Catch As Cat Can

16

Sunny stopped petting Shadow. “You think that’s where the guns in Charlie Vane’s house came from?”

“Well, some of them, I figure,” Will said. “I expect he might have made himself a little conspicuous, buying an arsenal like that at a single gun show. Although there is some evidence he may have been using straw buyers up in Vincentville.”

“Straw buyers?” Sunny frowned.

“That’s a nice way of saying phoney-baloney buyers—people who step in to make a purchase for somebody who may have bad credit, or maybe a criminal record—or maybe just to hide the identity of the real buyer.”

“I know that,” Sunny told him. “What I was wondering about is how you dug up any evidence.”

Will shrugged. “A friend of a friend. Or maybe I should say someone who owes a favor to an old state police buddy of mine. The guy owing the favor had a table at the Vincentville gun show. He went through his papers and found that he had a customer from Kittery Harbor.”

“Somebody who wasn’t Charlie Vane,” Sunny said. “Kind of a coincidence, two people from our little town both being so far away in those parts.”

“It will be a bit more trouble, trying to look at the records of other sellers—”

“Guys who don’t owe favors,” Sunny put in.

“But my bet is we’ll find several other names from this part of the woods buying up guns there,” Will finished. “At last we got one of them.”

“And who is this fine, upstanding citizen?” Sunny asked.

“One Delbert Scabetti, according to the paperwork for the gun he bought. Local police records show he’s got the colorful nickname of ‘Scab.’ While he’s done a lot of borderline illegal stuff, he hasn’t been convicted of a felony, which means he’s still legal to own or buy guns.”

Will grinned. “Best of all, we have a good chance of catching up with him right now. He may not be a pillar of the community, but he spends a lot of time propping up the bar at O’Dowd’s.”

O’Dowd’s was the diviest dive bar in Kittery Harbor, the center of a little patch of urban blight at the edge of the old downtown district.

“We figured on going down there tonight and asking a few questions,” Will went on.

“We who?” Sunny wanted to know.

“Val and myself,” he replied. “I think she’s more than capable of handling that joint.”

“And I’m not?” Sunny said. “I’ve been in there a couple of times since I came back to town, for business and pleasure.”

“You don’t have to,” Will began, but Sunny cut him off.

“What, I’m only good for sweet-talking information out of suspects like Charlie Vane and Neil? If this Scab guy can throw some light on whatever Vane was doing that got him killed, I want to hear it.”

She got up and went to get her coat, Will reluctantly following—especially since Shadow jumped to the floor and took a fighting stance, making unpleasant noises at Will.

“This is unfair,” Will muttered. “He’s blaming me for your pigheaded behavior.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, little guy.” Sunny picked up the cat and brought him to the kitchen. She placed him beside his bowls and knelt to stroke his fur. “I won’t be gone long—promise. I’ll come home soon, and then we’ll have some time together.”

Shadow made a little sound of protest, but he didn’t follow Sunny as she went to rejoin Will standing at the kitchen door. Still, his tail wig-wagged a mournful message as he watched her go.

Outside, she turned expectantly to Will. “What’s the plan?”

“We go to pick up Val, and then off to O’Dowd’s.”

They had a quiet drive into town. Will apparently wasn’t in the mood for conversation after what Sunny had told him—and how she’d insisted on tagging along. Val Overton stood by the front door of the motel, hurrying out when they arrived. It was a close fit as she squeezed in beside Sunny on the pickup’s front seat.

“Hi, Sunny. Didn’t expect to see you.” Val reached into her shoulder bag and brought out a can of beer. “There should be more than enough for the three of us.”

Sunny stared. “For what?”

“Let’s call it, oh, verisimilitude.” Val popped the top on the can and offered it to Sunny. “Take a mouthful and swish it around. Having beer on our breath will make it look as though we’ve been bouncing around to different joints in town.”

Will nodded as Sunny took a sip. Then he reached over for the can, raised it to his lips, and took a healthy swig, his cheeks working like the guy in the mouthwash ad.

Only this is sort of the opposite, Sunny thought as she worked the beer around in her mouth. Will swallowed, and so did Sunny. Val grinned and emptied the can. “Now we’re set,” she said.

