Chasing a Blond Moon(54)
Walter looked at him. “Does that mean yes, it’s not a problem, or yes, he talked to you?”
Service smirked and wanted to laugh, but his face was too sore and swollen. “See how it feels to talk to you?”
Walter rolled his eyes.
Nantz came into the room. “How it feels to talk to who?”
“Stay out of this,” Service and his son said in unison.
“There’s a driver waiting to take us to the airport,” Nantz said.
“In Madison?” Service asked.
“Madison is where we are,” she said.
“I need to make a side trip on the way to the airport.”
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.
“Not unless you can beam me over to Jefferson, Scotty.”
Walter Commando and Maridly Nantz exchanged glances. “Are you all right, Grady?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t think you’re all right.”
“Can we go to Jefferson now?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to Masonetsky.”
“That idea sucks,” Wayno Ficorelli said, walking into the room. “He’s in the hospital there.”
“You broke my finger,” Service said.
Nantz tapped Walter on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“You broke a finger on my right hand,” Service said.
“There wasn’t time to assess handedness,” Ficorelli said.
“You need a remedial class to improve observational skills.”
“I observe that you guys are leaving. Am I going along?”
“So you can cripple my other hand?”
“Let’s all move,” Nantz said sternly.
“Tell the kid it was just some wrestling,” Service said.
Ficorelli looked at Walter. “It was just some wrestling.”
“Was there a winner?” the boy asked.
They were in the corridor. “The law,” Service said.
“Is that the same as justice?” his son asked.
“Rarely.”
“This is not uplifting for a young college student.”
“It gets worse as you get older.”
Nantz said, “Okay, boys.”
They stopped at the discharge desk so that Service could sign out and continued out into bright sunlight.
Ficorelli said, “Like, am I invited, or am I wasting steps here?”
“Next time we work a case maybe I’ll have the finger re-broken before we start,” Service said.
Nantz opened the side door of a black super cargo van.
Service looked at Ficorelli. “Mount up, finger-snapper.”
When they were all seated and belted, Nantz said, “You can all shut up now.”
Walter said, “It’s them, not me.”
“We’re bonding,” Service said.
“The Mars thing,” Ficorelli chipped in.
“No bonding in this van,” she said.
“Does that mean sex is out of the question?” Ficorelli asked.
Service cuffed him on the back of the head with his left hand.
Rafe Masonetsky was lodged in the Jefferson Hospital. Pyykkonen was already there, waiting for him to be handed over so she could haul him back to Houghton.
As soon as Ficorelli saw Pyykkonen, he abandoned Service.
Rafe sat on a bed, his face swollen and bandaged. His first words: “I want my lawyer.”
“Terry Pung’s father is dead,” Service said. “We’re gonna find Terry and I have a hunch he’s going to implicate you.”
“Dude, I know nothing about that,” Masonetsky said shakily.
“Where’s Terry?”
“Ann Arbor, I heard, but I don’t know, man. He called me in August and asked if I could help him with something, but I had to work.”
“Where did he call from?”
“I don’t know, man. Ask his mama.”
“His mama?”
“He’s a mama’s boy. He don’t do shit unless he checks with her.”
“You’ve met her?”
“More than met, dude.” Rafe shuddered when he spoke.
Service decided that Rafe was afraid of the woman. “You have a problem with her?”
“She’s like, hot, man.”
Service switched directions. “Cats and rabbits at the archery range.”
“What?”
“I figure you know who supplies Gage. Gage gave you up to us to get Ficorelli off his back. Who supplies him?”
“Fuck, I should tell you?”
“Let’s count the reasons: resisting arrest, assault and battery against an officer of the law, attempting to flee, criminal sexual conduct, drugs—you want me to go on?”
Masonetsky moaned softly. “What do I get?”
“Payback on Gage, and we tell the prosecutor you cooperated fully.”
“Jubal Charter,” Rafe said.