To Thine Own Self Be True Page 8

  He stared at me, a smile tickling his lips.

  “What?” I said.

  “You trust me to drive your truck?”

  “Oh, shut up. And hand me your phone, will you?”

  He smiled some more, and we climbed into the truck. We followed Rusty out of the parking lot and headed out Cowpath Road toward Souderton. Nick negotiated the busy street while I dialed the detective’s number.

  “Shisler,” she said.

  “Stella Crown. Got some information on Tank.”

  “Great. I ran down some facts this morning, but I can always use more. What do you have?”

  I told her Rusty’s story about the trees, and about his friend’s dog.

  “Nasty character,” Shisler said.

  “You know his real name?”

  “I finally got it, but you’ll never believe it. Matthew Snyder.”

  I gave a bark of laughter. “Sounds like a Mennonite.”

  “Mennonite family, anyway. Got a rap sheet longer than my night stick. Spent some time visiting our lovely prison facilities from the late nineties up until last year.”

  So it was no wonder the tattoo artists had forgotten about him. He hadn’t been around to scam or threaten.

  “Have you talked to him about Wolf and Mandy?”

  “Haven’t found him yet. We’re looking. Probably visiting his family for the holidays.”

  “Now there’s a scary thought.”

  “Thanks for the information. If you find him, I’ll be really grateful. You got anything else?”

  “Nothing that helps much. Some gangbangers that visited Wolf and Mandy, and some crazy guy on drugs. No names or anything.”

  “Folks that threatened them?”

  “Sort of. They called the cops on the one guy, but I don’t know when it was or anything.”

  Shisler sighed. “All right. Well, thanks for this.”

  “Sure.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Off to visit somebody. Rusty didn’t say who.”

  “Keep me informed?”

  “Like always.” I disconnected and placed the phone on the seat.

  “I like Rusty,” Nick said.

  I glanced at him. “Even with how he looks?”

  He grinned. “Because of it. Who’s ever met anyone else like him? Besides, if you were blind you’d never know it, he’s such a nice guy.”

  “You looking for a marketing job? These folks could use it.”

  His smile grew.

  “What?”

  “You say ‘these folks,’ as if you’re not one of them.”

  I thought about that. “Okay. Us folks. I just don’t have a globe on my head.”

  Nick laughed. “I guess I’d have to say I’m glad about that.”

  We passed through Souderton, within shouting distance of my place, and kept on toward the Ridge and Sellersville. Rusty soon pulled off the main road into a wooded section, and wound around some curving back roads until we ended up at a little cottage built like a log cabin. Smoke drifted out of the chimney, and the sun that made it through the bare trees sparkled on the new snow. I didn’t see any vehicles, or even tire tracks, but there was a closed garage door on an unattached building to the left. The house wasn’t new—some shingles were missing, and a shutter hung crooked by a window—but overall it looked tidy.

  “Not what I expected, from how Rusty was talking,” I said.

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “I guess it’s the guy himself he can’t stand.”

  We stepped down from the truck, the smell of wood smoke sharp in the air, and met Rusty on the front porch, a covered platform with timber railings. The high strains of opera leaked out from inside the cabin, and a faded sign by the door made it clear where we were.

  “Gentleman John’s Tattoos?” I said. “Is this the guy we were talking about with Gio? John Greene?”

  Rusty nodded. “The one and only.”

  “This place doesn’t look like a back alley,” Nick said, glancing around.

  “It ain’t always the surroundings that make it what it is,” Rusty said. He pounded his fist on the door so hard I hoped he wouldn’t bust right through. When his banging received no answer, he curved his hands around his eyes and peered in the window.

  “Not home?” I said.

  “Or not admitting it.”

  We were turning to leave when the lock snapped back and the door cracked open.

  “Who is it?” a voice said.

  Rusty looked back. “John?”

