To the Devil, My Regards

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “Oh.” She seemed disappointed.

  “If you’ll look to the horizon, you’ll see the S.S. –uh—Cocker Spaniel, the Coast Guard cutter in charge of the capture.”

  She pushed her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and strained her gaze out into the Gulf. “I don’t see it.”

  “Look harder. Here. Let me hold your drink.” I took a sip, rum punch. Thank you, God. I took a gulp.

  “I still don’t see it.”

  “Way way out there. Just a little dot on the horizon.”

  “Oh! Yes, I think I see it now.”

  Really?

  Sheldon stuck his head out of the pilothouse. “You want full speed?”

  “Give it all you got.”

  He showed me the thumbs-up. “Aye aye.”

  “Is that another Coast Guard boat?” Gina pointed behind us, and I turned to see.

  The dot following us was much easier to see than the make-believe cutter in the distance. It grew with alarming speed until I could tell it was a single figure in an open boat with a big outboard.

  “Do you have any binoculars?”

  “I think below deck.”

  “Get them.”

  She was back in a flash, and I focused them on the approaching boat. Just like I thought. It was Nose Ring. He must’ve done a little boat commandeering himself.

  Persistent motherfucker.

  “I’ve got bad news, Gina. That’s not a Coat Guard boat. It’s one of the drug smugglers.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Fucking right, oh, dear.” I was still holding her drink, so I finished it and threw the glass over the side. “We’re going to have to repel borders. Are you up for it?”

  “Hell yes!” She was way too happy at the prospect.

  “You don’t happen to have a gun aboard?”

  “Don’t you carry one?”

  “It’s being cleaned.”

  “Let me take a look.” She vanished below deck again.

  “What the hell’s happening out there?” Sheldon said.

  “Can you make this tub go faster?” I yelled back at him.

  “It’s wide open already.”

  Gina returned and handed me a big orange pistol with a barrel the size of a toilet paper tube. I looked at it without confidence. “This is a flare gun.”

  “It’s all we have.”

  I braced a foot on the gunwale. I had no idea how to aim the thing, so I held my breath and let him come. He was close enough to see his anger now, fists tight on the wheel, the big outboard foaming wake behind him. I aimed the flare gun right between his dark hard eyes and squeezed the trigger.

  The gun bucked in my hands, and the hot red ball rocketed over his head and landed in the stern of his boat. He looked at it as it caught flame, and the boat burned. He dove just as the explosion sent a wave of hot air over me and Gina. I held up my arm to fend off the blast, shut my eyes against the heat. The flare must’ve landed on the gas tank.

  When I looked back, a layer of splintered debris covered the patch of ocean where the boat had been. Nose Ring dog paddled in a little circle.

  “Sheldon!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Pull the boat around for a pick-up.”

  “A pick-up of what?”

  “We got a prisoner.”

  Sheldon throttled down and made a slow circle. We pulled alongside Nose Ring and I leaned over the side with a boat hook in my hands. Nose ring’s hair was singed in the back.

  Sheldon and Gina leaned over the side with me to get a look at our prize. They both had drinks. Sheldon had lit a cigar the size of a giant redwood.

  “That’s a drug smuggler?” asked Gina.

  “I’m no smuggler, you fucks.” Nose Ring’s comment was a little forced. He was almost out of breath, not a strong swimmer.

  “That’s what they all say,” said Sheldon.

  “I could pull you out of the drink and onto our nice comfortable boat,” I said. “But I’m going to need a little cooperation.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have some questions about Pfieffer.”

  “He’d kill me.”

  “You’d have to make it back to dry land before he could kill you.”

  He looked at the shore. We were maybe two miles out. Maybe three. He looked back at me. “Okay. Pull me up.”

  NINE

  After I pulled Nose Ring on board, I told Sheldon and Gina that we had confidential business to discuss, and they should wait below deck until we had finished. Once they were gone, I tied Nose Ring’s hands and ankles with nylon cords and beat his face until he spit out two teeth. The threat is nothing without the will to enforce it, and I had to show him up-front that the only valuable things he possessed, as far as I was concerned, were the answers to my questions.

