A Fistful of Collars

by Spencer Quinn

  “I already told you—I don’t know,” Thad said. “I don’t remember a thing about that night.”

  “What night?”

  “That goddamn night. I’d never done drugs before, not even pot. I’d hardly ever been drunk.”

  “You did drugs that night?”

  “April was kind of wild, like I said.”

  “What drugs?” Bernie said.

  “Oh, man,” said Thad, “I’m one of those people that drugs just live for, you know?”

  Bernie didn’t say whether he did or didn’t, whatever Thad’s question might have been. That was one of his interviewing techniques and this was an interview, no doubt about it, and not close to being the first one we’d done with someone or more than one someone in bed. In fact, that kind of interview often went well for us.

  “Stick with that night,” Bernie said.

  “I told you I don’t—”

  Bernie cut Thad off, his voice rising. “Where were you?”

  Thad kind of cringed, just at the sound of Bernie’s voice. “If you’re going to hit me again, don’t stop. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  “There’s no time for your dramatics,” Bernie said. “Where were you?”

  Thad laughed, a harsh little laugh, quickly done with.

  “Something’s funny?” Bernie said.

  “The opposite,” said Thad. “I’ve trained myself to shut out the critics. Now you come along.” Bernie stared down at him. Thad looked away, turning again to the curtains; he seemed to be seeing something far away. “We were at Jiggs’s place,” he said in a voice that got quieter and also stranger as he went along, almost like he wasn’t really with us, hard to explain. “Jiggs was living at his dad’s and his dad was usually gone—he worked in the oil patch out in Texas. This particular night was my last one. I had to go home the next morning for summer school on account of my lousy grades. I wanted April to come with me. She wanted me to stay. We had a little fight about that.”

  Silence. We waited. That was another part of our interviewing technique. Bernie had explained why more than once, but it was one of those reasons that just didn’t stick. I tried not to worry about that; actually, I didn’t even have to try. I’m lucky that way.

  One thing about this particular technique: there was no point in waiting forever. Just before we were about to hit forever, Bernie said, “What kind of fight?”

  Thad glanced at Bernie, squinting as though Bernie was too bright. “Nothing physical, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “We argued a bit, that’s all. Maybe she cried. But then she came up with this idea to take LSD. Go on a trip together after all, kind of thing. I wasn’t that enthusiastic—we’d smoked some pot and we were drinking vodka, too. But I went along. All I remember—I still see them—were these terrible visions, in a tunnel, April and me, although we were actually in bed, and claws.”

  “Claws?”

  “Horrible long hooked claws, clawing and clawing at us.”

  Big claws? I’d been up close to an angry mama bear, knew more than I wanted to about big claws. I started feeling kind of sorry for Thad, but not much, since I was getting the feeling he’d done something real bad long ago.

  “And?” Bernie said.

  “And nothing,” Thad said. “We just clung to each other, shaking and crying. At least I was. She might not have even been there.”

  “April might not have been there?”

  “I don’t know.” Thad’s eyes turned deep and murky. He closed them. “I feel like—I felt like—I was all alone, clinging to myself.” His chest rose, fell, rose again. “April, April,” he went on, very softly. “But she won’t answer. Still mad? I have to go to school, babe. It’s my whole—” His eyes opened. He blinked a few times and his eyes returned to normal, if eyes like Thad’s could ever be called normal. Was he back in the here and now? I myself preferred the here and now at all times, maybe something we can go into later.

  Thad tried to meet Bernie’s gaze and actually did. “But she must have been there,” he said.

  “Why?” Bernie said.

  “Because when I woke up she was right next to me.” Thad shuddered. “Blood all over her, all over me, and the knife was still in my hand.”

  “What knife?” Bernie said.

  “This ordinary kitchen knife.”

  “From Jiggs’s kitchen?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How did it come to be in the bed?”

  “I must have gotten up and brought it there.”

  “Do you remember doing that?”

  “I told you—I don’t remember anything.”

  “Where was Jiggs this whole time?”

  “Hanging with friends. He didn’t come back until morning. By that time, I was freaking out. He kind of took over.”

