To Thine Own Self Be True (6 page)

Chapter Nine

Our first stop was a house not far from Rusty’s shop, an attractive, older home on Washington Street. We’d driven in two vehicles, since we weren’t sure where we’d wind up at the end of the day, and Nick and I parked behind Rusty’s Explorer, inventing a space in the semi-plowed street.

We stepped out, gawking at the Christmas scene. Two ten-foot blow-up snowmen waved from the front lawn, while an equally large Grinch swayed where the front walk met the sidewalk. Strewn about the yard were carolers, candy canes, moving reindeer, multiple strings of blinking colored lights, and a nativity scene with an all too life-like cow as part of the livestock. I almost felt like I should check her teats for frostbite, it was so cold. A glance upward revealed a full porch roof, with eight reindeer pulling a sleigh holding Santa himself. A fully lit star and wreath, bright enough to compete with the day’s light, ornamented the eaves.

“Wow,” Nick said.

Rusty grinned. “Come on. You’ll love these guys.”

We were greeted at the door by two large rottweilers with heads as big as Queenie’s entire body. Fortunately, a person came close behind them to welcome us. Her eyes loomed dully above dark semi-circles, and she moved slowly, clutching her arms across her middle.

“Rusty. It’s good to see you.” She turned back into the house, shrugged, and gave Rusty a half smile over her shoulder. “Mickey will be out in a minute, I’m sure.” She shooed the dogs away and gestured us inside. “Come on in.”

She was a small woman, in her early forties, I’d say, about Wolf and Mandy’s age, with an orange and red butterfly tattooed on her pale cheekbone. Creeping up her neck from under her shirt collar were the tops of several varieties of flowers.

“Oh, Rusty,” she said softly. “I can hardly bear it about Mandy.” Her painted nails clutched Rusty’s arm, then fell away.

Rusty studied her face. “Would it be okay if we asked you some questions about her? About Wolf?”

She glanced at me, and at the tattoo on my neck.

“Stella Crown,” I said.

She gasped. “But you were the last one to see them!”

I tried not to show my dismay. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, I was.”

“And this is Nick,” Rusty said, jutting his chin toward him. “Stella’s friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

Rusty put his hand on her frail-looking shoulder. “This is Jewel Spurgeon.”

“Hi, Jewel,” Nick said, smiling.

“You touching my woman?” A bellowing man hurtled toward us down the hallway, his hair flowing behind him. A Fu Manchu mustache drooped over his mouth, and his face sparkled with numerous piercings. I was about to step protectively in front of Rusty when the man lunged forward and hugged my friend so hard I thought his ribs might crack.

“Where you been, man?” the guy said.

“Around,” Rusty gasped.

“And you brought friends!”

I was next to receive the hug, and Nick accepted his with grace. In fact, I could see a smile niggling at the corners of his mouth.

“Mickey, honey,” Jewel said. “They’re here about Wolf and Mandy.”

“Oh, no,” Mickey said, his voice lowering several decibels. “I just can’t believe it.”

“They want to ask us some about them,” Jewel said.

“Well, what are we standing here for, then?” Mickey said. “Who wants to stand up all day?”

He herded us into their living room, a space decorated with an eclectic collection of furs, velvet paintings, and Harley knick-knacks. I took a seat on a leather and chrome chair beside a lava lamp, while Rusty dropped onto a harvest gold recliner. Nick chose to stand. Jewel perched primly on the edge of a flowered couch, but Mickey hovered over us.

“Something to drink? Soda? Beer?”

“No, thanks, man,” Rusty said.

Mickey spun toward me and I shook my head. Nick thanked him, too, but refused anything.

“Relax,” Rusty said. “We’re not here to put you out, just to ask some questions.”

Mickey sat close enough to Jewel she had to wiggle a bit to get out from under the side of his leg, and he put his arm around her. “How come you’re asking?”

Rusty jerked his chin toward me. “You already know Stella’s involved. She was there when Wolf disappeared and Mandy…” He took a breath. “So now she wants to help the cops find Wolf, before it’s too late.”

Mickey peered at me through narrowed eyes. “The cops? I don’t want no cops.”

I held up my hands. “I’m not a cop. I just want to do whatever I can to get Wolf home.”

“You don’t see any cops here, do you, Mick?” Rusty said, an edge to his voice. “I wouldn’t bring the Man to your house. You know that.”

And I’d suggested it earlier. Talk about dumb.