  The door opened further, and along with the louder wave of music I got my first glimpse of the asshole Mandy had so named. I stopped short in surprise. Opposite of what I had expected from a hack—filth and lechery—Gentleman John looked like he fell off Masterpiece Theater and landed on the Ridge. Short, black hair combed off his forehead, a well-manicured mustache, and clothes that, while obviously not new, were clean and pressed. Diamond studs shone in his earlobes, but I saw no other evidence of body modification.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Come on, John,” Rusty said. “Let us in.”

  The man smiled and waved his hand in a grand gesture of welcome. “Anything for you, my esteemed colleague.”

  Rusty made a growling sound low in his throat, but preceded Nick and me into the house.

  John shook Nick’s hand as he entered, and raised my hand to his lips, brushing it with a kiss. His eyes sparkled as he met my gaze. “Always a pleasure to have a beautiful woman in my home.”

  “Give it a rest, John,” Rusty snapped.

  I stiffened, surprised at Rusty’s tone. Arriving here had changed his personality from collie to Doberman, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  Nick stared at my hand, lying in Gentleman John’s, and I pulled away from John’s grasp.

  John raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Should one not welcome new friends?”

  Rusty glared at John, and John smiled. “Well, then, why don’t we have a seat and talk about why you’ve come to visit me.”

  He led us into the front room, which consisted of worn Victorian-type furniture, gauzy curtains, and a free-standing marble chess set. The chess pieces were chipped, but the set itself was intact. John had us sit on a stiff, velvet-covered sofa, where we all perched on the edge.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked. “I have some refreshment close at hand.” He made his way across the room to a bar area, where he pulled several wine glasses from a shelf.

  “No,” Rusty said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

  Nick and I shook our heads.

  “A pity,” John said. “I received this new port for Christmas.”

  Port. He really was from PBS.

  “And can you turn down that racket?” Rusty asked.

  John poured himself a serving of the drink before adjusting the stereo one decibel lower and settling himself in the matching chair, crossing his right knee over his left. He waited, smiling at Rusty across the coffee table between us, apparently daring him to complain again about the music. His left hand was draped loosely over his thigh, his right hand held his drink, and he sat back in his chair, emitting an air of relaxation and calm.

  I tried not to let my confusion show. This was the back alley hack they all hated so much? Where was the dirt? Where were the germs? I glanced around, wondering if his shop was part of the house.

  Gentleman John followed my glance. “You’re wondering where I do my work.” He half-rose from his seat. “My studio is down the hall, if you’d like to see it.”

  “Later, John,” Rusty said. “We ain’t here to get lectured on how you abide by all the laws.”

  The venom in Rusty’s voice startled me, and I snuck a peek at Nick, who was studying John with half-shut eyes.

  “I guess I’ll have to pass for now,” I said. “But thanks.”

  “I’m sure you know why we’re here,” Rusty said.

&nbs
p; Gentleman John lifted a shoulder, his face a picture of innocence. “Advice on the craft? A design for the young lady?” He winked at me, and Nick sucked in a quick breath.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “Rusty and Wolf take care of me.”

  He gave a small smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Enough about her,” Rusty said. “I want to know what you hear about Wolf and Mandy.”

  “Her?” John said, still looking at me. “How can we have enough of her when you haven’t even introduced us properly?”

  Rusty looked about ready to explode, so I jumped in. “Stella Crown. Friend of Rusty’s. And of Wolf and Mandy. That’s why we’re here. To see if you know anything about what happened to them.”

  “Now why would I know anything?” He gazed at Rusty, his eyes wide. “I’m as shocked and saddened to learn of their misfortune as anyone, but what I know is only from the newspapers.”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Rusty said. “You hated them and you know it. You’re probably jumping for joy inside.”

  Greene shifted on his seat and pulled a newspaper from below the coffee table, tossing it onto the top. “My information source,” he said. It was today’s issue of Lansdale’s The Reporter, with a front page photo of Wolf. The headline above him pleaded, “Has Anyone Seen This Man?”

