“I’LL BE DAMNED,” Detective Edrow Fluett said in front of the Closeout Hut. At first he thought it had to be a stunt, something the bandit had schemed to screw his customers. But the happy babushka faces coming out the door told him otherwise. And when he got up to the cash register, the hulking man-kid took care of him so quickly Edrow didn’t think to open his mouth, and he left there knowing he should have brought that no-name snowblower back years ago, instead of leaving it to rust in his garage. He shook his head. His years on the job were making him see too many turdweasels.
He whistled all the way across town, to the sporting-goods store.
THE NEXT MORNING, after shouting Jerzy’s name a hundred times, Reggie thumped down the basement stairs. “What the hell, Jerzy?” he yelled through the door, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. “The Seville’s not out, warming up.”
Reggie’s TV had been blasting those goofity real-life shows the previous evening when Jerzy got home, the signal he didn’t want to talk. It was okay. Jerzy was tired. He’d stayed downtown, had soup and a grilled cheese at the diner he used to go to with Agnes for Cokes. A couple of people in there nodded and smiled at him. They’d been in the store earlier.
Jerzy spent the night sitting on his wood chair. He hadn’t even tried to sleep.
“I’m sick, Reg,” he said now, from inside his room. “I been throwing up. You gotta go in alone today.”
“What the hell, Jerzy?” Reggie gulped in air from the other side of the door. “With my heart, you know I don’t like to drive.”
“Call a cab, Reg.”
“That’s money.”
Jerzy made a cough, then another because the first one sounded so good.
Reggie huffed some more. “Any problems yesterday?”
“Everything got took care of.” Jerzy made another cough.
Jerzy watched the doorknob, afraid Reggie would come in to sit to catch his breath. But after a couple of long minutes, the breathing on the other side slowed, and Reggie hauled himself up the basement stairs. The back door slammed, and five minutes after that, the Seville pulled out of the driveway.
DETECTIVE EDROW FLUETT took the call that morning because the uniforms were out making sure all the wrecks from the snow had been towed. This one, he didn’t mind. His feet were dry and warm, and he figured one good turn deserves another.
UPSTAIRS, REGGIE’S PHONE started ringing at noon, and then every half hour after, but Reggie always locked his door. So Jerzy stayed at the table, except when he had to go to the bathroom, to practice.
THAT EVENING, DETECTIVE Edrow Fluett’s headlamps swept across the white stone and orange brick of the newer ranch as he pulled into the driveway. He’d gotten the address from the call list they had of business owners. The house was dark. But he’d get out anyway, to try the side door. His feet were warm and dry.
But first he called Blanche. “You were right. There’s no need to spend more than eight bucks for boots.”
He listened, and smiled. Sometimes, both had to give.
JERZY KNEW THE Seville’s engine. The headlights outside didn’t belong to it. He sat in the dark for what seemed like hours, until at last the back doorbell rang.
He stomped up the basement stairs to sound purposeful. Switching on the outside light, he opened the door.
The man in the dark raincoat looked surprised. “Jerzy Wosnowski?”
Jerzy recognized the old man from the first time with Reggie, and from yesterday, when he’d come back.
The man held up a police badge bigger than the ones the TV guys had. “Mind if I come in?”
Jerzy held the door open.
THE KID – THE man – had startled him, appearing like a ghost in the sudden light. “You always keep the lights off?” Detective Edrow Fluett asked as he stepped inside and stomped his feet on the rug.
“I been asleep. I didn’t feel too good today.”
Convenient, Edrow thought.
The kid-man surprised him again, started down the stairs. Sweet Jesus, Edrow thought. Reggie keeps Jerzy in the basement, in the dark, like a gerbil.
JERZY SWITCHED ON the light in his room. All the time he’d lived in Reggie’s basement, he’d never had a visitor except for Reggie, and that was hardly ever, because of all the stairs. But that didn’t mean Jerzy hadn’t planned how to be polite. He slid out the one chair for the policeman and went to stand next to the refrigerator.
DETECTIVE EDROW FLUETT sat down. Sales-tax forms were scattered on the table. “Working from home?”
The hulking young man nodded. “Making sure I kept all the worksheets. Just because I’m the president doesn’t mean anything. Reggie figures the numbers; I just copy.”
Kid-man was talking in riddles. “What?”
“You could test the forms, like they do on TV,” Jerzy said. “It’s Reggie’s handwriting. And his fingerprints are on them, for more proof. I just copied. Ask Reggie; I didn’t know about the letters.” Jerzy stepped to the table, handed him what looked like an audit notice.
The hulk thought Edrow was from the Department of Revenue. Worse, the hulk needed Reggie alive, to answer to the state.
Edrow put the audit notice down. “Listen,” he said, “I’m afraid I got some bad news for you.”
“WE FOUND REGGIE Loomis dead in your store today.” The cop was looking right into Jerzy’s eyes, like they were windows and he could see through to the middle of Jerzy’s brain.
Jerzy dropped his eyes, noticed the policeman was wearing new boots, nice ones with rubber on the bottoms and tan leather on the tops, the kind hunting guys wore. Jerzy raised his head, made his mouth tremble, like he’d done in the mirror every time he had to go into the bathroom. “He was robbed?”
The policeman’s eyes didn’t blink. Reggie always said looking somebody right in the eyes made them trust you. Jerzy concentrated on the policeman’s eyes, but it was hard because they didn’t blink.
“Heart attack,” the policeman said. “Must have happened first thing. A woman passing by saw the front door wide open and called us.”
“At least nobody killed him,” Jerzy said, looking at the wall above the cop’s head.
“NOT A ROBBER, anyway,” Detective Edrow Fluett said.
The kid-man said nothing, kept looking above Edrow’s head. His face was blank, but maybe that was shock.
“I found him dead on the stairs,” Edrow said.
“He didn’t like those stairs on account of his weight,” Jerzy said to the wall.
“That bothers me,” Edrow said.
“Me too. I kept telling him, ‘Reggie, you gotta pull off those pounds.’”
“I meant that he died on the stairs. The coat rack’s on the first floor.”
“I don’t get it,” Jerzy said.
Edrow stood up so the hulk would have to look at his eyes. “Why would Reggie go charging up, still with his coat on, if he didn’t like the stairs?”
“To use the bathroom,” Jerzy said.
“With his coat still on and buttoned up?”
“You got to go, you got to go,” Jerzy said.
“We looked around upstairs, found a loose floorboard,” Detective Edrow Fluett said.
JERZY FURROWED HIS brow like the people on TV when they didn’t understand something. “I don’t know about a floorboard.”
“I’m thinking it was a hiding place, except there was nothing in it.” The cop’s eyes were hot on Jerzy’s face, but they didn’t blink.
“I don’t know about a floorboard,” Jerzy said again, still with his brow furrowed. It was beginning to hurt, but he could hold it a while longer.