To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  Lori’s a prostitute? She’s too young and pretty for whoring! Damn! What’s going on here?

  One of the man’s big hands whipped to his back pocket. He yanked upwards and the hall light reflected off metal.

  Chrome! A weapon! No, goddamn it! I won’t let you kill her!

  Turning, my hand hit the back of a wooden chair. I grabbed it by the legs and rushed into the hall. Using my body’s momentum, I swung the chair up and slammed it down over the man’s head and shoulders. Wood splintered in all directions. He dropped where he stood, a muffled gun blast sounding under him as he hit the floor.

  “Hey! Bob!”

  I looked up at Lori. She smiled and lit a cigarette with steady hands.

  “Lori. Are you, ah, all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, shifting from side to side to assess the man on the floor. She blew smoke from her nose. “But Alabama there is either hurting real bad or dead.”

  “Alabama?”

  “Yeah. On the floor in front of you? My man. Or, as you would call him, my pimp. Well, He-man, let’s get him all the way in here before one of the other neighbors come looking.”

  Totally numb, I stepped across the unmoving form and into her living room. Grasping handfuls of his suitcoat, I leaned back and pulled. Since he was heavier than anticipated, I only moved him a few inches. With a disgusted sigh, Lori unceremoniously rolled him over, bent one of his knees then the other, then slammed her door shut. His legs flopped like a frog’s, but I barely noticed. I morbidly watched the red stain spreading across his shirt front. My gaze flew to the fingers still wrapped around the handle of the gun.

  “Tape. Lori, do you have any tape?”

  “Tape? Well, somewhere, I guess. What the hell for?”

  “To hold his wrists together . . . like tying him before he wakes up.”

  She took a long drag of her cigarette. “Had me worried. I thought you wanted to tape up that bullet hole. Bob! He’s dead. Looks like he shot himself as he fell.”

  Cold sweat instantly beaded on my forehead. My stomach rolled. “Dead? I didn’t kill him. I just hit him with a chair. He was trying to kill you.”

  “Take a good look, fella. His eyes are open and he ain’t moving. What does he look like to you?”

  The image of me standing behind bars flashed across my mind. The sick feeling in my stomach migrated up to the back of my throat. My mouth moved, but no words formed. I stepped close enough to the wall to lean my back against it.

  “Police,” I finally mumbled. “We have to call the police. Where’s your phone?”

  Lori stubbed out her cigarette. “You ain’t calling shit! Just rest there and let me think.” She left me alone with him for a few moments then reappeared with a wadded towel and a heavy skillet. She set the towel on the blood stain, then pressed the skillet on top of it. “I’m not having him bleed all over the place.” I nodded. She lit another cigarette. “We got to get this goddamn body out of my apartment.”

  “But he’s dead and I . . . Well, I have to talk to the police. See, I never killed anyone before. Doesn’t that upset you? You act like you see this shit every day.”

  “No, not every day. This is the second pimp I’ve had in less than two years. Alabama shot and killed my other man. Tonight was his turn to go. And I want the dead son-of-a-bitch out of here!”

  “Why can’t the police handle it?” It was uncharacteristic for me to whine, yet I wasn’t exactly feeling myself, either.

  “Because, He-man, I would go to jail. If I go to jail, you can be sure I’ll take you with me.”

  “But, I was protecting you! I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “Think the cops would believe that story? You really are a hayseed, ain’t you? Listen to me real careful like. You call the police. They come here. They’ll see a dead pimp on the floor and a whore with her john. The whore, me, and the john, you, get arrested. Since we ain’t got money to defend ourselves, it would be a kangaroo court. And—” She snapped her fingers. I flinched. “—twenty years in the big house!”

  “I-I have money. I can get the best lawyer in the city.”

  “Yeah, sure. If you’re so rich, why is it you’re moving into this dump?”

  My reasons were sound. Lori’s train of thought registered as melodramatic nonsense. I shook my head and pinched my eyes shut, working to see her perception of reality. Once I got beyond my own horror of the accident, I realized she was right. In this sordid world I had deliberately stepped into, she was absolutely right. My only choice was to play along with the role I had chosen.

