Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Thirty-one

“This guy’s as good as dead.”

We’d pulled up in front of a warehouse on Industrial Road when Jerry made his comment. In the dark the building looked like a huge black box-no windows and no lights.

“What are you talking about?”

“I seen enough movies to know what’s gonna happen,” Jerry said. “He’s dead.”

“This is real life, Jerry,” I said, “not a movie.”

“Hey,” the big man said, “you got two dead girls already, right? And you got beat up and threatened? Sounds pretty close to me.”

“Let’s go and find him.”

I started to open my door but Jerry put a big paw out to stop me.

“You heeled?”

“No, I’m not heeled,” I said, annoyed. “I don’t carry a gun. I’m not a cop, a P.I. or a hood.”

“Well, I am a hood,” he said, “and I’m carryin’, so let me go first.”

“Look, Jerry,” I said over the top of the car, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Shhh,” he said, waving a huge hand at me. In the other hand hecarried his.45; the big gun was still dwarfed by the size of his mitt. “Don’t say no more. Let’s find this guy.”

We approached the warehouse, with me close behind Jerry this time, instead of the other way around.

“Did this guy say where he was gonna be?”

“No,” I said, “he just gave me the address.”

“Let’s jus’ find an open door, then.”

I followed him around the building. We tried a couple of doors, found them locked and I started to get a bad feeling, like maybe he was right.

The building itself was unmarked. There was no way for us to tell what kind of business was using it, unless there was a sign we couldn’t see in the dark.

“I’m getting’ a bad feelin’,” Jerry said.

“I thought you had a bad feeling already?”

“It’s getting’ worse.” He turned to face me. “Look, Mr. Sinatra said I was to keep you safe. I think we better get outta here.”

“I think you’re right.”

We both saw it at the same time. A large trash bin out beside a loading dock. There was just enough moonlight for us to see a flash of red hanging over the edge.

“Your man wear red?” he asked.

“Not the last time I saw him.”

I didn’t know enough about Mike Borraco to know if red was a favorite color.

“Well, we’re here,” I said. “We might as well have a look.”

As we approached the trash bin I wished I had thought to bring a flashlight. At that moment Jerry reached his empty hand into his pocket and came out with a small pen light. He aimed it at the bin as we got closer. Sure enough, there was a tail end of a red shirt hanging out over the edge.

“You seen a dead body before?” he asked.

“Lots.”

He looked at me.”

“In the war.”

“Korea?”

I nodded.

“I couldn’t go,” he said. “Flat feet.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

“Want me to take a look, here?”

“No,” I said, “we’ll stay together.”

We walked to the bin and peered over the top. Jerry aimed his pen light inside. Sure enough, Mike Borraco was there, staring back up at us through sightless eyes. His red shirt was torn, the tail end of it having gotten caught on a sharp edge of the metal bin.

“That him?” he asked.

“That’s Mike.”

Jerry moved the light around. Parts of Mike were buried beneath the garbage.

“I don’t see no wound,” he said. “I can’t tell how he got killed.”

“This is crazy,” I said. “First the two girls, and now Mike.”

“What’s this got to do with Mr. Martin?” Jerry asked.

“Nothin’!” I replied. “That’s what I’m sayin’. This is all just a crazy coincidence.”

“The cops ain’t gonna think so, you finding another body. They don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Not call them?”

“I tol’ ya,” Jerry said. “Callin’ the cops ain’t never my first choice.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we get the hell outta here. There’s a chance whoever killed this guy called the cops themselves, hopin’ to frame you.”

We started for the car and then Jerry stopped and said, “Wait a minute. How did this guy know your phone number?”

“I wrote it down for him. Why?”

He turned and ran back. I saw him reach in and it looked to me like he was rifling the corpse’s pockets.

“What are you doing?”

He withdrew his hands and came trotting back to me. He was remarkably light on his feet for such a big man. He handed me a slip of paper I recognized.

“It was in his shirt pocket. Now let’s go. We don’t want to get caught in the act.”

“In the act of what?”

Suddenly, we heard a siren in the distance. Jerry grabbed my shoulder and started pulling me along towards the car.

“In the act of gettin’ outta here!”