Free 16 Hitman by Parnell Hall Page B

Martin Kessler killed Victor Marsden. I could finger
Martin Kessler. I could connect him to the crime. I was a liability,
a threat, a serious danger to Martin Kessler, notorious hitman.
    I was expendable.
    I had to go.
    Kessler had snuck out of class today because he was a pro who
knew all the tricks of the trade. He spotted me waiting for him, and
he avoided me. He avoided me just the way he had avoided the
doorman when he had gone in to kill Victor Marsden. He avoided
me so he could stalk me. He was probably watching me right now.
    My stomach felt hollow. My back tingled like it was in the
crosshairs of a high-powered rifle. Or a laser beam, that's what they
used now, a tiny pinpoint of light between my shoulder blades,
guiding the bullet into my heart. I wouldn't even know it happened. One moment I'd be standing here, the next moment I
wouldn't.
    Poor Alice.
    Would I feel it?
    Would I hear it?
    I heard it, and I jumped a mile.

     

is
    I AVOID THE MORGUE AS much as possible. Though, in this
instance, I wasn't that unhappy to be here. Mostly because I'd
walked in of my own accord instead of being carried in feetfirst,
which was my expectation when I hear that sound. But, no, it
wasn't the whine of a bullet from an assassin's gun; it was merely
Wendy/Janet beeping me to tell me to call Detective Crowley. I
did, and it turned out he was sending a police cruiser to pick me
up. The medical examiner had finished the autopsy, and they
wanted me to ID the body. I'm not squeamish, but Il)ing dead
mob hitmen is not my idea of a good time.
    "I don't even know the man," I protested.
    "You saw him in his apartment building."
    "So?'
    "In the company of the man who allegedly killed him. We need
your ID to put the two together"
    "Can't the doorman do that?"

    "The doorman doesn't know the man who killed him."
    That didn't make sense to me, but then I didn't want it to make
sense to me. I wanted to go home, get in bed, pull the blanket up
over my head, and pretend this wasn't happening. Maybe that's not
heroic, but, excuse me, what would you do, arm yourself and go
looking for a hitman from the mob? One with the stealth to get
in and out of the apartment building without being spotted. Not
to mention a public school. I gotta tell you, I wouldn't like my
chances. I know some asshole's always doing it in the movies, but
that's a movie. And the asshole presumably has talent. He may be
a civilian, but he's brawny, or smart, or some combination of the
two, and he has nerves of steel, and never considers the fact he
might get killed in his enterprise, because, of course, he doesn't.
Sorry, bub, that's not the way it works.
    Anyway, it wasn't just the smell of formaldehyde and the
harsh flourescent lighting and the cold white marble that was
giving me chills.
    Crowley noticed. "Never been in a morgue before?"
    I ignored the comment. "Where's the damn corpse?"
    Crowley jerked his thumb at the wall of pullout drawers they
keep the bodies in. "One of these"
    "Which one?"
    He shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. They file 'em alphabetically."
    I almost said, "They do?" Thank god, I stopped myself. The
image of morticians pulling out drawers, juggling corpses, and
making room for new ones was only slightly ludicrous.
    "How do we find him?" I asked.
    "We wait for the ME. Gives me a chance to ask you a couple
of questions that are totally off the record. No one here but you
and me."
    "You're not wearing a wire?"
    "You watch a lot of TV?"

    "Probably more than I should."
    "Then let me give you a hint. If my best shot at solving this was
talking to you wearing a wire I'd be a pretty bad cop."
    "If you're such a good cop, who did it?"
    "I have no idea."
    "There you are"
    He looked at me narrowly. "You're not still pushing the schoolteacher?"
    "I'm not pushing anything. I'm just saying if any part of what
MacAullif told you was true, it would be in my better interests to
get the guy put away before he got the idea I