Hose Monkey (17 page)

Another half-hour passed before Pete Jr. made a sound. The silence and his own fatigue had lulled Healy into a kind of stupor. That, and the fact that he wasn’t as familiar with the streets in this part of Suffolk as Serpe might be, were responsible for him not noticing the kid had strayed off course.

They had turned north off Horseblock, up a huge hill and down the other side. Eventually they came to a wide, well lit boulevard Healy guessed was Middle Country Road, but further east than he tended to travel. The kid doused the headlights and let the car drift to the curb. He killed the engine. If there was something special to see, Healy was missing it.

“That’s the Blind Pig,” Pete Jr. said, pointing across the street.

If that was supposed to mean something, once again Healy failed to recognize its significance. Because of last night and his long day of checking out motels with Joe Serpe, he already felt off and slow-witted.

“I love her, Bob. I try not to, but when I try it just gets worse.”

Now Healy caught on. They were parked across the street from the bar where Cathy worked. Junior was obsessed with her. Bob had been in the same place once upon a time. Many years ago, he had stood across the street from an old girlfriend’s house, watching, praying, planning. Most men had been there. Men are fragile things. Women are the more resilient of the species. Men are brittle. Separate a man’s shoulder in a touch football game and he’ll continue to play until he can no longer breathe. Tell him goodbye and he breaks.

“I know how that is,” Healy said. “I know exactly how that is.”

“I want her back so bad it makes me crazy.”

Improvising, Bob chose not to push, not by himself, anyway. He would let someone else do it for him.

“You wanna go have a drink? It’s on me.”

Pete Jr. hesitated.

“No, I couldn’t stand to have her look at me the way she did that last time.”

“You can’t hide forever. I’ve tried it.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, Pete. If you want, I’ll talk to her for you.”

Strohmeyer’s face lit up. Healy had uttered the magic words. Rescue fantasies never die, they just grow less ambitious with time. At Pete Jr.’s age, the dream of someone to set things right was still a powerful one. And with a father like his, the dream would be downright intoxicating.

“If I could only make her understand.”

“Well, let’s give it a shot.”

Once again Pete Jr. was out of the car before Healy had unbuckled his seatbelt.

Currently, Joe Serpe didn’t feel anything but sorry for Tina Randazzo. If he gave it any thought, he didn’t suppose he liked her very much. He had met her only twice in the three years he had worked for Frank. It wasn’t like on the force where there were parties with other cops and their spouses. The oil business was different. There was a purposeful separation between the job and family. It was a bit of a wild west business that attracted all sorts of fallen angels, and just the fallen. The oil yard was no place for a woman like Tina.

Tina was the high school prize, a unanimous selection to the All Star Wet Dream Team. She had done a lot of print ad modeling, put herself through the State University of New York at Binghamton, and was all set to turn the fashion world on its ass. Apparently, someone neglected to tell the fashion world. When the jobs dried up, lack of funds forced her to move back to her parents’ house in Babylon. It killed her to do it and she was determined to get out. Frank—roughly handsome, driven, successful—seemed as good a way out as any.

Frank had confided to Joe that Tina felt she had married beneath her station and that she wasn’t shy about letting him know it. That was just the type of thing to hurt Frank, a savvy, street-smart guy who’d barely squeaked by in high school and who’d lived by his wits. For years Joe Serpe listened to Frank pour his heart out about their marriage, but never offered advice. Who was he to give marriage counseling?

The curse of beauty is that when it shows cracks, the cracks show wide and deep. Tina proved the point. Her imperial thinness had turned against her.

“Joe. God, Joe.” She embraced him for a long time. He could feel her tears on his neck.

He pushed her back gently to arms length. “Tell me what happened.”

“They found him in his cell, hanging from a bed sheet.”

“What do the doctors say?”

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. They’re only talking to the cops.”

He guided her over to a vinyl couch in the lounge. “The kids all right?” he asked.

“I sent them down to stay with my parents in North Carolina.”

“Okay. That was smart.”

“You went to see Frank yesterday,” she said. “He told me.”

“Yeah, when I left him I got into a car accident and spent the last night in here.”

“Are you—”

“I’ve got a concussion. I’m okay.”

