reverent fashion.
He said something
about, his insurance: His secret… And that, ‘They’ – he didn’t elaborate – that
‘they’ wouldn’t dare touch him now. He added also, that ‘they’ thought they ran
the whole show? And about him having ‘the last laugh’.
Carter flipped the sheet of
paper over. On this side, Joseph had added his own thoughts about their
exchange.
The guy was really
old, barely able to breathe. He had some sort of clear liquid dripping into his
arm, probably morphine, or some other painkiller. And the reason I called out
to him was because his bed sheet had slipped, and that he was showing the whole
world his business.
This last bit of information
seemed to interest Carter. “How could you have seen that?” he asked.
Joseph frowned. Granted, the
old man’s member had been tiny - but not that tiny. Joseph shook his head.
“What?”
“How could you have seen that
the sheet had slipped?” Carter asked.
“The curtain was open – between
beds.”
Marianna opened her mouth, but
Carter stopped her short. “It’s okay, I think me and Joseph are now starting to
understand each other.”
Tyler nodded to herself. Yes,
Joseph Ruebins’ speech had improved remarkably in just the few minutes that
they had been here.
“Let me get this straight,”
Carter said. “The privacy curtain was open and you had full vision of the other
guy?”
Joseph nodded.
“Did you get out of bed at
anytime and touch him?”
“No,” Joseph said, now clear
enough for all to hear.
“You sure of that?”
“Hey,” Marianna said, standing
now, her protective instincts at their greatest. “Detective, Joseph is
seriously ill. He can barely move, never mind walk or sit. Now what’s this all
about? Is he in trouble?”
Carter spread his hands. “No,
Mrs. Ruebins, he’s not. We just need to try and establish what happened last
night.”
“Happened?” she echoed.
Carter stood quiet for a
second. “The hospital hasn’t told you?”
“Told us what?” Marianna asked.
“About Joseph’s roommate. He
was found dead this morning. Murdered.”
Chapter
Ten
The alleyway Presley Perkins found himself in looked like
it had come directly out of a bad 70s TV cop show. At any moment, he expected
the red and white Gran Torino from Starsky and Hutch to come tearing
around the corner in hot pursuit of some greasy perp, sending boxes and debris
high into the air.
Cardboard boxes littered one
side almost entirely, those broken up only by rusting dumpsters heaped full of
trash and home to the city’s rat population. Tall buildings stretched toward the
grey sky like ancient pagan monoliths, offering prayer and sanctuary to the
underbelly of New York’s inhabitants: the homeless.
Presley’s scuffed shoe caught
an empty glass bottle, and it skipped away from him with a clink and a clatter,
breaking his train of thought. He continued along, until coming to a
solid-looking doorway. His hand formed into a fist, but he hesitated before
rapping heavily against it.
A few seconds later, a view
hole scrapped open. Dark eyes peered out.
“Yeah?”
“I need to speak to Moses,”
Perkins said.
“You do, do you?”
Perkins nodded.
“Hold on.”
Presley stepped back from the
door and anxiously scanned both sides of the alleyway. Nothing had changed in
the last few seconds. No worries, Presley thought, Starsky was probably
too busy knitting turtleneck jumpers, and Hutch composing his next love
song. The moment dragged on, the distant noise of sirens howling over the city
like the wail of the damned.
The eyes soon returned. “You
got enough to open up an account?”
“Yeah,” Perkins replied.
“Let me see.”
He dug into his pants pockets
with both hands, retrieving a handful of bills. “I got enough, see.”
“Wait there.” The eyes
disappeared for a second time. This time, though, it took a good few minutes
before they returned.
“Well?” Perkins asked.
The eyes
He said something
about, his insurance: His secret… And that, ‘They’ – he didn’t elaborate – that
‘they’ wouldn’t dare touch him now. He added also, that ‘they’ thought they ran
the whole show? And about him having ‘the last laugh’.
Carter flipped the sheet of
paper over. On this side, Joseph had added his own thoughts about their
exchange.
The guy was really
old, barely able to breathe. He had some sort of clear liquid dripping into his
arm, probably morphine, or some other painkiller. And the reason I called out
to him was because his bed sheet had slipped, and that he was showing the whole
world his business.
This last bit of information
seemed to interest Carter. “How could you have seen that?” he asked.
Joseph frowned. Granted, the
old man’s member had been tiny - but not that tiny. Joseph shook his head.
“What?”
“How could you have seen that
the sheet had slipped?” Carter asked.
“The curtain was open – between
beds.”
Marianna opened her mouth, but
Carter stopped her short. “It’s okay, I think me and Joseph are now starting to
understand each other.”
Tyler nodded to herself. Yes,
Joseph Ruebins’ speech had improved remarkably in just the few minutes that
they had been here.
“Let me get this straight,”
Carter said. “The privacy curtain was open and you had full vision of the other
guy?”
Joseph nodded.
“Did you get out of bed at
anytime and touch him?”
“No,” Joseph said, now clear
enough for all to hear.
“You sure of that?”
“Hey,” Marianna said, standing
now, her protective instincts at their greatest. “Detective, Joseph is
seriously ill. He can barely move, never mind walk or sit. Now what’s this all
about? Is he in trouble?”
Carter spread his hands. “No,
Mrs. Ruebins, he’s not. We just need to try and establish what happened last
night.”
“Happened?” she echoed.
Carter stood quiet for a
second. “The hospital hasn’t told you?”
“Told us what?” Marianna asked.
“About Joseph’s roommate. He
was found dead this morning. Murdered.”
Chapter
Ten
The alleyway Presley Perkins found himself in looked like
it had come directly out of a bad 70s TV cop show. At any moment, he expected
the red and white Gran Torino from Starsky and Hutch to come tearing
around the corner in hot pursuit of some greasy perp, sending boxes and debris
high into the air.
Cardboard boxes littered one
side almost entirely, those broken up only by rusting dumpsters heaped full of
trash and home to the city’s rat population. Tall buildings stretched toward the
grey sky like ancient pagan monoliths, offering prayer and sanctuary to the
underbelly of New York’s inhabitants: the homeless.
Presley’s scuffed shoe caught
an empty glass bottle, and it skipped away from him with a clink and a clatter,
breaking his train of thought. He continued along, until coming to a
solid-looking doorway. His hand formed into a fist, but he hesitated before
rapping heavily against it.
A few seconds later, a view
hole scrapped open. Dark eyes peered out.
“Yeah?”
“I need to speak to Moses,”
Perkins said.
“You do, do you?”
Perkins nodded.
“Hold on.”
Presley stepped back from the
door and anxiously scanned both sides of the alleyway. Nothing had changed in
the last few seconds. No worries, Presley thought, Starsky was probably
too busy knitting turtleneck jumpers, and Hutch composing his next love
song. The moment dragged on, the distant noise of sirens howling over the city
like the wail of the damned.
The eyes soon returned. “You
got enough to open up an account?”
“Yeah,” Perkins replied.
“Let me see.”
He dug into his pants pockets
with both hands, retrieving a handful of bills. “I got enough, see.”
“Wait there.” The eyes
disappeared for a second time. This time, though, it took a good few minutes
before they returned.
“Well?” Perkins asked.
The eyes
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