Free JM02 - Death's Little Helpers aka No Way Home by Peter Spiegelman

shook his head slowly. “Not for a while— I don’t remember when the last time was. I told this to the other guys.”
    I looked at Christopher and took a deep breath. I slipped the photo back into my pocket. “What other guys?” I asked quietly.
    Christopher shuffled his feet and looked away from me. His eyes were nervous when they finally came back to mine. “I guess you’re not with them, huh?” he said.
    “What other guys, Christopher?”
    “The two guys who asked about Danes before.”
    “When before?”
    He shrugged. “Ten days ago, maybe.”
    “What did they ask?”
    Christopher ran his eyes around the lobby. “The same as you. They showed me a picture, asked if I’d seen him around and when I’d seen him last. Asked if I knew his friends in the building.”
    “And you told them … ?”
    “Same as I told you. I haven’t seen the guy, and I don’t know shit about the tenants.”
    I nodded. “Who were they?” Christopher shook his head and looked confused. “Were they cops? Were they lawyers?”
    “Not lawyers … not cops, either. They were private, like you.”
    “These guys have names?”
    Another headshake. “Not that I remember.” I stared at him, and he ran a stained hand over the back of his neck and said nothing.
    “You remember what they looked like?” I asked.
    “They just looked like … two guys.”
    I sighed. “Were they short, tall, black, white?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know. They were … medium. They were white, the both of them, and I think they had brown hair. They were about the same height— maybe six feet, maybe a little shorter.”
    I shook my head. “Did they say anything about calling if you happened to see Danes?” I asked. “Did they give you a phone number?”
    Christopher tugged at his ear and rubbed the back of his neck again and looked around the lobby. “No, bro, they didn’t say anything about that. They just asked their questions and split.”
    I looked at him some more. I was fairly sure that Christopher was not being entirely truthful with me. I was fairly sure, in fact, that he was lying through his teeth. But I still needed him, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. “And you haven’t heard from them since?” I asked.
    “Nope,” Christopher said, and looked at his watch. He craned his neck to check the sidewalk, east and west. “Not to rush you or anything, but that prick’ll be back soon.”
    “Sure,” I said. “We’re just about done. Anybody working here who knows the tenants well?”
    “The guy I’m subbing for today: Paul Gargosian. He’s been here since they opened the place, and he knows everybody. He’s an okay guy, too— you grease him and he’ll talk to you.”
    “When’s he back?”
    “Couple weeks.”
    “Know his number, or where he lives?”
    “In the Bronx someplace— I don’t know.” Christopher looked at his watch again, more nervous now. “I don’t want to rush you, but … ”
    I nodded. “No problem, Christopher, you’ve been a big help. How much to get into Danes’s apartment?”
    Christopher looked at me and winced. “Shit, bro, you don’t want much, do you?” He shook his head and tugged on an ear. “That could be my job, for chrissakes.” I nodded and let him keep talking and thinking about it. “Oh, Christ, what the fuck are you going to do in there?”
    “I’m just trying to find the guy, Christopher. I’m not interested in taking his stuff.”
    “Shit … it’d need to be at least a hundred— no, two hundred.” I nodded.
    “Two hundred’s fine,” I said. “When?” Christopher was looking paler.
    “It’s got to be next week— Monday afternoon. Super-Prick will be out then.” I wasn’t happy with a six-day wait, but I didn’t have a lot of options. I nodded. Christopher checked the sidewalk again. “You’ve got to split.”
    “Just one more question,” I said. “Where do the tenants garage their cars?”
    “I know two places people use,” he