“I’m glad,” she said automatically.

“Listen Tina, I don’t think Frank did what he’s accused of, but I get the sense that something else is going on here. First off, Frank would barely talk to me yesterday, said he didn’t want my help, and kept trying to get rid of me. And the other day, when you and I spoke and I mentioned salvaging the marriage, you said something like you didn’t think there was anything worth saving.”

Tina was silent. She hung her head, grasping the top of her Coach bag with both hands as if it were a lifeline. It was a familiar scene in precinct interview rooms. It was that last gasp at holding out, that second before the suspect decides to spill his guts or give up his accomplices. Joe knew that sometimes they needed a little help when deciding. So he helped.

“I think Frank was being blackmailed.”

Tina’s hands relaxed. She unclasped the bag, reached in and removed a clear plastic case. She held it out to Joe. “It’s a DVD. I got it in the mail a few weeks ago.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Take it home and watch it.”

“You sure?”

“We didn’t—don’t have a great marriage, Joe. A lot of that is my fault. But I really did—do love him. I just hope I get a chance to tell him.”

Joe took the case, sliding it into his jacket pocket. Then he held Tina’s hand. A malicious voice cut through the silence.

“Ain’t this a pretty picture? What’s a matter, Snake, you can’t wait? If you two want a room, I think that can be arranged.”

Before Joe could react, Tina shot off the sofa and was swinging wildly at Hoskins’ face. He was quick to take a step back, but not before she had landed a clean left hook. The diamond of her engagement ring left a nice gash under the detective’s right eye. It took both Joe and Kramer to pull her away.

Healy almost hated to see the expectant smile on the kid’s face. The smile didn’t last long. As soon as they stepped through the door into the noisy pub, the bouncer spotted Strohmeyer Jr. and headed towards him. None of this was lost on Pete. It hadn’t escaped Healy’s notice either.

“Go get us a table, Pete. I’ll handle this guy. Do you know his name?”

“Everybody calls him Ox.”

“Okay, go get us that seat.”

Obediently, Pete slipped off to find them a booth.

As the bouncer approached, Healy understood why they called him Ox. He was a squat, thick man whose bald head, neck and shoulders were all of a piece. The guy was like a warehouse on legs.

“Your friend’s not welcome here,” Ox said, no aggression in his voice.

“Look, Ox, he doesn’t want any trouble. We’re here to have one drink and—”

“Listen, mister, I got no problem if you wanna stay, but
he’s
gotta go.” This time, Ox put a little muscle into his words.

“Okay, just let me go over and get him. Like I said, he doesn’t want trouble.”

“Go get him.”

Healy, disappointed that this wasn’t going as he hoped, about-faced and went to find the kid. He had wanted to get a beer or two into the kid, get him talking. He thought that seeing Cathy might knock him off balance. As he went, Bob looked at the bar. He figured the brunette working the sticks to be Cathy.

She was attractive enough in a modern sort of way, thin and muscular. She had a pierced navel and tattoos. Maybe it was an age thing, but Healy liked women with curves, not cuts and angles. Though only in his late forties, he had grown up in an era when only women’s ears were pierced and the only people with tattoos were bikers and your drunk uncle who had fought on Guadalcanal.

She might not be his cup of tea, but Healy appreciated her style behind the bar. She was in control, flirting just enough with all the schmos to give them hope they had a chance with her, but not so much that they’d walk away crushed when she turned them down. Her tip basket was probably quite full.

Pete Jr. had exercised good judgement in selecting a corner booth far from the bar that kept the pool table between them and Cathy’s line of sight. Bob slid in next to the kid and opened his mouth to speak, but Strohmeyer cut him off.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, getting all starry-eyed.

No. “Yeah, Pete, she’s great. Listen, Ox says we’ve got to go.”

“In a minute, Bob. I just want to look at her for—”

“Pete, we don’t have a minute. We really got to—Shit!”

Ox was coming in their direction, his placid demeanor replaced by angry red knots of skin and bent lips that barely looked human. But it wasn’t Ox they had to worry about.

Thud!