  I looked hard at the body on the floor. The man was a murderer, scum. What difference will it make if I tell the police about this incident? Who would be better off and who would be worse off? Stepping away from the wall, I assessed his body mass.

  “He must weigh over two hundred. I’ll need some help.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll just call a few neighbors over. I’m surprised someone hasn’t offered already. Should I go knock on the doors of the other two apartments up here?”

  Our eyes clashed over the body. “Well, Miss Smarty, I guess you don’t know everything. The landlord told me one guy’s off visiting someplace and the other renter moved out. Work’s being done on the four apartments on the first floor, so they are empty. You’re real observant, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged and looked bored. “Across the alley, across the street. Neighbors is neighbors.”

  “What time is it?” I demanded.

  “A little after six. Why?”

  “Harry will be home soon. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Who the hell is Harry?”

  “He’s sharing my apartment.”

  “Your lover?”

  “God, no! He’s a friend who needs a place to stay.”

  Her pretty little shoulders shrugged again. “You want a cup of coffee while me wait?”

  Coffee? I just killed somebody and had to think up how to hide the body. Yet, I’m suppose to drink coffee in the same room with the corpse?

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I’m getting a cup. You’re so damn polite I thought I’d offer.” She paused. “Hey, someone’s coming up the stairs.”

  I listened. “I don’t hear anyone. Wait. What if it’s one of those other men he was sending to you? You stay back. I’ll check.”

  “Goddamn it! Just open the door and see if you recognize the bastard.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  I stepped high over the unmoving fifty dollar suit, but my trailing foot caught on the angled arm. Noisily stumbling against the closed door, I cursed my clumsiness. The latch rasped as I turned the knob. Harry stood at our door trying to fit the unfamiliar key into the lock.

  “Psst, Harry! Over here!”

  He turned, looked back then frowned at me. “Didn’t we rent this pad?”

  “Yeah, but I want to see you first.”

  When he was close to the doorway, I opened it wider, grabbed his empty, pinned-up sleeve and pulled hard. As he staggered pass me, I checked the hallway. It was as empty as Harry’s sleeve. Quickly shutting the door, I turned to face Harry’s stunned expression.

  “Sh-h-h! Keep your voice down, Harry. The guy’s dead.”

  He wrinkled his nose, eyeing the skillet and towel on Alabama’s chest. “What makes you think so, Bob?”

  “He hasn’t moved since I hit him.”

  Lori stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway. “You want a cup of coffee, Harry?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Ah, hello, Lori. Long time no see.”

  “Hello, yourself. I, ah, remembered your voice and then the face. You were a john Alabama sent me, oh, three-four weeks ago, over on 10th. Right?”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” I called out. “I don’t want to hear the details. Harry, you spent money you couldn’t afford on a woman?”

  “Mind your own business!” Lori interrupted. “Harry and I didn’t do it!”

  His scarred expression quickly changed from
indignant to humorous disbelief. “Oh, yeah! Look at you, Mister Clean! All you got on is a pair of pants in the middle of a girl’s apartment with a stiff on the floor. You want me . . . to explain—”

  I stopped him. “Lori’s right. It’s none of my business.”

  I closed my eyes, rolled my shoulders, and tried to rub some coherent thoughts through my scalp and into my frazzled brain. “None of . . . this . . . was my business. I should have stayed in that apartment across the hall and let him shoot her.” My finger pointed at the girl now leaning against the kitchen door frame. “I could have simply heard the shot and saw nothing. But, no, I opened my door. Now, Harry,” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “we’ve got a problem. I hit that man who now lies dead on the floor of an accidental, but self-inflicted gunshot wound. I want to call the police. Lori wants to hide the body. You can be more objective. What should we do?”

  Harry knelt at Alabama’s shoulder. He pressed his fingertips into the side of the thick neck, then bent closer to the marbled eyes. “Yup, he’s dead. When the cops hear this one is gone, they will surely party. You might even get a medal, Bob.”

  “Quit clowning. This is serious. What should we do?”

