Felix had rearranged the chains and locks, so that his arms were in front, allowing him to sleep. A pillow and a couple of blankets were by his side. Felix grabbed two camp stools and we sat across from Nick. Felix looked over at me and said, "Are you ready?"
"Yeah."
Felix looked over to Nick. "Go ahead."
Nick licked his lips. "It's a good deal, Felix, and you know it. "
He shook his head. "I'm not the man you have to convince. It's going to be Lewis, and I wish you luck, because he's definitely not putting you on his Christmas card list this year."
Nick looked up at me, and even with his chains and ropes about him, I had a twinge of fear and concern, that he could get loose, could hurt me again, and I clenched my fists and took a couple of deep breaths, and I said, "What do you want to say?"
“It's like this," he started. "This whole mess, this whole thing is over that dyke in Newburyport, right?"
I didn't feel like arguing with him or debating his choice of words, so I just nodded. "Go on."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Man, if I knew what trouble that would bring me, I would've stayed home and whacked off."
"Spare me," I said.
Nick went on. "It's like this, man. All my life, I've always scratched and worked for somebody else, no matter what jobs were being pulled. Last year, I started going independent, and then this past month I got something set up, something that would really set me for life. That's straight stuff, right, Felix?"
"Real straight," Felix said.
Nick nodded rapidly, as if pleased at Felix's agreement.
"Right, right. All set up, and I did it myself. Met up with a guy that needed a distribution center. There's too much heat up in Portland and down in Boston. So I worked the docks in Newburyport and got a couple of stand-up guys ready to do the work and some fishermen who need money to hold on to their boats, and everything is set, ready to begin next month."
I folded my arms. "Think there's going to be a conflict here, Nick, because I'm not sure where you're going to be next week."
"I know, I know," he said, looking at Felix and then looking at me. "Hey, I know about that broad in Newburyport, she's got a friend, and that friend's a cop in Tyler. I guess you're going to turn me over to her, right?"
"Not a bad guess," I said. "You've got a problem with that?"
An enthusiastic nod. "You're damn right! I've worked too hard to get sent up for rape and-"
"You've got a bigger problem than that," I interrupted with as cold a tone as I could. "That police detective is taking the whole matter personally. She's not inclined to use the criminal justice system this time. I think the justice system she's looking at is more frontiers like. Get the idea? I don't think you'll have to worry about jail time. I think you have to worry about something a bit more basic."
More looks toward me and Felix. "Listen, I've got a deal here, a deal you can work with. Man, I am so close to being set up for life, I can't let this screw me up."
I looked over at Felix and said, "I don't care what he has to offer. I'm going upstairs to call Diane."
I turned and started for the stairs when Nick yelled out, ''The firebug!"
His words seemed to hit me at the shoulder blades and settle right into the base of my skull. I stopped and looked at the eagerness in his face. "What did you say?"
"The firebug, the arsonist, the guy that's been burning down Tyler Beach," Nick went on, his words tripping over each other. "I know who he is. You let me go, and I give up the guy. That's the deal."
I was now back in front of him, everything in the cellar seeming too sharp and too noisy. "Go on," I said. "Has he been burning down places for you, is that it? Is that how you know him?"
Nick moved away a bit. "No, no, not like that. Look, the guy's got a friend who works with me sometimes. Word gets spread around and the invitation ends up with me. The guy wants to know if I need some business-burning done, claims he's got the experience from everything he's been doing at Tyler Beach. I'm not really interested, not with what I got going on, but I got the name. You let me walk and you never tell that detective broad what I've done, and you get the name."
I looked over at Felix, my insides trembling. How in God's name had this happened?
"You and I need to talk," I said to Felix, and we went back upstairs. In the kitchen I got right to the point: "Can he be trusted?"
Felix shrugged, his tone somber. "On most things, no, I wouldn't trust him. But this isn't most things. Nick is ready to give you something you've been looking for a very long time. We could work something out, let him know that if he's dicking with us, we'll come back to his home and finish up our business. But I think the offer is for real. He's got a lot riding on his smuggling adventure opening up on time."
"So we cut him a deal?"
Another shrug. "Or we go along and still turn the little bastard in. Your choice."
Something tasted sour in my mouth. "That's not the way I do business. If we do get the name, we'll do it straight."
"Then you want to go ahead?"
