“And what might that have been?”
He hesitated. A transfer truck swerved in front of me and I tapped my brakes. Bulldozers were moving dirt on the embankment, and dust was everywhere.
“Screw up the Container Man case: I knew that was coming. She was going to get me to tamper with something to get you into so much trouble that it was over for you. And what better case than one with Interpol and everything? With all the interest?”
“And have you done something to compromise that case, Chuck?” I said.
“No, ma’am.”
“Have you tampered with any case?”
“Other than the bullet, no, ma’am.”
“You realize of course you would be committing a felony if you altered or destroyed evidence? Do you realize Bray’s heading you toward prison and probably even setting you up for it so she can get you out of the way after she’s finished with me?”
“Deep down, I don’t think she’d do that to me,” he said.
He was nothing to her. He was a flunky who didn’t have sense enough to avoid a trap when he found one because his ego and ambition got in the way.
“You’re sure about that;” I said. “Sure Bray wouldn’t make you the fall guy?”
He wavered.
“Are you the one who’s been stealing things in the office?” I hit the matter head-on and asked.
“I have all of it. She wanted me to do . . . to do anything I could to make you look like you couldn’t run the office. It’s all at my house in a box. Eventually I was going to leave it in the building somewhere so someone would find it and return the stuff to everyone.”
“Why would you let her have this much power over you?” I asked. “So much that you would lie and steal and premeditate tampering with evidence?”
“Oh, please don’t let me get arrested, go to prison,” he said in a panicky voice that would win him no acting awards. “I have a wife. A baby on the way. I’ll commit suicide, I promise I will. I know lots of ways to do it.”
“Don’t even think such a thing;” I said. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“I will. I’m ruined, and it’s all my fault. Nobody else’s.”
“You’re not ruined unless you choose to be.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered, and, I was beginning to fear he might be serious.
He was constantly licking his lips, and his words were sticky because his mouth was so dry.
“My wife wouldn’t care. And the baby doesn’t need to grow up with a father in prison.”
“Don’t you dare send your body to me;’ I told him angrily. “Don’t you dare have me walk in and find you on one of my tables.”
He turned to me, shocked.
“Grow up,” I said. “You don’t just shoot your brains out when things turn to shit, do you hear me? Do you know what suicide is?”
He stared wide-eyed at me.
“It’s getting in the last pissed-off word. It’s a big so there,” I said.
22
The Pit Stop was just past Kate’s Beauty Salon and a small house with a sign out front advertising a psychic. I parked next to a beat-up black pickup truck tattooed with multiple bumper stickers that gave me broad hints about Mr. Pit.
The door to his business instantly opened and I was greeted by a man whose exposed skin, every inch of it, including his neck and head, was tattooed. His body piercing made me cringe.
He was older than I had expected, probably in his fifties, a wiry man with a long gray ponytail and a beard. He had a face that looked as if it had been beaten up a few times, and he dressed in a black leather vest over a T-shirt. His wallet was chained to his jeans.
“You must be Pit,” I said as I_opened the trunk to get out the plastic bag.
“Come on in,” he replied in a relaxed way, as if nothing in the world was off kilter or worth worrying about.
He walked in ahead of Ruffin and me and called out, “Taxi, sit, girl.” Then he assured us, “Don’t worry about her. She’s gentler than baby shampoo.”