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“Then neither is he.” Bailey gestured to Willis. “He brought you.”
“No, he didn’t.” I pushed away from the workbench I leaned on and stood beside Willis. “I didn’t give him a choice. He’s actually here to stop me.”
“From doing what?” Bailey asked, his fat jowls dangling. The man had led a good life if his portliness was anything to go by.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “From killing you.”
The son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to laugh. “Really? You have a reason to want me dead, do you?”
I nodded. “I do.”
“Care to enlighten me, whoever-you-are?” He turned to Willis, still thinking he held the upper hand. “Who the fuck is he?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell you soon.”
“He’s not telling me anything, because I’m not here to talk to him. As a matter of fact, I’m done talking to you. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing—Where are you going, Petrafuso?” he barked when Willis nonchalantly picked up his jacket and started to walk out of the garage.
“You said you were done talking to me, so I’m leaving. You can talk to him,” he said over his shoulder.
Bailey watched Willis leave then turned back to me.
“Why the fuck should I talk to you? Where is he going?”
I shrugged as I unbuttoned my black blazer. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. He did tell me that a United States Senator couldn’t be an accessory to murder, so I imagine he’s trying to avoid what comes next.”
“You’re insane.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and hit a button. “Yeah, come in and get me. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
“Gerald Petrafuso. Lydia Padgett,” I said as I took my jacket off.
He stopped talking and looked at me.
“Daniel Rubinstein,” I added as I unbuttoned my sleeves. “Phillip McKenzie, although, granted. You didn’t kill him. I did.”
“You killed him? What the f—? Who are you?”
“Jennifer Dales committed suicide. So did Anne Morehead and Theresa Baxter.”
“Hold on. I’ll call you back.” Bailey hung up and stared at me. “You have something to say to me? Say it.”
“I am saying it. Now, shut up and listen.” I started to roll up my other sleeve. “At least, their families knew what happened to them. Karen Johnstone and Maria Perazinski’s families weren’t that fortunate. They’re still waiting for their children to come home. But they’re not coming home, are they, you fat fuck?”
Now, he started to put it together. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He jumped when the door to the garage, the one we’d entered through, slammed shut.
“What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck are you?” He mashed on the button of his phone as he walked to the door. “Hello? Hello?” he yelled into the phone.
“I don’t think they’re going to answer, George,” I said.
He started frantically pulling on the door.
“I don’t think that’s going to open, either.” I circled around him, crossed my arms, and leaned on the door of a mint green Dodge that I’d bet my life was stolen.
“I’m going to ask you one last time. Who the fuck are you?”
“You don’t know me, I don’t think. But you may know my girlfriend.”
“Who’s that?” He started looking around the area for something to use as a weapon.
“Tire iron, right there,” I gestured to a workbench cluttered with tools. I don’t know how Willis arranged it, but it was turning out that the garage was a perfect location. At least here, Bailey would feel like he had a fighting chance.