  “In what way?”

  “Handling the situation.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “Calmed me down, to begin with,” Thad said. “Getting me to understand that I hadn’t been in my right mind, like temporary insanity.”

  “Making you not responsible?”

  “Legally, right?” He gave Bernie a challenging sort of look.

  “Your nightmares tell a different story,” Bernie said.

  Thad hung his head. At that moment, I felt something soft move against me. I looked down, and there was Brando lying at my side, curling around my back legs. The feeling wasn’t the worst in the world.

  “Whose idea was it to dump April behind the Flower Mart?” Bernie said.

  Thad winced. “Jiggs’s,” he said. “It was meant to be . . . misleading, I guess you’d say.”

  “I guess.”

  “After that, we . . . we cleaned up the place, and Jiggs drove me to LA. He decided to stay when we got there. His old man didn’t care.”

  “What happened to the knife?”

  Thad shivered like it was cold, even though the AC wasn’t nearly as cranked up as it often is in Valley houses. “Jiggs cleaned it and put it back in the kitchen drawer.”

  Bernie nodded like that made sense. “You got away with murder,” he said.

  “I sure don’t feel like it,” Thad said.

  “You’re too sensitive,” said Bernie.

  Thad turned red.

  “When did the blackmailing start?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Everything comes out eventually,” Bernie said. “In the real world,” he added.

  “Christ, stop,” said Thad. “Just stop tormenting me. I already confessed. And I’ll tell you something—the only reason I took this pissy role was because of the location. My subconscious wanted to come back here, to—I don’t know—make things right.”

  “By killing the blackmailer?” Bernie said.

  “Huh?”

  “Come on,” Bernie said. “You don’t know who was blackmailing you?”

  “Of course I do,” said Thad. “It was this old boyfriend of April’s, Manny something, and a gangster pal of his. I kind of remember April mentioning she dumped him, but it turned out he was stalking her. He saw us that morning through the window.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they dropped in on me unannounced not long after Ninety-nine and Forty-four One Hundredths came out.”

  “What’s that?” Bernie said.

  Thad looked surprised. “My first film,” he said. “They wanted seventy-five grand, one time only. We paid, but of course it hasn’t been one time only.”

  “When did you last see Manny?”

  “That was it. The one time.”

  “And his pal?”

  “The same.”

  “The pal’s name?”

  “Ramon Cardinal, a real dangerous guy. Jiggs deals with Manny.”

  “Heard any recent news about Manny?” Bernie said.

  “Jiggs made a payment last week, if that’s what you mean by news.”

  “And he found Manny in good health?”

  “What are you saying?”


  Bernie gave Thad a long look. “Nothing,” he said.

  There was a silence. It went on for a while. Finally, Thad said, “Now what?”

  Bernie didn’t answer. He was having thoughts, but maybe Thad was missing that.

  “If it can be done discreetly, I’d appreciate it,” Thad said. “Not for me. For the others.”

  Bernie snapped out of it. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.

  “Taking me in, booking me, all the procedures.”

  “They can wait,” Bernie said.

  Thad’s head came up so he was sort of looking down his nose at Bernie, something Bernie was not fond of, not one bit. “Why do I always miss the obvious?” Thad said. “You’re blackmailing me, too.”

  Bernie didn’t punch Thad, exactly; it was more like he put his hand on Thad’s forehead and pushed him down on the pillows.

  “Let’s go, big guy,” Bernie said.

  “You’re leaving?” Thad said.

  “Where can you hide?” said Bernie.

  I stepped carefully over Brando. He seemed to be asleep, but also purring softly. We walked through the sitting area. The bathroom door was still closed. Felicity stood right on the other side of it. I could hear her breathing.

  We went outside and got a bad surprise: no Jiggs. The whole passenger door of the Porsche—meaning my door, although I seldom used it, preferring to hop over on my way in and out—was missing, ripped right out. Bernie glanced around real quick, and leaned into the car, opening the glove box and taking out the .38 Special. I loved the .38 Special, the sight, the sound, the smell, everything; Bernie was a crack shot, in case that hasn’t come up yet. Coke bottles on a fence rail? Smithereens!