  “Okay. You didn’t kill him. He fell on his own gun. From all the splinters in the hall, I’d say you demolished whatever you hit him with.” I nodded. “Had to hit him pretty hard to do that.”

  “He was going to shoot Lori!”

  “Well, then you, Bob, ain’t going to jail.”

  “What?” Lori’s expression turned nasty. “You know those damn cops! They just come here, they’ll bust me. I don’t want to do time. And, you know, the judge would put me away, ‘cause it was promised.”

  Harry studied her a moment, his face softening. “You on parole?”

  “Yeah, you a cop?”

  “No, or I would have taken you in last time we met. Right? But I do know a little about the law. What are you up for?

  “When Alabama shot my first man, I took the rap. Only got a year ‘cause I had a clean record. Alabama got me a good lawyer who persuaded the jury I was protecting myself.”

  “That pretty much settles it.” Harry stood and turned to me. “What were you thinking of doing?”

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying she would go to jail, for sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s get the body out of here.”

  Harry considered Alabama a long moment then walked to the window and palmed it open. He leaned out, looked all around, then turned to us, mumbling “It might just work.”

  “What will work?”

  He looked at Lori. “Do you have something we can wrap him in. Make him look like a piece of furniture?”

  “Make that look like furniture?” When he didn’t laugh, she glanced around then shrugged. “He pays for this place. I’m only in and out. I haven’t bought anything to make it . . . lived in. What do you have in mind?”

  “I think we can get him out this morning.”

  “Harry!” I threw up my hands in frustration. “It’s daytime out there. Someone will see us! Those neighbors she talked about, for example?”

  “Not if we put the body in something, something that would contain furniture.” He jerked back toward the window. “Wait! I thought I saw a crate next to the dumpster down the alley.” He leaned out. “Yeah, it’s there alright! A big one! Look at it.”

  I replaced him at the window. There stood the pale, wood-braced cardboard container beside the dirty blue of the trash bin. “How in the hell are we going to get something that size up here?”

  “Look up! See the post sticking out from the roof with the pulleys? That’s to haul big furniture up ‘cause the old-fashioned stairs are too narrow. Lots of old buildings are rigged with ‘em. We get a rope and rent a pickup. The crate should just fit through this wide window. Body in the crate, crate in the truck, dump the crate somewhere. Simple.”

  The excitement began to build inside me. This could work. “Where will we dump it?”

  “Can you wait until we get to that point?”

  Chapter 5

  Lori and Harry stood beside me in front of Jake’s. After a lunch of fat-soaked cheeseburgers, we discussed the weather and the city’s attempts to renovate downtown as Lori puffed a cigarette. Finally, she dropped the butt and we headed toward the Mustang. The crated Alabama waited at the apartment for his final trip.

  As my two new cohorts headed into the apartment building, I walked off to look for a pickup truck to rent. Three blocks later I found Honest Jasper’s. The rental business had obviously occupied the building at 20th and Howard for a very long time. Standing in the doorway viewing the junk-filled shelves and counters, I believed the sign out front that read “Jasper will rent you everything!” The rotund, jovial Jasper told me he could provide me with anything from a flea farm to a diesel train engine. I gave him a hundred dollar deposit on the ten year old beat-up Dodge pickup parked in his storage lot, alongside that damn train engine.

  I backed the rust-tinged gray truck into the alley behind our building. Lori sat in her window. She waved and I waved back. Just above her, a skinny hemp rope dangled from the roof’s pulley, it’s end curving up like Lori’s faint smile.

  I just reached the spot directly below the window when a single loud pop bounced off the alley walls. Gunshot! I jammed my foot on the brake and threw myself across the seat. Over my thundering heartbeat, I heard Lori’s laughter filtering in the truck window. The vehicle continued to roll. I cautiously sat up and pulled the emergency brake. Peering up at Lori, I couldn’t believe she was laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Damn, she’s got a weird sense of humor!

  “Did you do that?” I yelled.

  “You just rolled over a plastic bottle! No one’s shooting at you! Hey, Harry, Bob thinks a bottle just shot him!”

