by Don Reid
“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Tolley said from the doorway of his office. “Do you know that guy’s last name?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never even thought of him having a last name. It’s just been Fritz all my life. Check with Maxine at Stone’s. She should know.”
—simple and obvious. Fritz did what he did out of loyalty to the Stone family. He had been something to H. V. Stone from back in the beginnings of the store. Buddy had never really known their connection and relationship, and it had never been important until now. And even now he wasn’t sure it was important. It was just a case of—
“Lieutenant, I got it. His last name is Corf,” Tolley said.
“Corf?”
“That’s what Maxine said.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“I don’t know. I always heard Stone wasn’t really their name, either. It was Stoneheizer or something like that.”
“Stonebrunner. But that has nothing to do with anything. And neither does Corf. Whoever he is or wherever he’s from, it has nothing to do with what he did.”
—old country loyalty. Looking out for your family. And the Stones were all the family he had. Except for that sister he’d lost track of. And how much could he blame the old man for? He wanted to blame Gary Akerman. He was the one who had set this whole thing up. Innocently, maybe. But that didn’t make him less guilty. It just made him more—
“I’m sorry to bother you again, but Gary Akerman is out here and wants to see you.” Tolley lowered his voice and said, “He looks like he’s about to cry.”
“Send him back.”
The reporter came to the cubicle door with his straw hat in his hand. His face and his voice betrayed his tough-guy veneer. “Buddy, I don’t know what to say. I’m just real sorry, and I’m ashamed of what I did. I even feel bad for Nicoli Drakos, and I never thought I’d say that, ever. I won’t ever do anything like that again, I promise. I hear he’s going to be all right. Is that true?”
“That’s what they say.”
“You know, Buddy, maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of work. I always thought I was but seeing the things I have to see and having to get in people’s faces to draw a story out of ’em … well, I just don’t have the stomach for it. You know what I mean?”
Buddy sat silently at his desk and just shook his head slightly up and down so Gary couldn’t be sure if that meant everything was okay or if Buddy was agreeing with him or dismissing him. Either way, Gary left before the tension got any thicker.
The next interruption came in the form of the phone ringing. The switchboard operator behind the front desk said he had an outside call from Harlan Stone. She connected them.
“Harlan.”
“Buddy, what is going on down there?”
“You’ve heard, I guess.”
“Only that Fritz shot Nicoli Drakos.”
“Then you know as much as I do.”
“Why would Fritz shoot Nicoli?”
“Are you still in the hospital?”
“Yeah. I may be going home tomorrow.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll know more of what to tell you by then.”
“Why Nicoli?”
“It was in the paper this morning that I had him in here for questioning yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Because I think there’s a good chance he was the man who broke through your kitchen door and shot you in the side.”
“Why would you think it was him?”
“Just some deductions I’ve made. Can you tell me for sure it wasn’t him?”
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.”
“Even with that mask on?”
“Buddy, I think you’re chasing the wrong dog.”
“Did you call me to see what happened this morning or to talk me out of pursuing Nicoli Drakos?”
“What do you mean?”
“In case you’re interested, ole Fritz is okay. He’s doing just fine even though you haven’t asked about him yet at all. The man who was willing to commit murder because of you. That’s some pretty strong love, Harlan. And you haven’t even asked about him. You’re just concerned about Nicoli Drakos.”
“I don’t know what’s got into you, Buddy, but I can’t talk to you anymore.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
The dial tone rang in Buddy’s ear.
Chapter Sixty-One
It was 3:00 p.m. before Buddy got the call that Nicoli was out of surgery and able to talk. Buddy wasted no time getting to the hospital and to the designated room. A policeman was stationed outside the doorway, and a crowd of family was by Nicoli’s bed when Buddy walked in. The mother and father, Nick and Christina; the brother and sister-in-law, Christopher and Sofia; and the sister, Korina in her nurse’s uniform. The talk and tears that were being exchanged around the bedside came to a hasty halt when they spotted the cop in the room.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened here. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to need to talk to Nicoli alone,” Buddy said firmly.
“What’s happened here,” Christopher said in a voice much too loud, “is that my brother was nearly killed this morning because you told some newspaper hack he was the man who shot Harlan Stone. That’s what’s happened here.”
“Christopher,” his mother said in a sad, soft voice, “don’t make a scene.”
“I’ll do worse than make a scene. I’ll show this …”
“Christopher,” Nick said in a voice louder than his son’s. “Your mother said don’t make a scene. Now shut up. And let’s leave while this man talks to Nicoli.”
