Denise was awe-struck by what she just heard, for a minute she could've sworn it was just a dream, but the mask of horror that Richie's face had become told her that it was definitely real.
"What? What're you talking about he killed her?" Denise asked as she got up.
"Mason, I—that dog was over here and I took him back to his house, and on the way back, I saw him kill a lady!" Richie exclaimed.
"What! Where?" Denise asked.
"Right in his living room, barely off from the porch," Richie said.
"Did he see you?" Denise asked.
"I don't think so, I—I stayed on the other side of the block where he couldn't see me, then when I came over here I broke the headlight in the street so he wouldn't know I was around," Richie explained.
Denise slipped on her jacket, "Allright Richie, calm down, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."
"Well it might be too late now, but allright," Richie said.
Richie headed out into the hall with Denise right behind him as Jeremy came down the stairs, "Denise, what's going on?"
"Either stay here and get ready to shoot or come with us," Denise said.
"What?" Jeremy asked.
"Mason killed someone, Richie saw him," Denise said.
"You're not going over there, are you?" Jeremy asked.
"Don't be dumb, Richie's going to take me exactly where he was so I can figure out what's going on around here," Denise replied.
Richie led Denise off the porch, up the pavement and across to the street, over to the house where the dog lived.
"I came over here with the dog and after his owner took him back in, I started walking down the sidewalk and I looked over there," Richie pointed over to a window in Mason's house, "And I saw him and the lady fighting."
"Any idea over what?" Denise asked.
"No, anyway, she turned around probably to leave and he grabbed her and pulled her back and he slit her throat," Richie said.
"What? With a knife?" Denise asked.
"I'm not sure, it was something small, I didn't really see it, all I saw was him running his hand across and blood pouring out of her neck," Richie explained.
"Shit," Denise said, "you mean his blind was open?"
"No, it was closed, but it's the kind that if you don't shut it tightly enough people can still see in but you can't see out," Richie said.
"So that's in your favor, allright, then how'd you get out of here?" Denise asked.
"I went down this sidewalk when I was sure he wasn't around, then I broke the bulb in that streetlight at the corner, and I ran back over to your house," Riche said.
"Capital idea, let's do it again and get out of here before somebody sees us," Denise said.
Richie and Denise ran through the street and down to Denise's house and ran in the front door and slammed it behind them.
"What happened?" Jeremy asked.
"Nothing, allright Jeremy, get on that phone," Denise said.
"Denise, you can't call the cops!" Richie exclaimed.
"I don't see why the hell not, Richie, there's a dead woman across the street," Denise replied.
Richie grabbed Denise by her jacket and pulled her close, "No Denise, you don't understand! Sergeant Powell works for the police, he hates me! If he hears about this, it'll be my ass in the fire, he'll think I killed her, either that or I'm trying to get Mason into trouble, he'll never believe it! And if he doesn't, no one in the station will! Denise, please!"
"Allright, allright, calm down!" Denise said, "Richie, you didn't think I'd just send for any cop, did you? I have an uncle down there, he'll come."
"I don't know," Richie said.
"Richie a woman has been murdered and you might be next if we don't do something," Denise said.
"But get the cops up here, Mason will find out and then he WILL kill me!" Richie said.
"Not if Uncle David agrees to keep it quiet if he doesn't think the story's strong enough, trust me, you don't have anything to worry about."
"The hell I don't!" Richie said, "I witnessed a murder, and if that guy even remotely saw me he can have me killed because he is my neighbor and he and Mac are on friendly terms. And how am I going to explain to Mac that I saw him mutilate a hooker? I can't—
He's going to—"
Tears were already streaming down Richie's face in despair, Denise grew tired of his babbling and slapped him hard across the cheek. Richie looked down and let out a sob as he brought his hand up to his face, where a handprint was already forming.
"Pull yourself together!" Denise told him.
"Shit Denise, what the hell did you have to do that for?" Jeremy asked, "Richie's a mess, he just saw a hooker croak. You can't expect him to be able to just live with that."