  I let him sit up, and he tried to stick the teeth back into their holes. No luck. I had tied the cord too tight for him to reach his mouth.

  “Pfieffer told you to kill Rachel, didn’t he?” I said.

  His eyes shook. Maybe it was the sun, the water, but I swear they shook. He hadn’t expected the question. “Never. Honest, it never came up. Neither of us dreamed of hurting a kid. Are you nuts? We’re lightweights.”

  “What the hell was that back there with Nania, then? You didn’t mind beating the living shit out of her.”

  “You don’t get it, man. She’s nothing. She’s a cold hard whore. Pfieffer told me that one night, just after he came on her stomach, she started kneeing his groin, like seven or eight times. He told her to stop, thinking she was into S&M and got the signals confused. But she was pissed over this stuff on her stomach. She told him, ‘I’m not your damn bathroom floor. I’m not your dirty towel.’ She made him lick it off. Next day, his sac was swollen so bad, he had to go to the emergency room. She wouldn’t drive him, he had to take himself.”

  That made me want to smile. But it also opened a whole new can of beans.

  “Why did he think she was cheating?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “A good hunch.”

  Drool mixed with blood seeped from his mouth. He bent his head forward, wiped it as best he could on his shirt. I looked at the cabin door and saw Gina’s eyes watching us, then disappearing fast. A great story for the friends back home.

  Nose Ring said, “Why’d you tell Pfieffer no one else was screwing Nania? You could’ve just tossed him a name.”

  I kicked his kneecap. He wanted to grab it so bad, he almost lost balance and went over the side. I grabbed his shirt.

  He said, “Can you please stop pounding me?”

  “I ask the questions here, you pierced freak. And I’m not clever about it. I either beat you until you give, or beat you until you die. I don’t care.”

  Nose Ring had this look on his face like he didn’t believe me. Maybe he’d seen all the PI TV shows, the ones where the PI had a heart of gold and never carried through with unnecessary violence. The bad guys always ended up in the hands of the cops, unless one had drawn a gun, in which case the PI or his sidekick fired first and sighed over the baddie’s body.

  I said, “Did Pfieffer ever find out who this other man in her life was?”

  “Sure did. And I think he was happy to find out, just to have an excuse to leave her. I’ll bet if you go back to the parking lot right now, she’s sitting on someone’s truck smoking a cigarette while Pfieffer is writhing on the ground. Without me, he’s spineless.”

  “What a small fucking spine.”

  “Hey!”

  I slapped his face hard, stung my hand like a mutant bee. He screamed.

  “Help! He’s crazy,” Nose Ring said, trying to stand but ended up crouched and hopping instead. “Please, whatever he told you is wrong.”

  I turned to see Sheldon’s wide eyes peeping out. I wagged my finger at him. His eyes nodded and he turned away. A good little Republican. My attention went back to Nose Ring, who had fallen face-first. I picked him up by the back of his shirt.

  “What’s
stronger, your legs or your arms?” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Pick your best feature.”

  “Legs, then. I’ve got good legs.”

  I clicked my tongue a few times. “Wrong choice.”

  I unwrapped the cord from his ankles. He kicked his free legs, but I had control of him. I pushed him towards the back of the boat, and he saw where this was going.

  “You can’t do this! It’s so wrong.”

  I said, “You picked this profession yourself, didn’t you? You could’ve gone to college and been a pharmacist.”

  “It’s murder.”

  “No, it’s survival. You’re still alive, and if you do this right, you can keep on living. Now, kick hard and let the waves carry you.”

