Chapter 24 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You - He's Not Supposed to Be Here

Chapter 24 – He’s Not Supposed to Be Here

The car that had just pulled in idled in the parking lot for a brief period. It looked familiar to me. Both doors flew open and both occupants, driver and passenger stepped out of opposite sides, pausing to stretch and converse. This seemed a strange tactical way to begin a frontal assault. Neither of them seemed to be armed. Sal relaxed his grip on the Mosberg and lowered the barrel.

“He was just being an asshole. He didn’t mean what he said. I really hate it when he drinks.” A familiar voice said. “Thanks for coming over so quickly.” The larger bear-like figure brushed his shaggy long black hair out of his face. He was clad in a red hoodie. It was Rico.

“It was easier this way. Jerry’s place is hard to find if you’ve never been there before. Whoever Jax was sending would probably just get have gotten turned around. This way we can all go over to the diner together.” It was Fenton’s voice. I knew that car was familiar. It belonged to his mother. Fenton had been trying to save up for a car of his own, but he kept blowing the money on comic books and other crap he really didn’t need. The car in question was really a sweet ride. It was a 1956 blue and white Bel-Air sedan. A classic.

“Hey, it looks like there has been a power failure.” Fenton observed. “The lights are all out.”

I turned to Sal. “The two guys are friends of mine. I called the big one just a while ago. They were going to go out to eat with us and help out when we move Frank to another location. What do we do now?”

“Call them over here.” Sal said.

“Fenton, we are over here.” I shouted. Then I thought better of it. I looked at Sal. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shouted.”

It could work to our advantage. They don’t have a count on how many of us are outside or inside now.”

“How many of them are there?” I asked.

“Technically just two. The ones that came in the tan station wagon. Newspaper guy and the other who drove up with him.”

“So, the other guy cut the power line.” I reasoned.

“Exactly. Funny though. Places like this usually have auxiliary lighting systems. You know, like backup generators that kick in during storm blackouts.” Sal handed the shotgun to me and drew a .45 semiautomatic from his waistband. Suddenly lights came back on in the main lobby but not the parking lot.

“There they are. The back up system must be a bit sluggish for some reason.”

“They just built this place last year. Maybe they don’t have all of the bugs out of it yet.” I conjectured.

“Could be. I’m going around back. The power coming back on might spook this other guy. I’m going to take advantage of his confusion. Take the other two into the lobby and wait for me. I’ll just be a few minutes. Let me know if any others come.”

I swallowed hard. “Are we expecting others?”

“Usually, they have two cars in a situation like this in case one car breaks down. Plus, Joey’s called Tony about this mess. Tony’s sending some guys. Just keep you head down and don’t call attention to yourself.” Then Sal moved off. I noticed that he was pretty spry for as large as he was.

“Cripes Jaxon! What are you doing with that thing.” Rico pointed at the shotgun I was now holding. I was crouched now in the shadows holding this massive 12 gauge weapon. Rico crouched down beside me.

“I have no idea.” I muttered. “We need to get inside. What are you doing here?”

“Jerry was being a jerk. He got drunk and was watching Captain Zap’s All-Star Wrestling on channel 7. He wanted to practice the atomic butt drop on me. I couldn’t wait for the ride you sent me. I needed to get away from him, so I called Fenton.”

Fenton came over and crouched beside us. “Why are we crouched in the dark?” he asked. I briefly gave them both the synopsis of the potential trouble brewing.

All Fenton said was “Oh.” Then he said, “I forgot my drink and my inhaler. They are in the car.” Fenton then proceeded to duckwalk with great precision over to the chevy, open the door, and finally, dig around the interior looking for his inhaler. The cabin light on the roof of the car illuminated both his and our presence outside Happy Meadows.

“Madre Dios, Fenton. Hurry up!” Rico hissed.

                                                                 *      *      *

Artie Best had tagged along with Zach ‘The Hack’ Coleman on this, his first job reluctantly. Zach was supposed to eliminate Frank Calabrese. He was supposed to wait until Frank was alone and put a bullet in his brain pan. They weren’t getting paid enough for the complications they had already endured, in his opinion.

As Artie crept through a side door, he shook his head. Zach must have been crazy, he thought, to try to take a professional like Frank down in a place like Happy Meadows. A place with dozens of witnesses, Then, who of all people shows up but Joey Flowers. Nobody had told them. He was just the driver on this expedition. He was new and he was plenty nervous.