  “It’s not my problem Wolf finally decided to murder his wife and depart with his mistress,” Greene said.

  What? I looked at Rusty, but he ignored me.

  John continued. “It’s not like Wolf and I were confidants or anything.”

  Rusty frowned. “Which is exactly why we’re here.”

  “What? You think I had something to do with this…this tragedy?” Greene laughed. “You tell me how I did it, I’ll be more than happy to take the credit if it will help. You know Mandy. Or knew her. She could’ve beat me into the ground in a heartbeat, as Wolf could’ve, as well.”

  I gawked at him.

  He laughed again. “Don’t look so shocked, Ms. Crown. I’m afraid I’m not a fighting man. Mandy was a strong woman, and she despised me. Of course she wasn’t on my Christmas card list, either. She caused me more grief than anyone in my whole life. She and Wolf. But no matter about that. You tell me how I’d get her—both of them—out of their shop and anywhere else, and I’ll turn myself in.

  “As far as who I think could have done it?” He shrugged. “Like I said before, you should probably take a closer look at Wolf himself. He wouldn’t be the first man to free himself of…shall we say…the ball and chain? And you might want to ask that little vixen who was after him. Wolf might’ve done the proper protesting, but even he couldn’t hold out for long against that.”

  “You’re talking shit,” Rusty said. “Wolf wouldn’t have left Mandy for anything.”

  Gentleman John swirled the drink in his glass, studying it. “Just saying what I heard, that’s all. And where there’s smoke…”

  “Bullshit,” Rusty said.

  Gentleman John lifted a shoulder, half smiling.

  Nick elbowed me in the side. I looked at him and followed his gaze, freezing at the look of rage on Rusty’s face.

  I cleared my throat. “Any chance I could see your studio now?”

  He peered at me. “You’re really interested?”

  “Sure.” If it would get Rusty out of the house before he strangled the man.

  John set his glass on an end table, and stood. “Then please, follow me.”

  I got up, but turned back to Nick. “Why don’t you guys wait for me outside? I’ll only be a minute.”

  Rusty didn’t seem to hear me, but Nick nodded.

  “So what exactly did Wolf and Mandy do to you?” I asked John as we walked side-by-side down the hallway. The opera music followed us, piped through the speakers set in the ceiling.

  “What didn’t they do? Called the cops, tried to force me out of work. Bankrupted me, lost me customers. Of course I still have some loyal folks.”

  We walked through his kitchen to a closed door at the back, which seemed like an add-on to the rear of the house.

  “It wouldn’t be that the law had anything to come down on you for, would it?” I asked. “Tattooing underage kids? Piercing them?”

  Gentleman John smiled and opened the door. “You think I want to get in trouble?”

  I stepped into John’s studio and once again tried to hide my surprise. At first glance it looked every bit as nice as Wolf Ink. Photo albums, flash on the walls, a dentist’s chair. One door was marked as a bathroom for either gender, while another led directly outside, probably used as a business entrance so people didn’t have to traipse through John’s house. It was a bit strange, seeing the tattoo paraphernalia and having opera cranked on the stereo.

  A few photos held a place of pride above his counter, and I stepped toward them.

  “Your kids?” I asked.

  He walked to my side. “My daughters. Twins. Graduated from high school last year and live in Philly now. Wanted to get to the big city, you know.”

  I glanced at his hand and didn’t see a ring, so I assumed there wasn’t a wife around.

  “And the boy?” I asked.

  “My nephew. More like a son, really. He’s still in high school.”

  “Good-looking kid.”

  He nodded and turned back to the rest of the room.

  “So who’s the woman after Wolf?” I asked. “Anyone you know?”

  He chuckled. “No. Just a rumor. But it does seem an unlikely rumor if it’s not true. Everyone knows Wolf was fiercely loyal to his wife.” A grin flashed across his features. “Could be he was too scared of her for infidelity. I would’ve been.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that, and began studying the studio.

