Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

Pooler reached into his pocket, fiddled with the car keys, and leaned against the Malibu as they approached. Dickie and his friend stopped on the sidewalk a few steps away from him. "What do you want me for?" Puller asked. "I wasn't discharged, let alone fired," Ditch said. "That's fine. But if you're lying, I'll find out in five minutes. Just hit a few keys and the Army Records Center will get back to me. So tell me, what's the matter with you?" " "I just said goodbye to the troops, goodbye." "why?" Dickie glanced at his friend.The man had been staring at Puller.

"It's a private matter of mine. And it's not because of anything bad that happened." His friend added: "And it has nothing to do with you." "Then what do you want me for?" Puller repeated. "I heard that Eric Triwell was killed." "do you know him?" "yes." Puller looked at the tattoo on his arm, pointed to the sleeve and asked, "Where did you get this tattoo?" "There are in town." "Trillwell wears exactly the same thing as this one." "It can't be said to be exactly the same, there is a difference. But I customized it according to his appearance."

"why?" "Why not?" "That's not really an answer." The big man stepped forward.He is two to three centimeters taller than Pooler, and weighs more than 20 kilograms. He looks like a defensive stumbler in the National College Football League A. He is the kind who is still far behind the first-class professional players, but enough Athletes who receive full scholarships during four years of college. "That's his answer," said the other guy. Puller turned his gaze to him. "You are?" "Frank." "Okay, Frank. I think it's a conversation between Dickie and me."

"Aha, maybe you need to think again." "I don't see any reason to change my opinion." Puller saw Frank take his hand out of his pocket and clenched it into a fist.And, despite Frank's attempts to hide it, Pooler could still see what was clenched in his fist. "I can provide two quite good reasons here." Frank said, shaking two thick fists. "No, no, Frank, your reason is really nothing." Puller replied indifferently, straightened up from the side of the car, and took his hands out of his pockets.But Puller's hand was free of anything, he didn't need it.

"I know you have a gun, I saw it in the restaurant," Frank said. "I won't use it." Frank said: "I weigh nearly twenty kilograms more than you." "It must be more than twenty kilograms." "Yes. Well, then, you see what I mean?" Dickie said nervously, "Hey guys, don't do this." He held out an arm to stop his friend. "Frank, guys, don't do this. We don't have to." Puller said, "Your friend is right, Frank. I don't want to hurt you. But I can see what you want from the way you look, and if you make a move, you're going to be beaten. The only problem is , How hard should I beat you up."

Frank snorted and smiled conceitedly. "You think you can beat anyone just because you're a soldier?" "I don't think so, but I know I can beat you to pieces." Frank's right fist swung forward.Puller, however, has hit back.Puller's forehead hit the center of the opponent's face forcefully.His skull is much harder than the opponent's nasal bone.Frank, who weighed almost 130 kilograms, was unprepared for this, his face was instantly covered with blood, and he staggered back.Puller rolled his left arm back nearly to the point of fracture, kicked the back of his left leg, and dropped the bulky man squarely on the pavement.Puller squatted down with Frank on the ground, protecting Frank's head with his free hand.Otherwise, this guy's skull will definitely hit the ground and shatter.

Puller wrenched his weapon from Frank's fist and tossed it aside.It is a knuckle ring made of several coins strung together.Puller stood up.Frank covered his broken nose with one hand, and wiped his blood-smeared eyes with his knuckles with the other.As he tried to get up, Puller planted a foot on his chest, pinning him back to the ground. "Just hold on tight," Pooler said to Dickie again, "Go get a bag of ice cubes from the restaurant, hurry up." Seeing Dickie's bewildered look, Puller gave him a hard push . "Come on, Dickie, or I'll throw you through the window into the diner, so we can speed things up."

