Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Twenty-six

By the time Thomas returned-and I wasn’t all that sure he would-we had the bodies wrapped in blankets. It took all the blankets I owned, and the rest of the duct tape, which the three men had brought with them. That made me think they might have been there to do more than just deliver a message.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, as I let him in.

I told him.

“How do we get them there?”

“We’ll need both cars,” I said. “Yours and mine.”

“Okay.”

“You gonna get in trouble with your boss?”

He grinned and said, “I am my boss.”

“Hey, man,” Jerry said, approaching Thomas with his hand out, “I never said thanks.”

They shook hands and Thomas said, “Don’t mention it.”

“I do got some bad news for you, though,” Jerry added.

“What?”

“The Luger, we’re gonna have ta leave it in the warehouse.”

“Why?”

Jerry explained about setting the bodies up to look like they had all shot each other.

“How are you going to do that when one of them was killed with a tire iron?”

“Shit,” I said. “We’ll have to figure something out. Let’s get ’em over there, first.”

“The Caddy’s got a big trunk,” Jerry said. “I can back it up to the house. We take these bums out the back and drop them in the trunk. It’s dark enough for nobody to see us.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. “After you move the Caddy I’ll back my Chrysler up and we’ll put the third body in there. After that I’ll just follow you.”

“Okay,” I said with a queasy stomach, “let’s do it.”

Loading the bodies into the trunks was nervous work. Luckily I didn’t live on a block with a lot of nighttime traffic. These were mostly people who went to work during the day and then came home at night, had dinner, and vegged out in front of the TV until bedtime.

Unloading them at the warehouse was not a problem. We pulled into the deserted parking lot, made our way to the back door, and then Jerry and I went inside to check if everything was the same. This time we brought a regular-sized flashlight from my house, and Thomas also had one in his trunk.

“Still there,” Jerry said, as we looked down at the dead man. “And he’s gettin’ ripe.”

It wasn’t warm in the warehouse at the moment, but during the day it must have been like an oven. I had noticed the smell as we walked in.

“Let’s get those others in here and scram.”

With the help of Thomas we carried the three dead men in, unwrapped them, and laid them out in a way Jerry and I had worked out while we waited for Thomas at the house. There were certainly enough guns to go around.

And then we had the guy whose skull I had cracked.

“We can leave the tire iron behind,” Jerry said. “Let them figure out how he was killed that way and not with a gun.”

“So Thomas loses his tire iron, and his Luger,” I said.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Gianelli,” Thomas said. “I lied about the gun. It’s not registered to me, I didn’t bring it back from the war. I bought it several years ago in a pawn shop.”

“Why the lie?” I asked.

“It makes for a good story,” the driver said. “I actually do have one I brought back from Germany, but I keep it in my house.”

“And were you really a Ranger?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “All I have to do is buy you a new tire iron, and pay you for your time.”

“The tire iron will be fine,” Thomas said, as Jerry walked around making last minute adjustments. “You don’t need to pay me anything. I’ve kinda enjoyed the evening.”

“No, I’ve at least got to pay you what you would’ve got for drivin’ us around all night.”

“Mr. Sinatra paid me ahead of time.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ll just add to it.”

He shrugged and replied, “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“I think we got it,” Jerry said, inspecting our work.

“I have a question,” Thomas said.

“What?”

“Aren’t the cops going to wonder how these men all killed each other in the dark?”

“Like I said,” Jerry answered, “let ’em try ta figure it out. It’ll keep them busy.”

We left the warehouse and locked the door behind us. I wondered how long it would take me to get that smell out of my nostrils.