  I pushed him overboard, the scream coming to a sudden stop when the splash sounded. He bobbed up to the top and took in gasping breaths that sounded like seal calls. I propped a foot on the side and rested my forearms on my knee, rooting for the guy. My mood had suddenly gone from euphoric to horrified. I couldn’t believe what I had just done to another human being. I watched this kid kick around in circles, bobbing, gasping, disappearing for longer and longer moments. He was someone who probably would’ve slinked along for a few more years, not really seriously hurting anyone, until he ended up in jail on some lame charge, got himself raped and killed as an initiation. That was the natural order of things, the way the universe takes care of scum. But why I had to take it into my own hands at that moment, just because I was angry and tired of punks like him, I can’t explain.

  Nose Ring disappeared beneath the water and didn’t come up. I searched the deep green waters, murky but visible down to maybe three or four feet, hoping he would appear, and I thought You see him again, you go in after him. You have to. That’s the right thing to do. And I was ready, waiting, searching, praying he would bob to the surface and take another deep breath.

  But he didn’t. Five minutes turned to ten. Hope became guilt. I turned and tapped on the cabin door. Sheldon and Gina eased it open and peeked out, probably more afraid of me now than they had been at first, now that the excitement was right in front of them and not on TV. Not Cops or World’s Deadliest Serial Killer Live on Video.

  Sheldon peered around the deck, wanting to ask.

  I told him, “He tried to escape, fell overboard. But he couldn’t get his hands free.”

  “You think we should go look for him?”

  I shook my head. “There are a million guys like him in the world. Let’s just be glad we lost one more person that would get your kids hooked on the bad shit, okay?”

  He nodded and sighed, put his hand on my shoulder. I don’t think he really believed me, but he understood. Gina bit her bottom lip, turned and went back below deck, closed the door. All my fault. I had broken through the insulation between them and the real world.

  “Please, take us back in,” I told Sheldon.

  He manned the controls and started up. We whisked along leaving a deep wake. I sat in a swivel chair, letting the wind whip through my hair and growl in my ear as I watched the water turn white, part, meld back together farther behind. Fascinating. I also thought about what I had just done. And I understood what it must’ve been like for Cain after he just killed his brother Abel. Nowhere to hide from the truth of it. Not like shooting the guy in my apartment, and not like inflicting pain. Nose Ring had it right. It was murder.

  And that reminded me of why I had pushed him over in the first place. He had given me what I needed to help put together the pieces. I knew then who killed Rachel and why. Small condolence.

  *

  Nania waited for me on the pier. I saw her from quite a distance, the smoke swirling from her fingers, her mouth. As we got closer, she didn’t smile or move, but just stood with arms crossed, an expression of broken resolve chiseled onto her face. Her shirt was smudged black.

  Sheldon and Gina dropped me off and left without another word. Nania reached out for a hug, and I took her lightly in my arms, patted her back.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  “Bruised, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Where’s Pfieffer?”

  She closed her eyes and took a long drag at the cigarette. Then, “He’s gone. Someone in the parking lot must have called the police. He tried to run, but they caught him. He’s still in custody, I hope.”

  “Did the police talk to you?”

  A fast, dizzy head shake. “I hid. I came back to look for you.”

  I took her hand and started back up the pier. I wasn’t sure if we should still do a little more searching or march right into the Mobile police station and tell Nelson and Forrest what I knew. The part of me that felt dirty whispered that no matter what I said, all this with Nose Ring would blow up in my face. Gina and Sheldon would see it in the paper, feel terrible, and call in. The cops would have a photo of me ready for them to ID. The story would match Pfieffer’s. I’d finally in up in jail for a murder I really did commit. Amazing how fate can work against us sometimes. We like the think we’re the center of the Solar System, everything revolving around. More likely, we’re the center of the vortex when we flush the toilet.

  We were cautious as we made our way back to the parking lot. A couple of police cruisers sat outside the condo, empty, so they must be checking all the rooms inside. We made it to the Mitsubishi, pulled out of the lot and turned towards Mobile. I had a good half-hour to figure out the next move.

  Nania reclined her seat, put her hands together and balled them under her chin, turned towards me. “I’m scared.”

  I turned on the radio, found classical music. It always worked to soothe rattled nerves, even if you didn’t pay attention to it. Like math, it kept your mind busy.