"I don't expect him to live with it, I expect him to pull himself together so we can get to the bottom of this, and nail Mason's ass for this," Denise said as she went over to Jeremy, "Get Uncle David up here, tell him there's been a murder! He'll be here in no time, which may be exactly what we have."
Denise went back over to Richie, who was still crying, only this time not in hysterics. By now there was a bright red handprint on his cheek. "I'm sorry about your face, Richie—old habits for me are too hard to break."
Richie lightly nodded in understanding, "I forgive you."
Denise was worried that she'd "broken" Richie, his voice sounded hoarse, like he'd been crying a lot more than he had. That's the last thing they needed, if his mind completely snapped and he turned into a complete baby. After a minute of silence Richie spoke up again, "Y-your uncle—"
"Don't worry about him, he's got nothing on you, and when he gets here, we're going to explain it to him plain and simple."
"He slit her throat?"
"That's right, officer," Richie quietly replied.
"With what exactly? A knife, a piece of glass—steel claws?"
"Uncle David, this is serious," Jeremy said.
"I know, Jeremy, but we have to find out how exactly he killed her," the officer replied.
"I don't know, it was something small, it had to be—cause I didn't see anything really, I just saw his hand go across her throat and blood just poured out," Richie admitted.
"Did he see you?" the officer asking, no doubt eyeing the bruise on Richie's face.
"I don't know, see his blinds were closed, but not tight enough that someone couldn't see in them," Richie said.
"And—what did the lady look like?"
"Basically like your average two-dollar hooker," Richie said, "she had this flimsy red dress on and she had—about shoulder length black hair."
"Was she tall or short?"
"How tall is Mason?" Richie asked.
"About six feet," Jeremy replied.
"Probably around 5'6," Richie answered.
"Thin?"
"More like emaciated."
"Caucasian?"
"I'm not sure, her skin seemed a bit darker than yours."
"Were you fully alert when you saw this?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeremy asked.
"Not fully—I—I felt half asleep when I was out there, I wasn't really wide awake until I saw him kill her."
Richie thought something was wrong from the way that the officer acted as he wrote down the description.
"What's the problem, Uncle David?" Denise asked.
"It's difficult."
"It's always difficult, otherwise anyone could do this," Denise said.
"Well what I mean is, for one thing the young lady he described sounds like a few women who have been missing for some time now, if it was one of them we could have some additional problems on our hands. Also, in order to go over to Mason's home and investigate—"
"Don't tell me you'll need a search warrant for that, Uncle David, don't say that," Jeremy said.
"It is standard procedure."
"I don't give a damn if it is standard procedure or not, a woman is dead and he's probably still looking for a place to hide the body, or clean up the blood," Denise said, "Uncle David, you've got to do something. Richie's telling the truth."
"I believe he is, but that's not the point," he replied, "even if he is telling the truth, so far all we've got to go on is his story and technically all we have to go on in this case is circumstantial evidence, and a case like that can be thrown right out. In any case he admits that he was half asleep when it happened, so it could very easily get thrown out. This is obviously going to take a lot more than just myself to get this whole thing straightened out."
"We'll go with you, I'll pin the bastard to the wall, and you can read him his rights while Denise and Richie get the body," Jeremy said.
"No Jeremy, I mean back-up, a coroner, official authority—"
"Uncle David, you can't do that, there's an officer down there who hates Richie and would love to see him locked away. If word got out that he was involved in a murder case, he'd jump on the opportunity to have Richie found guilty for it."
"Really? Which officer would this be?"
"Sergeant Powell—"
"Powell? Well that's no surprise, allright, I'll make sure that he's the last to know about this, in the meantime, I strongly advise all of you to stay away from Mason."
"No problem, come this time tomorrow he's probably going to be heading for Mexico," Jeremy said.
"What about Richie? Can his parents be reached?"
"He doesn't have any parents, Uncle David, the people who he is living with are out of town and won't be back for a while," Denise said.
"Well then I suggest that you stay here until they return, I'll send an officer over to keep an eye on everything," David said.
"Here or over there?"
