you to listen because I need to hear your story straight from you. I can’t have their versions affecting yours. But when they’re done, I’m going to take you to where you’re staying and I want you to tell me every single thing you can remember. You’re going to be okay. I think we can get away with some butterfly bandages on that cut. Just sit tight, keep the rag pressed to your face, and start going over every minute of tonight. And don’t worry about anyone finding out. I’m not telling anyone about this; I’m not reporting it back. It stays between you and me.”
Bobby nodded, too overwhelmed to do more than obey. I wondered what it was like to leave the narrow confines of prison life, where everything was prescribed, only to be tossed into the chaos of a place like the Double Deuce.
“Over here,” Maggie told the witnesses. “I’ll take you one by one.”
“Ah, man,” one of the bikers complained as he tugged on his ZZ Top beard. “This is gonna take all night.”
“If you’re at the back of the line, you can go inside and get your free drinks while you wait. Just come back,” Maggie told everyone. “And you two”—she pointed out the biker and his friend—“when you get back, I want you to stand on either side of the guy who was cut and make sure no one gets within twenty feet of him. There’s twenty bucks in it for each of you if you do.”
“Cool,” the friend said. “I can drink next to anyone for twenty bucks.”
When I died, my price had been hovering around five.
While most of the men in the group headed back in to start drinking on Roger’s dime, the old man with dusty Levi’s and the women stayed put. First up was the old guy and he got right to the point.
“Satan did it,” he told Maggie, sitting down and leaning toward her like they were the best of friends, enjoying a cup of coffee and swapping secrets.
“Satan?” asked Maggie calmly. She’d done this kind of thing before.
“Yup. Looked real sharp, too. Dark hair, nice clothes. Mean face though. I don’t care how pretty he was. He walked in, I saw him and I knew there would be trouble. It was Satan. I tell you that now to save you time.”
“Okay,” Maggie said. “I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll watch my back. Now go tell Roger you’ve earned your free beer.”
The old man smiled his toothless thanks and made room for the older woman with frizzy hair. Maggie took one look at her prematurely aged face, the swollen flesh and broken veins of her body, and sighed. She recognized the signs of a hard-core, cirrhosis-suffering alcoholic when she saw them.
“And what did you see?” Maggie asked. “Because the guy before you claims he saw Satan.”
“I didn’t see no Satan,” the woman said. “I saw a television guy.”
I had taken a seat next to Maggie and was enjoying watching her work. Unfortunately, that meant I caught a blast of horrific halitosis from the frizzy-haired woman. It was an occupational hazard of being on the job.
“A television guy?” Maggie asked. “You recognized him from TV?”
“Hell no,” the woman said. “That shit kills your brain. But he looked like a television guy. You know what I mean? Plastic hair? Phony smile? Clothes that look like someone ironed them right onto him?”
Hayes. She was describing Alan Hayes. I’d bet my tombstone on it.
I couldn’t tell if Maggie realized it or not. I don’t think she did.
“How tall was he?” she asked the woman.
“Way taller than me.” She cackled. Not a good combination with that frizzy hair of hers. Throw in a cauldron and she’d be ready for business.
Real police work again had made me giddy. I’d gotten a lot funnier in death, I decided. It was too bad there was no one around who could hear me.
“And you saw him attack that man?” Maggie nodded toward Bobby Daniels, who was sitting patiently while Roger applied a series of small butterfly bandages down the length of his gash. The bikers had done as Maggie asked and were flanking Daniels like a pair of stone lions guarding a library entrance.
“No,” the woman admitted. “I didn’t see him attack anyone. It’s just that he didn’t fit in. I mean, look at us.” She waved a hand boozily toward the others. “He didn’t fit and I think he had something to do with it. For one thing, do