Garrison leaned back in his chair and stared at me with a long, steady gaze. "Dreams are windows into the mind and soul. They mean as much as we can understand them." And I understood about zero of what he was talking about, so I slid out of my chair and shrugged.
"When philosophy gets into the conversation I know it's time for me to scram. Thanks for the coffee and company, and I'm really sorry about whacking you on the head."
Garrison nodded toward the storage room. "You forgot your stick," he reminded me.
"Oh, right." I hurried to the room, snatched the stick from the wall and swung around with myself rearmed. "And thanks for showing me the roof. It's got a great view."
"You'll have to overcome your fears and see the world from the edge," he suggested.
"So I can live my life there?" I teased.
He shrugged. "Maybe. It's interesting enough." I glanced around his humble home, and recalled his exciting life of fixing leaky faucets and refrigerators.
"Maybe we can both learn to have an exciting life," I pointed out.
"Maybe we'll do that together," he added. He was nice, but he and I hooking up was as likely to happen as Mrs. Peabody seeing a real monster.
You can probably already guess what happened that night.
Chapter 6
The day was Saturday so I did my usual routine of sitting around the apartment drooling in my chair while flipping through the three hundred channels only to find there was nothing on. Usually I was satisfied with this brain-numbing routine that helped me recharge what few brain cells I had left after a week of work, but that day was different. I still had the itch to get out from those four walls and see something-anything that was new and open and exciting.
In the afternoon I couldn't take it anymore, so I busted out of my self-imposed prison and wandered out into the streets. On the sidewalk I paused at the entrance to the alley that ran along the laundry room windows. There was police tape along the broken glass, though torn along the center pane, and I wandered into the alley to take a look inside. The room was covered in shadows from the lowering sun, but I could make out the damaged machines and splatters of blood around the room and windows. It was like something out of Mrs. Peabody's old horror movies where a monster had attacked, leaving no survivors but the lone hero or heroine.
I wasn't exactly heroine material unless you were on heroin and thought the world was made of purple and stuffed animals. The drug reminded me of the Bandanna Gang and the warning from Garrison and the cop. They'd have it out for me if they knew who I was and thought I was somehow responsible for the attack. If their guys made if back to their hideout then they definitely knew who I was, but at least they'd know their beating wasn't my fault.
I heard a crunching noise and whipped my head up. It was only a cat walking along the filthy alley, and I clutched my heart to get it down from pounding at the speed of light. Maybe going out for a walk hadn't been such a good idea, so I stood and turned toward the alley entrance. A man in a dark overcoat stood in the entrance, and cigarette smoke filtered out of his mouth. He was a few inches taller than me with a short, skinny build. There was a green bandanna on his head, and a black one around his arm. His beady eyes bore into me as he flicked his cigarette away.
"You Tasha Taylor?" he asked me.
I had to think fast. "Yeah." All right, so I wasn't any good at thinking fast.
He stepped into the alley and made sure to keep to the middle so I couldn't easily get around him without knocking into garbage cans or rotten boxes. If I wanted to come out smelling fresh and clean he'd need to let me by. He nodded at the broken windows. "You were in there last night?" he asked me.
I took a few steps back. This guy was short, but if there was anything I'd learned about being short myself is that we were quick when we wanted to be. "Um, maybe?" I replied.
"How many guys were down there?"
"I-I don't know, six or seven?" I guessed.
"Were they all wearing bandannas?"
I didn't know why he was asking me all these questions. He should have known about his own guys. "Yeah, but why are you asking me this stuff? Aren't you a Bandanna, too?"
He crossed the few yards between us and grabbed the collar of my coat with both hands. From this close range I could see the butt of a handgun sticking out of the inside pocket of his coat. "We ain't seen nothing of our boys since they came here to rob the place. Our guys read the police report about you seeing somebody fighting with them. What happened to that guy and our guys?" When I didn't answer fast enough he shook me and rattled my marbles. "What happened to 'em?" he growled.
I shook my head. "I-I don't know. I got knocked out and when I woke up everyone was gone. You can ask any of yours guys who were there, they'd tell you the same thing."
"We can't ask 'em if they're dead," he snapped. My eyes widened and my mouth opened to catch flies.
"Dead? What'd they die of?" He rattled me and i grasped onto his hands to steady myself.
"Don't give me that dumb act! We know ya know what happened!" For the first time in my life my dumbness wasn't an act, and it was the first time nobody was going to believe me.
"I swear I don't know what you're talking about. The last time I saw them they were alive and fighting that thing!"
He pulled me close to his face and tortured me with his foul breath. His breath must have violated half a dozen Geneva Convention laws and a few sanitation regulations. "What thing did ya see? Who was it? If you don't talk I'll-"
I was saved by the bell, or rather by the siren. A police car pulled up at the curb in front of the apartment building. The Bandanna boy glanced over his shoulder, saw the cop car and dropped me. He dashed past me down the alley and around the corner. I hoped I'd never see him again, but I just knew Santa wasn't going to give me what I asked for. I stumbled forward out onto the street and met a pair of cops hurrying up the stairs to the front door. One of them spotted me, alerted his partner, and they both rushed over to me. I recognized one of them as Officer Cranston, the guy in charge of the investigation.