Once he had cut the power to Happy Meadows, he thought Zach would be in and out. Now, as he approached the lobby, he saw Zach reading a newspaper. “What the hell?” He saw that there was some old lady talking to Zach. He approached cautiously, gun drawn,

“My son-in-law got a promotion yesterday.” Phyllis Lawton said with pride to the man with the newspaper. She looked up at Artie. Phyllis daintily waved at him. Artie, perplexed, waved back.

“Zach, are we done now?” Artie said to Zach nervously.

“He’s not supposed to be here.” Phyllis said.

“Shut up.” Artie said to Phyllis. She seemed to take it in stride.

“Zach, I said are we done here?” Artie was yelling now.

“I’d say he is, at least.” Joey Flowers popped up from behind the couch Phyllis and Zach were sitting on.

In a state of disbelief, Artie kept his gun on Joey and approached Zach, who still held onto his newspaper with both hands. He tried to pull the paper away from him. It tore. His fingers were superglued to the paper. His arms were held up by a nylon rope that was wrapped around his neck. The sofa supported Zach’s back.  There was a bullet hole in his forehead and a corresponding exit wound in the back.  

Artie gasped and then felt the barrel of a .25 caliber semiautomatic in the back of his neck.

“Don’t move. It’s good advice. Don’t be foolish like Zach was. Clara’s voice was firm.

Clara had remembered Frank had taken the small gun away from Danny’s nephew Norbert after the kid dropped it several days ago in Larue’s Diner. She had found it in Frank’s trench coat.

“He’s not supposed to be here.” Phyllis said again.

“Tell him why Phyllis.” Clara said.

“Because he’s dead.” Phyllis answered.

Joey smiled. “Good work!” He handed her a small roll of bills. She snatched them up and stretched. “Easiest money I ever made.” Phyllis seemed to have ice water in her veins. She went back to her room. 

Chapter 23 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Coffee and a Story

                 Chapter 23 – Coffee and a Story

In the minutes before the lights went out at the Happy Meadows Rest Home, Clara and Joey were in the apartment of a newly admitted Frank Calabrese.  Frank was in a deep sleep in a comfortable bed down one of the longer hallways, some distance from the main lobby. The light coming through the crack in the bedroom door played over the scars on the head of the six-foot five-inch hitman for the Tony Accardo mob.

Clara remembered doing extensive research on Frank’s life, at least the public records that were available. She had researched several diaries of prisoners that were institutionalized in the Chicago prison system at the same historic periods that Frank was present. Clara approached the sleeping giant and looked at the grotesque scars rippling over his forehead. She remembered reading accounts of how they came to be. Accounts that differed slightly. So much of Frank’s personal history had become criminal justice mythology in his brief time on earth. Clara felt like her new relationship with Joey Flowers had given her a strange and unlikely opportunity to get to know Frank in ways that few others did.

The door to Frank’s bedroom creaked a bit. It was Joey. He came through, opening the door slightly with his elbow while holding two mugs of coffee. The light from Frank’s small living room allowed her to see the beverages were still steaming. He moved with the grace of a nimble house cat.

Joey handed Clara a mug. “I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so it’s just black. Nice set up in the kitchenette. They have a coffee maker and a microwave in the apartments.”

She took the mug and nodded. “Happy Meadows is new. They just finished construction on it last year.” Clara stared at Frank’s scars.

“He got those when he was in Joliet Correctional Center.” Joey said while looking down. He blew on his coffee.

“I know. He was locked up with Sterling Hoffman. They were cell mates for about two weeks.  He gave them to him in a fight. It was back in the fifties.” Clara said after she took a sip of her coffee.

“Want to know what really happened between Frank and Hoffman?” Joey asked.

“Yes. Most assuredly I do. Clara took another sip of coffee.

“Well, Frank was a pretty scary guy at the time. He had a private cell until they decided to throw him in the same cell as Hoffman. Hoffman was…”

“He was a rapist and he killed one of his victims.” Clara stated.

“Exactly. He was shunned by the general population. Frank had been quietly doing his time up to this point. Hoffman had this annoying habit of cracking his knuckles. He was also wheezing in his sleep and keeping Frank awake. Frank requisitioned for a new cellmate but was denied.

