Free Strangers by Mort Castle Page A

it. After all, there’s no such thing as a bad boy.”
    “A sonofabitch,” Brad said, “that’s who it was.”
    “Just remember, Brad, there’s some good in the worst of us and some bad in the best of us. That’s what I think, anyway.”
    “Yeah,” Brad said, head bobbing. He wasn’t really sure what it was that Michael had just told him. It was difficult to make sense of the words, connect them up with one another. It didn’t matter, though. Things were better now because Michael was here and someone did give a goddamn about Brad Zeller and he, was not all alone.
    Brad’s eyes became wet. “You are my friend, Michael. You are my very good friend.”
    “Gee,” Michael said, “Golly. Holy smoke. It’s an honor, Brad. No shit and honest Injun, I really mean that.”
    “See, a person’s gotta have somebody.”
    “That’s true. Everybody needs somebody sometime. Wouldn’t that make a great song title?”
    “Used to be times… I get lonely, y’know?
    But there was always old Dusty. He was my friend, too. My very good friend.”
    “Yes, a dog is man’s best friend, Brad. A fucking shame somebody killed your dog.
    “Yeah.”
    “Say, you’re crying, Brad.”
    “Yeah.” Brad ran his hand over his face, smearing the wetness around. “Got a daughter. Nice kid, Joanie, doesn’t give a damn about me. Lives in California. Never calls. Shit, she didn’t even show for her own mother’s funeral.”
    Michael said, “Try to be optimistic, pal. Maybe Joanie will drag her ass here for your funeral.”
    Brad squinted. Michael was smiling. Had Michael made a joke, trying to make him feel better? He thought so, but he wasn’t certain.
    Brad pushed back from the table, the chair legs squeaking on the floor tiles. “Gotta take a leak.”
    “Be my guest, Brad. Man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
    “I…” Zeller grinned loosely. “I can’t stand up too good.”
    Michael rose. “Hey, I can’t let my chum, my buddy, my compadre sit there and piss his pants, can I? That wouldn’t be neighborly.”
    Michael hoisted Zeller to his feet. “Here we go,” he said.
    As Michael helped him down the hall, Brad Zeller felt the warm, welcome emotion of gratitude filling him. “Thank you, Michael. You are a good man.”
    Michael laughed, a crisp bark. “Hell, I’m a fucking angel, Brad. Haven’t you ever noticed my halo?”
    Flicking on the bathroom light, Michael propped Brad against the wall. Michael raised the toilet seat. “Okay, buddy. Piss your brains out.”
    Brad lurched toward the stool. On his third attempt, he caught the catch of his fly and unzipped his trousers.
    “Ah, what the hell,” Michael said to himself. Brad was two feet from the toilet when Michael kicked the back of his left knee.
    I’m falling Brad Zeller thought. He tried to ready himself for the impact. It wasn’t that bad, he thought, not all that much pain as he went down on his knees.
    The pain exploded a moment later. Zeller’s head between his hands, Michael grunted with total, all-out exertion, and pushed Brad’s skull forward and down.
    Zeller’s forehead smashed into the rim of the toilet bowl. Brad felt a steel net of agony squeeze his brain. A black balloon expanded inside his skull and he thought his eyes were going to pop from their sockets.
    Then Brad slowly tumbled from his kneeling position, as though he were a penitent yielding to the exhaustion of days of prayer. He rolled onto his side, then to his back.
    There was only a smear of scarlet on the toilet rim, but blood welled thickly from the trench in Brad’s crushed forehead.
    Michael smiled, gazing down at Zeller. “Most fatal accidents occur right in the home, Brad. Think I saw that pleasant little item in the Reader’s Digest.”
    Brad blinked. The pupil of his left eye was so dilated that the cornea had virtually disappeared. Blood seeped from his ears and trickled from the corner of his mouth.
    “Yessir,” Michael said, “damned near every day