"Are you all right?" he asked me. He didn't even wait for me to answer before he dragged me over to the steps. I was grateful to sit down on the steps before my legs decided they wanted me to lay down on the ground.
"I'm alive, just nearly scared out of it."
"Were you attacked?"
"I was shaken, not stirred, but if you guys hadn't come along parts of me probably would've been ventilated."
"One of the Bandanna men?" Cranston guessed, and I nodded.
"In the unbathed flesh. He wanted to know what happened that night because he said his guys were-"
"-dead," Cranston finished for me.
I whipped my head up and saw his face was deadly serious about this deadly situation. "All of them?"
"As far as we can piece together their bodies. They were found in a dumpster this morning by a cleaning lady a couple of blocks from here."
"Piece together?" I repeated. "You make them sound like they were sliced into puzzles."
"One our coroner will have to piece together," Cranston agreed. "Whoever saved you was more sadistic than them because he ripped them up pretty bad before he dumped the bodies." The officers jerked around when a car drove by.
"Maybe we'd better take her inside, sir," the other officer suggested.
"Good idea. Can you walk on your own?" Cranston asked me.
"Yeah, I think so." I used the railing to stand up, but when I tried to turn toward the door I fell forward onto the steps. "Or maybe not." The cops helped me up, and the front door opened. Garrison stepped outside and wasn't surprised to see us there.
"Did you officers need some assistance?" he asked them.
Cranston didn't miss the unsurprised entrance of the apartment manager. "How long were you standing there on the other side of that door?"
"Long enough to know Miss Taylor needs help getting inside. Did you want her taken to her apartment?"
"Yours would be better. Fewe
r chances of somebody listening in on our conversation without our knowing." I knew Cranston implied Garrison as much as any Bandanna thug, but Garrison didn't take notice of the accusation.
"All right. She can lay on my couch." Garrison brushed aside the cops, slipped his arms beneath me and hefted me into his arms, surprising the officers. He was thinner than me, and didn't look like he could lift a box of marshmallows much less hefty old me.
"How are you able to do that?" the other officer asked him.
"Weight-lifting," Garrison told them. "Now if you gentlemen would follow me."
All four of us slipped down into Garrison's basement abode and he set me down on a ragged couch in the far corner opposite the door. "Did you want anything to drink?" he asked us.
"I'll take a coffee," I spoke up. I wanted something stronger, but I needed to keep my few wits about me.
"How strong?"
"Strong enough to weight-lift me, but not smart enough to convince me not to drink it."
Garrison smiled and turned to the men, who declined any refreshments. He scooted off to the kitchen while the officers dragged chairs over to the couch. "Could you describe the guy who caught you in the alley?" Cranston asked me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Garrison froze.
"I think so. He wasn't much taller than me and had a weaselly-looking face. You know, small eyes, narrow face, and breath that could stun a yak. I don't know what he had in that cigarette, but it must have been made from essence of roadkill."
"That sounds like Willy Servino," the other officer spoke up.
Officer Cranston solemnly nodded his head. "Yeah, it does."
"What's that mean? Is he somebody important?" I asked them.
"He's the investigator for the Green Bandanna Gang."
"And that means what?"
"If they have problems they send out Servino to find the answer any way he can," Cranston told me. That last part didn't sound good. "What did you tell him?"
"I-I just told him what I told you guys, that I didn't know anything about the guy who rescued me and I don't know what happened to the gang members."
"And did he believe you?"
"I don't think so. He just kept asking me what happened and what I knew about that guy who saved me. Then when he saw your car he ran down the alley. I don't know where he went after that."
"Did he say what he'd do to you if you didn't cooperate?" Cranston asked me.
"Not exactly, but I just needed to see his gun to know he wasn't going to hug me," I quipped.
Cranston looked both worried and annoyed. "You shouldn't have told him so much."
"I don't think I had a choice. It was either that or he was going to keep shaking me like a Magic Eight Ball that wasn't giving him the answer he wanted."
"Well, we'll search around to see if he's still hanging around the neighborhood," Cranston suggested. He and the other officer stood. "This shouldn't take more than an hour, but until we get back you should stay here."
"Gladly."
Chapter 7
The pair left and Garrison soon came over with my mug of coffee. I cradled the cup between my hands while he sat down in the chair vacated by Cranston with his own mug.
"That must have been a little frightening having that guy rough you up like that," he softly commented.
"It reminded me of a few high school bullies, though they just wanted to steal my lunch rather than my life. I kept hoping that guy who saved me would come do a repeat performance, but I guess he was off being Superman someplace else." I jumped when the mug in Garrison's hands suddenly shattered, spilling coffee all over him and the floor.
"I-I'm so sorry. I guess the mug had a crack in it," he quickly apologized. He hurried over to the kitchen sink and cleaned himself up.
"You're not hurt, are you?" I thought I'd seen a trail of red like blood seep from his hands.
"It's just a scratch."
"Uh-huh, and a cut-off arm is just a flesh wound. Let me see it."