Will started the truck, and they headed downtown.

“Has Will been keeping you in the loop on the investigation?” Val asked, her beery breath fogging the window.

“As much as he can, I guess,” Sunny replied. “Looks as if you’ve run out of suspects.”

“I know Neil doesn’t have the most rock-solid alibi, but he’s my witness, damn it,” Val scowled. “I don’t want him to be guilty. Maybe this gun show angle will turn up something new.”

She didn’t look very upbeat about it, though. “I’m thinking I may just have to pull Neil out of town. We’ve been over the crime scene and Treibholz’s hotel over in Portsmouth. His briefcase hasn’t turned up. Treibholz wasn’t a high-tech kind of guy. He worked off paper and a cell phone, and he never went anywhere without his briefcase. That’s disappeared, along with the file on his search for Nick Gatto.”

“So you’re afraid someone has that information.” Sunny frowned. “If that were the case, you’d think they’d have used it by now.”

“Maybe they’re still haggling over a sale,” Will suggested as he smoothly negotiated a turn. “I’m sure Jimmy the Chopper would pay big for it.”

“That’s a consideration.” Val’s face was grim as the truck’s heater finally kicked in, spreading the smell of beer through the cabin. “What I want to find is the leak that got Treibholz out here in the first place. We keep our cards pretty close to the vest in WitSec. Only three other people besides myself are supposed to know where Neil is.”

“Well, I know where we are.” Will pulled into a half-full parking lot fronting a wooden building that had once been painted white and had faded to a sort of moldy gray. “Welcome to beautiful O’Dowd’s.”

The long, low, squarish building looked like some sort of equipment shed that had grown beyond its useful size. It reminded Sunny of a block of cheese that had been nibbled by time instead of mice. The only sign that it was a business was a neon beer ad in one of the windows, and even that blinked on and off erratically, as if it were on its last legs.

“Let’s get the show on the road.” Will opened the door, slid from his seat, and then did the honors on the passenger-side door. Standing outside, Val sized up the place dubiously. “Can’t be worse than some of the places I’ve visited in the line of duty,” she said. “But you guys will owe me another meal in the Redbrick before I get out of town.”

She sauntered up to the front door, a featureless plywood panel with a handle bolted on, pulled, and swore under her breath. “Stupid thing’s stuck.”

“Yeah, the wood swells.” Will began reaching for the handle. But Val gave a sudden heave and the door swung open, letting out a blare of music and top-of-the-voice conversation, as well as a cloud of cigarette smoke flavored with beer fug.

Val sniffed appreciatively. “I think there’s a little weed in there, too.”

She swaggered in with Will and Sunny right behind. The interior décor was pretty much as it had been when Sunny and her college friends used to come in for a little underage drinking. Back then, O’Dowd’s had been seedy, with a long bar against the back wall and scattered tables made from splintery plywood. Posters from long-forgotten rock bands dotted the walls, fumed into sepia tones from the cigarette smoke that hung in the air. State law made bars smoke free more than ten years ago, but the clientele wasn’t the most law-abiding sort.

Jasmine the barmaid glanced in their direction, recognized Will as a cop, and hurried to the far end of the bar.

That’s kind of snooty, denying us service, Sunny thought until she saw Jasmine grab a guy by the arm and whisper—or was that shout quietly—in his ear, nodding toward the newcomers. Her friend stared at Will, and the sloppy-looking cigarette dangling from his lips suddenly disappeared into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes in pain as he gave a convulsive swallow.

Val obviously caught that byplay, because she grinned. “Nice bunch. And a really jumping place.”

She stepped up to the bar, and now Sunny had to grin at the reaction from the regulars. On the one hand, Val moved like a cop. On the other, she was a good-looking, unfamiliar female. A sort of push-pull effect ran its way through the scruffy-looking guys lining the bar.

Will stood beside Val and pulled Sunny onto a stool on his other side. Guess he wants to be surrounded by bait, she decided.

Jasmine the barmaid continued pretending to ignore them. For Sunny’s male classmates, Jasmine had probably been a greater draw than cheap beer. An English major had described her as an exotic flower rising in the middle of a squalid swamp. More like an exotic dancer, Sunny thought. Jasmine specialized in outfits that combined brevity and astonishing engineering to give the impression of ripe fruit about to—but never quite—spill out.

