Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime (Rat Pack #1) by Robert J. Randisi

Author:Robert J. Randisi [Randisi, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical Fiction
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

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 he carried 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.

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