You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Twenty-two

I presented myself at the West Los Angeles Station of the L.A. Police Department.

“You want to talk to a detective?” the desk sergeant asked. His name tag said his name was Clemmons.

“That’s right.”

“Do you want to report a crime?”

“Not a crime, exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Well … maybe a missing person.”

“Who’s missin’?”

“A friend of mine.”

“We only take missing persons reports from family members,” the sergeant said. “Are you a family member?”

“Uh, I-look, I just need to talk to som-”

“Can you produce a family member?”

“I-no, look-um, I’m the closest thing to a family member.”

“What’s your relation?”

“Cousin-second cousin.”

He stared at me.

“Is that not close enough? Should I have just stuck with cousin?”

“Sir-”

“Can I give you his name and find out if he’s been arrested? Hospitalized? Killed?”

“You think he might’ve been killed?”

“I hope not. Look, I can’t find him, I’m just tryin’ to decide how worried to get. If you guys have him in a cell, I’d prefer that to the morgue.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Sergeant Clemmons said. “Let me have his name, your name and I’ll check. Have a seat.”

I sat for half an hour when a tall, dark-haired, very slender man wearing a suit approached me. I stood up slowly, not liking the look on his face.

“Mr. Gianelli?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Detective Robert Stanze. I understand you’re looking for a man named Daniel Bardini?”

“That’s right. Have you-” I almost said “found him,” but the words stuck in my throat.

“We have two unidentified males in our morgue,” he said.

“T-two?”

“Well, we have more than that,” Stanze said, “but two match the description of your-of Daniel Bardini. At least, the description you’ve given us.”

“I see.”

“Would you be willing to take a look and see if …?”

I felt my eyes burning, the foyer we were standing in closed in on me.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“I-” I cleared my throat. “I am, yes. And yes, I’ll take a look.”

“Come with me, please.”

The morgue was cold. I had been to a morgue in Vegas once. It hadn’t felt this cold.

Two bodies, covered by sheets on separate tables.

“Ready?” Stanze asked.

“Is anybody ever ready for this?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay,” I said, “then I’m ready.”

The attendant grasped the sheet on the first body and rolled it down to the dead man’s waist.

“No,” I said, “that’s not him.”

“Good,” Stanze said.

I guess we were both glad I had been able to dodge that bullet. The attendant covered the poor guy up and we moved to the next table. True to my Vegas background I was wondering what the odds were that man number two was Danny Bardini.

We positioned ourselves at the table, Stanze and me on one side, the attendant on the other.

“Ready for this one?” Stanze asked.

I thought he was incredibly sensitive for a detective. The Vegas dicks I’d dealt with wouldn’t have cared if I was ready or not. In fact, I knew one who would have taken real pleasure in peeling the sheet down and showing me Danny’s body.

I felt nauseous.

“Mr. Gianelli?”

I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d vomit, so instead I just nodded.

“Okay,” Stanze said to the attendant.

The man nodded, grasped the top of the sheet and pulled it down.