Dicky ran in hastily. "You shouldn't have done that, you bastard," Frank said, clutching his bloody nose. "Then you shouldn't have shaken your fist at me first. Wearing a bunch of quarters like this." "I guess you broke my nose." "You do have a broken nose. It's been broken before, though. It's a bit crooked to the left, with a bump in the middle, probably from getting hit by someone wearing a mask at a football game. I reckon you got the bone set back then. The doctor is not very good, and your septum may be bent too. This time it will work, please ask them to correct it for you.”

Dickie came running back with an ice cube wrapped in a small handkerchief.Puller looked up to see that everyone in the restaurant was standing behind glass windows watching the scene. Dickie hands the ice to Pooler. "I don't need this, Dickie, your buddies need it." Frank took the ice cube and held it to his nose. "What happened here?" Puller turned his head and saw Sam Cole in full police uniform, driving a police car with the windows rolled down.She stopped by the curb and stepped out of the car.Puller noticed that her uniform belt didn't squeak. Cole looked down at Frank, then at the string of coins thrown on the floor.She looked at Dickie, then at Pooler.

"Can you explain what happened? Did he hit you, or did you hit him first?" Pooler looked at Dickie, then at Frank.Seeing that neither of them was willing to speak, Puller said, "He slipped and fell and broke his nose. His friend brought him some ice cubes." Cole raised his eyebrows and stared at Dicky.Dickie muttered, "That's what happened." She stared down at Frank again. "You want to tell the same version of the story?" Frank propped himself up on one elbow. "Yes, ma'am." "Then what's with the knuckle rings? Falling out of your pockets?"

"It fell out of a shirt pocket," Pooler said. "He spilled it when he fell. I heard him say he was going to the laundry room. The quarters were probably for the washing machine." Cole reached out and pulled Frank up. "You better go see a doctor." "Yes, ma'am." The two of them walked away slowly. "Ready? Going?" Puller asked. "I'm ready, I'm ready to hear you explain exactly what happened?" "You mean I'm lying?" "That guy didn't slip. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck. And he must have put the string of coins on his hand when he punched you." "It's all speculation and conjecture made by you unilaterally." "Oh, that's the smoking gun." She reached out and patted Puller's forehead lightly. "You've got blood here. I didn't see any wounds on you, so it's probably his blood. That means he Fisted at you and you headbutted him. I want to know why?" "Misunderstanding." Puller wiped the blood away with his sleeve. "Which aspect?" "About their respective private spaces." "Your way is really annoying." "It doesn't matter, Cole. It's a small town, and it's kind of deceiving to see people from outside, but that's what it is. If it gets more complicated than that, I'll be the first to tell you." She wasn't convinced, but said nothing more. "I remember we agreed to meet at the scene." "I got up early. I guess you'll be here," Cole replied. "I chatted with your boss for a while." "Judge Lindemann?" "He came to the restaurant too. I gave him the contacts of people who could help him deal with the media." "thanks." "He thinks highly of you." "I did the same with him. He gave me the opportunity." "You said you were in the State Police before you came here." "That was his idea. He said if I had a record as a state trooper, no one would stop me from wearing a badge at Drake." "So he doesn't have the right to make decisions about personnel." "The decision rests with the County Executive Committee. Those committee members are all men, and they are still living in the nineteenth century. In their eyes, the role of women in life is either to bear children or to cook in the kitchen." "I also talked to the postman." "The postman? You mean Howard Reed?" "It was him. He came to breakfast. He said the mail he delivered was left in the house. Or rather, he left it there in a panic. He said it was a copy of the The mail forwarded by the Mori couple was probably actually addressed to Reynolds. Have you put it away?" Cole looked confused. "I didn't find any mail." Puller stared at her closely. "Have you ever wondered why the postman went into that house?" "He told me he needed the family to sign him. I thought..." Her voice drew out, her cheeks flushed, "I'm damned. I shouldn't take it for granted." "You say there's no mail in the house. Reed is sure he left it there." "Maybe the killers came back to the scene at night just to take it." "It's possible. But your men stayed at the scene on the afternoon of the incident. Why didn't they see this thing?" Kerr said, "Let's find out. Puller, go now."