Chapter 5
At the Bear, I waited for Moxie to finish his drink.
Together we watched Fingerman return to his table, collect his jacket, and pay the tab.
He used his left hand for everything, with the right hand held close to his chest. His face was pale; having a finger dislocated is painful, and Tony would have opted for strength over efficiency.
The woman was gone. So, too, were the Fulcis.
The woman had left with them, not long after Tony had a quiet word with her.
“Does Tony do that a lot?” Moxie asked. “You know, help damsels in distress?”
“He usually does kittens in trees, but the damsels-in-distress guy called in sick today.”
“Interfering in domestic disputes is risky,” said Moxie.
“It worked out this time.”
“Assuming she doesn’t go back to him, in which case he’ll take his misery out on her. Does that count as helping or hindering?”
“I don’t want to think too hard about it.”
“You may have more in common with the Fulcis than you like to admit.”
“I’m not afraid to admit it at all.”
Moxie picked up his coat.
“If the Spero is implicated in the death of Scott Theriault,” he said, “feel free to set the Fulcis loose on the place.”
“I can try, but I should warn you: Tony is evolving as a human being.”
“Says who?”
“Says Tony.”
Moxie pondered.
“What does that mean, in real terms? Does he now use tools?”
“I’m just saying that you might need to spring for a couple of sledgehammers,” I replied.
“I have an account at Maine Hardware,” said Moxie. “Tell them to spare no expense.”