Striking Out (20 page)

I dropped the burning paper, then quickly put the wallet back into its hiding place and replaced the videos. I stuck the credit card into my bra.

Suddenly, the lights flashed on. By the time my eyes had adjusted, the door was open. Blinking, I recognized the man I’d seen in the alley with Maggie, the man called Hoss.

Up close, he was surprisingly small. Slim and dark-haired, he was handsome in a wolfish way. He’d shaved off his handlebar since I’d seen him last, but still had the sideburns. His eyes were glazed, and he smelled like an all-night party.

I glared at him, determined to hide my fear.

“Where’s your hat, Hoss? Leave it back at the corral?”

“Without the hat, I’m not Hoss,” he said. “Anyone looking for Hoss don’t find me.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me through the door. Ed stood at the foot of the stairs, impassively.

“Sorry about this, miss,” he said. “He don’t mean you no harm.”

He turned to Hoss.

“Do what you got to do and get out,” he said. “I don’t want no trouble.”

Then he walked up the stairs.

“No trouble,” Hoss said. “No harm. Sit down.”

I went to the chair I’d been sitting in having coffee—I looked at my watch—almost two hours before. I sat down and picked up my lighter. Absently, I opened my cigarettes and pulled one out. I managed to light it without shaking.

Surely Andy would be worried by now. Maybe he would call Walt Stimac. Maybe they’d retrace my steps to the corner store. Maybe they’d ask some questions along the way. Maybe he was still nursing his hangover and didn’t even know I was gone.

Hoss stood by the sink, swaying slightly. Watching me, he reached over to the coffee-maker and picked up the pot. Then he took a cup from the dish drainer and stumbled to the table.

“Man, I need a wake-me-up,” he said. “Want some?”

I shook my head.

He sat down opposite me and poured a cup. He pulled a big hunting knife out of the pocket of his jeans jacket and put it on the table.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“Don’t you know?”

“Tell me about the men who were looking for Maggie.”

“You told them where to find her. You turned her in.”

“He told me he had money for her.”

“Who? The detective?”

“No. The dead guy. But when we got there, she was gone, and he wouldn’t pay me.”

“I can’t believe you would betray Maggie for money.”

“No, you don’t understand. I had a plan, see. I was going to get the money first, then help Maggie get away and give her half. She’s my friend.”

He gulped some coffee and grimaced.

“I fucked it up good.”

I didn’t bother to agree with him.

“There was so much money, enough for both of us. But then he wouldn’t give it to me.”

“Let’s go back a minute. You answered that ad in
NOW
, right?”

He nodded.

“Then you met the private detective, Mr. Keenan, right?”

Another nod.

“You showed him where Maggie was.”

“Yeah.”

“And he gave you some money. What was it? Five hundred dollars?”

“The other guy was supposed to give me the rest when he and Maggie got together.”

“Then what?”

“Then Maggie split.”

“Did she know you’d turned her in?”

“No.”

“After she split, what happened?”

“Couple days later, this other guy calls.”

“This was Mr. Carlson, who ended up dead.”

“I didn’t do it,” he shouted.

“Calm down, Hoss. I’m just trying to get everything straight. Did you meet Mr. Carlson?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“At a hotel. He treated me real nice, too. He told me I’d get the rest of the money if I could get him together with Maggie.”

“So did you find her?”

He shrugged.

“No.”

“But you’ve got money now, don’t you?”

“I found it. After.”

“After what, Hoss?”

He shook his head again, then fumbled in his jacket pocket again. He pulled out a mickey and poured some in his coffee. Rye.

“Want some?” He held out the bottle. I shook my head. Hair of the dog was definitely not on.

He began hunting through other pockets, distractedly.

“I got some coke, too. Want some? Get a nice little buzz?”

I shook my head again.

“I got to have some. I’m not thinking too straight.”

He pulled out a baggy with about a teaspoon of powder. He used the sharp tip of his knife to bring a bit to each nostril.

“Is that Maggie’s knife?”

“I’m keeping it safe for her.”

“Did she give it to you?”

“I’m keeping it safe.” he repeated.

“You stole it from her things, didn’t you?”

“It was dangerous. What if those kids had took it? They shouldn’t have the knife. That’s not right.”

“What kids are you talking about?”

“Skinny kid with glasses and a bad haircut, right? Lives at your house. And the black kid always hangs around with him.”

“Where did you see them?”

“I see lots of things, you know?”

He took a pull at the rye bottle and reached for one of my cigarettes.

“Everyone thinks I’m just a bum, but you know what I am.”

“No can’t say as I do.”

“I’m the eyes and ears of your neighbourhood, and I never sleep.”

“Great motto.” I said. “So what do the eyes and ears see in my personal future?”

“Huh?”

“I seem to be a prisoner. When are you going to let me go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could you tell me why I’m here?”

“You were asking questions about me. I don’t like that. And maybe I don’t like your friends.”

He slumped at the table and rubbed his hands over his face.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“How long since you’ve slept, Hoss?”

“Couple of days.”

“Well, why don’t you just stretch out on the couch over there and rest?”