  I could almost hear those smithereens, in fact, got a bit distracted by their almost sound, meaning I just about missed a scared cry coming from the direction of the helipad, the cry of a voice I knew. It was Leda.

  “Chet? What are you growling about?” And then Bernie heard it, too, and we took off toward the helipad. Parked on the other side of the chopper was Leda’s big silver minivan. Leda and Charlie were outside the van, but not together. In between stood Jiggs, one arm still cuffed to our door, now hanging down to the ground. His other arm was sort of around Charlie’s shoulder, like they were pals. Leda was trying to get to Charlie, but Jiggs blocked her with his huge body.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed. “Let him go.”

  “Back the hell off,” said Jiggs.

  Bernie raised the .38. “Freeze.”

  They all whipped around toward us. Leda and Charlie actually did freeze, although I was pretty sure Bernie hadn’t meant them. He’d meant Jiggs, and Jiggs was the one who didn’t freeze. Instead, he yanked Charlie in front of him and curled his enormous arm around Charlie’s little neck.

  “Drop the gun,” Jiggs said, but Bernie already had; it clattered on the helipad pavement.

  “Hands up behind your head,” Jiggs said.

  Bernie put his hands behind his head. At the same time he made this quick tiny whistling sound, more like just air, fwwt fwwt. Fwwt fwwt? Was that something we’d been working on? I tried to remember.

  Meanwhile, Leda was calling out to Bernie, “Bernie, Bernie, do something.” And Jiggs was saying, “Shut your goddamn mouth.” And Charlie had turned white and was starting to cry. I saw red, and just as I saw red, remembered what fwwt fwwt meant, or almost, something about sidling around and coming up on the perp from behind and then getting lots of treats; but too late for any of that. Jiggs was making Charlie cry? I saw red, really saw it, the whole world smeared over with bloody red, even if Bernie says I can’t be trusted when it comes to colors.

  Way too late for fwwt fwwt: I was already on the move, across the helipad on the first bound and launched on the second. Jiggs saw me coming, his eyes opening wide, and started to raise Charlie right off the ground, trying to turn my Charlie into a shield. But Charlie struggled—what a kid!—and Jiggs had to grab him with his other hand, and that meant dealing with the car door, and then: KA-BOOM! I hit Jiggs full in the face, both paws stretched out to the max. Jiggs cried out in fear and pain, and began toppling backward, losing his grip on Charlie. That cry of Jiggs’s sent a thrill right through me, from nose to tail and back. I wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

  THIRTY

  But I didn’t hear it again, because in what seemed like no time I had Jiggs by the throat, and no human does much screaming in that situation, not in my experience. Why the throat? Hard to explain: it’s just one of those things we in the nation within know how to do when it needs doing. Terror: not something you often saw in the eyes of a dude the size of Jiggs, but there it was, out in the open and unmistakable. I stopped seeing red.

  “Easy, easy, big guy.” Bernie was at my side, his voice low and strangely thick, like there was something wrong with his own throat.

  I was already taking it easy, sort of. Had there ever even been a question of actually biting? The truth was I hadn’t broken skin, or hardly at all.

  “C’mon, Chet. You did great.”

  I felt Bernie’s hand on my back—one of the best feelings going—and eased up a bit, almost letting go of Jiggs’s neck completely.

  “Chet?”

  Okay, okay. Completely.

  Bernie stepped in between me and Jiggs. Jiggs felt his neck with his free hand. He was breathing heavily, like he’d been on a long run, but he went still when he saw the look on Bernie’s face. So did I. Bernie had the gun again, although he wasn’t holding it the usual way, instead gripped it by the barrel, the butt all of a sudden turning into the weapon part. He started to raise it. For a moment, I thought he was about to do something really awful, and so did Jiggs, couldn’t have been clearer on his face. But Bernie paused—the muscles in his arm popping even though it couldn’t have taken much strength to stop raising the gun—and didn’t end up doing anything awful. Bernie was Bernie.