"Over here, if he knows that someone saw him during the murder, he's going to be liable to try and kill them before anything else can happen," David said.
"No, you can't send a cop over, then Mason will know that someone's onto him," Jeremy said.
"Not to worry, I'll send over Bloch."
"Who?"
"Deputy Troy Bloch, he does undercover work, nobody will suspect a thing," David said.
"I don't know about this," Denise said.
"Well I'll admit I don't know him as well as some of the other officers, but right now he's the only one who does undercover who can be reached," David told them, "besides, he's one of the better ones we've got."
"Really?"
"Besides, if what your friend told me is true—"
"It is," Denise flatly said.
"Then I wouldn't recommend you being alone for the time being."
"Well then you better get out of here before somebody sees you," Denise advised him.
"I'll see you out," Jeremy said as he stood up.
David followed Jeremy out and Denise closed the door behind them, "Well frizz, I guess for the time being you can rest easy."
But Denise saw that Richie wasn't seeing things the same way, he was shaking intensely.
"What's wrong?" Denise asked.
"He's not going to catch him," Richie said.
"What're you talking about? If Uncle David says he's going to nail his ass, he's going to nail his ass," Denise replied.
"He won't get him, it's too much of a legal hassle. Don't you get it, Denise? Even if they do get a search warrant he's going to want to know why they're over there. And you know that house is sound proof so they can't say that somebody called in about a domestic violence report, and even if they do go over there, he's going to want to know who called the police in the first place and they're going to tell him that I saw him murder a lady. And he's going to say I was trespassing and try and get me in trouble, and he's still going to kill me," Richie said.
"Wrong, Richie, if all else fails, Uncle David is going to take his .22, go over there, send five bullets into Mason's head and say he killed himself," Denise said, "he believes what you saw, he's just been doing it by the book for too long. It's programmed into his brain."
"Meantime who's this guy coming over to keep an eye on the place? What if he's in cahoots with Mason? We're still up shit creek."
"Wrong again, Richie, we've got six guns in this place, if he makes even one false move, we can have him dead and buried long before anything happens," Denise replied.
Richie shook his head and looked down, Denise saw it looked like Richie was going to cry again.
"Don't you start that crying again, the last thing we need is you flooding the place," Denise said, "Richie, it's going to be allright, if I have to rip off Mason's arm and beat him to death with it, he is not going to hurt you."
"Denise," Richie said while resisting the urge to laugh at her comment, "it's not funny."
"I know it isn't, but right now, anything's better than listening to you crying," Denise said.
Jeremy came in the front door and locked it behind him. "Well, he's gone back down to the station to get Troy, how're things holding up in here?"
"Fine," Richie said.
"Just to make sure nobody tries anything funny, Jeremy, go upstairs and get our guns, if anyone tries anything funny, there's going to be blood all over this side of town."
"Denise—"
"Richie, this is some serious shit going on here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you right about now, if you think we're going to let someone bump you off in the middle of the night, you got another thing coming. Jeremy, move!"
Jeremy ran upstairs, leaving Denise and Richie down in the living room.
"Now what?" Richie asked.
"Now we wait, just to be sure I think you need something to protect yourself with," Denise informed him.
"I have something to protect myself with—you."
"I'm serious Richie," Denise replied.
Denise went into the dining room closet and dug around in it for a while, and she brought out a sawed off pump-action shotgun.
"If you have to, you use it," Denise handed it to him, "I know you know how."
"Is it loaded?" Richie asked.
"Why don't you look down the barrel and find out?" Denise asked.
"That's okay, I'll take your word for it."
"I can't believe how much you've forgotten, Richie Ryan, did you ever know Jeremy or myself when we lived in an area that had a gun that wasn't loaded?" Denise asked.
"No."
"Viola—"
They heard Jeremy jumping down the stairs yelling, "I got the guns, sis!"
"Wonderful, stick one where it's handy and give the other to me," Denise said.