I started to get up. He beat me to it.

“Don’t try to trick me!” he shouted. “You ain’t going nowhere!”

He shoved me back down in my chair to contemplate the decline of grammar in the contemporary world.

“You don’t have to push me around.” I grumbled.

“You know too much. You’ll tell them where I am.”

“No, I won’t, Hoss. We’re on the same side. We both want to help Maggie. But I can’t help her locked up here, can I? Besides, the police don’t think you did it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They just want to talk to you. They think you could be an important witness. Like you say. You’re the eyes and ears of the neighbourhood.”

He got up again, and paced, more agitated, the knife in his hand.

“You can believe me,” I said. “I know what’s going on. The head of the whole investigation even told me that he knows you’re not a murderer. Didn’t you hear me telling Ed?”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “I can’t think when you’re talking.”

“Where did you get the money for the rye and the coke, Hoss? Did Maggie’s husband give it to you, or did you take it?”

“I told you, I found it.”

“Where did you find it? Just lying on the ground?”

“I found it, after.”

“After what?”

“After he was dead,” he mumbled.

“What did you do after he was dead, Hoss?”

“If I hadn’t took it, someone else would have. It was my money. He promised.”

“But Hoss, I don’t understand where you got the money from. When they found his body, he was naked.”

He had his hands over his eyes.

“From his pocket.”

“Where did you find his clothes?”

“He had them on.”

“But he didn’t, not when the police found him. How did he end up in the garbage bag? Did you put him there?”

He shook his head, violently.

“The other man. That’s why I’m hiding. He’s after me.”

“Hoss, work with me here,” I said, trying to take his hands from his face. “Look at me.”

He took his hands down, and looked at me with semi-focused eyes.

“Where was the body when you found it?”

“Lying there on the ground, by Maggie’s chair.”

“But it was found way down the other end of the lane,” I said. “Did you move the body?”

“I just ran away.”

“Who is after you? Who are you afraid of? The police?”

“I told you. The man. I took the money, then he came back. I ran, but he saw me.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“I saw him before.”

“Hoss, you have to tell the police this.”

“They won’t believe me.”

“Let me tell them. They’ll believe me.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“You’ll tell your friend.”

“What friend? The staff inspector?”

“No. The man with Maggie’s husband. The man in the suit.”

There were men in suits all over this case, and they were beginning to confuse me. I couldn’t figure out from what he said whether Hoss was the witness to the crime or whether he had done it himself.

I was trying to frame another question when I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I turned and saw Ed. Martha got up and walked to him, wagging her tail.

“I’ve got to open the store,” he said. “You better finish up here.”

He reached and took the coffee pot from the table, poured himself a cup, and walked across the room, Martha at his heels, and went through the entrance to the storefront, closing the curtain after him. I heard the tinkle of the bells on the front door and turned back to Hoss. His right leg was jiggling up and down. I hate that.

“Hoss, calm down, now. If you didn’t kill Mr. Carlson, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Let’s go back to when you saw his body. When was this?”

“A week ago. Late at night.”

“Did you just happen to be walking along and there he was?”

“No, I was hiding, in case Maggie came back.”

“Where?”

“In a yard. Where nobody’s home. I saw everything.”

I heard the bell tinkle again in the front. Customers. Hoss jumped to his feet.

I took a deep breath and yelled as loud as I could.

Then everything happened very fast. I saw Ed struggling with someone at the curtains, and Hoss took off for the back door. Martha barked wildly. Hoss fumbled with the lock, opened the door, and ran, as Tip Keenan pushed past Ed into the room. He ran to me and grabbed me by the shoulders.

“What the hell is going on?”

I pointed at the door.

“Hoss. Catch him,” I said. “I’ll call the cops.”

He let go and ran for the door. I yelled after him.

“He’s got a knife!”

I went into the store, grabbed the phone, and punched 911. Ed and the whole Carlson clan stared at me.

I told the operator the address.

“A guy who’s got something to do with the Carlson murder just took off from here. He’s got a knife. Someone’s chasing after him. You’d better send a car right away. And call Walt Stimac at homicide and tell him.”

“Please stay on the line,” she said.

I hung up and dialled my home number. Andy answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?” he almost shouted.

I told him.

“Tip’s chasing Hoss. He’s got a knife. I called 911 and told them to get Walt.”

“He’s here,” Andy said. “I called him when you went missing. We’ll be right there.”

I hung up.

“They’re on their way.” I said.

“What happened?” Terry asked.

“Give me a minute.” I said, and went back into the other room. I picked up my cigarettes and lighter and went to the back door. There was no one there. I walked back to the front.

“Let’s go outside.” I said. “I need some air.”

It had stopped raining. I leaned against the storefront window and lit a cigarette, then heard the siren. A cruiser sped up Broadview, lights flashing, dodged traffic, and pulled to a stop in front of the store, facing the wrong way.

Both cops got out, guns drawn. I recognized Martineau and Brewer.

“Put the guns away,” I said. “He’s gone.”

Brewer leaned into the car and picked up a microphone.

“Who?” Martineau asked me.

