said.
I did.
â 10 â
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.
âIâm out of here this afternoon,â he said with a smile. âTheyâre giving me my walking papers.â
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 Iâd 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, âWell, what do you think? Is somebody after you?â
âNo. Why should they be?â
I shrugged. âYouâd know more about that than I would. According to Julie, youâre still dealing. Dealers get hurt; itâs 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. Youâre in it for the money, I imagine. And your old man still thinks that youâre straight, God help him.â
âMy old man.â His lip curled. âHeâs got me on such a tight allowance up at school that I canât even have a social life. Youâre going to tell him, of course.â
âMaybe. Is that how you got back into the peddling business? Because you needed more money than your old man was handing out?â
He shrugged. âYou know him. He figured heâd spoiled me before so heâd make up for it this time. I was always broke.â
I doubted that Billy had been as poor as he claimed, but then one manâs poverty is anotherâs 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.
âWhereâd you get the stuff you sold, Billy?â
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. âI wonât tell you that,â he said.
âYour 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
âNo. The people I used to know werenât that sort.â
âHow about the people you still know?â
âNo. Besides, Iâm not informing on anybody.â
I am not a theater critic, so I donât always know an act when I see one. Billyâs voice was a bit cracked, and the muscles at the hinges of his jaw were working. I changed course.
âSo nobody would want to kill you. You were close to Jim Norris. Would anybody want to kill him?â
Billy looked startled. âJim? What do you mean?â
âI mean maybe somebody was after him, and not you. Maybe the right guy got blown up after all.â
Big eyes. âWhat are you talking about?â Billy was sitting up.
âI 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
âNo.â
âDo you think he was a narc?â
The shock was past him. Billy settled back on the pillow again. âNo, I donât think so. I suppose he could have been, but . . . He would have told me, I think. We were almost like brothers, you know. We didnât 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 itâI peddled some stuff at college because I needed more money than my dad was sending me. It wasnât much, just some grass I had stashed and some codeine. Iâm really not a pusher, I swear.â
I looked at him, wishing I could see into his soul.
âHey,â he said, âIâll stop.
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