When I got to the car Moe was still listening to the stereo. But instead of music I heard a man’s voice speaking urgently and persuasively; Big Moe was paying such rapt attention that he didn’t notice I was there until I opened the passenger door. He quickly switched from CD to radio as I climbed in.
“So what was that?” I asked.
Moe gave me a pained look, but ejected the CD and handed it over. It was a motivational course as read by one of America’s top self-help gurus; the tall guy.
“He has some good stuff to share,” Moe said. “The man’s very helpful to me.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “If it’s useful, keep it. If it’s useless, throw it away.” Big Moe’s usual doom and gloom demeanor seemed to soften in response.
“You knew Wayne pretty well, right?” I asked.
“Sure,” Moe said.
“Okay, I know you weren’t in with his last clique – those guys from out of town I mean. But why’d they go so Terminator that day?”
I was still chewing on what Hoffman had told me, trying to decide how much was bullshit and how much was useful. Tubbs and Reese sure acted like they believed it, which was more important than whether or not there was a lick of truth to it. “Hell, Moe, where did Wayne and them get all those drugs they were on? Was it from you guys?”
“Not from any of us, I swear. I’d tell you if they had, it’s no big – but their dope didn’t come through the Gardens.”
“Okay,” I said, believing him – there was no profit for him to lie in this case. “So how long you known Sam?”
“Oh, since kindergarten man. You probably don’t remember, but I came over to your house a few times when I was a little kid. Your wife always put out fruit. I liked that better than the candy a lot of the moms gave us.”
I closed my eye and tried to recall, but shook my head when no memories came.
“Don't worry about it. You know Sam has a real mean streak in him, don’t you?” Moe asked, his tone admiring. “Sometimes he rolls like he just don’t care.”
“Before my baby’s mama had my kid, Sam and me used to go around on Saturday nights crashing parties we wasn’t invited to.” Moe looked at me then away. “Hate to be the one to tell you, but they’s a lot of guys in Stagger Bay don’t like Sam very much.”
“That breaks my heart all right.”
Big Moe snorted. “Anyways, we usually crashed the party if the guys throwing it didn’t like us, if they’d been talking smack. Once we showed up? If it was a sausage fest we’d just crack some heads, drink they alcohol and split. If they was girls there, Sam would go up to the dude with the hottest lady and lay him out. Then he’d sit down on the couch, drink the guy’s bottle dry, and swap spit with the chump’s girlfriend with the fool laid out cold at Sam’s feet.”
Moe wore a pleased expression, enjoying this trip down memory lane. “I stick up for my boy and all, but you definitely don’t want to be around when Sam uncages his rage. Yeah, he ain’t that tall or nothing, but he’s never let it bother him. He’s a real giant killer.”
Moe looked at me with brows raised. “Don’t tell Sam I told you about the party crashing though, okay? He never wanted Karl to find out, and I promised I’d never talk about it.”
“So I think Reese is the Driver,” Big Moe said, “And Sam favors Hoffman. How about you? You formed any opinions at all?”
“Well, I’ve eliminated a few,” I allowed. “It ain’t Little Moe or Randy because they’re too small. And it ain’t Elaine or Natalie, because they’re girls. Sam’s too short, and the voice isn’t right even if he did his best to disguise it.”
I smirked at Moe’s expression. “And as for you? Well, if you had access to Hollywood-level makeup you could achieve the whiteness. And you’re certainly wide enough, though you appear a lot leaner. I don’t know if you’re the right height, as I’ve only seen the Driver sitting down. But I’ll tell you what kid, if you could actually do that good a job of playing a middle-aged Caucasian freak? Get into the movies, son – you’ll win an Oscar for sure.”
“You sure like to push people’s buttons,” Moe said. “You know, it’s possible to be too suspicious.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not.”
“Look,” he said. “Some are saying you’re just sitting on your ass, but I know that ain’t the case. They ain’t doing nothing they own selves, and I know you got a lot going on up in that dome of yours – I can feel the wheels turning even from here. I’ll admit to being a worry wort sometimes, and its okay you don’t want to share. But I need to hear you say it just one time, okay? Can we do this thing?”
Worry wort? I thought. This kid didn’t have an optimistic bone in his body, self help CDs notwithstanding. And here he was reaching out to the likes of me to convince himself we could make a difference?
“Of course we can,” I said.