  Jiggs started to sit up, propping himself on his elbows. “Look,” he began, “I—”

  “Not one goddamn word,” Bernie said.

  He turned to Charlie and Leda, standing over by the chopper and hugging each other. “You okay, Charlie?”

  Charlie nodded, maybe keeping it up for a bit too long. Leda began moving toward us, her voice high and unsteady. “I don’t understand any of this,” she said. “Why did he—”

  “Leda. Stop. I’ll explain later.”

  “But—”

  “And what the hell are you even doing here?” Uh-oh. Bernie was starting to lose his temper in the way he only did with Leda.

  “We were invited, of course,” Leda said, starting to lose hers right back. “For breakfast. Thad’s being so nice, in case you haven’t noticed. Arn has a very cool idea for a script with a major role for an actor of Charlie’s age, and Thad’s—”

  “Get in the car,” Bernie said, raising his voice over hers, actually making the air tremble. “Take Charlie home. Don’t come back here.”

  Whenever Bernie wanted Leda to do something, she either just straight out didn’t do it, or put up such a huge fight that Bernie gave up, or changed it into something else that got Bernie all confused. In short, she never simply did it, not ever.

  Until now. Leda took Charlie’s hand, led him to the minivan, got in. As they drove off down the mountain road, Bernie calmed down; I could feel it. “You’re a brave boy,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear. Meaning me, of course, although his gaze was on the minivan.

  “What’s that word?” Bernie said, turning to Jiggs. “Charade?” First I’d heard of it, so no surprise Bernie seemed uncertain; we’re a lot alike in some ways, don’t forget. “The charade, Jiggsy,” he went on, “is over.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do,” Bernie said. “The murder of April Spears. Thad made a full confession.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I even know you cleaned off the knife,” Bernie said. “And helped
Thad flee the scene of the crime, making you at least an accessory, possibly an accomplice—I’ll have to read up.”

  Jiggs glared at Bernie and said nothing. Perps had that right, so it was cool with me. Was Jiggs a perp? Big-time, for what he’d done to Charlie. And there might have been even more to it. I waited to find out.

  “What I don’t know,” Bernie said, “is whether you were skimming from the payments.”

  Jiggs kept glaring. He kind of swelled up, like an explosion was coming. Good luck with that, amigo, you down there and us up here. A big vein, thick as this huge worm I’d once dug up—a bit of a shocker, when all you’re trying to do is locate an old bone—pulsed in the side of his neck, and then, like he just couldn’t hold it in an instant longer, out came a loud “Huh?”

  “A minor point, but I’d like to clear it up,” Bernie said. “Manny was skimming, so why not you?”

  “I’m not a parasite, you goddamn—” Jiggs began and then cut himself off.

  “Maybe you’re a killer instead,” Bernie said.

  “Setting me up?” Jiggs said. “Forget it. I never laid a finger on her. Wasn’t there that night, and I can prove it.”

  “Who said anything about April?” Bernie said. “I’m talking about Manny.”

  Jiggs was silent for a few moments. I watched the worm in his neck. When it got to pulsing pretty fast, he said, “Why would I kill that little prick?”

  “Killing the blackmailer is one of those classic go-to moves,” Bernie said.

  “Doesn’t mean shit,” said Jiggs. “I didn’t do it.”

  “But you knew he was dead.”

  Jiggs made the slightest little nod.

  “How come you didn’t tell Thad?” Bernie said.

  “Wouldn’t have made any difference,” Jiggs said. “All it woulda done is upset him, and that’s not my job.”

  “What is your job?” Bernie said.

  “Looking out for Thad, what do you think?”

  “How much does he pay you?”

  “He doesn’t have to pay me squat. I’d do it for nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m loyal,” Jiggs said. “Probably not a concept you understand.”

  Had I ever heard anything crazier? The biting urge started up in my teeth, also crazy, since we had Jiggs where we wanted him, meaning the biting period had come to an end. By the time I got all that confusion back under control, or close to it, Jiggs was saying, “. . . a great artist. He’ll be remembered long after you and I are dead.”