My insides were still jumbling around, like they were busily rearranging themselves, the organs and tendons fastening and unfastening. "I don't know," I said, conscious my voice was sounding bleak. "I don't know what to say to Diane."
"Don't look to me," Felix said. "I'm afraid it's all yours."
"I know, I know," I said, and I remembered last week and the photo contact sheets I saw, and something opened up to me. "Well, let's go back downstairs. I have an idea how to find out just how truthful Nick is."
Back in the cellar Nick looked up at us again, a questioning sense of hope about his face, and I said, "This arsonist. You know his name?"
"I do."
"And if we agree to go along, will you help set up a sting? Get him to agree to bum a property here on Tyler, so we can catch him in the act?"
He started smiling, the smile of a confident victory. "Yeah, I can do that. Real easy."
"Fine," I said. "One more thing. Is this gentleman the arsonist?”
I mentioned a name. Felix seemed to take a deep breath.
Nick's eyes widened for a moment. "You know," he said, his voice softer. "You know who he is."
"No," I said, feeling old and tired and hurtful. "I just suspected. You just confirmed it."
I turned to Felix, who looked like he was in shock himself "We need to talk again," I said. "And longer, this time."
Two days later, after some rest, relaxation, and serious planning I gave Paula Quinn a call. After the usual polite chitchat, I said, "Your friend Jerry. Could you set up something with the two of us?"
Paula laughed. "What, a meeting? A lunch date?"
"A technical session," I said. "I need some photographic advice, and I was hoping you'd be able to smooth the way. What I know about cameras comes from those little sheets of paper they slip in each roll of film. I'm going to need some heavy-duty advice."
Paula laughed again. "This sounds quite spooky, Lewis. You plan to take some pictures in a high school cheerleader shower area?"
"Now, that's an idea."
She got another fit of the giggles, and after placing me on hold for a minute or so, she came back on the line. "Jerry can see you today at three, if it's convenient."
"Three's just fine," I said.
"So, tell me, what's up? You've got any more great ideas on where we go next on the arsons?"
Dear me. "Not now, but give me a couple of days, Paula. I just might at that."
"Fine. Jeez, got a deadline coming up. Let's do lunch next week."
"You've got it."
That afternoon I was in the Chronicle's office, sitting at the meeting room table and with Jerry Croteau across from me. He was wearing tan corduroys and a photographer's mesh vest, and his camera bag was on the far end of the table. Its shoulder strap was frayed and the pockets bulged with lenses and other mysteries of his profession.
"Paula tells
me you're looking for some technical advice," he said, his hands clasped before him. They were thick and chapped --- working with darkroom chemicals can do a number on your complexion.
"That I am," I said, holding a pen over a pad of paper. "Advice on both still and moving photography. I'll be using a thirty five-millimeter and a standard camcorder."
He was still smiling widely. "Well, I can help you a lot with the first, and a little bit with the second. What do you need?"
"Nighttime photography," I said. "I want to take some night photos and be able to identify what's being photographed. But I don't want any flashes or anything to let anybody know that a picture's being taken."
"Hmmm," he said, rubbing at his beard. "What will you be taking photos of'?"
I looked right at him. "Wildlife."
He nodded, as if understanding. "Urn, okay. Wildlife. Fast moving, slow-moving?"
"Oh, relatively slow-moving."
"Um, can I guess here? Will this wildlife be, urn, two legged?"
I nodded. "Very good. Two-legged it is."
"All right, then," Jerry said. "Start taking some notes. For your thirty-five-millimeter, I'd recommend the Kodak I-R Special. It's an infrared film but it's real fast, so you can pick up some good details. Especially if your subject's slow-moving. Will there be some ambient light?"
"A little, but not much," I said, scribbling away,
"Okay, that's good to know. For your camcorder, Sony puts out a special infrared film for scientists and nature specialists. Called NightWorks. You should be able to do just fine."
"Glad to know that," I said, and after a few more minutes of technical talk, I capped my pen and shook his hand, thankful for what he had just done, and still a bit queasy with knowing he and Paula were sharing something special and intimate, something I was not a part of.
"Thanks for your help," I said, really meaning it. "I knew you'd be able to have what I need."
"Sure, no problem," Jerry said, getting up from behind the polished table. ''I'm just curious what you're up to."
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