Mickey looked at me again for a long moment, and his face finally relaxed. “Sorry, Rusty. I’m just…it’s been rough. We’ve been trying not to think too hard about Mandy and Wolf.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “We called Mandy’s mom and offered to keep Billy, us being his godparents and all, but he’s best staying put with her for now, poor little tyke.”

Jewel sniffed and wiped an eye with a carefully manicured finger, a gem of some sort shining on her middle nail.

“You’re good friends with the family?” I asked.

Mickey pointed at some wedding photos displayed on top of a glass and stone coffee table. “Wolf was best man at our wedding. He and I grew up together, on the same block in Lansdale. Never lost touch except a couple years when I was in the army.”

I leaned over and searched the faces in the biggest picture, a wedding party. It wasn’t hard to pick out Wolf in the bunch, his hair and beard long and unruly even for the formal occasion.

“You have any idea where Wolf might be now? Who might’ve hurt Mandy?” Rusty asked.

Hurt, not murdered. Even now he couldn’t handle the reality.

Mickey and Jewel looked at each other for a long moment. Jewel put a hand on Mickey’s thigh. “Tell them what we’ve been thinking, honey.”

Mickey shifted uneasily, glancing at Rusty, me, even Nick. “Okay. You guys hear about the new bill they’re trying to pass through the state senate? The one about tattoo artists?”

“Sure,” Rusty said. “Pain in the ass if it passes.”

“I don’t know it,” I said. “Fill me in?”

Mickey stood, walked over to a roll-top desk in the corner, flung open the cover, and grabbed a stack of papers. He brought them over and dropped them in my lap.

“PA House Bill No. 752,” he said. “The Tattoo, Body Piercing, and Corrective Cosmetic Artist Act. Should be called the Bunch of Bullshit Act. The State wants to regulate tattooing, all because of those damn scratchers who get people sick.”

I thumbed through the pages, but couldn’t make sense of the legalese at first glance. “So what exactly are they proposing?”

“Bunch of crap,” Mickey said.

“It’s a hypocritical, ill-written, open-ended bill, made for people who don’t like seeing tattoos or people with body modifications,” Rusty said.

Mickey raised his hands. “Preach it, brother.”

I scanned the pages again, hoping something would jump out at me. “Like what?”

“Okay, first thing,” Mickey said, “they say all piercing would be regulated by the government, but that’s bullshit. It’s the people who do it right who would get in trouble. The ones who don’t know what they’re doing have no problems at all.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a powerful piercing gun industry, that’s why. They’re calling the shots. I mean, we now have a law that says if you’re under eighteen you need parental consent to get pierced, but do you see police cracking down on those jewelry stores in the mall, where you get ‘free piercing with the purchase of studs’? I don’t think so. They’ll do pre-teens, even babies, if the parents—hell, if the kids themselves—shell out their money. People like Mandy, who know what it’s about, they don’t use piercing guns at all.” He was rolling now. “Another thing. The bill talks about safety regulations, but says the Department of Health still has to define them. So they want to pass a bill that basically states it’s ‘to be announced’?”

Rusty sat up. “What really gets me is they want to make tattoo artists get a notarized statement from a doctor saying they don’t have any infectious diseases. They gonna make customers get statements, too? The artists are more at risk than the folks getting the tattoos.”

“And how about that part that says you can’t tattoo anybody’s face?” Mickey said. “You want to tell me Jewel’s butterfly isn’t gorgeous?”

We all looked at Jewel, who slanted her cheek away, embarrassed.

“Sounds pretty biased,” I said. “Who came up with this stuff?”

“His Righteousness,” Mickey said. “Trevor Farley.”

“The state senator?”

“Himself. The bastard.”

“Why does he care about tattoos?”

Mickey shrugged. “All I know is he’s trying to make life hell for those of us in the community.”

I looked from him to Rusty. “So how does this involve Wolf and Mandy? I mean, obviously it does because of their professions. But is it more?”

Rusty shrugged. “I don’t know. Mickey?”

Again Mickey looked at his wife. She nodded.

“Wolf and Mandy have gotten real involved in the cause,” Mickey said. “You heard of Dennis Bergman?”

I shook my head.

“Tattoo artist in Harrisburg. Also a lawyer, believe it or not. He’s heading up the lobby, which is made up of tattoo artists and piercers from all parts of the state. Call themselves Artists for Freedom. Wolf and Mandy found out about Bergman a few months ago, and, well, you know Mandy. Not about to let the government tie her hands, or Wolf’s. Jumped in with both feet.”

I spread my fingers on top of the papers on my lap. “And you think it could lead to this? To Wolf disappearing? To Mandy…dying?”