These days, Jasmine was more on the overripe side. Fifteen years of beer and cigarette smoke had not done wonders for her figure or her skin. A strip of gray always showed at the part of her unnaturally black hair. And somewhere along the way she’d lost a tooth. But she still kept up her femme fatale act . . .

Sunny blinked. Something had been nagging her subconscious, and now she realized what it was. Jasmine was wearing one of her signature seriously-strained tops, but she was wearing it over what looked like a leotard. Sunny leaned over to Will. “Is Jasmine suddenly worrying about the cold?” she yelled.

The answer came from a guy lounging against the bar on the opposite side. “Her old man don’t like her showing off so much.”

Sunny gave him a once-over. The stranger had a hatchet face with too much nose and chin, a wisp of mustache between them, and a pair of beady, greedy eyes. “Came along and ruined the one good thing about this bar.” He glared at Jasmine. “It sure wasn’t her beer or her personality.”

Somehow, Jasmine must have caught the conversation, because she came charging over. “Don’t make a bigger jackass of yourself than you need to, Scab. She’s with the cop.” Jasmine jerked her head in Will’s direction.

Bingo, Sunny thought.

“It’s a free country. I can say whatever I want,” Scab blustered.

“And Bear can kick your scrawny butt from here to Augusta, even if he is all banged up,” Jasmine told him. “You want me to ask him and find out?”

Scab stepped away from the barmaid and headed down the bar, gravitating in Val’s direction this time.

Jasmine grimaced. “What can I get you?”

“Beer.” Will brought up a good, yeasty burp. He nodded toward Val. “I’ve got a friend in town, and we’ve been hitting all the bars.”

“Yeah, and on a cop’s salary, I guess you want to keep it cheap.” Jasmine got busy below the bar. In a moment she came up with three plastic mugs of beer, about half of it rapidly disintegrating head.

Val took her mug, drained it, and handed it back. “Thanks.”

That surprised Jasmine, who refilled it and then took the charge out of the twenty Will put on the bar.

“I miss all the exciting news,” Sunny said. “How long has this Bear guy been around?”

Jasmine’s expression softened a little. “Just a while.”

“He’s got Scab jealous.”

Jasmine responded with a scornful laugh. “Scab. All he does is look down my tops.”

I thought that’s what they were designed for, Sunny thought, but she didn’t say that out loud.

“Bear is . . . different.” Jasmine leaned forward, as if she were happy to find a female she could confide in. “Oh, he’s got his rough edges—he wasn’t an angel. But he respects me—and wants me to respect myself more.” She gestured to the cover-up she was wearing under her tawdry-looking top.

Sunny grinned. “Yeah, but I bet it cuts down on your tips.”

Jasmine winced a little. “To tell you the truth, the tips haven’t been rolling in lately. Bear is—was—a biker. He’s got a really cool Harley, but he came down here from the other end of the state to leave that life behind. He’s a great mechanic, fixed up my old wreck. Once he finds a job around here . . . well, I think I’ll be saying good-bye to O’Dowd’s.”

“The place won’t be the same without you,” Sunny said, surprising herself to discover she meant it. “I hope it all turns out right.”

“Thanks.” Jasmine smiled, then turned to head down the bar to where another patron was holding out his mug.

Sunny turned her attention to the conversation proceeding on the other side of Will. Scab Scabetti was puffed up like a toad, telling Val what he would do if Bear so much as looked at him cross-eyed. “Aaah, he’s big but slow,” Scab said. “I’d be in and out, before—”

“Before he still kicked your butt from here to Augusta,” Will interrupted.

Scab gave him a dirty look. “Look, buddy, you already got a girl. Why do you have to get all up in my face?”

“Hey, it’s just business,” Will replied. “You were up that way recently, weren’t you?”

“Ummmm—maybe.” Scab’s beady eyes got wary.

“A little buying trip, I hear.”

Scab began to get alarmed, but Val draped an arm over his shoulders. “Oh, wow, this sounds interesting. What were you buying? Something dangerous?”

Scab’s male hormones kicked in again. “Guns,” he said, swelling up once more. “There was a gun show up north, and a friend took a bunch of us.”