“A man called Hoss. He knows who killed Carlson. Tip Keenan, a private detective, went after him. Hoss has a knife.”

“Which way did they go?”

“I don’t know. They just went out the back door.”

I pointed around the corner.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Martineau said.

“There’s another car on the way,” Brewer said.

The two of them took off at a run down the side street, almost colliding with T.C. and Anthony, on their rollerblades.

T.C. skated over to me, out of breath.

“Andy’s on the way with the detectives. We came ahead because we’re faster.”

“Did you see Hoss?”

“No.”

“Mr. Keenan?”

They shook their heads. Another cruiser arrived and I went to talk to the officers. A crowd had started to gather, drawn by the sirens. Andy and Walt came running up, Bob Flanagan puffing along a few yards behind them. Stimac held up his badge.

“Keep those people out of the way,” he said, then Andy grabbed me by the arms, just above the elbows.

“Are you all right?” he practically shouted.

“I’m fine, or I was until you began shaking me.”

He let go, then hugged me.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he said.

Walt came over.

“Let’s go inside.” he said. “You can tell us what happened.”

We went past the Carlsons through the store into the back room, Flanagan trailing. Ed was there, sitting mournfully on the couch, Martha’s head on his knee.

“Sorry about this, Ed,” I said. “I know you just wanted to help your friend Hoss, but you made a big mistake. And those videos in there are going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

He shrugged.

“Been there before.” he said, looking at the dog.

I turned to Walt.

“He’s got child pornography hidden in the bathroom. And Carlson’s wallet is there, too.”

“Check it out,” he said to Flanagan, who went into the bathroom. He came out a moment later with tapes in his hands.

“Well, well, well.” he said. “This will be interesting to the vice boys.”

He handed the wallet to Walt and went over to Ed on the couch.

“Doing a little business on the side?” he asked.

Walt took me over to the table and sat me down.

“Talk,” he said.

I told him what Hoss had said. Then I explained what had happened, about finding the tapes in the bathroom cupboards, and about the wallet.

“Oh, I took something from it, too.” I said, reaching up my T-shirt and into my bra. I brought out the credit card and gave it to Stimac, who raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I couldn’t hide the wallet there, and I wanted to get some evidence for when I got out.”

“Good thinking,” he said, his face almost straight.

Over his shoulder, I saw Tip walk in the back door with the knife in his hand. Behind him, Martineau and Brewer had Hoss, who was squirming between them.

“Bring him in here,” Stimac said. They hustled him in and sat him on the other chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. Tip went across the room and leaned against the counter next to the sink.

I joined him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better,” he said. “I’m too old for this kind of thing. How are you?”

“Better, now,” I said. He put his arm around me.

At the table, Walt had the wallet stuck in Hoss’s face.

“You can’t prove I put that there,” he snarled.

“Shut up,” Andy said.

“I want my lawyer!”

“You’ll get your lawyer as soon as we get you downtown,” Stimac said. “Now do like the man says. Shut up.”

He walked over to us.

“You’d better go outside now,” he said. “I’ll deal with all this and get back to you later.”

“Are you sure I can’t help?” I asked.

“I think you’ve helped enough already,” he said, but he was smiling. He turned away, then turned back.

“Is your head as bad as mine is this morning?”

“I’d forgotten about it,” I said.

“Hell of a way to get rid of a hangover,” he said.

“I’ll take Kate out,” Tip said.

As we came out the path to the sidewalk, people stared at us from behind barriers that had been put up to clear the sidewalk area around the corner of the porn shop as far as the police cars blocking the street. The clerk stood outside the variety store; a woman in a purple halter top held a basset hound on a leash; a kid straddled his bicycle, foot propped against the curb; a couple of women, one of them with a walker, had come from the retirement home down the block; they all stared with blankly curious faces. I felt like a traffic accident.

“Hey, Kate, over here,” T.C. called. He and Anthony were standing with the Carlsons across the road. We joined them.

“What’s going on?” Neil asked. “Is it the guy who killed our father?”

“I’m not sure. He had his wallet, but I think he’s just a witness.”

“Well, no use standing around here,” Pete said.

“Are you kidding?” Neil asked. “This is exciting.”

“What was he doing to you, Kate?” Terry asked. “What did he say?”

“I’m not sure. He wasn’t making total sense.”

“Why is he under arrest if he’s not the guy?” Neil asked.

“At the moment, they can charge him with forcible confinement, resisting arrest, and possession of stolen property, at least,” Tip said.

“Here they come,” Anthony said.

Two burly constables walked down the back door path holding Hoss between them, his hands still cuffed behind his back. He looked tiny, but defiant.

As they were putting him in the back of the cruiser, he glared across the car’s roof right at me. One of the constables grabbed the back of his head to push it under the door frame and into the car. He began to struggle.

“Wait a minute! Stop!” he shouted. “That’s the guy! That’s him there! You got the wrong guy!”

Ignoring him, they shoved him in the car, he twisted his head to look out the back window in our direction. He was still shouting as the car pulled away from the curb.

“He’s crazy,” Pete Carlson said. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve never even seen him before.”