Henry nodded. “Do you think she paid for those crackers she was eating when we came in?”
I was looking forward to my burrito and figured I could rummage a couple of extra blankets from the linen closet at the jail, since on seriously cold nights it sometimes got a little nippy in the all-concrete holding cells. I wondered if I was getting to be like those old cons who couldn’t sleep unless there were bars on the doors and windows—now that was a really depressing thought.
When we got back to the office, the flakes were basting themselves against a familiar, forest-green Chevy parked in the visitor’s spot. From the sculpted drifts, it had been there awhile.
Both Henry and I could see that Ozzie Jr. was in the driver’s seat, just sitting there, staring; speak of the devil soon to arrive. I shut down the Bullet and climbed out with our plastic bag, ambled my way around the front with Dog at my heels, and joined the Bear as we stood there looking at Ozzie, whose eyes were open but who still hadn’t moved. I could hear the radio and could see the condensation in the windows from his breath. Henry and I looked at each other, the vapor from our breath whipping into our faces.
I tapped on the hood of the one-ton Chevrolet, and Ozzie’s eyes shifted to us. I stepped closer and could see that he was dressed in the same clothes he’d had on earlier today but that there were smears of something dark on the sleeves of his jacket and the front of his shirt.
I slipped by the Cheyenne Nation. My hand fumbled with the door handle of the truck before I flipped it open and stuck my head into the cab. The heat was on high, the interior of the truck was stifling, and Roy Orbison was singing “Only the Lonely.” It was blood on his shirt and jacket with some on his jeans and even on the brim of his hat.
“Ozzie, are you all right?” His eyes shifted to mine in a dull and listless way. “Are you hurt?”
His voice was slurred, and I could smell the liquor. “Walt, I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and saw that there was an empty bottle of expensive tequila on the seat beside him along with a collection of cheap valentines spilling from a bag. “Hurt who, Ozzie?”
“He was with her, Walt.” His eyes darted around and toward Henry. “Hello.”
I grabbed his chin and swung his face back to me, aware that for legal purposes, he had to say it. “Who did you hurt, Ozzie?”
“He walked her back like it was some kind of date.”
“Where, Ozzie, where did this happen?”
Tears streamed from his eyes, and he sobbed, his lower lip pulsing in and out with his breath. “I’m scared, Walt.”
“Ozzie.”
“I didn’t mean to hit him that hard, I swear I didn’t.”
I took his arm. “Come with me.” He didn’t resist, and I took his keys. Henry helped me get him up the steps. I opened the door, flipped on the lights, and we seated him on the bench by the dispatcher’s desk. “Henry, could you watch him?”
I snatched Ruby’s phone from the cradle and hit the second auto-dial. Vic answered on the third ring, her voice a little groggy but deep and sultry. “And what fresh hell is this?”
God she sounded good, half asleep and snarky. “I need you at the office, now.”
She snapped the receiver down on the other end, and I hung up, quickly punching the Red Cross emblem on Ruby’s color-coded phone. Henry was kneeling in front of Ozzie, holding him up with one hand. “Ozzie, where did all this happen?”
He paused, but I guess I’d asked enough times that he finally got it. “My house.”
“Is Geo at your house?”
“Yes.” He slumped against the back of the bench, but the Cheyenne Nation kept him steady.
“Ozzie? What’s your address?”
“101 Eagle Ridge, the one on the hill.”
“911.” I recognized Chris Wyatt’s voice, and I told him what I needed and where.
There was a pause. “Walt, where the hell is that?”
The development was relatively new and still mostly unoccupied so even the EMTs didn’t recognize the street addresses. “It’s in the Redhills Rancho Arroyo subdivision.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I hung up the phone and hustled over to the water-cooler to get a paper cup full for Ozzie. He reached out with a shaking hand to pet Dog, who was sniffing the blood on his pants.
I sat on the edge of the bench, glanced at Henry, and handed Ozzie the water. “Was it Geo Stewart that you hurt?”
He looked at the cup of water but didn’t make any attempt to drink it. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Ozzie?”
“I really don’t.” He listed a little toward me, and Henry righted him. The small man looked at the Bear in appreciation. “Thanks.”
The Cheyenne Nation nodded. “No problem.”
“I mean I know lots of people—acquaintances, you know?”
I was forceful with the next question. “Is he hurt?”
He paused. “Yes.”
“How bad?”
He began crying again. “Walt, I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
I nudged the paper cup toward his mouth. “Take a drink of water and tell me what happened.”
The cup hesitated there for a moment. “Walt, I think I’m going to be sick.” He burped, and then he heaved. “I’mhh . . . I’m gonna be sick.”
Henry hoisted him up, ushered him into the hallway bathroom, and flipped up the lid. Ozzie no sooner sat on the floor before he leaned forward and spewed forcefully into the toilet. He seemed capable of the action without hurting himself, so I draped a washcloth onto his shoulder and stepped back along with Henry, closing the door to give Ozzie a little privacy. “If you need anything, we’re right out here.”
I could leave Henry in charge, but it wasn’t his job. I had to wait until Vic got here to babysit Ozzie, then I could take off. I leaned a hand against the doorjamb, tipped my hat back, and thought about how I hated these kinds of cases.
“Are your nights usually like this?”
I threw him a look. “Pretty much.”
Dog stood in the hallway as well and looked at the two of us uncertainly. I crouched down and put a hand out, and he hurried over. I pulled him in with my arm, and we all squatted there until my foot wouldn’t take it any longer and I slumped against the wall. I sat with Dog’s head in my lap, and the three of us listened to Ozzie Dobbs puke his guts out.
“I can stay with him until Vic arrives.”
I sighed deeply. “That’s okay, she’s usually quick.”
He continued to study me. “Then I will go with you.”
“No need in the both of us going.”
I heard the front door jangle and the couple of thumps as Vic’s Browning tactical boots struck the steps on her way up the stairs. She vaulted across the dispatch area and was standing in the hallway in front of us in her fur bomber hat, down jacket, PHILADELPHIA POLICE DEPARTMENT hoodie, pajama bottoms, and duty belt, complete with cuffs, extra mags, and Glock. “S’up?”
I struggled to my feet as Henry stood. “I did not know you slept in pajamas.”
“Gun belt, too. I’m kinky that way.” Another round of regurgitation erupted from behind the door, and she raised an eyebrow at me. “If you called me from a sound sleep for a DWI then I’m going to kick you till you’re dead.”
I left Dog with Henry, Henry with Vic, and Vic with Ozzie. The roads were still relatively dry, and with the lights and siren I was able to make good time to the red hills east of town, especially since there wasn’t a single other vehicle on the roads this late. I blew through the blinking red lights and straightened out on Route 16, bellowing and bringing all ten cylinders up like a pack.
I took the turn toward Geo’s place but then steered off at the entrance to Redhills Rancho Arroyo, which was announced by a monstrous gateway of hewn logs about the size of my truck. I eased off the throttle so that I could make it through and past the empty guard shack. There was a slight downslope that led along the creek to five rambling million-dollar structures. It was an educated guess, since I’d never been to the Dobbs household, but the lights were on at the one squatting on the precipice of the ridge.