Jeremy slipped one gun down the waistband of his jeans and handed the other to Denise, she did the same and turned to Richie. "Allright frizz, go upstairs and keep quiet, go in the master bedroom and look out from the balcony. You can get a perfect view of Mason's house from there—stay there and don't say anything when the deputy comes, and if you see or hear anything—" Denise handed Richie a second gun, a .38 Super, "fire two shots."
"What? With that deputy here? Denise I think you—"
"Just do it Richie, don't worry about Troy, he tries anything funny and he'll be hobbled, now go! He'll be here any minute."
Richie bit his upper lip and nodded as he put the handgun in his pocket and ran up the stairs.
"That deputy Uncle David's sending up here, I don't like the idea of having him here," Jeremy said in Denise's ear, "Suppose he knows Mason like MacLeod does."
"I don't trust the deputy anymore than I can throw him, I wouldn't have him except Uncle David said he was one of the better undercover dicks for the job and he recommended we don't be alone tonight," Denise said.
"So what do we do now?" Jeremy asked.
"—Wait—"
Fifteen minutes later, a muscle car pulled up by the curb and a man who looked in his early 30s came up to the house and knocked on the door. Denise opened the door a crack with the chain still bolted and said, "What do you want?"
"I—" the man pulled out his badge, "I'm Deputy Bloch—your uncle said you needed someone to stay at the house for a couple of days."
"Just a minute—" Denise closed the door, unbolted it, told Jeremy to get ready incase something happened, and opened the door up again, "Come on in—Dick."
"Uh—Troy."
"What did Uncle David say exactly?" Denise asked.
"Well he said that you've been complaining about some neighbors disturbing the peace, coming around here in the middle of the night, pounding on the door and then running off."
"Smart uncle," Jeremy said to Denise.
"He said to make sure you can get some rest around here, it would help to have an officer here the next time they come—but he mentioned a third person here?"
"Richie's upstairs asleep," Denise said in a polite manner, "the poor dear's just been so upset over this ruckus he's plum worn out. So—Dick—"
"Troy."
"What's your specialty on the police force?" Denise asked as she seated herself at the table in the dining room and began reading through a magazine.
"Well I—mainly bust druggers—you wouldn't believe some of the stuff these kids are on these days—"
"Have you had any experience with crack?"
"Oh yes—"
"And uh—how about marijuana?"
"Yes—it's not so much likely to kill you, but it'll fry your brain—just like cigarettes—"
"And—how about morphine?"
"Not since my college days," Troy laughed nervously, "but seriously—a few times—"
Denise looked up from her magazine momentarily while the officer's back was turned, and she looked down again.
"And—have you ever been in an environment with rubella?" Denise asked.
"Oh—yes—that stuff can make you go completely insane if you do it too much."
"And—alopecia?"
"Yes—you can tell someone's taking it when they get white lines in their nails."
"And how would you recommend restraining someone on uticaria?" Denise asked as she kept her eyes glued to the article on weight loss in women.
"Oh—I recommend keeping a firm hold on them, possibly a brief slap to the face if they're too crazy," he said.
"I see," Denise said.
"Do these hooligans go to the—back door also?" Troy asked.
"Yes they do."
"Where is the back door?"
"Oh it's just past the kitchen and to the left."
"Okay, I'll be back in a minute."
Troy disappeared into the kitchen, Jeremy went over to his sister and said, "Again I say, I don't like that officer, suppose he's with Mason?"
"I know he's not an undercover drug-buster," Denise looked up from the magazine and over to her brother, "Because uticaria is hives, rubella is measles, and alopecia is baldness."
"And knowing all this, you're going to let him stay in this house?" Jeremy asked.
"I will—until we find out what's been done with the real Troy Bloch," Denise said as she stood up.
"Huh?" Jeremy gave his sister a very confused look.
"The badge he showed me belonged to a Troy Bloch allright, meaning he must be somewhere between the station and this block," Denise said.
"What do we do?" Jeremy asked.
"First thing's first, we're going upstairs," Denise said.
Denise waltzed into the hall and approached the stairs with her brother right behind her, "Why?"
"Because we're going to make a phone call," Denise said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to make a call to New York, and see what our friend, "Mister Nash", thinks about this."