Jewel whimpered, and Mickey returned his arm to her shoulders.

“Just last week Mandy was on a rampage,” he said. “Said Farley was trying to sabotage their lobby. Said he sent a spy to infiltrate the meetings and get dirt on whoever was there.”

I sat up. “You think Farley had to do with Billy getting beat up last month?”

Jewel’s face hardened. “Asshole boys, whoever they were. I could just kill them.”

Mickey patted her arm. “Wolf and Mandy wouldn’t talk about that. Never told us who was behind it. But they kept on with the lobby. In fact, they were going to meet with Artists for Freedom the night Mandy died. Mandy had gotten hold of something she said would stop Farley in his goddamned tracks.”

I whipped my head toward him. “They were meeting that night? In Harrisburg?”

“Well, sure. That was the plan.”

A plan no one else knew about. I wondered if a certain state senator had been informed.

Chapter Ten

“You don’t happen to have your cell phone on you, do you?” I asked Nick. We were back in the truck, while Rusty made tearful good-byes with the Spurgeons.

“Sure.” He reached into his coat and pulled out the smallest phone I’d ever seen.

“This thing actually works?”

He smiled. “Has every time I’ve tried it.”

I took it from his outstretched hand, at the same time pulling Detective Shisler’s card from my pocket. She answered almost immediately.

“Stella Crown here. You haven’t found Wolf, have you?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“I know where Wolf and Mandy were going the night Mandy was killed.”

“What? Where?”

“They’ve been active in a political lobby called Artists for Freedom. They’re pushing against a bill that’s working its way through the Pennsylvania senate, restricting tattoo artists and body piercers.”

“I think I’ve heard about that. Isn’t Senator Farley heading that up that bill?”

“Yup. And he apparently has no love lost for these folks. No one’s quite sure why he’s so gung ho about coming down on these artists, but he’s going after them with everything he’s got.”

“Interesting, but I can’t see him killing Mandy over body art.”

“Perhaps if you could find out what she had on him, it might be clearer. She told her friends she’d discovered something big that would make him think seriously about continuing with the bill. She was going to tell the group that night at the meeting so they could formulate a plan.”

“And you think Farley found out about this?”

“Mandy told the Spurgeons Farley had a spy in the group. He could’ve easily known about the meeting.”

She was silent for a moment. “You have someone I could talk to about this?”

I sighed. “Not sure. I hate to say it, but these people aren’t real up on cops. Been raided and discriminated against too many times. But they’ve promised to call me or Rusty if they think of anything else.”

“Rusty Oldham, the artist I talked with?”

“That’s him.”

“I guess it’ll have to do.” She paused. “I finally ran down Lance Thunderbolt, the tattoo artist who’d been trying to sue Wolf for plagiarism. He’s in New Jersey, visiting family. I’ve been able to verify that he’s been there since Saturday.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“Sure. One less suspect. Wish I could say the same for that other guy. Tank. I still haven’t found him. Any ideas?”

“Nope. Never set eyes on the guy before that day. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I’d appreciate it. I don’t know where else to look. I have calls in to other police districts, but with Christmas and all, it’s hard to find the right people.” She sighed. “So where are you now?”

I glanced toward the house. “Going to talk to some more people in the community. In fact, here comes Rusty now.”

He walked down the sidewalk toward us, and Nick lowered his window.

“Gotta go,” I said to Shisler.

“I guess from what you said before I shouldn’t tag along?”

“Not if we want these folks to say anything worthwhile.”

“You’ll keep me informed?”

“I am right now.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you. Talk to you soon.”

I hung up and handed the phone back to Nick just as Rusty got to the window.

“Where to now?” I asked.

He leaned his elbows on the door, his eyes rimmed with red. He swiped at them with his thumb and forefinger, not even trying to hide that he’d been crying. “I was thinking Giovanni’s deli, but I can’t say I’m real hungry.”

I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. Just about noon. “There something there other than hoagies that you want?”

He nodded. “Gio’s good friends with lots in the tattoo community. Could know things I don’t.”

“We don’t have to eat, right?”

“Guess not. But maybe once we’re in the place I’ll find my appetite.”

“Then why don’t we head there?”

He slapped Nick’s open window. “Let’s go.”

We followed him through the salty streets toward Hatfield, where Giovanni’s took up one corner of an intersection. We parked in the well-plowed lot and found a place in line in the noisy restaurant. Giovanni himself, his olive skin flushed from heat, was busy behind the counter, taking orders and sliding pizzas into the two-tiered oven. His well-muscled arms displayed several tattoo artists’ work, and I had a feeling Wolf and Rusty had each done their part. His right arm was criss-crossed with an unusual barbed-wire design—not just the kind that circles the biceps—and his left held a panorama of eyes. I imagined it would be rather spooky under the right circumstances.