Day in and day out Frank endured the knuckle cracking and wheezing. He became sleep deprived. Finally, he asked Hoffman to stop cracking his knuckles. The guy said something stupid to Frank. Frank wouldn’t tell me what it was. Anyway, Frank grabbed Hoffman and broke his wrist. But Hoffman had a shank. He went to work on Frank’s head with it. It was a mess. The guards saved Hoffman at the last minute. Frank had him by the throat. They were both slick with Frank’s blood. It took the surgeons most of the night to sew him back together. Then, Hoffman was moved to solitary and Frank had another year added on to his sentence. When he was released, he had those scars. He never said much about them. Just went out a bought a hat to cover them up.”

Clara shook her head. “Not what I was expecting but thanks for the story. This isn’t bad. Is this instant?” Clara remarked.

“Joey laughed. Yeah, I travel with packs of it. The coffee is usually shit at some of the places Sal and I have to travel to. If you leave me your address I can mail some to you. Other things too. Things that Frank might need if he stays or comes back to stay here.” Joey looked up at Clara and gave her a weak but hopeful smile.

“You think he will be safe here if he comes back?” Clara asked with some surprise in her voice.

“I’m optimistic about the possibility. Enough that I’ve paid Happy Meadows so he might be able to stay for a year. Also bribed his parole officer.”

“Clara snort laughed. “What happens now?” she asked.

“I am establishing a backstory with the staff, explaining who Frank is to the staff and administration…so he doesn’t have to.” Joey confessed.  “Right now, they think he is my uncle by marriage and that you are my daughter. It will allow me to visit frequently, at least while I’m between jobs. You would be compensated for dropping by to check on him when I’m on the road. When things slow down, I’ll talk specifically about salary. Don’t say no until you hear my offer. It is considerably more than you might imagine.” Joey set his mug down on the nightstand. “There is an Alzheimer’s unit twenty miles from here. He will need to be moved there eventually. We can worry about that later.”

“That is a lot to think about.” She held out her hand to him. They shook.

“Good enough for now, then. Hey, you seem to know a lot about Frank already.” Joey’s brows furrowed.

“I did a research paper on him in college. I got an “A” on it.”

“Frank will be impressed. I know I am.” He smiled.

“What would I tell him after you leave? He still thinks I’m a younger version of you.” Clara looked concerned.

“Best to tell him the truth. Let him do what he wants with it.”

“What would the truth be? I need to know that we are on the same page.” Clara’s eyes bore into his.

“The truth is, I’m going to work his contracts and mine for a while. I’m replacing him. He trained me to do that. I’m sending his pay back to you. You are my daughter and I am providing for both of you.” Joey wasn’t smiling. He was not blinking. His intentions were not jest.

“I’m your daughter.”  She challenged. “Don’t play me!”

“If you agree to care for Frank. I’ll be a good provider. We start with that and see where it takes us.”

“Fair enough. Are we in a tight spot right now? No more hiding the truth from me if we are family from here on out.” Clara demanded.

“Yes, but I’m ahead of it. I made some calls to Reno and Vegas. Tony said one of his lieutenants is trying to disrupt the organizational structure. I’m a Made Man in the organization. So is Frank. He is trying to remove both of us.  That is a definite ‘no-no’ organizationally speaking.

Tony has sent help. This asshole in question that is trying to kill me is named Bobby Moretti. He has sicced some of his guys on us. They are already in town. We need to survive until the cavalry comes.”

There was a knock at the door of Frank’s apartment. Jax had pounded on the door and said something, but Joey couldn’t make it out. Joey motioned to Clara to stay in the bedroom with Frank. She looked over at him. He still slept on, peacefully.

The small hitman gracefully produced his .38 from his shoulder holster and proceeded to the apartment door. Clara frantically went over to Frank’s closet and fished through the pockets of his trenchcoat and found what she was looking for. She put it in the pocket of her windbreaker. She looked up at Joey.

“Frank is still asleep. I’m coming with you.” She said firmly.

“Not a good idea.”  Joey countered.

“You need more people watching your back right now than you have available. You also have no experience managing Jaxon. He can be a bit much sometimes.” She replied.

“Okay. Come on then.”

At that moment the lights flickered and then failed.  

