Free John Belushi Is Dead by Kathy Charles Page A

unarmed grocer in a robbery gone wrong and you might get twenty years. But if you kill John Lennon, you can be pretty sure you’re never seeing the light of day again.
    Lynette was working late as usual, and the house was quiet. All the lights were off except for a small desk lamp above my computer. I was looking at a photo of Leslie Van Houten in her jail manacles when the phone rang.
    â€œHello?” I said.
    A voice filled with gravel snapped back. “HUH?”
    I waited. “Uh… hello?”
    â€œIs this Hilda?”
    â€œYes it is. Who’s this?”
    â€œThis is Hank.”
    My mind was blank. “I’m sorry, who?”
    â€œHANK!” the voice boomed back. “From Echo Park.”
    â€œEcho Park?”
    â€œYou came to my place, you and your friend with the camera. You took photos of my bathroom.”
    My mouth went dry. I sat there for a moment, stunned, the receiver frozen in my hand. “How did you get this number?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
    â€œI called that wiseass friend of yours,” Hank said. “He left his card with me. I called and he gave me your number.”
    â€œI’m sure he did,” I said under my breath.
    â€œSo I was thinking I’d call,” Hank continued, now sounding a little unsure of himself. “I figured I had something you’d like to see.”
    Great. Now I was getting obscene phone calls from senior citizens. “Not interested,” I said. “I mean, really, I’m flattered, but you’re not quite my type, get what I’m saying?”
    â€œNo! Not like that, for Christ’s sake,” Hank yelled, and I jerked the phone away from my ear.
    â€œAll right, all right,” I said. “Calm down.”
    â€œI meant like the sink,” he said, sounding frustrated. “The sink in the bathroom you wanted to see. I got something like that for you.”
    â€œThen why don’t you give it to Benji, you know, the guy whowas with me?” I suggested, not really relishing the idea of going over to the apartment in Echo Park on my own. “He said he was interested if you ever wanted to sell anything.”
    â€œâ€™Cause it’s not for him! It’s for you!”
    â€œYou know what? This is very nice of you, mister—”
    â€œHANK! MY NAME’S HANK!”
    â€œâ€”Hank, but I can’t come over. I don’t have a car.”
    He sighed. “Well, uh, why can’t you get a cab?” he said, looking for alternatives. “There’s plenty of cabs in this town.”
    I scrambled for excuses. “It’s more complicated than that,” I said, hoping my vagueness would make him give up. I was wrong.
    â€œIt’s as complicated as you wanna make it. What I got, I think you’ll like. I think you’ll like it a hell of a lot.”
    I don’t know what came over me, whether it was the darkness of the house, the silence, or merely curiosity about what was on offer. Maybe it had something to do with the feeling that after the accident I had no control over what happened to me in this life, so I might as well throw myself over to fate. Hank waited on the other end of the line, his breathing raspy. Jesus, I thought. He’ll probably kill me. Chop me up over all those old newspapers in his apartment.
    â€œWell, all right,” I said, against my better judgement. “Just don’t try anything. I’ll be telling people where I’m going.”
    â€œI said it ain’t like that. You will get a kick out of this. Trust me.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œI’m an old man. I ain’t got all the time in the world.”
    I rifled through an imaginary diary in my head, every page blank. Benji had mentioned a dentist appointment he had the next day. “I suppose I could squeeze in some time tomorrow.”
    â€œDone!” Hank cried, and slammed down the phone.
    Done. I looked around my room, the