Suckers - Jack Kilborn [53]
“So we’re going to call the cops, right?” I asked.
“I’m thinking no.”
“Then can we at least get out of here? I’m not real comfortable hanging around a dead body.”
“What part of the corpse is bothering you? Is it the ripped-out throat? I bet it’s the ripped-out throat.”
“I take it that ‘respect for the dead’ is not a phrase you use on a regular basis?”
He titled his head. “You know, if I look at the wound on an angle, it reminds me of a stripper I know.”
I amended my “complete asshole” assessment to include the words “from hell.”
“So this is where we part ways, slowly drift apart, and eventually fail to keep in touch altogether, right?” I asked.
“No dice, Andrew Moron. We gotta search the place. I’m looking for a girl, not a naked dead guy.”
I glanced at the corpse and slapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, God…”
“What?”
“There’s a roach crawling out of his mouth…” I dropped to all fours and dry heaved.
Harry shook his head. “I thought you Florida guys were cool with roaches. You call them palmetto bugs, right? It was probably laying eggs in his—”
I spun around and threw a punch that struck him in the stomach. He let out a loud “oooomph!” as he staggered backwards a step, tripped over the dead hand, and then landed butt-first on the corpse. The sound was unbelievably disgusting and does not warrant a phonetic description.
“Aaahhhhh!!!” Harry cried out in a most refreshing sissy-like manner. I punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. His butt remained seated on the corpse. The gun remained in his hand.
He sat up a bit and pointed the gun at me. I was pretty sure that Harry McGlade was the kind of guy who would indeed shoot an innocent person such as myself, so I dove at him before he could pull the trigger.
I landed on top of him and we struggled frantically for control of the weapon. Punches were thrown. Head-butts were exchanged. Obscenities were uttered. I’d been in vicious fights before, but this was the first one to take place on top of a mutilated corpse.
I grabbed the corpse’s arm and smacked Harry in the face with it. That seemed to anger him for some reason. I tried to knee him in the groin, but he moved out of the way just in time and I kneed the corpse in the groin instead. I had a flash of the poor dead guy standing in front of the pearly gates, suddenly doubling over in agony.
Harry got in an admittedly good punch to my chest. I got in a much better punch to his jaw. His eyes crossed in a most unattractive manner. I wrenched the gun out of his grip, punched him again, and then pressed the barrel against his forehead.
“You’re a dick,” he said.
“Behave,” I warned him. I eased myself off the dead body, keeping the gun pointed at him.
“These were new pants.”
“I weep for your loss. By the way, there wasn’t really a roach.”
“I guessed that.”
“I bet you didn’t.”
“Look here, Malox—”
“It’s Mayhem. You don’t get to make fun of my name unless you’re holding the gun.”
“Whatever. Give it back to me before you hurt yourself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You don’t have the stones.”
I would have loved to shoot him to prove him wrong. But he would’ve been dead and the irony would have been lost on him.
“Why do people always say that in the movies?” I asked, using my free hand to massage my aching jaw. “It’s sort of like saying ‘I double dare you to kill me.’ I once ate spoiled oyster on a double dare, and let me tell you, the nightmares from that were a hell of a lot worse than any nightmares I’d get from killing you.”
“Put down the gun.”
It wasn’t Harry who said that. I wished it had been. Instead, the voice was to the left of me. A bald, overweight guy in his mid-thirties dressed entirely in black. He held a shotgun.
I lowered the revolver. I really