Chapter 22 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - I Always Thought of You as a People Person

  Chapter 22 – I Always Thought of You as a People Person

I walked back over from the small row of three pay phones and a single house phone in a nook off the main lobby of Happy Meadows. I noticed two lone figures in the lobby. A man, face hidden by the newspaper he was reading and a woman who was perhaps eighty. She was doing crochet work and talking quietly to the man. The man seemed intent on reading his paper as he was completely mute and nonresponsive to the woman’s idyll comments about weather, news, and the upcoming national election. I assumed she was a resident having a one-sided conversation with a visiting relative. I crossed the main lobby and went outside to talk to Sal.

Sal was posted up by the door. He was leaning against the west wall of the main lobby smoking. The night was mild, but weather reports indicated that cool, fall-like weather would occur after nine ‘o clock this evening and continue until morning. Sal made a minimal nod in my direction. He was wearing a brown fedora and a long gray overcoat.

“What was with these guys and their 1940s attire?” I wondered. Maybe their choice of clothing would make them blend into a crowd in Chicago, but here in Kildeer they drew the eye. Frank and Sal might have well been wearing a sign around their necks that said “gangster”. Joey seemed to be dressed more appropriately but even his clothing seemed to be camouflage. It didn’t seem to fit his personality. I could easily imagine him in some urban bistro telling jokes to a crowd of wise guys while wearing a shark skin suit.

“Hey Jax.” Sal said. His voice was rough but non-threatening. “Could you go to the car and get my smokes? This is my last one. He bogarted the butt on the large porch floor. Then he thought better about the action and bent over. He picked up the still smoldering cig and straightened up. He then dropped it into a large can filled with sand that seemed to serve as a repository for cigarette butts.

“You smoke kid?” Sal asked casually.

“No sir. My father discouraged it when I was growing up.” I replied.

“Smart fellow. It's a nasty habit. Hard to quit and it is getting more expensive every day.” Sal gave me a half smile.

“Best to keep on trying to quit. My dad always said it's the small things that can kill you.” I said looking back at Sal. He had a faraway. look in his pale blue eyes.

“There is another thing I need from the car. It is wrapped up in plastic in the trunk.”   

I bobbed my head and started down the steps to retrieve Sal’s cigarettes from the gray sedan.  I looked back at him to ask him for the car keys. He reached into his pocket of his coat and tossed them to me.

I looked out over the parking lot. I noticed five small mounds of gravel near the parking area. I didn’t remember seeing them before.

“Hey Sal. What's with those little mounds in the parking lot?” I signaled by pointing to them.

“What about them?” Sal remarked.

“Were those there before? I mean, when we arrived. I bent low to scrutinize one them.”

“Very observant. They were not.” Sal replied.

“What do you suppose made them?” I asked.

“I’m a city boy. Chicago. Born and raised. You tell me.” Sal said deadpan.

“Probably moles or gophers.” I awkwardly guessed. I continued to the car and found Sal’s cigs. Then I unlocked the trunk. Wrapped in black plastic was a Mosberg shotgun. The stock had been sawed off, and the wrapped bundle was slightly longer than two feet. It was heavier than I thought it would be when I picked it up. I carried the items back to Sal.

He put his cigarettes in his left coat pocket. There was a thong on the shotgun. Sal pulled a leather cord up from around his neck and attached it to a metal clasp at the end of the thong around the gun. On the interior of the right side of his coat there was a deep, custom-made pocket. He slid the gun into it. On someone my size it would have been quite noticeable and caused me to lean to one side as I walked. On a man of Sal’s stature, it was nearly undetectable.

“Expecting visitors?” I whispered.

The visitors have already arrived.” Sal said quietly.

I nearly panicked. “When? Who?” I stammered.

“One came in while you were on the phone. He pulled up in the tan station wagon with another guy.”

“Does the receptionist know about them?” I asked nervously.

“You should really get to know the names of the folks you interact with. Yes, Carmen knows. Right now, she is tied up in a utility closet. I always thought of you as a people person Jax. Phyllis knows too.

“Who the hell is Phyllis?” I blurted out. I guess a lot can happen when you are on the phone and not 'shmoozing' in the lobby.

"Walk through the lobby again. Glance at Phyllis. She is crocheting and keeping an eye on one of them. I’d introduce you but I need to keep an eye on the front door.” Sal explained.

You left Phyllis talking to a trained assassin?" I said as my eyes bugged out of my head.

"She isn't in any real danger, relax. Joey saw to it." Sal explained.  

