The staked Goat

condescendingly. ”Is that how you got hurt, Mr. Cuddy?”
    I looked down at my right arm. The bandages showed, bulged even under the loose-fitting hospital johnny.
    ”I wouldn’t expect Deli-Master over there to recognize it, but surely the doctor who treated me told you that I’d been shot.”
    Wasser, incredibly, was still chewing on something. ”Mr. Cuddy—” Parras started.
    ”Your questions also mean you haven’t been down behind the auto shop yet either, have you?”
    Parras’ eyebrows knitted a few more stitches. ”What auto shop?”
    I sighed. ”Where am I?” I asked.
    ”St. Jude’s. The hospital, I mean.”
    ”You have a street named Breston in this town?”
    ”Yeah, about... Why?”
    ”On Breston Street, in a warehouse district, there’s a deserted auto shop. Fender and body work.”
    ”Maybe. Why?”
    ”Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I said. ”I’m a private investigator. I turned an old Pontiac that was following me and trailed it there. I got suckered into leaving my car and walked behind the place. I got ambushed. I got one of them, right at the car as he was getting out of it. The other guy drove off.”
    ”What the—”
    ”I got back to my car and made it to some kind of shopping area when I blacked out.”
    ”Do you mean that you... That there’s a body...”
    I put my good hand up to my face and did a slow burn which shut him up. ”Lieutenant Parras, I’m not sure who or what is where, but I’ve got a pretty good idea you ought to start at that auto shop.” I shifted and grimaced. ”I’m sure as hell not going anywhere for a while.”
    ”You, you mean—” Parras broke off. Not as much juice as I thought. ”Wasser, better call the Chief.”
    Wasser checked his watch. ”It’s four-forty-five A.M., Lieutenant. Maybe you better call him.”
    I closed my eyes and smiled on the inside. Perhaps I had underestimated Wasser.
     
    Chief Kyle was stocky and bald, and bore a striking resemblance to Edward Asner, the actor. He arrived just before 6 A.M. I elaborated for him the story I had summarized for Parras, who stood where Wasser had, Wasser having disappeared. Kyle did not much like my story and said so.
    I shrugged, then clenched my teeth from the resultant pain in my arm. ”Sorry, Chief, it’s the only story I’ve got.”
    Kyle looked like he wanted to spit but was barely civilized enough to refrain. His next remark was cut short by a knock at the door and the head of Wasser around it.
    ”Chief?” said Wasser.
    ”Yeah?” said Kyle.
    ”He’s here.”
    Kyle nodded, gave me a disgusted look, and said to Parras, ”Stay here but don’t talk to him.” Kyle didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. He just banged open the door and left.
    I made faces at Parras for about ten minutes before the door banged open again. Kyle came back in with one Lieutenant Murphy, Boston P.D. Wasser shuffled in behind them, dragging a couple of hard plastic chairs but carrying no obvious forms of nourishment.
    ”Cuddy.”
    ”Lieutenant.”
    Murphy and Kyle sat in Wasser’s chairs. Parras and Wasser stayed standing. Murphy looked to Kyle, who motioned him to go ahead. Murphy said thank you and tinned to me.
    ”Why don’t you tell me what you say happened, Cuddy?”
    I did.
    Murphy leaned forward a bit, resting his chin on his upturned palm, elbow on his knee. The Thinker.
    ”You turn the tail and follow him to the auto shop. You didn’t make the plates?”
    ”Like I said, no front plate and no light on the back.”
    ”And you’re not sure which model or year either?”
    ”It was a big, old Pontiac. It was dark, and I didn’t want to get too close.”
    ”How long were you in claims investigating?”
    ”About eight, nine years.”
    ”And you couldn’t ID a car better than big, old, Pontiac?”
    ”Big, old, dark Pontiac.”
    ”Big, old dark Pontiac?”
    ”That’s right.”
    ”And after all the shit you’ve been through in this case, after somebody bombing your place and all, you followed somebody into an alley—”
    ”Well, more like a business—”
    ”I been there!” snapped Murphy. ”It looks like an
    alley.”
    ”Okay, an alley.”
    ”So you followed somebody into an alley all by yourself?”
    ”With a shotgun.”
    ”That you got through a guy whose license to sell firearms is hanging by a thread.”
    ”I try to support marginal but vital—”
    ”Oh, cut the shit, man! You blew a guy up last night.”
    ”I did.”
    ”With a shotgan.”
    ”That’s