David Baldacci - Zero Day

Puller shifted in his chair. He didn’t know if Reed was aware that Treadwell and Bitner were dead. “Anything else?”

“Just the usual stuff. Nothing that sticks out. I mean, I just deliver the mail. Just check the addresses. I don’t really do more than that.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Reed. I appreciate your time.” He tapped his contact card. “When you find out who sent the package, please get in touch.”

Puller rose. Reed looked up at him.

Reed said, “Lot of damn mean people in the world.”

“Yes, sir, there are.”

“Know it for a fact.”

Puller leveled his gaze on the man, waited.

“Yep. Know it for a fact.” He paused, his mouth working but no words coming out for a few seconds. “I’m married to one.”

After Puller walked outside Dickie Strauss and his large friend followed.

Puller had been pretty sure they would.

Puller jiggled the car keys in his pocket, leaned against his Malibu, and waited for them.

Dickie and his friend stopped on the pavement a few feet away.

“What can I do for you?” asked Puller.

Dickie said, “It wasn’t a Big Chicken Dinner. And it wasn’t a DD.”

“Good to know. But if you’re lying I can find out in about five minutes. Just a few keystrokes to get a reply back from the Army Records Center. So what was it?”

“A parting of the ways.”

“Why?”

Dickie looked at his friend, who was keeping his gaze on Puller.

“It’s personal. And it wasn’t nothing bad.”

His friend added, “And it’s none of your damn business.”

“So what can I do for you?” Puller asked again.

“I hear Eric Treadwell got killed.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah.”

Puller eyed the tatted arm. He pointed to it. “Where’d you get that done?”

“Place here in town.”

“Treadwell had one just like it.”

“Not just like it. Little different. But I used his as a model.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not really an answer.”

The bigger guy stepped forward. He was an inch taller than Puller and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. He looked like a former Division I defensive lineman. Not good enough for the pros but decent enough for four years of college on a full-ride scholarship.

“It’s his answer,” said the guy.

Puller swiveled his gaze to the man. “And you are?”

“Frank.”

“Okay, Frank. I thought this discussion was between Dickie and me.”

“Well, maybe you need to rethink things.”

“I don’t see a reason to do that.”

Puller watched as Frank pulled his hand from his pockets and balled up his fists. He also saw what was in the man’s hand, although Frank was trying to hide it.

“I got two pretty good ones right here,” said Frank, holding up his knotty fists.

“No you don’t, Frank, you really don’t,” Puller said evenly as he stood straight and also took his hands from his pockets. Puller had nothing in his hands, but he didn’t need to.

“I know you got a gun. Saw it in the Crib,” said Frank.

“I won’t be needing it.”

Frank said, “I outweigh you by forty pounds.”

“More like fifty.”

“Okay. So do you get the point?”

Dickie said nervously, “Hey, guys, it’s cool.” He put a restraining arm on his friend. “Frank, don’t, man. Ain’t worth the hassle.”

Puller said, “Your bud is making sense, Frank. I don’t want to hurt you. But if what I’m seeing in your body language gets transferred into action, you will get hurt. The only question is how badly.”

Frank snorted and attempted a confident grin. “You think just because you’re in the Army you can kick everybody’s ass?”

“No. But I know I can kick your ass.”

Frank’s right hand swung, but Puller had already launched. The top of his head hit the other man flush in the face. Puller’s skull was far harder than the other man’s nose. A stunned 280-pound Frank whipsawed backward, his face bloody. Puller took hold of Frank’s left arm, windmilling it back and torquing the limb nearly to the breaking point. He slid a foot behind Frank’s left leg and the big man went straight down to the pavement. Puller had knelt along with the falling Frank, cupping his head with his free hand before it hit the ground so the man’s skull wouldn’t crack.

Puller dug the roll of quarters out of Frank’s fist, dropped it on the pavement, rose, and looked down. When Frank, who was holding his broken nose and trying to dig the blood out of his eyes with his knuckles, tried to stand, Puller put a foot on his chest and nudged him back down.

“Just stay there.” He turned to Dickie. “Go in the Crib and get a bag of ice. Do it now.” When Dickie didn’t move, Puller gave him a shove. “Now, Dickie, or I’ll throw you right through the window to speed your ass up.”

Dickie rushed off.

“You didn’t have to do that, you son of a bitch,” Frank said through his bloodied hands.

“And you didn’t have to take a swing at me with a roll of quarters.”

“I think you broke my nose.”

“I did break your nose. But it was already broken before. It goes off to the left and has the hump in the middle. Probably caught it on a face mask during a game. Doubt it was ever reset properly. And you’ve probably got a deviated septum too. Now, when they fix you up, they can make all that right.”

Dickie came back out with the ice enclosed in a small towel. When Puller looked over, everyone in the restaurant was standing at the window watching.

Dickie held out the ice to Puller.

“I don’t need it, Dickie, your bud there does.”

Frank took the ice and held it against his nose.

“What in the hell is going on here?”

Puller turned to see Sam Cole pull up in her police cruiser with the window rolled down. She was in full uniform. She parked at the curb and got out. Puller noted that her gun belt didn’t squeak.

She looked down at Frank and saw the roll of quarters. She glanced over at Dickie and then at Puller.

“You want to explain what’s going on? Did he attack you or did you attack him?”

Puller looked at Dickie and then at Frank. When neither of them seemed willing to speak, Puller said, “He slipped and broke his nose. His buddy got him some ice.”

Cole hiked her eyebrows and then glanced at Dickie. He mumbled, “That’s right.”

She looked down at Frank. “That your story too?”

Frank sat up on one elbow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And what, a roll of quarters just fell out your pocket?”

“Shirt pocket,” said Puller. “When he fell. I heard him say something about doing his laundry. Explains the quarters.”

Cole put out her hand and helped Frank up. “You better go have that looked at.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They slowly walked off.

“Ready to get going?” asked Puller.

“What I’m ready for is for you to tell me what really happened.”

“You saying I lied?”

“That guy didn’t slip. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck. And that roll of quarters was probably in his fist when he took a swing at you.”

“All conjecture and speculation on your part.”

“Well, here’s some firmer evidence.” She reached up and smacked him lightly on the forehead. “You have blood right there. I don’t see a cut, so it’s probably his blood. That means he took a swing and you head-butted him. I’d like to know why.”

“Misunderstanding.” Puller used his sleeve to wipe the blood off.

“About what?”

“About personal space.”

“You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“It’s not important, Cole. Small-town, insider-outsider thing. If it turns out to be more than that, you’ll be the first to know from me.”