Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime by Robert J. Randisi Page B

she’d said to Carla. Had she told her, “There’s a man outside to see you,” or had she said my name? If she’d told Carla my name, then the woman had run from me and that was something I didn’t understand.
    Women didn’t always swoon over me, but they didn’t usually run from me, either.
    I finished what was in my plate, left the rest in the boxes and put those in the refrigerator. I pulled out one more beer and took it into the living room with me to catch the news.
    They covered the discovery of Misty Rose’s body, but kept my name out of it. I learned that Misty not only danced at the Riv, she stripped at one of the local clubs, as well. Police suspected that some amorous Romeo had followed her home from work, pushed his way into her apartment, and ended up killing her. They didn’t say whether or not she’d been dead when she went into the water.
    More curiosity on my part, or maybe just an inability to believe in coincidence. Did Misty’s murder have nothing to do with Carla running from me? Was Misty dead when Carla heard I wanted to talk to her? Did Carla think I was a cop or, worse yet, the killer? And where was Unlucky Lou Terazzo? What was his part in all this? Could he have been the amorous Romeo?
    By the time I refocused on the TV a movie had started. I was about to turn it off when I realized it was an old John Wayne western. I decided to go ahead and watch it, but I hadn’t gotten a half hour into it when my eyes began to droop, and then I dropped off to sleep. I didn’t know I was asleep, though, until someone pounding on my door woke me up.
    I leaped to my feet, eyes wide, in a cold sweat, and stood there wondering what was going on. The move did nothing for the pain in
my side which, amazingly, had left me alone for most of the day. Now it was back, though, and so was the headache.
    When I realized someone was knocking I looked around for a weapon. I had to choose between the beer bottle and a lamp. I decided on the bottle, reversed it so I could hold it by its long neck and went to the door.
    When I peered out the small eye level window in my door I saw Detective Hargrove standing on my doorstep with his partner.
    I opened the door and looked at them through the screen door.
    “Detective Hargrove,” I said. “What brings you here at—”
    “Midnight,” he said, cutting off my question. “Don’t tell me a casino bigwig like you hits the sack at midnight, Mr. Gianelli.
    “Fell asleep in front of the TV.”
    “Did ya watch the news to see if they’d mention your name?” the other detective asked. I’d forgotten his name. “Guess you were disappointed, huh?”
    “No,” I said, “as a matter of fact, I wasn’t. I was glad not to hear my name. You guys want to tell me why you’re here?”
    “We’d love to,” Hargrove said. Apparently, he thought that was an invitation to enter. He opened the screen door and stepped through. I had no choice but to back off or let him walk into me. His partner followed and closed the door behind them.
    “Where’d you go today, Gianelli?” Hargrove asked.
    I noticed he wasn’t calling me “Mister” anymore. I’d seen enough old movies to know that wasn’t a good sign,
    “When?”
    “After you left us this afternoon,” Hargrove said. “Account for your movements.”
    “Why?”
    “Humor us,” his partner said. I suddenly remembered his name was Smith, and then felt stupid for forgetting it.
    I thought about resisting, then figured, what the hell? I wasn’t guilty of anything.
    I told them I went back to the casino to check in with my boss and get my work done.

    “And you were there the whole time?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can anybody vouch for that?”
    “My boss.”
    “Jack Entratter?” Hargrove asked.
    “That’s right.”
    “Yeah, he’s a reliable witness.”
    “Some of the other employees saw me.”
    “Don’t lie to us, Gianelli,” Smith said. “If we go down there and ask around and find out you lied—”
    “I’m not