The family filed out, each looking Buddy in the eye as they passed. Buddy waited for them to leave and closed the door. He walked over to the bedside and sat on the closest chair.
“You feel like talking?” Buddy asked.
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to have to anyway. You know why you were shot this morning?”
“No. I was just sitting at my desk, and the door opened. Sandy, our secretary came in, I guess to tell me someone wanted to see me. But she barely got anything out of her mouth till in walked that little creep behind her. I thought he had come to look at a new apartment or something. It never once crossed my mind he was there to do me harm.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Nothing. I said something like, ‘What are you doing here, Fritz?’ You know, just kind of surprised to see him in my office. He’d never been there before. And the next thing I knew he was pulling a gun out from under his vest and he shot me. Twice.”
“What did he do then?”
“Just stood there. Sandy screamed and ran out the door. I started yelling for her to call the cops and call an ambulance. Fritz, he just went over in the corner and sat down on a chair and put the gun back in his vest.”
“Were you conscious through it all?”
“Every hellish minute of it. I wish I had gone out. But there I sat holding my chest with blood running through my fingers. And there sat Fritz, crazy as a loon, just sitting there, looking at me.”
“And you have no idea why he attacked you?”
“He thinks I shot his precious godson. So he’s going to take me out for it.”
“Nicoli, you got shot this morning with a twenty-two. Harlan got shot with a twenty-two. What do you make of that?”
“Coincidence.”
“Reckon that’s the twenty-two you said you lost?”
“I don’t know. If I lost it, how would I know?”
“I can put you at the Stone house Wednesday morning. If I find that gun, I can put you away for a long time. But you play ball with me, and things will go easier.”
“Look, Briggs. I’m hurting here. With every breath, I’m hurting.
I know I’ve made a few mistakes, and I’ve made a mess of things. But I’m going to tell you something, and I ain’t going to lie to you. I didn’t shoot Harlan Stone.”
“Even when I bring you proof of fingerprints you left in his kitchen?”
“That only proves I was there. Not that I shot him. Briggs, I swear on my mother’s heart I didn’t shoot him. I wish I had, but I didn’t. And would you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Would you get a nurse in here and see if they’ll give me another shot of something. I’m hurting here, man. I’m hurting.”
Buddy went directly back to the station. He motioned for Jim Tolley on the front desk to follow him back to his office.
“Jim, I need you to set up something.”
“Name it, sir.”
“I want you to put together a crew and search every ditch, creek, crevice, and trash can between Harlan Stone’s house and Nicoli Drakos’s house. Then search his office and his house.”
“I’ll need warrants.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to get now.”
“What are we looking for?”
“A twenty-two–caliber pistol. He ditched it somewhere.”
“Could it be the one that ole Fritz used on him this morning?”
“Not a chance. But speaking of Fritz, have someone bring him up. I have two questions I need to ask him. They’re usually grateful and more talkative when they get out of the cell for a few minutes.”
“Do you really think anything is going to loosen him up, Lieutenant?”
Chapter Sixty-Two
“Hello.”
“Vic?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
“I’m alone.”
“I need to see you.”
“You know I’m always here.”
“If I come down the back alley, can I come in the back door?”
“There’s nobody here but me. We just locked up, and everybody’s gone home.”
“I’ll see you in a minute.”
Vic walked to the back door that led out into the alleyway behind the restaurant. He slid the bolt and turned the lights off in the kitchen. The only light in the entire establishment was a sliver coming from the open door of his office and the tinted streams reflected in the floor tile from the neon sign out front. It gave an eerie and yet somehow warm glow to the place. You could see faces once your eyes adjusted to the dim light, but no one could see in from the outside. Vic knew this from experience. This wasn’t the first time he had received an after-hours call.
In a few short moments the door pushed forward, and Christina Drakos came in and quickly shut it behind her. He took her hand, and they went to a darkened booth, where he poured them each a glass of wine.
“I guess you know about Nicoli,” she said quietly.
“I know he’s been shot and is in the hospital. How is he?”
“In pain. And that just breaks my heart.”
“I know it does. I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is, Victor. There is something you can do this time.”
“What?”
“You can call off the police. They have hounded the boy until they got him shot, and now they still won’t let him alone. Buddy Briggs was in his room today questioning him while he was lying there in so much pain he could barely see straight.”
“But what do you think I can do?”
“If there is any one person in this town who has influence over Buddy Briggs, it’s you. If you tell him to lay off and leave the boy alone, he’ll do it. He’ll do it for you.”
