Thread of Doubt

by Jeff Shelby

  “Just stop now,” I said. “Before I really hurt you. You don't know what you're doing and I do.”

  Billy was on his feet on the porch, watching us, trying to decide what to do.

  “Don't,” I warned him. “Stay there.”

  He paused, unsure of himself now.

  Jay finally grunted, his wind coming back, and he made a gurgling sound, turning to me again. His face was red, and he wasn't nearly as tall as he'd been when he'd come down off the porch.

  “Don't,” I said, shaking my head. “Just don't.”

  Jay didn't listen and instead lunged at me, sloppy and all over the place. I sidestepped him again and buried my fist behind his ribs as he went by. His legs gave way and he fell to the ground, silent, trying to find air again.

  I hadn't been in any kind of fight or confrontation for several years and the spike in my adrenaline surprised me. My heart raced, my hands tingled, and the hair on my neck was standing at attention.

  I flexed the hand I'd punched Jay with, uncoiling my fist, wiggling my fingers.

  Billy's feet shuffled against the steps to the porch and I knew he hadn't listened to me. I turned in his direction and he was rushing at me from the porch, coming in low like a linebacker trying to hit a running back. I took one step forward, then lifted my knee into his onrushing face, catching him under his chin and snapping his head backward. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, his body falling awkwardly to the side with his hands and arms beneath him. He was out cold.

  Jay rolled over on his back, his face an entire mask of pain, his mouth still open.

  Arrogance was the easiest way to get yourself hurt.

  The screen door to the house creaked and I turned.

  The guy standing there was in his late-twenties, short black hair, about my height. He had on a gray T-shirt and jeans, and his build reminded me of that of a swimmer's: broad shoulders, flat chest, narrow hips. He seemed confused by what he was seeing, looking at Jay and Billy on the ground.

  “Are you Thad Paulus?” I asked.

  He took a look at me, nodded, then stared down at his friends again. “What the fuck happened?”

  TWENTY THREE

  I was getting tired of asking questions, but I repeated myself again. “Are you Thad Paulus?”

  He came down slowly off the steps, still focused on his friends on the ground. “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “My name's Joe Tyler,” I said. “I tried asking your friends if you were here and they wanted to fight me instead. I asked them not to. They didn't listen.”

  Paulus looked at me, still not comprehending.

  Jay groaned again on the walk, but made no effort to get up.

  “Is he dead?” Paulus asked, pointing to Billy.

  “No. Just unconscious,” I said. “I'd like to talk to you.”

  He squinted at me. “You just show up here and beat the crap out of my friends? And now you want to talk to me?”

  “Your friends wanted to fight me,” I repeated. “I told them not to. They didn't listen. I didn't want to fight anyone.”

  He didn't say anything.

  “Do you know Patrick Bullock?”

  His lip curled. “Do you know how to fuck off?”

  “Not really.”

  He frowned. “I'm gonna call the cops.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  He didn't move.

  “Do you want my phone?” I asked, shoving my hand into my pocket to get it. “Or do you want me to call?”

  He looked down at his friends again. Jay was trying to get his faculties back and was rubbing at his back where I'd punched him. He didn't appear to be in any hurry to get up.

  “Who are you?” Paulus asked.

  “I told you,” I said. “My name is Joe Tyler.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I'm an investigator,” I said. “Do you know Patrick Bullock?”

  He eyed me. “You have some I.D.?”

  “That says I'm an investigator? No. I'm working for a friend. I can show you my driver's license that will show you I'm not lying about my name.”

  “Then you can get lost,” he said.

  “I don't care about the heroin inside,” I said. “I just wanna talk about Patrick.”

  He flinched when I said heroin and he realized he'd flinched. He couldn't walk it back now.

  “I know you aren't gonna call the cops,” I said. “And if you want to verify my story about being here, I can call Patrick's uncle. He's a cop and can vouch for me.”

  Paulus frowned. He had no idea what was going on and no idea what to do. Which worked out well for me because I felt like I had him off-balance.

  “I don't know him,” he mumbled.

  “You sure? Because I have phone records that tell me you've talked quite a bit with him,” I said.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Fine. Yeah, I know Patrick.”

  “How?”

  He started to answer, then stopped. Jay had moved to a sitting position, but with the disposition of a scared puppy. Billy was still napping.

  “I can make a phone call and make this a lot worse for you,” Paulus said, holding up his phone. “I don't think you want that.”

  I shrugged again. “You can try. But I guarantee it'll be worse for you before whoever you call gets here.” I glanced at his friends on the ground. “And you're gonna need to call guys who are way better than they are.”

  He looked down at them.

  He was waffling, and that told me everything I needed to know about him. He wasn't some big time dealer. He was running his own show and just making some cash. Maybe it was a lot of cash, but he certainly wasn't the mastermind behind some big operation. If he was, he would've had better people out front who didn't just want to fight, and he wouldn't have hesitated to do whatever he needed to do to be rid of me.

