Free A Scourge of Vipers by Bruce DeSilva

merely his last.

 
    11
    First thing next morning, I was refilling Tuukka’s water dish when I heard footsteps pound up the stairs to the second floor. Then a heavy fist rattled my apartment door.
    â€œProvidence PD. Open up.”
    So I did.
    In stepped the homicide twins: Jay Wargart, a big lug with a five o’clock shadow and fists like hams, and Sandra Freitas, a bottle blonde with a predatory Cameron Diaz smile.
    â€œI don’t recall poisoning, bludgeoning, garroting, stabbing, or shooting anybody this week,” I said, “so this must be a social visit.”
    â€œMind if we sit?” Freitas asked.
    I waved them toward the kitchen table, where Tuukka was curled up in his aquarium, blissfully digesting his breakfast.
    â€œJesus!” Freitas said. “What the hell is that?”
    â€œExactly what it looks like.”
    â€œYou have a snake ?”
    â€œWhy are you surprised, Sandy?” Wargart said. “You know the old saying. Birds of a feather.”
    â€œFeathers?” I said. “Snakes don’t have feathers. Their ancestors shed both their feathers and their legs millions of years ago. I don’t have any feathers either, although there’s a feather boa around here somewhere. One of my overnight guests left it under my bed.”
    I went to the kitchen counter and dumped what was left of the morning’s coffee into three chipped mugs. Then I carried them to the table and sat down with my guests.
    â€œSeen Mario Zerilli around lately?” Wargart asked.
    â€œNot for a couple of weeks.”
    â€œHis girlfriend has reported him missing.”
    â€œThat so?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDid this girlfriend have a black eye or a split lip?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œThat must be her, all right.”
    â€œWe’re thinking the corpse the Pawtucket PD fished out of the Blackstone might be Mario,” Wargart said. “Same height and weight. Same shoe size. Same Bruins sweatshirt he had on when the girlfriend last saw him.”
    â€œWouldn’t surprise me.”
    â€œWhy’s that?” Freitas asked.
    â€œThe guy was a punk,” I said. “He was bound to come to a bad end.”
    â€œDidn’t you have a run-in with him outside Hopes a while back?” Wargart asked.
    â€œWhere’d you get that from?”
    He smirked, then said, “The way we heard it, he pulled a gun on you.”
    â€œSounds like the sort of thing he’d do,” I said.
    â€œWhat was the altercation about?” Freitas asked. Altercation? I grinned at her. The detective had been working on her vocabulary.
    â€œYou aren’t going to tell us about it, are you?” she said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you report it?” Wargart asked.
    â€œIf I bothered you every time somebody threatened me,” I said, “the mayor would have to double the size of the police department.”
    â€œI’ll bet,” he said.
    â€œWe’re thinking you might be the last person to have seen him alive,” Freitas said.
    â€œExcept for the good Samaritan who iced him,” I said. “Assuming he’s dead, of course.”
    â€œThe victim was shot with a large caliber pistol,” Freitas said. “Don’t you own a Colt forty-five?”
    I didn’t say anything.
    â€œYou’ve got a nine mil, too,” Wargart said. “They’re both registered in your name. Where are the weapons now?”
    â€œIn a safe place.”
    â€œGo get them.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNot unless you have a warrant.”
    Wargart hadn’t touched his coffee. He picked up the mug now and slammed it down. Tuukka startled and fled to a corner of the aquarium as coffee sloshed over the tabletop.
    â€œLook,” I said. “You don’t even know for sure if Mario’s dead.”
    â€œSomebody is,” Wargart said.
    â€œWe’ll know if it’s Mario soon