“Did you tie up Carmen?” I said in disbelief.

“Yes. It was Joey’s idea. We did it before the visitors got here. Don’t worry. She isn’t tied up tight and we didn’t lock the door. She can get loose if she wants to. The closet is a safe, out-of-the-way spot for her. We gave her a choice between that or calling the cops and she chose the closet. I guess she used to date one of the local cops and broke up with him recently.”

This seemed like a dream to me at this point. “Why isn’t Phyllis tied up in a closet?” I asked. My brain felt a bit numb.

“She has that phobia. What do call it?”

“You mean claustrophobia? I stammered.

“That’s the one. She’s on our side too. Just like Carmen. Phyllis is the person that will signal the rest of the residents and tell them it is safe to come out after we leave. Joey is trying to keep everybody safe until we can move Frank out of here.” Sal explained.

"And both of you are okay with the guy reading the newspaper?"

"He's just minding his own business for the moment. I need to focus on the front entrance." Sal said. "Look, if you are really worried about Phyllis, go help her keep an eye on him." 

I got up and walked through the lobby right by the guy silently reading the newspaper. Phyllis was still chatting him up. She was droning on about her son-in-law. As I passed, she silently and comically mouthed “He isn’t supposed to be here!” I didn’t know what else to do so I gave her a thumbs up and returned to the front door and Sal.

"Well, newspaper guy and Phyllis are getting on alright? I presume there were no problems." Sal said without taking his eyes off the parking lot.

“Yes, I guess. It's just..."

"What? Out with it!" Sal said.

"Well, frankly, I’m disappointed in you.” I said softly. There were car lights pulling into the parking lot.

“Well, sometimes it’s a disappointing old world.” Sal said as he withdrew the Mosberg and pumped a shell into the shotgun’s firing chamber.

“What else aren’t you telling me.” I asked. But it was more of a rhetorical question.

“I’m an open book kid. Ask me anything.” Sal flashed a quick grin at me as he kept an eye on the car that had just arrived. Suddenly the car driver turned off their lights.

“I suppose that a gopher probably didn’t make those mounds out it the parking lot.” I speculated.

“You’re a quick one.” Sal laughed.

Then the power in the Happy Meadows Retirement Center went out. We were plunged into darkness.

Chapter 21 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - We Need to Move Frank!

                 Chapter 21 – We Need to Move Frank!

After checking ourselves in as visiting guests at Happy Meadows Clara and Joey went to Frank’s room to check on him. I borrowed one of the rest home’s phones and called Fenton to see if he could meet with us later that evening at my dad’s diner. He indicated that he could but let me quickly know that it was my turn to pick up the restaurant tab.  After saying goodbye to Fenton and hanging up, I made a quick call to Rico’s house. It was answered by his mother Juanita. She told me that Rico was visiting his uncle Jerry.

Jerry was a brujo, a medicine man that performed Brazilian voodoo rites and also practiced the religion. I met scary Jerry several times. He wasn’t a con artist pretending to commune with the dead or heal the sick while taking money from gullible tourists. Jerry was the real deal. He was very serious about his religion and magic. Otherwise, he was often entertaining and fun to be around. He was one of the few people I knew that could cheer Rico up when he was having a bad day.

I phoned Jerry’s house. Unlike some weekend gatherings when people said they were partying so hard that they nearly “woke the dead”, Jerry routinely did this in his backyard. But not usually on the weekends. The weekends were reserved for serious drinking and watching sports. I assumed Jerry might be half drunk, as it was Saturday night when I phoned to talk to Rico. To my surprise, Rico answered the phone.

“Hello.”I said. There was a long silence, then…

“Hello, Jax, is that you?” Rico’s voice sounded strange. Hoarse, like he had been shouting.

“Are you okay, man?” I asked.

“Um, no.” was his brief reply.

“What’s wrong?” I inquired. Neither Rico nor I were “phone people” or particularly gabby. We were men of few words.

“I’m sick of being stared at by a bunch of nosy dead people.” Rico whispered.

“I thought that happened to you all the time.” I countered,

“God no Jax.  Jerry just did a ritual that summoned a whole graveyard of dead people into his backyard. It was awful."

“Worse than your frat parties you used to invite me to?” I teased him.

“Look, Jerry was searching through the collective memories of the dead for clues about what happened to James Cody. People in graveyards are kind of like a hive mind after they have been dead a while.”