Val’s eyes went wide. “You bought guns? Do you have one on you? Can I see it?”

That’s all we need, guys bringing guns into booze joints like O’Dowd’s. Sunny glanced around. Then again, we don’t have the sharpest tools in the shed on display here. Doesn’t Scab realize that he’s spouting off in front of a cop—about something that’s supposed to be illegal?

A thicker than usual cloud of smoke came wafting past, making her cough. Oh. Right.

Scab deflated a little and shook his head. “No, they’re with my friend. I think he’s gonna make a big killing—” He broke off with a glance at Will. “I mean, make a lot of money. If he took all the guns we got down south to Massachusetts, he could get twice as much as he paid, maybe more—”

Val brought her lips close to Scab’s ear. “You know what else he’d get?”

Scab looked a little dazed. “No, what?”

Val’s voice hardened. “A federal rap for illegally transporting guns across state lines.” She reached under her coat and produced a leather case. “Know what this is?” She opened it up to display her badge.

The sight of that left Scab a little short of words—and maybe breath. He managed to squeak out a no.

“That’s a federal marshal’s badge, as in federal rap. Now, do you want to go in as an accessory before the fact?”

“Think!” Scab gabbled. “I said I think he was going to go there and sell them! I don’t know! I don’t know nothin’!”

“Tell us how it went down,” Will said, his voice as hard as Val’s.

“This guy comes in here, asks if I want to make an easy fifty bucks. He’s got two carloads of people going up to Vincentville for this show. A couple of guys from here, and some of his drinking buddies from a bar down by the waterfront. We go up there, he looks over the different tables, then he sends us around to make purchases.” Scab snickered. “He spent so much, he had to go to the ATM and withdraw money to pay us.”

Blowing his whole alibi to do it, Sunny thought.

Scab’s skinny face tightened. “Then, when I came back, this Bear guy threatened to take me apart.”

“Why would he do that?” Sunny asked.

“I dunno,” Scab whined. “I thought I’d spend some of the money I made here. When Bear found out how I got it, all of a sudden he was on my case.” His face took on the same sullen look Shadow got when someone picked him up against his will—a large human against a much smaller cat. “Yeah, big, bad Bear, with his stupid motorcycle tattoo—didn’t know how to spell Satan, had a big mother Y in the middle of it.”

Will leaned in. “Satyn’s Guard?”

“Yeah. I never heard of them. But he acted like a big man. Big Y on his arm. Stupid.”

Will stood silent for a moment, then nodded. “That’s it then. We can go.”

Val looked suddenly serious. “I guess so.”

Will turned to Scab. “And you’ll keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yeah, right, I’m going to tell that jackass.” Scab turned back to the bar and his drink.

As she followed Val and Will to the door, Sunny said, “Y’know, I’d like to know what’s going on, too.”

“I’ll clue you in,” Will promised, glancing around. “Outside.”

When they got back into his pickup, the beer-scented interior smelled like mountain-fresh air compared to the sludge they’d been breathing in O’Dowd’s. “So what’s the story, Will?”

“It goes back a few years ago, when I first joined the state police and wound up in Troop F, up by the Canadian border. A local tattoo artist turned up nearly beaten to death. He’d annoyed some clients by making a typographical error in some tattoos. They were supposed to mark the formation of a new gang, but he’d done three guys before they caught the mistake. He inked in Satan as S-A-T-I-N.”

“Satin?” Sunny had to choke down a laugh. “Sounds like he depended on spell check.”

Will shook his head. “The three guys stuck with it didn’t think it was funny, and the beating began. The only thing that saved the guy was that his partner suggested putting wide horns on the offending I to make it a Y. So they became Satyn’s Guard. The other members got their tattoos with a regular-sized Y. But the three with the typo had to make do with, as Scab described it, ‘a big mother Y’ in Satyn.”

Val nodded. “Of those three, one died in a shootout with federal officers, one is in jail, and the last is Yancey Kilbane, chief enforcer for the Satyn’s Guard biker gang.”

“A biker gang up by the Canadian border,” Sunny said slowly.

“You got it,” Will agreed. “A biker gang that specializes in smuggling anything from cigarettes to assault weapons. . .”