Free Thicker Than Water (A Leo Waterman Mystery) by G.M. Ford Page B

she wasn’t particularly comfortable.
    “You don’t know what Teddy’s like,” she hedged.
    “What’s he like?”
    “He likes to humiliate people.”
    “He’s not going to humiliate me,” I said.
    “He’s got this little…” She searched for a noun but came up empty. “This piece of lead, I guess. It’s wrapped in leather. It’s got this loop that goes around his wrist.” She made a striking motion with her left hand.
    “A sap?” I tried.
    “Yeah. Yeah. That’s it. A sap. He always has it in his pocket.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.
    “He’s quick with it.”
    “You’ve seen him use it?”
    She hesitated a beat. “Out in the parking lot one night…some drunk followed me out of the bar, started hitting on me.” She rolled her eyes. “Poor guy was stone cold before he ever knew what hit him.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind too.”
    “Know what Teddy did?”
    “What did he do?”
    “He pissed on the guy, and then left him laying there in the parking lot.” She showed her palms to the ceiling, as if to ask the universe, “What’s with that?”
    “Show me how to get to Teddy’s place,” I said again.
    This time she thought about it. She threw a glance over at the checked baggage window. I watched as she ran her revenge movie again.
    “I’ll change my clothes,” she said.

    “Leave the keys,” Patty said as I jammed the Tahoe into Park.
    She insisted I park out in the road. Made me turn the car around so it was facing back the way we’d come. Not taking any chances, this girl.
    I popped the car door and stepped out onto the shoulder. Faded signs on either side of the driveway said it all. Posted. No Trespassing. No Soliciting.
    The house was forty yards away at the top of a little rise. Big decaying two-story from the late fifties, with a ramshackle, brokeback roof that had needed replacing a decade ago, and a pair of dormers looking out over the yard like raised eyebrows. Down below, a wide front porch ran the length of the house. Here and there a post or two was missing from the railing. Half-a-dozen hanging baskets, complete with dead plants, decorated the underside of the porch roof.
    I looked over at my car.
    Patty had crawled over into the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window. “You even look like you’re going to lose and I’m out of here,” she said. “I’ll call 911 as soon as I’m back in cell phone range, but I’ve spent all the time with Teddy Healy I’m gonna.”
    We’d run out of cell phone bars three or four miles back, just as we turned off the last of the paved roads. She’d been right. I’d never have found the place on my own. She put the window up, adjusted the seat, and started the car. The doors locked by themselves.
    I walked up the incline toward the house. The sound of my crunching feet played counterpoint to the gurgling sounds of the surrounding forest. It had rained earlier in the day and the woods were alive with the sound of water dripping and sinking and otherwise moving downhill.
    Overhead, the ancient Douglas firs creaked and groaned as the intermittent wind swirled their heavy branches.
    I was within twenty yards of the porch when the light to the left of the door blinked on, and there he was. Barechested, fastening the last couple of buttons on a pair of 501 jeans, he strutted onto the porch in his bare feet.
    The laird of the manor threw an angry hand my way. “Didn’t you see the sign, asshole? No trespassing. Get the fuck outta here ’fore I hurt your sorry ass.”
    He’d once been buff, but time and excess had taken their toll. The last bulky remnants of years in the weight room had migrated south. The upper portion of what had once been a broad muscular chest was morphing into a passable pair of breasts, while the bottom half of his torso had begun a permanent pilgrimage toward his waist.
    “You best walk your big ass back to the car,” he said with a malignant grin.
    I kept moving his way. His face and