“Hive mind? What does that even mean?” I asked.

“They are all like psychic receiving stations. What some of them that are buried in other parts of the city know about the thoughts and actions of the living, are broadcasted or shared with others until eventually they all know the same thing. In this case, Cody hasn’t really been dead enough for the others to have absorbed all the details of his life, but Jerry got a lot of information about Cody from the dead that live in the graveyard across the fence next to his house. Did either you or Clara know that there were two other people on Gaynor’s property when Cody was shot. He didn’t know either one of them, but they knew each other.”

“Yes, Clara and I have been riding around with one of them, How the hell did Jerry find that out?” I was dumbfounded by his uncle’s discovery.

“Let me check some notes I made. Yes, Joey Flowers. Dude! Have you been riding around with Joey Flowers? He’s a freaking hit man!” Rico’s voice was so strained that he sounded like he had been at a football game.   

“Um, yes.” I swallowed hard. “How do you know his name? Rico, this is beyond spooky.”

“I know his name because he killed another bad hombre named Billy Touche. Gave him a heart attack with a …wait I can’t read my own writing. It was dark outside.” Rico was now reading his note slowly and carefully. “He gave him a heart attack with a cow pod. What the hell is a cow pod?”

“Cattle prod” I corrected. “And what is up with your voice?”

“Huh? Dude, I know nothing about cattle. I’m a city boy from St. Paul, Minnesota.” He complained.

“A cattle prod is like a police stun gun. Cowboys and ranchers use them to get cattle on and off trucks.” I explained.

“Okay! Does my voice really sound that trashed? The voice thing is because I smoked some of Jerry’s dope to calm down after having to sit next to all those spirits…freaking creepy!  Don’t tell Dr. Knivens. Hey, did you know that this Billy guy was going to kill Frank with a sniper rifle?”

“Yes, Joey told us. Like a couple of hours ago. So, you’re saying your uncle Jerry pulled this out of the collective memories of a bunch of dead people that live next door?”

“Yes. Since Billy Touche is dead, the dead living over on that side of town absorbed his thoughts and memories. They passed them on psychically to the rest of the town’s dead.” Rico still sounded a little tense. “The dead know everything Billy Touch knew while he was alive. Now Jerry does too, and so do we. Did you know that Billy was supposed to kill Joey Flowers after he killed Frank?”

“Get out of here! For real?” I gasped.

“Yes. One of Tony Accardo’s lieutenants has a hit on Joey. Billy took the contract his mob had out on Frank and then was instructed to kill Joey.” Rico read from his notes.

“Why kill Joey? Joey is no danger to Frank. He practically worships Frank.” I asked incredulously.

“So that Joey wouldn’t try to avenge Frank and hunt down his real killer. Then the organization would have to own up to putting a hit out on one of their own 'made men'. The organization was going to frame Joey for Frank’s murder. They were going to say Joey defected to a rival organization.” Rico said with a note of finality in his voice.”

“But Frank is still alive. Why do they want him dead in the first place?” I said, thinking out loud.

“Jerry also found out that there is another hit man that is already in town. He was supposed to back up Billy Touche.” Rico sounded like he wanted to end this call. It was the longest he and I had ever stayed on the phone together.

“So, what is this other hit man’s name? I’ll pass this on to Joey. We are over at Happy Meadows checking on Frank.” I said, suddenly feeling a little tired myself.

“The dead didn’t know this guy’s name. Probably Billy didn’t know it either. They weren’t traveling together. Maybe he is another member of the organization that was a stranger sent to back Billy up. You know, so, he wouldn’t screw up the hit.” Rico speculated. “Sounds like he came in a little late.”

“Yeah, for certain. Hey, could you meet Fenton, Clara and me at my dad’s diner in an hour? We need to decide how to move Frank. We need to get him out of Kildeer before the F.B.I. catches up to Joey or this other assassin catches up to either one of them.”

“I’m over at Jerry’s without a car.” Rico sighed.

“Get him to drive you.” I suggested.

“Not a good idea. He put the dead to rest again and then started drinking and watching professional wrestling. I think he thinks I’m going to keep him company.”

“I going try and get a ride for you. If a big guy named Sal knocks on Jerry’s door, that will be your ride.”

“I want a large cheeseburger right now.” Rico sounded weary.

“In an hour we can make that happen.” I laughed and hung up.