Free The Hitman: Dirty Rotters by Sean McKenzie Page B

your friend, Angelo.”
    Angelo’s head slowly lifted. His eyes
found mine. For a moment nothing happened. I wasn’t sure he even
recognized me. Then all of a sudden his mouth began
shooting.
    “ Michael is my friend. Best
friend. Gives me all his finds. Buys me hotdogs sometimes.
Sometimes pop.”
    I moved in closer, slowly. “Yeah, it’s
me. It’s Michael.”
    “ No finds in here. Walls
only. Bars too. Cold bars. Not like bars with music. There’s no
music here.”
    “ Angelo, listen to me, I am
here to help you.” I stayed a few feet away, squatting down so I
wasn’t higher than he was. “But I need your help first.”
    Angelo unwrapped himself and sat
closer. “I can help. I can help my friend. You said me and you were
friends. I can help friends.”
    “ Yes you can, Angelo.” I
smiled to him. “Do you know why you are here?”
    His smile disappeared. He looked down
to the cement floor. “Bad things happened. Real bad. People got
hurt. Girls did. Pretty girls.”
    “ Can you tell me how they
got hurt?”
    “ I can’t say. I can’t talk.
My other friend says no talking. But it was bad. There was blood.
Lotta blood.”
    “ Is your other friend a
cop? Or does he wear a nice suit?”
    “ Oh no. Notta cop. Talks to
cops. They listen. They listen to him. He’s nice. He has fancy
pants and shirts.”
    His lawyer .
    “ But you can talk to me,
right? He didn’t say you couldn’t talk to your friend.” I pressed
on. I didn’t want him to think too much on it. “So tell me what
happened to those girls.”
    “ Very bad
things.”
    “ Did you see what happened
to them? Or did someone tell you what happened to them?”
    Angelo stared at me like he didn’t
understand. He said nothing.
    “ Angelo, do you know why
you are in here? This is jail. This is where all the bad people go.
And right now it looks like you are one of the bad
people.”
    His head shook. “No, I not bad. Only
bad things happen to girls.”
    “ Did you hurt the
girls?”
    He gave me a look then, like a spark
of light in the dark, like it was finally making sense to him. “I
saw the van. The girls were in the back. They were hurt bad. I saw
them. Real bad. Not like movies. Not fake blood. The guy told me
they were,” he paused to spell it out slowly, “d-e-a-d.”
    “ Who told you?”
    “ I never hurt. I go in the
van. The cops find me. They take me here. The girls don’t come
here. Not hurt like that.” He looked sad. “Hurt like
d-e-a-d.”
    “ Who told you?”
    Angelo was getting worked up now. I
was pressing him hard. But I knew he had the answers. He was
rocking back and forth. His fingers were rubbing his thumbs like he
was trying to remove sticky dough. He was thinking back. He was
trying so hard to remember.
    “ What did he look
like?”
    “ Tall. Very tall. Very long
hair. He showed me. He talked to me. He wanted to be my friend. He
tell me stay in the van. Stay with the girls. My friend calls cops.
My friend say I help him. I’m good friend.”
    “ Angelo, he is not your
friend. I think he told the cops that you hurt the
girls.”
    Angelo laughed. “Cops all day. Walk
by. Look in. No talking. Walking slow. Not fast like me. They don’t
find cans. No pop in here. Only milk. No hotdogs.”
    “ Angelo, the man with the
long hair, what is his name?”
    “ I eat bologna here. No
hotdogs.”
    “ I need to find him. I need
to talk to him. Maybe me and him can be friends. Maybe we can help
our friend Angelo.” I watched him smile. He looked proud to have
friends. Too bad one of them didn’t care if he died. “Listen, where
can I find him? Where did you see him?”
    “ Drives white car. The fast
car. Loud. Tires burn smoke!” He loved it. He smiled happily. “Long
hair. Maybe he likes cowboy movies. Maybe drinks Coke only. Not
green pop. Fancy pop.”
    “ Where did you see him?
Where was his car?”
    He began rocking gently. He had no
idea where he was or how much trouble he was in. He was happy.
Happy just to