I should’ve stayed on the sidewalk, but then innocent people could’ve been hurt. Martyrdom was little consolation.
“Okay, you win,” I said. “A bunch of cash is wrapped around my ankle.” The pressure on my kidney lessened, and for a few seconds I heard only his labored breathing.
“If you’re lying, I swear to Christ you’re dead,” he said then told me to kneel down and get the money.
“Think of what you’re saying. The money is on my left ankle. If I bend down, I’m probably gonna go for my gun since I think you’re gonna kill me anyway. I might get lucky and kill you first. And even if you shoot first, I might get off a shot and then you’ll slowly bleed to death. But if you just take the money yourself, maybe we can both walk away.”
I was gambling his brain cell damage would work in my favor. I heard him shuffling around on loose asphalt. When a hand touched my ankle I guessed he held his gun in his right hand near the middle of my left thigh, which meant a bullet’s trajectory was more likely to hit my leg muscle or buttock. I dropped my left arm and felt the barrel hit squarely on my palm—I had guessed right. I now had the leverage to keep his barrel immobilized, long enough for me to grab my .40-caliber with my right hand and fire point-blank into his forehead.
I stood frozen in that moment, trying to make sense of the previous minutes, aware of my choke hold on the gun’s grip but having no memory of the pistol’s report. Gradually, my focus returned to the dead body lying on its back, eyes open, legs folded unnaturally to the side. Despite the gooey mess oozing from the back of his head, there was a surprisingly neat entry wound. I trembled violently and almost stumbled when I stepped over the corpse. A lightning bolt zig-zagged across his bald head: Jason.
I walked out of the alley and merged back into the sidewalk traffic. After a couple of blocks, I stopped to make a call. My shaking hands produced two wrong numbers before Kalijero picked up.
“I just killed a man.”
No response, then, “Where is it?”
“West alley off Halsted, before Fullerton.”
“Go home and wait.”
Why had I called Kalijero? Perhaps because he had just laid bare his own weighty transgression. For some reason, I trusted him.
I didn’t remember the walk home, only entering my apartment and sitting down in the recliner. Punim jumped into my lap and started licking the back of my hand. Then she rubbed her head against my chest for a while before rolling over and offering me her white stomach.
An hour later the phone rang. “I’m downstairs,” Kalijero said, and I told him the door was unlocked. Kalijero walked in and sat on the couch. “It was a drug deal gone bad,” he said. “Just another dead meth-head. Nobody cares.”
“You ever kill anyone?” I said.
“You killed a scumbag. We should thank you.”
“He thought I walked around with a thousand bucks in my pocket. I wonder how he got that idea?”
“Mayor Daley told him. Their brains are cooked, Jules. Son of Sam took orders from his neighbor’s dog. You’re a hero. By the way, he had brass knuckles in his pocket.”
I waited for more info. “I give up. Why is that important?”
“That cheekbone gash of yours? That’s what brass knuckles do.”
The first time I saw Lightning Bolt was three days ago at Audrey’s shop. Jason looked at a magazine while I waited to ask Audrey out to lunch. That evening he followed me home to smash my face?
“You’re telling me the meth-head killed Snooky for drug money?” I said.
“Could be? Although you and Snooky both have that tattoo broad in common.”
“You just failed Detective 101. Snooky still had three hundred bucks in his wallet. I had eighty when my dad found me after my encounter with brass knuckles.”
Kalijero laughed. “Either way, we’ll try to find out where he lived and have a look around.”
“You’re a shade less burdened than when I last saw you,
“Okay, you win,” I said. “A bunch of cash is wrapped around my ankle.” The pressure on my kidney lessened, and for a few seconds I heard only his labored breathing.
“If you’re lying, I swear to Christ you’re dead,” he said then told me to kneel down and get the money.
“Think of what you’re saying. The money is on my left ankle. If I bend down, I’m probably gonna go for my gun since I think you’re gonna kill me anyway. I might get lucky and kill you first. And even if you shoot first, I might get off a shot and then you’ll slowly bleed to death. But if you just take the money yourself, maybe we can both walk away.”
I was gambling his brain cell damage would work in my favor. I heard him shuffling around on loose asphalt. When a hand touched my ankle I guessed he held his gun in his right hand near the middle of my left thigh, which meant a bullet’s trajectory was more likely to hit my leg muscle or buttock. I dropped my left arm and felt the barrel hit squarely on my palm—I had guessed right. I now had the leverage to keep his barrel immobilized, long enough for me to grab my .40-caliber with my right hand and fire point-blank into his forehead.
I stood frozen in that moment, trying to make sense of the previous minutes, aware of my choke hold on the gun’s grip but having no memory of the pistol’s report. Gradually, my focus returned to the dead body lying on its back, eyes open, legs folded unnaturally to the side. Despite the gooey mess oozing from the back of his head, there was a surprisingly neat entry wound. I trembled violently and almost stumbled when I stepped over the corpse. A lightning bolt zig-zagged across his bald head: Jason.
I walked out of the alley and merged back into the sidewalk traffic. After a couple of blocks, I stopped to make a call. My shaking hands produced two wrong numbers before Kalijero picked up.
“I just killed a man.”
No response, then, “Where is it?”
“West alley off Halsted, before Fullerton.”
“Go home and wait.”
Why had I called Kalijero? Perhaps because he had just laid bare his own weighty transgression. For some reason, I trusted him.
I didn’t remember the walk home, only entering my apartment and sitting down in the recliner. Punim jumped into my lap and started licking the back of my hand. Then she rubbed her head against my chest for a while before rolling over and offering me her white stomach.
An hour later the phone rang. “I’m downstairs,” Kalijero said, and I told him the door was unlocked. Kalijero walked in and sat on the couch. “It was a drug deal gone bad,” he said. “Just another dead meth-head. Nobody cares.”
“You ever kill anyone?” I said.
“You killed a scumbag. We should thank you.”
“He thought I walked around with a thousand bucks in my pocket. I wonder how he got that idea?”
“Mayor Daley told him. Their brains are cooked, Jules. Son of Sam took orders from his neighbor’s dog. You’re a hero. By the way, he had brass knuckles in his pocket.”
I waited for more info. “I give up. Why is that important?”
“That cheekbone gash of yours? That’s what brass knuckles do.”
The first time I saw Lightning Bolt was three days ago at Audrey’s shop. Jason looked at a magazine while I waited to ask Audrey out to lunch. That evening he followed me home to smash my face?
“You’re telling me the meth-head killed Snooky for drug money?” I said.
“Could be? Although you and Snooky both have that tattoo broad in common.”
“You just failed Detective 101. Snooky still had three hundred bucks in his wallet. I had eighty when my dad found me after my encounter with brass knuckles.”
Kalijero laughed. “Either way, we’ll try to find out where he lived and have a look around.”
“You’re a shade less burdened than when I last saw you,
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