When we reached the front of the line and Giovanni saw Rusty, his eyes sparked with sadness. He obviously knew about Mandy. “Hey, my man.”

“Gio,” Rusty said.

“Can I get you something?” Gio asked.

Rusty sighed, checking out the menu board above the owner’s head. “Just a plain turkey hoagie. No onions or nothing.”

“Oil?”

“Better not.”

Gio nodded and turned to me. “You look familiar. At least that tat on your neck does.”

“Stella Crown. And the skull’s some of Rusty’s work.”

“Thought so.”

“Can I get a pizza steak hoagie? Extra sauce? Sweet peppers?”

He cocked his finger at me and looked at Nick. “You with them?”

Nick smiled. “I am. Italian hoagie, please. Oil, vinegar, oregano.”

“Fries for anybody? Chips? Drinks?”

We declined the fried stuff, but agreed to the drinks, and Gio barked our orders to two men working at the food spread behind him. His brothers, probably. Or sons. Nephews.

“Any chance we could get a little of your time?” Rusty asked Gio.

He nodded shortly. “Rush will soon be over. You sit and eat, and I’ll be out.”

We took our number and found an empty table toward the back of the room where we sat, Nick taking the chair beside me. I made sure our legs didn’t touch.

It was a busy scene. Guys in working-class uniforms, women with bickering children, some of each gender in suits and business casuals. Working right up to Christmas.

Just about everybody, no matter their dress, sent surreptitious glances toward Rusty and his colorful head. Probably his nose ring, too. I guessed I couldn’t blame them, but it made me feel like we were in the zoo, and I wanted to snap at them all to mind their own goddamn business.

“Harrisonburg’s beginning to look just like this,” Nick said. “Barely space to eat lunch.”

I grunted. “That’s what happens when every square inch of land gets developed.”

He didn’t say anything, focusing on the tabletop. Rusty looked at me, eyebrows raised, but I shook my head. Gio caught my eye across the room and pointed at a loaded tray. I went up and got the food, stopping off at the drink machine to fill my cup with birch beer. I’d let the guys get their own drinks.

Twenty minutes later we were piling our trash on the tray when Giovanni sat in the empty seat next to Rusty. The line up front had dwindled to just a few business people, and one of Gio’s relatives had taken over behind the counter.

“You aren’t just here for lunch, I take it?” he said to us.

Rusty jerked his head no. “Wondered if you could shed any light on Wolf and Mandy.”

Giovanni slouched in his seat and ran a hand over a face shadowed with dark whiskers. “Wish I could.”

“You don’t think Wolf had anything to do with Mandy?” I asked.

He glared at me like I’d cursed in church. “No way. Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Chill,” Rusty said. “We feel the same. Just wanted to make sure you were with us.”

The big Italian’s face relaxed again, and he pulled on his thick mustache. “Been wracking my brain, trying to imagine who would do it. Where Wolf could be.”

“Think of anybody who had troubles with them?” I asked.

Giovanni barked a laugh. “Lots of folks. But none who would…do what they did.”

“Like who?”

He shrugged and rested his elbows on the table. “Don’t know his name or his boys, but some gangbanger stopped by their place a week ago or so. Wanted Wolf to do him up a tattoo in a half hour. He was headed to jail the next day, and wanted to use up his remaining time scoring dope down in Philly.”

“Wolf do him?” I asked.

Rusty was shaking his head. “Couldn’t have in that amount of time. Wouldn’t have, anyway.”

“Nope,” Gio said. “Mandy basically told the kid to go to hell. Wolf tried to calm her down, but she wasn’t having any of it. Told the guy where to go, and that’s the truth.”

I almost smiled at the image it presented. “What happened?”

He did smile. “Guys left. Even apologized. Guess they like strong women. But who knows? Maybe they thought about it later and decided it wasn’t cool. Be back in a minute.” He went up to the counter, grabbed a cup, and filled it with water. “Sorry.” He sat down again. “All dried up from working back there.”

“Any other ideas?” I asked.

“Sure. Could be somebody we don’t even know about. Like, a little while ago some guy, completely high on crack, burst into the shop, started screaming that the Warlocks had just broken him out of Norristown Hospital. Accused Wolf of stealing his money, said if Wolf would just give back the cash, he’d forget everything. Wolf and Mandy couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy before, but they were afraid what he might have under his clothes. You never know what these crackheads are concealing. They held him off long enough for Mandy to call the cops, who didn’t find weapons, but discovered a good stash of bills in the guy’s sock. Once he saw it he remembered putting it there. Had somehow fixated on Wolf and was sure he’d been robbed.”

