Gus nodded and labored up the front steps with his suitcase.
I asked Sebastian, “How come you’ve got him working, with Molly dead less than a day?”
Sebastian adjusted the brooms under his arm. “We’re not really working. I sent him in alone so I could tell you what’s happened.”
“What more could happen, after last night?”
“Plenty. And it’s a damned shame!” His face flushed an angry red, the scars white against it. “This morning Gus had to give the cops a statement. They were pretty decent to him — even gave him a lift down there and back. But when they dropped him off at that sleazy joint he lives in, he found all his stuff stacked out on the porch.”
“What?”
“Yeah. That bitch he rented from saw the story about Molly on the morning news. She said she was sorry for his trouble, but she couldn’t have him there any more. Claimed Molly might’ve been offed by the Mafia and that they’d go for Gus next, so it wasn’t safe having him in the house.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Yeah, all that bitch wanted was to rent the room for more money. Gus has been there for so long, he wasn’t paying near what it would fetch today. Sorry for his trouble, my ass!” He snorted.
“So what’d Gus do?”
“Came to me, at the Blind Center. What else could he do? He doesn’t have any other friends.”
“He must.”
“Oh, sure, there’re the fellows he plays dominoes with, but they’re just first name acquaintances. No, I’m all he has. It’s a real shame when a person lives in a neighborhood for over forty years and doesn’t have any friends and then gets kicked out of his room the day after his wife is killed. This sure is some town!” Sebastian took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Makes me so mad I steam!
“Anyway,” he went on, “we fed him lunch at the Center. Poor Gus can’t even get himself a decent meal alone. Then Mr. Clemente — Herb Clemente, he’s our director — called the cops and asked if it was okay for Gus to use Molly’s apartment. They said fine, they were finished. A cop was there all morning, going through the place, but he was done by noon.”
“So that’s why the suitcase.”
“Yeah. Gus left his other stuff at the Center. I said I’d come along and deliver some brushes on the way. It’d be a shame if he had to go back to that apartment all alone.”
“You’re a good friend to him.”
“It’s nothing. Gus has been mighty good to me, and I couldn’t do my work without him. What say we go in now? He’s probably up there already.”
I took his arm and we climbed to the second floor, Sebastian leaning heavily on me.
Gus stood on the blue rug where Molly’s body had lain, the suitcase at his feet. When he saw Sebastian and me, he clasped his hands in a wringing gesture.
“Don’t know what I’ll do by myself.” His voice was choked.
I let go of Sebastian and put my arm around Gus’s narrow shoulders. “It’s rough now, but things will get better.”
He waggled his gray head helplessly. “I don’t know how to do for myself. All those years, Molly took care of me. Even after she retired and threw me out, she took care of me.”
“What did she do before she retired?” I knew very little of my dead neighbor’s past.
“She was a clerk at Knudsen’s.” He named a Mission Street clothing store. “For thirty-five years, she stood behind a counter selling nylon stockings and underwear. Thirty-five years. And then she retired and threw me out. Said I’d driven her crazy long enough and that she deserved a little peace in her old age. But she still took care of me. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”
I remembered the questions Greg had asked me. “Why did you drive her crazy, anyway?”
Gus’s red-rimmed eyes became evasive. “How should I know? You know how women are.”
Sebastian propped his brooms against the wall and felt for a chair. He lowered his bulky body onto it, sitting near the edge to avoid leaning on the brushes that hung from the back of his parka. “I tell you, Gus,” he said, “something’ll work out for you.”
Again Gus shook his head. “Ain’t nothing going to work out from now on. When the rent runs out on this place next month, where’ll I go?”
“We’ll find you some place to live,” Sebastian said. “It’s not as if you’re poor. You’ve got your Social Security, and your wages from the Center, and there’ll probably be some insurance money from Molly. All we’ve got to do is find you some place cheaper than this.”
Gus looked far from convinced. To me he said, “What about Watney? I don’t know nothing about taking care of cats.”
I hesitated. I liked cats, but had never had one of my own. “If you want, I’ll keep him.”
“Would you?” A ripple of relief crossed Gus’s drawn face. “Molly’s got cat food and everything. You won’t have to buy none for a long time.” Eagerly, he went to the kitchen. “I’ll pack it up right now.”
“I seem to have acquired a pet,” I said to Sebastian.
“No harm in that. Molly loved him. You will too.”
“I guess. When did you last see...” I paused, embarrassed. “I mean, talk to Molly?”
Sebastian smiled faintly. “Don’t let it bother you. Folks say stuff like that all the time. Seems handicaps make the folks who don’t have them more uncomfortable than the folks who do. Anyway, it was late yesterday afternoon. Molly left a message with Mr. Moe for Gus to come by here before he took me home. She wanted him to fetch the clothes from the Laundromat — you know how folks will steal from the dryers over there. She was in your apartment when we came in, with your friend.”
“Oh? What were they doing?”
“Just talking, I guess.”
Gus came back, a cardboard carton clutched to his chest. “No, they weren’t. Molly was reading her the riot act.”
I felt a prickle of anxiety. “What about?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Probably her drinking.”
“Ah,” Sebastian said, “that’s the one who drinks so much.”
Was the whole world aware of it? “How did you know?”
“Molly told me. She found her lurching around in the trash bins last week.”
“In the trash bins?”
“Yeah. She was taking — trying to take — the garbage out.”
“Oh, God!” That was probably the day when, in a fit of manic housekeeping, Linnea had broken the handle of the toilet brush and incinerated an entire pot roast. “By the way, Sebastian,” I said to cover my agitation, “do you happen to have a toilet brush on you?”
He stood and felt over his right shoulder. I realized he could probably locate a given brush by touch faster than either Gus or I could by sight.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’m fresh out.” To Gus, he added, “Did you take those off of there?”
Gus looked hurt. “Why should I? The brushes are your department.”
Sebastian grunted. “Could have swore I had them. We’re selling out fast.”
“Business is good, huh?” I asked.
“You bet. I’ve even added to my line. Shoelaces and rubber dishwashing gloves.” He indicated the new items, tucked into his belt.
“They can’t make those at the Blind Center.”
“Nope. We get them wholesale. Sure you can’t use a good shoelace?”
“None of my shoes need them. Would you drop a toilet brush off at my place when you get a chance?” I handed him the two dollars I knew it would cost.
“No trouble.”
“And if I’m not there and Linnea acts strange, don’t let it bother you.” No sense in trying to hide the situation.
“She sure was upset yesterday,” Gus commented. “Molly must’ve read her the riot act but good. I could tell, just from Molly’s voice. Lord knows she read it to me often enough.”