A Beautiful Place to Die by Philip Craig

said.
    I did.

— 10 —
    I went home and ate warmed-over St.-Jacques for lunch while I checked the tide tables. Then I drove to the hospital and went in to see Billy.
    â€œI’m out of here this afternoon,” he said with a smile. “They’re giving me my walking papers.”
    I shut the door and sat down. Billy stopped looking happy. I told him everything. From the time his sister came to see me up to the talk I’d just had with the chief. His face went through a number of changes during my narrative. Once or twice he wanted to say something, but I waved him silent. When I was through, I said, “Well, what do you think? Is somebody after you?”
    â€œNo. Why should they be?”
    I shrugged. “You’d know more about that than I would. According to Julie, you’re still dealing. Dealers get hurt; it’s an occupational hazard. It happens every day. Somebody gets murdered and in a day or so the police let it out that it was drug related. You’re in it for the money, I imagine. And your old man still thinks that you’re straight, God help him.”
    â€œMy old man.” His lip curled. “He’s got me on such a tight allowance up at school that I can’t even have a social life. You’re going to tell him, of course.”
    â€œMaybe. Is that how you got back into the peddling business? Because you needed more money than your old man was handing out?”
    He shrugged. “You know him. He figured he’d spoiled me before so he’d make up for it this time. I was always broke.”
    I doubted that Billy had been as poor as he claimed, but then one man’s poverty is another’s riches. If you feel poor, maybe you are. On the other hand, maybe Billy just liked dealing dope. Maybe he just liked the life-style or the power it gave him over the people who paid for his product.
    â€œWhere’d you get the stuff you sold, Billy?”
    His eyes wandered away and his mouth tightened. Did Billy have a code of honor? Would he refuse to rat on his own supplier? Yes, he would. “I won’t tell you that,” he said.
    â€œYour sister thinks that somebody tried to kill you. Your dealer might be a likely choice if the word got around that you were about to become an informer.”
    â€œNo. The people I used to know weren’t that sort.”
    â€œHow about the people you still know?”
    â€œNo. Besides, I’m not informing on anybody.”
    I am not a theater critic, so I don’t always know an act when I see one. Billy’s voice was a bit cracked, and the muscles at the hinges of his jaw were working. I changed course.
    â€œSo nobody would want to kill you. You were close to Jim Norris. Would anybody want to kill him?”
    Billy looked startled. “Jim? What do you mean?”
    â€œI mean maybe somebody was after him, and not you. Maybe the right guy got blown up after all.”
    Big eyes. “What are you talking about?” Billy was sitting up.
    â€œI mean maybe Jim was a narc, an undercover operator for the state or feds. Maybe somebody got on to him and got rid of him before he could testify. Do you know if he had any enemies, anybody who might want to kill him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you think he was a narc?”
    The shock was past him. Billy settled back on the pillow again. “No, I don’t think so. I suppose he could have been, but . . . He would have told me, I think. We were almost like brothers, you know. We didn’t hit it off when he first came here, but in the end we really got along. Hey, do you have to tell my family all this? Look, I admit it—I peddled some stuff at college because I needed more money than my dad was sending me. It wasn’t much, just some grass I had stashed and some codeine. I’m really not a pusher, I swear.”
    I looked at him, wishing I could see into his soul.
    â€œHey,” he said, “I’ll stop.