"I learned my lesson the first time with your nursing skills," he playfully reminded me as he wrapped his securely hand in a thick cloth. He came back and plopped himself down beside me. "There is one thing that I don't get with you're talking with that pig man."
"Weasel," I corrected him.
"Weasel, then. How did he know he wanted to talk to you?"
"Because I'm the only witness," I reminded him.
Garrison shook his head. "How did he know he was supposed to be looking for a witness if his men are dead?"
I paused mid drink and thought about that. "I guess he must have got it from the police report. At least, he mentioned seeing it."
Garrison leaned back in his chair and frowned. "That's not good."
I glanced up from the rim of my mug. "What's not good?"
"There's not many ways someone can get their hands on a police report during an ongoing investigation."
"And what are those ways?"
"Theft."
"So you think he stole it?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"The other option. I think someone inside the station gave it to him."
My hands shook so bad I put down my mug before I dyed my clothes. "Somebody gave it to him? Why'd they want to do that?"
"The Green Bandanna gang has connections. When their guys didn't come back from the heist in the laundry room they came here first, saw there'd been trouble, and used that connection to find out what had happened-"
"-and found my name in the report," I finished for him.
"Precisely."
"So you tell the cops or me?"
"About what?"
"About your theory."
"I don't state it as a theory, I state it as a fact."
"Facts need proof."
"Would you take an eyewitness statement as proof?"
"Considering I'm an eyewitness and want people to believe me, I'd say yes."
"Then I'll say I saw this Servino man come here after the police left and search the room. He didn't like what he found, went back into the alley and called his boss, who relayed him orders to call the station to get that report."
"He searched the room. . ." I murmured. I snapped my fingers and pointed one at Garrison. "That explains the broken tape over the center window!"
He nodded. "Precisely, my dear Watson."
I folded my arms across my chest and frowned. "Why do I have to be Watson?" I huffed.
"Because I hold all the pieces to the puzzle," he pointed out.
"Shouldn't the police be holding all the pieces, too?" I argued. "You did tell them what you saw, didn't you?" His lips pursed together and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Garrison, you did tell them, right?"
Garrison shook his head. "No."
"Why the hell not?" I exclaimed.
"Haven't you been listening to what I've been trying to tell you?"
"That you're out of your mind to be keeping that kind of stuff from the police? Because that's what I'm hearing."
"That the police are connected to the gang, and to give them all the pieces would endanger you," he protested.
"Endanger me? Endanger me?" I slapped the mug on the couch cushion beside me and stood up. "I just got my life threatened by some weaselly little thug who turns out to be just the messenger boy of a gang that is real eager to find out what happened to their friends. How is this being safe?"
"You're not dead," he pointed out.
"No thanks to you!" Garrison's face drooped and he hung his head like a whipped puppy. I cringed at my cruel words, and set a hand on his shoulder. "I-I didn't mean it like that. It's not like you're supposed to be protecting me. I mean, you're just the manager of my apartment. You can't watch over everyone all the time. You'd probably get sued for stalking someone. Besides, I've got to look out for myself. I'm a big girl now. Well, always, but just, I don't know, just stuff." I sighed and flopped back down on the couch. "Did any of that babbling make sense?"
Garrison cracked a smile. "Some
of it."
"Good. I'd hate to have to translate that into normal people tongue."
"I think I would understood it better in the abnormal people tongue."
I leaned toward him and gave the scrawny guy a good look. "Ya know, you fool a lot of people with your innocent looks."
"So do you."
"It's the fat. Everyone thinks fat people are jolly."
"You are very friendly."
"Be careful, I bite."
"That sounds kinky."
"Aren't we supposed to be talking about the gang who wants to put me in a pine box?" I pointed out.
"If we were focused, yes."
"Then let's get back to that, and your not telling the police everything you know."
"Ah, that. I don't think it would do you any good, and wonder if it wouldn't hurt you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Hurt me how?" I asked him.
"Since someone at the station is passing information on to the Bandannas then if we tell the police they will know everything we know-"
"-and knowledge is power," I finished.
"Precisely."
"So what are we supposed to do with this knowledge? Take over the world?"
"Perhaps later, but for now we should focus on keeping you safe and out of that pine box."
"How are we going to do that? We're just a couple of kind-of-normal people. I don't even think we have a gun between us," I pointed out.
Garrison tapped the side of his head. "But we have these."
"Temples?"
"Brains, or rather brain."
"Hey!"
"Kidding. Just kidding."
"Well, Mr. Brain, what are we going to do about this mess?"
"We do nothing."
"That sounds like death. I don't like that."
"It smells like victory."
"No, it smells like death, too. I don't like that, either."
"Just hear me out." Garrison scooted his chair closer to me and lowered his voice to a whisper. "We need to see what intentions they have for you. No doubt they'll figure out you couldn't possibly have taken on those guys like that, and want to get at your rescuer."
"Maybe I did beat them up all by myself," I countered.
"And tore them limb from limb?" he argued. I imagined that scene and shuddered.
"Or maybe I didn't."
"Stick with the truth, it's easier to remember. Anyway, we need to wait for the gang to make their next move. They have your word and the police report stating you were rescued and don't know who your rescuer was, but they might think you're lying to protect him."