Back then people didn’t know about composting. Everything was still supposed to be magic. You put it in a trash can, and the trash fairy came and got it—until they quit coming because no one was paying them.
Just like these bodies: In the movies a bunch of blinking, flashing lights would show up. The bodies would be dumped onto gurneys and then—after sitting somewhere and being identified or not—they would go into the ground, usually first being run through a crematorium. If they were unclaimed or the families were too poor, well, an urn’s worth of ashes would be buried in a hole at the county’s potter’s field off of Germantown Road. A lot of paperwork would be generated; Max and I would need lawyers—it would be a big deal.
That was the old way. Now no one in power really cared all that much, especially if the people involved were poor or, like these guys, just out-of-area losers. No ID in the pockets or wallets. Max’s guy by the car had a Costco card that was expired. None of them had Zone IDs—no surprise there. Not a lot of cash either. Mama-san had brought out a wet cloth to wipe off the old man, who had been spattered a bit. He grabbed the cloth from her angrily and finished cleaning himself. He missed a few places, I noticed—not that I was going to point them out.
The old man was showing with angry body language and bursts of Korean that he was not happy that I had shot the hostage taker while he was being held. I hid a smile in a cough behind my hand.
They had a cat that lived in the Dollar Store. Sometimes I would see him sitting in the old lady’s lap as she listened to her Korean radio station. The cat had come out to see what was going on. He brushed against Max’s leg, sniffed at the blood, and began to lap it up with delicate little cat licks. Mama-san got all excited, picked it up, smacked it lightly, and grinned embarrassingly at us before disappearing back into the store. We had started to gather a crowd.
Leather Man was telling everyone in listening range how Max had taken them out. The Apple Couple were adding their little bits of color. I looked around. Nobody had whipped out a cell phone to make calls or take pictures. If they had tried—well, they wouldn’t. We weren’t looking for our fifteen minutes of fame. No money in it anymore, just trouble.
Max came over to me. “There’s more here than meets the eye. They targeted the old man. I asked him how he wanted to handle it. He said he would make a call. We are going to drag the bodies into the empty store next door. The Korean Business Association is going to take care of the bodies.”
I guffawed. “They aren’t going to make barbecue out of them?”
“You eat Korean barbecue?”
“I did once, Max, that was enough, and kimchi is disgusting.”
“So then, what’s the problem?”
Max was right. The reality was they would probably end up in a hole somewhere—or as koi food. “I also called the chief. He wants the AK since I told him there was less than thirty dollars between all three of them.”
“That’s your weapon,” I protested.
Max waved his hand dismissively. “I’m okay with it.” Not much I could say to that. “You can have the one by the door’s gun if you want.”
“Okay.”
It was over except for dragging the bodies into the store. Mama-san had come out with a bucket, a brush, and a dustpan. She was splashing the water on the blood pools. The chunky parts would be swept up. The guy had come in by front door. Now what was left of him would be going out the back door. I checked out the gun from the door guy: It was an older-looking, chrome-finish Taurus 9 mm. I’d have to ask Sarge what I could get for it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARKED
Max had a cell phone but I didn’t. I realized a while back that I didn’t need one. I had no one to call. The time I was spending online was dropping—real life was now far more interesting. Plus, I was mad at the Internet. Yeah, I know how silly that
Just like these bodies: In the movies a bunch of blinking, flashing lights would show up. The bodies would be dumped onto gurneys and then—after sitting somewhere and being identified or not—they would go into the ground, usually first being run through a crematorium. If they were unclaimed or the families were too poor, well, an urn’s worth of ashes would be buried in a hole at the county’s potter’s field off of Germantown Road. A lot of paperwork would be generated; Max and I would need lawyers—it would be a big deal.
That was the old way. Now no one in power really cared all that much, especially if the people involved were poor or, like these guys, just out-of-area losers. No ID in the pockets or wallets. Max’s guy by the car had a Costco card that was expired. None of them had Zone IDs—no surprise there. Not a lot of cash either. Mama-san had brought out a wet cloth to wipe off the old man, who had been spattered a bit. He grabbed the cloth from her angrily and finished cleaning himself. He missed a few places, I noticed—not that I was going to point them out.
The old man was showing with angry body language and bursts of Korean that he was not happy that I had shot the hostage taker while he was being held. I hid a smile in a cough behind my hand.
They had a cat that lived in the Dollar Store. Sometimes I would see him sitting in the old lady’s lap as she listened to her Korean radio station. The cat had come out to see what was going on. He brushed against Max’s leg, sniffed at the blood, and began to lap it up with delicate little cat licks. Mama-san got all excited, picked it up, smacked it lightly, and grinned embarrassingly at us before disappearing back into the store. We had started to gather a crowd.
Leather Man was telling everyone in listening range how Max had taken them out. The Apple Couple were adding their little bits of color. I looked around. Nobody had whipped out a cell phone to make calls or take pictures. If they had tried—well, they wouldn’t. We weren’t looking for our fifteen minutes of fame. No money in it anymore, just trouble.
Max came over to me. “There’s more here than meets the eye. They targeted the old man. I asked him how he wanted to handle it. He said he would make a call. We are going to drag the bodies into the empty store next door. The Korean Business Association is going to take care of the bodies.”
I guffawed. “They aren’t going to make barbecue out of them?”
“You eat Korean barbecue?”
“I did once, Max, that was enough, and kimchi is disgusting.”
“So then, what’s the problem?”
Max was right. The reality was they would probably end up in a hole somewhere—or as koi food. “I also called the chief. He wants the AK since I told him there was less than thirty dollars between all three of them.”
“That’s your weapon,” I protested.
Max waved his hand dismissively. “I’m okay with it.” Not much I could say to that. “You can have the one by the door’s gun if you want.”
“Okay.”
It was over except for dragging the bodies into the store. Mama-san had come out with a bucket, a brush, and a dustpan. She was splashing the water on the blood pools. The chunky parts would be swept up. The guy had come in by front door. Now what was left of him would be going out the back door. I checked out the gun from the door guy: It was an older-looking, chrome-finish Taurus 9 mm. I’d have to ask Sarge what I could get for it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARKED
Max had a cell phone but I didn’t. I realized a while back that I didn’t need one. I had no one to call. The time I was spending online was dropping—real life was now far more interesting. Plus, I was mad at the Internet. Yeah, I know how silly that
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