I shook my head. It was hard to imagine folks like that on the streets of Lansdale, but I guessed crazies could pop up anywhere.

“What about Lance Thunderbolt?”

Gio raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Rusty told me about the problems he caused Wolf. The detective says he was out of town the night of…the night I went to get my tattoo, but what if he came back and his family’s covering for him?”

Gio sneered. “That wuss? He wouldn’t know to go to sleep at night if somebody didn’t tell him first.”

Rusty laughed. “That’s about right.”

“So you think his alibi’s for real?” I looked from Gio to Rusty, watching their eyes.

Gio shrugged. “More believable than him actually having the balls to confront someone in person. Lawyers, sure. Rumors, trash talking, gossip. That’s his style.”

So maybe Thunderbolt really was in the clear.

“What about Wolf and Mandy’s activities?” I asked. “Politics?”

“Sure. You heard about Artists for Freedom?”

Rusty nodded. “We were just at Jewel and Mick’s.”

“Then you know all about that.”

“Any idea why that senator’s got it in for tattoos?” I asked. “Trevor Farley?”

He bunched his mouth, shaking his head. “No idea. His own family’s famous for their unadorned white skin. Always look like they’re ready for mass. Although there’s no telling what’s under their shirts, I guess. Could be his kids defied him and got some art nobody’s telling about. Or maybe he’s got a moneybags who’s offended by walking art and asked him—or forced him—to take a stand. Who knows?”

“Anybody else?” I asked.

He puffed out his cheeks. “Could be any number of people Mandy’s pissed off along the way, but nobody who comes right to mind. Nobody who’d hate her enough to kill her.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. Giovanni was the first person to actually admit what had happened. Bluntness didn’t feel any better. Nick touched my leg under the table, a gesture most likely made to comfort me, but my knee jerked involuntarily and he pulled his hand back.

“There is Gentleman John, of course,” Gio said.

“Who?”

“John Greene. A hack. Wolf and Mandy got him in trouble different times.”

Ah. The asshole Mandy had mentioned.

“Right,” I said. “What’s the deal with him?”

“A slimy piece of work,” Gio said. “But I don’t know. If Mandy saw him at her door she certainly wouldn’t let him in. And if he got in anyway, she’d just kick the crap out of him.”

Rusty snorted. “That’s about right.”

“But it sounds like he might want payback?”

Gio shrugged. “It’s not like Wolf and Mandy are the only ones who ever ratted him out. He had plenty of people wanting him out of business, including parents of kids he’d worked on. I can’t see him going after Wolf and Mandy but leaving the other folks alone.”

I looked at Rusty, and he shook his head, shrugging. “It would seem strange if he’d single them out. We all hate him. And anyone like him.”

“Hey,” I said. “What about a guy named Tank? You know him?”

Rusty looked at me. “I do. What about him?”

“I forgot to tell you. He came by Wolf Ink when I was getting my tattoo.”

“And wanted Wolf to work on him?” Rusty’s face clouded.

“Yeah.”

“Figures,” Gio said. “I wonder…”

I glanced back and forth between Rusty and Gio. “What? Who is he?”

Rusty shifted in his seat, his lips tight. “I didn’t know he’d been there. If I’d’a known that—”

“He’s a dude who harasses tattoo artists,” Gio said. “Gets work done, doesn’t pay, then expects them to run a tab. When they won’t do him anymore, he threatens them.”

“Does more than threaten,” Rusty said. “When I refused him he came by, cut down two trees in my shop’s front yard. Only trees I had. Then he doused the branches with gas and set them on fire on my front step. Lucky the whole place didn’t burn down.”

Gio nodded. “Lucky, too, he didn’t know where you lived.”

“He’s a menace,” Nick said.

Rusty looked at him. “He is.”

We were quiet, wondering how far his anger had gone at Wolf Ink.

“He ever do anything violent that you know of?” I asked. “To living things other than trees?”

“Beat up my friend Cash’s dog a while ago,” Rusty said. “Left the poor mutt for dead. Cash spent a fortune at the vet’s.”

I flashed on an image of Queenie, and my stomach tightened. “The dog okay?”

Rusty shook his head. “Lost an eye and partial use of his hind legs.”

Gio’s face went red. “Asshole who does that, wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to do people, too.”