  John watched me for a moment before speaking again. “It’s difficult to make a living without stepping across the line every once in a while. So you know, a mom brings in her twelve-year-old who wants a belly button ring? Who am I to say that mother’s wrong? And why should I force a busy father to accompany his sixteen-year-old son to a routine sitting so I can see him sign the papers? It saves everyone a lot of time and stress to just look the other way every once in a while. You see what I mean?”

  I nodded. Sure. I saw what he meant. Didn’t mean I thought it was right. Or even smart. I mean, didn’t Mandy say he’d been sued three times last year alone?

  I also was beginning to see the small differences between the studios of Wolf Ink and Gentleman John’s. A few rags sat on the counter—a no-no for a supposedly sanitary spot. Some dirty tools, a section of flash with a nasty vein, some still-greasy Vaseline cups. The vinyl floor was cracked and stained, and the walls were desperate for a new coat of paint.

  But it sounded like it was John’s attitude that really needed the work. A tattoo artist that defies the law in one area won’t think twice about doing it in another.

  I rocked on my heels. “I guess I’ll get back to the guys. Should I go out here?” I indicated the business entrance.

  “I haven’t had a chance to shovel it yet. You’d be better off going out the front.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  At the front door he reached to open it, and I walked past him.

  “So do you hate me now, too?” he asked. “Now that you know I bend the rules?”

  I bit my lip and looked out at Rusty, whose face was turned away from the house. “I don’t hate you, John. I have no reason to. But I can’t say I’ll be coming here to get work done.”

  “Sure. I understand.” He closed the door.

  Rusty’s face was practically crimson when I reached the Explorer. Nick and I stood and watched him, clutching our arms to our coats to try to stay warm, as his face gradually relaxed and his color faded back to normal. His scalp had been frightening with the red underlying the continents.

  He took a deep breath, a sob, and dropped his face into his hands. I laid a hand on his knee and left
it there while he got himself under control. His shoulders heaved, and I had to look away when a tear trickled out from under his hand. Eventually his breathing returned to normal, and he lifted his head. Nick handed him a clean rag he’d found in my truck, and Rusty blotted his face with it.

  Rusty took a huge breath and let it out. “Sorry.”

  I held up a hand. “Don’t. He said some hurtful things.”

  “He’s an asshole,” Nick said.

  My eyes swerved to his face, surprised at his words. Mandy’s words. I just couldn’t quite fit them with the actual guy yet. To me John seemed more like a pathetic worm.

  “Hearing him talk about them like that…” Rusty’s voice crumbled.

  “I think you’ve had enough for today,” I said. “Will Becky be home by now? And the girls?”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “It’s about two-thirty.”

  Rusty stared out his windshield. “They said they’d be home by supper.”

  I studied him. He wasn’t in any shape to be driving, or spending time alone. “You’re coming with us. Till Becky gets home.”

  “I don’t—”

  “For a little while, anyway.”

  He shuddered and allowed himself a glance toward Gentleman John’s house. “Okay. Whatever. Just get me out of here.”

  I lifted my hand from his knee. “Keys?”

  He gestured toward the dash, where the key ring lay against the speedometer.

  “Drive my truck again?” I asked Nick.

  He nodded. “I’ll follow.”

  I shut Rusty’s door and circled around to the driver’s side, glad to get into the cab and escape the cold breeze. I glanced toward the house, but didn’t see any movement. Gentleman John must’ve already gone back to his opera.

  Chapter Twelve

  When we pulled into the drive, Lucy and Tess were skipping up the sidewalk, bags in their hands. Tess’ eyes went wide, and she gestured frantically for Lucy to open the door.

  I stopped the Explorer at the end of the sidewalk while Nick drove past, toward the tractor barn. After parking he jogged back and met me at Rusty’s passenger door.

  “Guess we’re not supposed to see the bags,” Nick said, tilting his head toward the house.