  “Can we just drop the theatrics here?” I said. “I really don't give a shit about whatever you've got inside the house, and you aren't going to convince me I need to be scared of anyone you call here. I'm not here to bust you. I'm not a cop. I can't do anything like that. This'll go a lot better if you just acknowledge that.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “You've got five minutes.”

  I knew I'd get as long as I needed, but I didn't point it out to him. “Tell me how you know Patrick.”

  “We're friends.”

  “What kind of friends?”

  He made a face. “We hold hands a lot and like to play army. What do you think I mean?”

  I didn't say anything.

  He sighed. “We're friends. I've known him for a while. We don't hang out or anything like that.”

  “He buys from you?”

  “Come on, man—”

  “Does he buy from you?”

  He thought for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yeah.”

  Billy finally managed some sort of grunt and shook himself to life. He rolled over, his eyes glassy, his gaze unfocused.

  “Is he gonna be alright?” Paulus asked, worry flickering across his face.

  “He'll be fine,” I said. “Probably a concussion, maybe a busted jaw. But he'll be fine.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Does Patrick buy heroin from you?” It was time for specifics.

  He hesitated. “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “How often?”

  “I don't keep a log, man,” he said, frowning again, like answering questions was painful for him. “Goes in spurts. Sometimes I hear from him a lot, sometimes not so much.”

  I nodded. “Alright. Was he dealing for you?”

  Paulus looked down at the ground. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

  “Was he?”

  He sighed again and moved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Not for a long time, though. He just needed some cash so he asked me about it. We set it up.”

  “Was he selling a lot for you?”

  He shrugged. “I don't know. I wouldn't say a ton, but he was making several hundred a week, p
robably.”

  Several hundred a week probably felt like striking gold to someone in Patrick’s position.

  “For how long?”

  Paulus started to say something, then stopped.

  Jay pushed himself to his feet, keeping his distance from me as he stood.

  Paulus was done answering questions. “Look, I don't know who the hell you are or what you want, but this is bullshit,” he said. “You can get the fuck out of here right now. And if you follow me into the house, I will call the fucking cops.” He turned and headed for the steps.

  “Patrick's dead,” I said. “I found him.”

  Paulus froze. “Bullshit.”

  I shook my head. “None whatsoever.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  Thad Paulus stared at me for a moment, his eyes wide, like he was seeing me for the first time.

  Jay looked back and forth between us, trying to maintain his balance, rubbing at his side.

  Billy was curled up on his side on the ground, moaning softly.

  “Patrick is dead?” Paulus finally asked.

  I nodded.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed once, then twice. “When?”

  “I found him two days ago.”

  “You found him?”

  I nodded again.

  “Shit,” Paulus muttered.

  “Who the hell is Patrick?” Jay asked, then winced as he pressed his hand into his side.

  “Shut up,” Paulus muttered. He gestured at Billy. “Get him up and go inside. Or take him to a doctor. I don't give a shit.”

  Jay eyed me warily.

  “I'm done with you,” I told him. “I'm not gonna touch you. Pick up your friend and go.”

  Jay frowned, but it was clear he wasn't up for a second round. He bent down, clutching his side with one hand, and picked Billy up off the ground. Billy whined like a wounded animal, his head lolling to the side as Jay got him to his feet and wrapped Billy's arm around his neck.

  “I'd take him to the ER,” I said. “His jaw is out of place and it's gonna hurt like hell.”

  Jay frowned again at me as he trudged up the steps to the house, keeping Billy upright.

  “How did he die?” Paulus asked once they were inside.

  “I don't know yet,” I lied, not looking to share what I knew with someone I didn't trust. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Fuck no, I don't know anything about it,” he said, angrily. “Shit.”

  His initial reaction told me he was telling the truth. He was genuinely shocked. I didn't think he was that good of a liar, or that good of an actor.

  “Why are you so upset?” I asked.

  He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed onto the back of his neck. “Why the fuck do you think I'm so upset? I consider Patrick a friend, alright? We don't hang out, but we were square. He was straight up with me and I was straight up with him. But, shit.” He shook his head, his brows furrowed together. “This could come back to me and then I'd be fucked.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at me again like I wasn't very smart. “Why do you think, dude? If Patrick had other stuff on him or they find my name or something, then they'll come looking for me. And that will fuck everything up for me.”

  It looked as if Thad Paulus's own self-interest was outweighing his grief, at least for the moment.

  Shocking.

  “Walk me through his dealing for you again,” I said.

  “I already did.”

  “Do it again.”

  He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “It's like I said. He told me he was low on cash and couldn't get a job because of his band. So he asked if we could work something out. Normally, I wouldn't have been interested. Too much of a hassle. But Patrick's a good guy. Or was or whatever. So I told him okay. 60/40 split, which was a deal for him, but I wasn't trying to screw him over or anything like that. I wouldn't give 40 to anyone else.”

  I couldn't decide if he was telling me the truth or trying to make himself look good.

  “And back to what I asked you before,” I said. “How long had this been going on?”

