The driveway in front of Eddie Trumaine’s dive of a home, if one considered a worn-down shack a home, looked like a used-car lot for misfit automobiles. Six vehicles in various phases of disrepair and decay were stacked three deep in two rows on the oil-stained asphalt driveway. Two cars were missing tires, another two had dents in various shapes and sizes, one had been spray-painted a flat, gray color, and the last was missing one of its back windows. A replacement window had been fashioned out of thick painter’s plastic and black, zebra-patterned duct tape.
Not exactly what I called sweet rides.
Finch sized up the patchy, dry grass on the front lawn, the bullet-shaped holes in the white stucco on the front of the home’s exterior, and the treasure trove of rundown vehicles, and said, “I’m coming with you.”
I opened my mouth to object, but true to form, he was halfway to the front door before I’d even switched off the ignition. I got out, placing a hand on the hood of the gray car as I passed it. Still warm.
I knocked and heard what sounded like glass shattering on a tile floor, followed by the sound of footsteps moving rapidly in the opposite direction. Finch leapt off the porch, disappearing around the corner. I wiped the dusty windowpane with a hand, surveyed the inside of the house. Louis was on the ground, face up, not moving. I turned the handle on the door and was met with an overwhelming, foul smell of decay. I pulled the sleeve of my sweater over my hand, cupped the same hand over my nose. I gazed down at Louis. He was still dressed in his security uniform and had more than one bullet to the chest.
I didn’t need to check for a pulse.
He’d been there for some time.
He wouldn’t have one.
Finch flung the front door open, dragging a twenty-something-year-old kid behind him. The kid had a big, round, reddish circle around his left eye. It grew puffier by the second.
I looked at Finch. “Did you punch him?”
“It’s his own fault. He wouldn’t listen to me when I asked him to stop running. Now I’m confident he will.”
The kid squeaked a pathetic yelp, struggling to break free. With every yowl, Finch constricted the arm he had around the kid’s neck even tighter.
“Unless you wanna get choked out, stop fighting me,” Finch warned. “This is your one and only warning.”
Too paranoid to listen, the kid remained focused on his primal need for flight.
“Suit yourself,” Finch said. “Up to you.”
Finch increased the squeeze, and the kid’s eyes started bulging.
I approached the kid. “Are you Eddie?”
“Yeah,” he squealed. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“If you calm down and stop trying to run, Finch here will let you go. All we want to know is what happened to Louis, okay? Nod if you understand.”
He nodded. I exchanged glances with Finch. He didn’t budge.
“At least let him talk,” I said. “You’re choking him.”
Finch relaxed his grip.
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Eddie said. “What happened to Louis ... it wasn’t me. I had nothin’ to do with it, okay?”
“Then why is Louis dead in your house?” I pointed across the room. “And why’s there a gun case with no guns in it? And why did you run?”
Eddie looked at the open door on the gun case. “I don’t know.”
The odor of rotting flesh saturated the room, filling my lungs with a nauseating feeling that almost had me expelling everything I’d eaten. “I need to get out of here. Let’s talk outside.”
“Hold up, Joss,” Finch said. “Aren’t you going to call the police first?”
I shrugged. “What for?”
“What do you mean ‘what for’? So they can deal with this dead body and figure out what the hell happened to this guy.”
“Time is no longer of the essence for Louis,” I said. “He’s already dead.”
“Yes, but the sooner they examine the body, the better, right?”
“If he’d just expired, yes. My guess? He’s been dead almost twenty-four hours.” At the risk of upchucking all over the body, I bent down, pointed at it. “The greenish-blue color on his face and neck tells me he’s been dead for at least that long.” I grabbed a fork sitting beside a half-eaten chicken pot pie on the coffee table, lifted Louis’s shirt a couple inches, peeked beneath it. “Yeah, the discoloration is spreading. He’s been here for a while. You better start talking, Eddie.”
The three of us headed outside.
On the back deck, a weather-worn chair was positioned beside a brand-new barbecue grill. Finch shoved Eddie into the chair. “Sit down. And don’t get up.”
Tiny beads of sweat dotted Eddie’s forehead. “Look, I don’t know who you two are. But I told you, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with this mess!”
“What happened to Louis?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, lady.”
“Oh ... kay. Tell me what you do know.”
He stood there looking terrified. Whomever he was afraid of, it was clear we were less of a risk to him than the other person was.
“Look, there’s no way out of this.” I said. “If the cops haul you in, it’s only going to get worse for you. Protecting the person you fear won’t save you when word gets around you were interrogated by police. Even if you lie, say you didn’t say anything, no one will believe you.”
He raised his chin, said, “You got it all wrong. I’m not afraid of anyone. I can take care of myself.”
I resisted the urge to burst out laughing. “Why did you run when we got here?”
Again he hesitated, perhaps debating his options, like he had any. “For all I know, you two are the ones who killed him.”
“You were in the house when we got here,” I said. “Which tells me you knew he was dead.”
“Naw. You got it all wrong. I mean, I did see him when I got home, but I wasn’t here when it happened.”
“Where were you then?”
“I spent the last day with my girl. Since Louis started sleeping here, she won’t stay over anymore, so I’ve been chillin’ at her place. I just came to shower and change my clothes. I walk in, see him dead on the floor, then you two show up, and I didn’t know what to do. So I ran.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Ten minutes, tops.”
“When was the last time you saw Louis alive?” I asked.
“Two nights ago.”
“Tell us about it.”
“Louis rolled up in here with a wad of cash in his hand. He was wavin’ it all around, all showin’ off, actin’ like he’d just won the lottery or some shit.”
“How much money are we talking?” I asked.
“Seven, eight C-notes, at least. Maybe more.”
Confused, I looked at Finch.
“Seven or eight hundred dollars,” Finch said.
“Couldn’t he have just gotten paid from work and cashed the check?” I asked.
Eddie shook his head. “Naw. He don’t get paid until the end of the month, and he never has that kind of cash even when he does get paid. He has all kinds of bills. He’s dead broke.”
“Where did the money come from then?”
“All he said was he was quitting his job. Found somethin’ a lot more lucartive.”
“You mean lucrative?” I asked.
Eddie nodded.
“Did he say who gave him the money or anything about his new job?” I asked.
Eddie scratched his head. “I mean, he just said he was movin’ outta his mom’s place for good.”
I sensed he was still lying. He did know something. He just wouldn’t say.
I picked my phone out of my pocket, looked at Finch. “I’m ready to make that call now.”