  “Did you hear me? I said I’m scared.”

  I looked down at her, our eyes meeting. “Don’t be.”

  “What next?”

  Off the top of my head, I said, “I need to speak to your husband.”

  TEN

  We’d driven from the coast in silence and were only two minutes from Robert Woolf’s apartment when Nania said, “Let’s skip this for now. We’ve both had a rough time of it. We can go back to my place and rest.” She prodded at the purpling bruise on her face with delicate fingers and winced. “I’m not up for anymore adventures today.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  She fumbled another cigarette out of the pack, poked it between her lips and pushed in the SUV’s lighter. “Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “Man talk.”

  “Hilarious.” The lighter popped, and she pulled it out, brought her cigarette to life with nervous puffs. “You think he killed her, don’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Answer me, damn it!” That savage frustrated look clenched her face, an animal look that made me think she would do anything. “You think Robert killed my daughter.”

  “She was his daughter too.”

  “Stop avoiding the question.”

  I forced a weak smile, winked at her. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  She mashed what was left of the cigarette out in the ashtray, dismissed me with a wave, exhaled long and tired, the smoke floating lazy and hot through the SUV cab. “Fine. You’re the detective.”

  “I’m the detective,” I agreed.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m going in to talk to him with you,” she said. “We aren’t exactly getting along right now.”

  No Shit.

  I was lucky enough to find a place right in front of Woolf’s building. Not quite tall enough to be a skyscraper. Not quite nice enough to be swank.

  I left the engine running so Nania could benefit from the radio and air conditioning.

  I threw open the vehicle’s door, stepped one foot out, but turned back to Nania. Something was bugging me, and I wanted it cleared up. “Why in hell would your husband want to kill his own daughter?”

  “Don’t you know? She never talked about it?” Her ey
es grew wide with disbelief. “Some detective.”

  I reeled my foot back in, closed the door. I switched off the radio and looked hard at Nania. “Tell me a story.”

  *

  I rode the elevator to the fourth floor and found apartment 402. An ear up against the door didn’t give me any kind of hint about what I might find on the other side, so I took a deep breath and knocked.

  The door creaked open, and Robert Woolf stood there in a Nike t-shirt, jeans and socks. His eyes were red, hair a mess, skin slick and sallow. He held a glass of pale liquid in his hand, and I caught a whiff of scotch.

  He saw me, and his eyes blazed. “You!”

  I was ready this time when he lunged for me. I rushed forward, ducking beneath his sloppy punch. My head rammed him in the gut, and the air whuffed out of him. I got my arms around him in a tackle and we sprawled to the floor, me on top, him spilling his drink.

  He was trying to punch up at me, flailing like a woman, obscenities jerking out of him like hiccups. I punched down hard, my fist landing solid on the point of his chin. One more good hit on the side of his head and he went slack under me, arms falling to his sides like cold meat. He moaned, not quite out but definitely down.

  I got off him, shut the door to his apartment.

  He’d fixed himself up a little bar on a wooden stand under the mirror in the front hallway: Beefeater’s, Johnny Walker, glasses, an ice bucket, etc. I latched onto a bottle of Captain Morgan’s, dropped a few rocks into a tumbler and filled it. I swished the ice around a little before taking two big gulps. Heaven.

  I drifted to the window and looked down. From Woolf’s apartment I could see the SUV parked on the street below.

  Woolf hoisted himself up on his elbows, up to a sitting position. He rubbed his chin.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I came here to talk, not have you take a poke at me again.”

  “Fuck you, DelPresto.”

  “Your wife just told me a very interesting story.”

  “Fuck her too.”

  “Seems like Rachel had almost as much contempt for you as her mother.” I finished the rum and poured another, mentally vowing to take this one a little slower. “You hardly ever hear of children suing their parents for divorce. Actually, I thought it only happened in after school specials, but I guess you’d have to pay the kid alimony, huh? Just like a wife.”