  He thought for a moment. “I'd say about the last two months or so.”

  That lined up with what Erin told me.

  “So you fronted him the product, he sold it, then you took 60 percent?” I clarified.

  “Yeah.”

  “He have any trouble selling it?”

  Paulus shook his head. “Nope. He was checking in with me about every two weeks.”

  “Any idea who he was selling to?” I asked.

  Paulus shrugged. “No clue. When we first talked about it, he said he knew a few people he could sell to. I told him the one thing I didn't want him doing was selling to people he didn't know because he could get fucked. He said it wouldn't be a problem.” He shrugged. “Far as I know, it never was.”

  Everything he was telling me made sense. Patrick had gone to him because he knew he could make money and it wouldn't conflict with the band. It might not have been legal, but for him, it was operating in a world he knew and the cash was easy. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but I could see how Patrick could've rationalized it to himself.

  “You sell anything else?” I asked.

  Paulus eyed me. “I thought we were just talking about smack.”

  “We were, and now I'm asking if you sell anything else.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It matters because your friend is dead and because I'm trying to figure out what happened to him,” I said. “It matters because I'm trying to get a read on what was going on his life. It matters because I'm asking.”

  “So?”

  “Can we not do this?” I asked. “I've been clear with you why I'm here. If I really wanted to jack you up, I would've done it by now. Stop being paranoid and wasting our time.”

  His mouth twisted in a couple different directions and he looked away from me.

  I really didn't have any intention of jacking him up. I didn't care about his operation or what he was selling or any of that. I only cared about things that were related to Patrick.

  Unless he stonewalled me.

  “I sell some other stuff, too,” he finally said, shrugging.

  “What other stuff?”

  “Weed, because it's easy,” he said. “Pills and stuff, too. I don't do coke or meth because the people in that world are insane.”

  It was crazy to me to hear that heroin had moved out of the insane world and into the casual user world, but I knew from everything I'd read that was probably true. It was still hard to envision people jabbing a needle into their arm casually, though.

  “What kind of pills?” I asked.

  “Oxy,” he admitted, his eyes flickering toward mine, then away. “Xanax, Valium, shit like that. Ambien sometimes. I don't do a lot of it because it's cheap and people can just find it in medicine cabinets. Doesn't make a lot of sense for me to hold and then try to move it.”

  Xanax and Valium.

  Benzodiazepenes.

  “You ever sell anything like that to Patrick?” I asked. “Either for him to use or to sell?”

  Something buzzed in Paulus's pocket and he pulled out his phone. He frowned at the screen, then turned toward the house. “Don't do shit! I'm fine!” He turned back to me. “They wanted to know if they should call other people to come over.”

  “Good advice on your part,” I said.

  “I don't even know why I let them hang around,” he said, shaking his head. “They fuck up more shit than they help with.”

  “Patrick,” I said again, trying to steer the conversation back to where it needed to be. “You sell him any of the pill stuff?”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  He thought again, then nodded. “Yeah. I really don't think I did. And I mean I didn't sell it to him and I didn't give it to him to sell.”

  “Was he into it at all? Like, did he talk about it or ask about it?�
�

  He shook his head again. “No, I really don't think he did.”

  “Thad? Look at me.”

  He seemed surprised and met my eyes.

  “Don't lie to me on this one,” I warned. “I believe you so far, but don't lie to me on this. It matters.”

  He shuffled his feet backward like he was afraid of me and shook his head one more time. “I swear. I don't remember Patrick ever even asking about that stuff. Or weed. Was just the smack. And I think I'd remember selling to him because if I had, it would've been one time and it would've stuck out, you know?”

  I nodded. “I'd think you would remember, yes.”

  “So, I'm telling you,” Paulus said. “I swear. I didn't sell him anything.”

  “I believe you.”

  He started to say something, then stopped himself. He looked down at the ground, his brows furrowed together again.

  “What?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond right away. “I think I sold to someone else,” he finally said.

  I cocked my head. “I don't get what you're saying.”

  “I think I sold benzos to someone else,” Thad Paulus said. “In the band.”

  TWENTY FIVE

  “Isn't Ricky in the band?” Paulus asked me.

  “Ricky Brown?”

  Recognition flashed through his eyes and he nodded. “Yeah. I went to see the band play one night. Patrick invited me. At Belly Up in Solana Beach. Maybe a month or so ago? Can't remember the date.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Anyway, I caught up with them after their set,” he explained. “They were outside having a beer. Patrick introduced me to the other guys; there were a bunch of people back there. I don't even remember who I was talking to, but we'd been out there for a while and he came up to me. We were just talking and stuff and after a while, when it was just the two of us, me and Ricky, he asked if I had anything.”

  “How'd he know you'd be the guy to ask?”

  Paulus shrugged. “No clue. I assume Patrick told him that he bought from me or whatever. I really don't know. And at first, I thought he was asking for heroin, but he was clear he didn't want that. He just wanted shit to take the edge off.”

  “The benzos.”