The dull sound of a liquor bottle smacking against the kid’s skull caught Healy completely off guard. He turned just in time to see Cathy spit at the stunned Strohmeyer, who was now falling onto Bob’s shoulder.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed at him. “I’ll kill you!” Cathy made to swing the bottle again, but Ox grabbed her arm before it started on its downward arc.

“Get him outta here!” the bouncer demanded, locking Cathy up with one arm.

Healy didn’t need to be told twice. He latched onto the kid, who, though not unconscious, was definitely not all there. It took every ounce of Healy’s strength to get the kid across the street and back into the car. He pulled the keys out of Pete’s pocket, started the engine, and headed west down Middle Country.

“Where you going, Bob?” the kid asked in an other-worldy voice.

“To get some ice. Cathy whacked you one pretty good. I don’t think you’re bleeding, but I wanna keep the swelling down.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Turn left here,” Pete said, his voice still strange. “I want to show you something.”

Healy was torn. He might not get Strohmeyer this vulnerable again. On the other hand, he didn’t want to risk having the kid die on him. Healy was forced to admit to himself that in spite of it all, even the cruel things the kid had said the previous night, he kind of liked Pete. That when it comes to women, all men are idiots. It’s just that when you’re younger, it’s harder to hide your stupidity. He found himself hoping he was wrong about the kid and Reyes.

“Let me get you some ice first. Then you can show me whatever you want.”

“Turn left, Bob, please.”

Marla was frightened by how much she needed to hear from Joe. She was even more frightened by how she felt when he finally called.

“How’s your head?”

“Still there. I’ve got a headache, but I guess that’s gonna be par for the course for a while.”

“What’s up?”

“Can you come and get me?” he asked. “I’ll be over in—”

“I’m not at my apartment. I’m at University Hospital.” Her heart was pounding. “I thought you said—”

“I’m fine. It’s Frank. He tried killing himself tonight.”

“My god! Is he all right?”

“They think he’ll live,” Joe said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Do you have a DVD player?”

“What?”

“A DVD player, do you—”

“Yeah. Why?”

“That depends on what we see on screen.”

In spite of the late hour and the nearly empty roads, it had taken them twenty minutes to get there. Some of that was attributable to the darkness and Healy’s unfamiliarity with this part of Long Island. It galled Bob that this kid from southern Arizona knew the island better than him. Although Bob had lived in Suffolk County for decades, he still considered himself a Brooklynite. Point to almost any spot on a map of New York City and he could tell you how to get there by road, bus, or subway. Point to a spot on Long Island east of the Smithaven Mall, and he needed directions.

Strohmeyer had seemed to regain his wits about ten minutes into the drive, but continued to refuse Healy’s offers of first aid. No, the kid was determined to get here. Wherever here was.

What
here was, however, was pretty obvious. They had turned off a twisty, one-lane asphalt strip about two hundred yards back and pulled onto a gravel road. Pete had told Bob to park in a small dirt clearing in the midst of some tall pine woods. It was silent except for the sound of the engine and their breathing. Healy imagined that on a breezy summer night, this would be a beautiful spot for lovers who were short on motel cash. It was certainly a better choice than the Blue Fountain.

Pete Jr. reached over and killed the engine, grabbed the keys, and, as was his habit, got out of the car first. He walked around to the trunk, unlatched it, got a flashlight and a shovel. Healy wasn’t liking this, not one little bit. It was eerily reminiscent of the kind of place he and Joe Serpe had taken Toussant. But when Strohmeyer handed him the shovel, it eased Healy’s nerves some. Without a word, Pete just started walking into the woods, never turning on the flashlight. Fortunately, Healy could hear the kid’s footsteps on the mat of fallen pine needles and see his breath in the cold air, because as they got further into the woods it got darker and darker still.

Strohmeyer’s feet fell silent. Healy hurried to catch up. Ahead of him, a flashlight snapped on. A cone of light began slicing wide gashes in the blackness, the wounds sealing themselves as the back edge of the light passed through. Pete seemed to be searching for a specific spot, focusing the beam on an increasingly smaller area of the forest floor. By the time Healy stepped up to the kid, Strohmeyer had completely steadied the beam. It shone on a raised patch of earth covered with needles and branches between two big pines. You didn’t have to be a cop to figure out what was buried under there.