  Climbing from the truck, I kept my face down so she wouldn’t see how red it was. A coiled end of the rope hit me on the head. That’s what I got for not paying attention. Harry had replaced Lori in the window.

  “Pick that up. I’ll tell you when to pull,” he called down then grabbed the other, dangling end above him and took it with him as he ducked back. I put on the leather gloves I had bought, not rented, from Jasper.

  “Pull slow!” Harry’s voice ordered from deep inside Lori’s apartment.

  As soon as the slack had been taken up, I had to really grip and strain to move hand-over-hand. This feels like more than two hundred pounds. The crate! Okay, I’m hauling three hundred. High overhead, squeaks sounded as the strained hemp moved through the wooden block and tackle. Sweat trickled but I didn’t let go as several feet of rope piled at my feet. When I heard a loud groaning scrape, I looked up to see the crate edging out the window. It teetered on the ledge with Lori’s hands on the near side and Harry’s strained face looking over the top as he pushed and guided, too.

  Alabama’s container slid from the windowsill and swung into the air, directly over the truck bed. Slowly, I let the rope slip across my leather gloves, clamping my hold to control the crate’s decent. The good intentions didn’t work. The box began to fall faster. I leaned back, the thin rope almost cutting through my gloves. Suddenly, the strain was gone, dropping me on my ass.

  “Pulley broke! Damn!” Harry shouted down, as I stared up at the fast-approaching crate. It hit the truck bed with a crash and splintering echoes. The Dodge rocked on its suspension. I jumped to my feet to peer over its side.

  The crate had broken open around Alabama. He lay sprawled, not really looking any worse than he had before.

  When Harry and Lori rushed to my side, I was still staring at the catastrophe.

  Lori stretched on tip-toe. “Hell, the fall didn’t hurt him none!”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I quipped. “Harry, I think I’d better run to a hardware store and buy a tarp to cover all this.”

  “There’s plastic hanging out of the dumpster. We’ll use that!”

  “No, no, no! We ne
ed something heavier, darker. If we get stopped, the cops can see through that stuff!”

  Lori wandered around to the back of the bin, eyeing a couch bound for the dump. She tugged on it, her butt rounding tightly against the thin denim of her jeans. “Let’s throw . . . this on top of him.”

  Twenty minutes later, the three of us stared through the windshield as I drove east on Farnum Street in the general direction of the Missouri River. “Now, that we’re on our way, Harry, where are we going?”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “What the hell—”

  “I got an idea!” Lori interrupted. “Harry, do you know Fox?”

  “Yeah, I know Fox, why?”

  “Alabama and Fox have been fighting over turf for the past couple years. Let’s dump him in Fox’s lap.”

  At the red light, I turned to her. She actually looked almost normal in the jeans and over-sized T-shirt. Except for the marijuana plant painted on the shirt. And her hair looked different. Now, dark shiny brown, shoulder length, parted in the middle and hanging straight around her clean face. What happened to the long, blonde, curly hair?

  Harry interrupted my assessment. “Didn’t know the two of them was fighting. Not a bad idea there, Lori. Give Bob the directions he’s so worried about!”

  I was soon backing into another cluttered alley. The vacant warehouses on each side towered six stories above us. Pigeons flew in and out of broken windows. “Shouldn’t we wait until dark for this?” I spoke as I strained to look over one shoulder and watch where I was backing. “Someone might see us dumping him.”

  “These buildings been empty for ten years. The only people around here are winos and they ain’t gonna admit to seeing this. No one sees them, they don’t see no one.”

  “Still makes me nervous.” I pulled to a stop. “Lori, why don’t you keep an eye out while Harry and I get this done?”

  “The he-man has turned back into a scaredy cat . . . again.” More than her words, the echo of her loud laugh made me cringe.

  I lowered the tailgate as Harry untied the pulley rope we had used to lash down the plastic covering the sofa and the dead pimp under it. Hoping I didn’t step on Alabama again, I edged around the overturned sofa and hefted the far end. Harry gripped the other armrest through the ripped fabric, his hand disappearing in the cotton stuffing. I pushed while he pulled. This is working!