Pumped for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

said no thanks and opened their notebooks.
    “We can talk prices and stuff when I finish,” Gus said. “If I don’t tell my story now, I’ll lose my nerve. This goes way back to the eighties, when my brother Mark died. I’m fifty-seven now. Mark was two years younger. In ’eighty-six, Mark had just turned thirty. He died of a gunshot wound to the head. The police said it was suicide, but I know he was murdered.”
    He paused for another drink. Helen said nothing. Phil nodded at him to continue.
    “My family is from Fostoria, Ohio,” Gus said.
    “Where they made the glassware?” Phil asked.
    “Right. Fostoria is about ninety miles from Columbus,” Gus said. “Lot of Germans, Irish, Italians and Belgians did the grunt work at the glass plants. The powers that be looked down on us because we were blue-collar Catholic. My dad, Frederick, saved up enough to start a gas station. He pumped gas and fixed cars. My mom, Roseanna, took care of us three kids. The Three Behrs, they called us. We were all redheads. You see what’s left of mine.” He ran a greasestained hand through his rusty fringe.
    “Mom named my sister Bernadette for the humble French saint who saw Jesus’s mother. Bernie hated the name. She was no saint and she sure wasn’t humble. She and Mom had some complicated mother-daughter thing and fought a lot. Bernie didn’t like leaving her friends in high school. My brother Mark and I got along fine with Dad. We loved cars.
    “Back in Ohio, we were the perfect Catholic family, right down to the concrete Virgin in the yard. When Dad got older, he got sick of working in the Midwest winters. He said the cold would kill him. He moved the family to Fort Lauderdale in 1980 and opened Fred’s Garage. Mark and I worked at the garage, lived in a bachelor dive and had a great time.
    “Mom acted like she never left Ohio. She had her Fort Lauderdale volunteer groups and went to church every Sunday. Even had the same damn concrete Virgin in the yard. Mom insisted we kids show up for Sunday dinner. Bernie gave her a hard time, but Mark and I never missed a meal.”
    Gus patted his gut as if it were a prize pumpkin.
    “Dad was a good mechanic, but he struggled to stay in business. Winter didn’t kill him. The Florida heat got him. He died of a heart attack in July ’eighty-five.
    “Dad’s death was a shock. Mom wanted to sell the garage, but Mark and I talked her into letting us run it. It was Mark’s idea to change the name and redo this building. He made the business upscale. We were no longer a neighborhood garage.
    “When Dad died, our family lost its anchor. Mom quit cooking Sunday dinners. Bernie started coming home late, then staying out all night. Mom didn’t say anything. I think she was tired of fighting. Bernie was seventeen, a real looker, with long red hair. Guys would stop and stare, she was that beautiful.
    “I should have kept an eye on my little sister, but I was working ten-hour days at the garage. I’d also met my wife, Jeannie, and was wrapped up in her. I was doing the work of two men. Mark showed up when he felt like it, which wasn’t often.
    “Mark and Bernie started running with a wild crowd. Bernie was dating a rich Turk named Ahmet Yavuz. Ahmet was Hollywood handsome. Mom didn’t like my sister hanging around with him. The more she objected, the more Bernie said she loved him.”
    “What did you think of this Ahmet?” Phil asked.
    “He was bad news. Ahmet had an import-export business, but I thought it was a cover for drug dealing.
    “Mom wanted Bernie to date a nice Catholic boy. She insisted I lay down the law. I told Bernie if she kept going out with Ahmet, she couldn’t live at home with Mom. Bernie said fine and moved in with the drug dealer.”
    Phil and Helen said nothing, but Gus read their disapproval. “I know, I know. That’s not a smart way to treat a headstrong young woman. I was head of the family and I had a lot of worries. Mark was throwing money around.