“I don’t think you know him very well, Christina. If he thinks he’s doing the right thing, nothing will get in his way. And he’s not going to be guided by the wishes of an old man trying to please his lover.”
“Does he know?”
“No. None of them know.”
“Do something, Victor. You owe me that.”
“I owe you, Christina? You, who turned your back on me when we were in high school? You, who got married while I was away on tour? You, who wouldn’t leave your husband because of some crazy loyalty even you don’t understand? Don’t tell me what I owe you, sweetie. I’d give you anything I have. Always would. Always will.”
“Then try this time, please. Nicoli is innocent, and if only they will leave him alone, I think he can get his life back on the right track.”
“Do you really think that? Or can you not just bring yourself to admit the boy just may not be any good? His environment has made him what he is. Face it, Christina. The boy’s no good. It’s not your fault. It just happened. He’s no good.”
“No, Victor. You don’t believe that. Please do something. For the love of God, Victor, he’s our son. Do something for him.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Bailey, the jailer, stepped in front of Buddy’s open doorway.
“I’ve got him. Where do you want him?” Bailey asked.
“In here.”
Bailey led Fritz to the straight chair in front of Buddy’s desk. The little man sat down, keeping his gaze on the floor.
“Uncuff him,” Buddy ordered.
“Are you sure?” Bailey asked.
“I’m sure. Uncuff him.”
Bailey did as he was told and put the handcuffs and the key in his pocket. “You want me to wait on him?”
“No. I’ll call you when I’m through.”
And Fritz Corf and Buddy Briggs were alone in the small office.
“I didn’t know your last name until today, Fritz. I apologize for that. All these years. I should have known that. We’ve never talked much, have we?”
Fritz kept his stare to the floor, occasionally rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had chafed against his skin. Buddy got up and walked around the desk and into the hall. He stopped the first uniformed policeman he saw.
“Do you smoke?”
“Sure. You want one?” the officer asked.
“No. I want the whole pack.”
“What?”
“Just give me the whole pack. And give me some matches.”
The patrolman reluctantly handed over a nearly full pack of Camels to his superior officer without another word, and Buddy went back to his office. He handed the cigarettes and matches to Fritz and then sat back down at his desk.
“I have two questions to ask you, and then I’ll leave you alone. But I’ll tell you before we start—I need you to talk to me. If you want me to help you, I need you to give me information. Do you understand?”
Fritz’s only answer was two streams of smoke through his nose.
“When you shot Nicoli Drakos this morning, why didn’t you kill him? That’s what you went there for, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“You went there with a gun and you shot him twice in the chest, but you never meant to kill him?”
“No.”
“What did you mean to do?”
“Just what I did. Watch him suffer.”
“That’s it? That’s all?”
“That’s what he did to the boy. I wanted him to have the same.”
“And if he had killed Harlan?”
“I would have killed him.”
Buddy leaned back in his chair and studied the complex human being sitting across from him. There was either so much more or so much less to this man than he could fathom. It was hard to know where to come at him with each new question. Strategy was lost on him. And intimidation was impossible.
“Then I have one more question,” Buddy said. “Where did you get the gun?”
“Why?”
“Because I have to know that.”
“You know I sh
ot the man. Why does gun matter?”
“I’m just asking for one more answer, Fritz. Don’t play with me. Where did you get the gun?”
“Not mine.”
“Then whose is it?”
“H. V.’s.”
“H. V. gave you the gun twenty years ago?”
“No. He never gave it to me. It’s his gun. Always kept one in the store. In a box under my table in the back. In case of robbery, I could get it quick. It was his gun. Still is.”
“H. V. trusted you a lot, didn’t he?”
“And I him.”
“Do you trust Harlan?”
“He’s good boy.”
“He’s in a lot of trouble. Did you know that?”
Fritz drew his mouth down, showing his disapproval at Buddy’s judgment of Harlan.
“Did you know the store is in a lot of financial trouble, Fritz?”
“Not my business.”
“You might be out of a job soon. Do you know all about that?”
“More than you do.”
“Then tell me all about it. I think the trouble Harlan is in is related to why he was shot. If you know something I don’t, it will help me prove who shot him and why. Do you know who shot him?”
“Drakos.”
“Do you know why?”
Fritz stiffened again, and his frown gave him a dangerous and determined look.
“Fritz, is Harlan gambling at the Thursday night games with the Drakos boys and their crowd?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“The boy never gambles.”
“You mean he is not in debt to the Drakos family?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Talk to me, Fritz. What are you trying to tell me?”
“Store is in much trouble. No money to pay the bills. The boy gives all he can earn to the Drakos.”
