Jason Starr - Twisted City

"The after hours places are still open," she said. "There're still a lot of people out there. Give it another hour and the streets'll start to clear out."

The idea of spending another hour in the apartment seemed unbearable, but I realized that it probably made sense to wait.

I turned away, but there was no way to get away from her. She had closed her eyes and had her arms flung back over her head. She wasn't fidgeting or twitching anymore, like she had been earlier in the night.

She looked like she was spending a relaxing afternoon on the beach. It was easy to imagine how she might've looked fifteen, twenty years ago, when she was a rich girl growing up in Michigan. She could've been lounging next to a pool in her parents' backyard.

"So're you gonna tell me the truth now or what?" I said.

"What do you mean?" she said, not bothering to open her eyes. She sounded like she'd been falling asleep.

"Come on," I said, "I know you've been lying to me since the second I walked in here so just tell me what the hell's going on."

"I didn't lie to you."

"Really, Sue."

She opened her eyes, looked at me for a couple of seconds, then closed them again, acting as annoyingly nonchalant as before. Then she said,

"Sue's my street name."

"You stole my wallet last night, didn't you?" I said.

"I told you, I found it on the bus»

"Stop fucking lying to me," I said. "I recognized your friend Kenny's voice only he told me his name was Eddie. I guess that was his 'street name' too, huh?"

"Kenny's not my friend."

"Sorry," I said, "Ricky's friend who you don't mind fucking every once in a while for drug money even if the love of your life happens to be dead in the bathroom at the time."

"You got it all wrong, you stupid asshole," Charlotte said. "Kenny wasn't at the bar you were at last night."

"Yes, he was," I said. "He distracted me while you picked my pocket."

"I told you, I found your wallet on the bus."

I went over and grabbed her arm above her elbow and lifted her up to a sitting position.

"You stole my wallet last night, didn't you?"

"What're you gonna do, kill me? Go ahead do it. I really don't give a shit."

I continued to squeeze her arm, which felt like a broom handle. She didn't seem to feel any pain.

After maybe ten seconds she said, "If you let go, I'll tell you."

Finally I loosened my grip and she wriggled free. She remained sitting, rubbing her arm, which seemed to have turned slightly purple.

"See, I knew you were a fuckin' basket case," she said.

I moved toward her again when she said, "Kenny and Ricky took your wallet I had nothing to do with it, and that's the God's honest truth.

They stole shit off people all the time. They sometimes worked the subways, but they did midtown mostly. They hung out at bars and looked for drunk tourists I guess that's what they thought you were. Anyway, they took your wallet last night, and Ricky came home with it. He took all the money out and left the wallet here, so I decided to call you to give it back to you."

I gave her a Yeah, right look.

"It's the truth," she said, "and I don't give a shit if you believe me or not."

"You're lying," I said. "Ricky wasn't at the bar with Kenny last night you were. If Ricky was there he would've recognized me when he walked into the apartment today."

"Maybe he didn't get a good look at you last night," Charlotte said.

I realized this was possible. Whoever had picked my pocket had been behind me and might not have gotten a good look at my face.

"Maybe," I said, "but I still don't get why he attacked me. I mean, if you bring guys back here all the time»

"I don't do it all the time," she said defensively. "I usually do it outside in cars, mostly."

"Still," I said. "That doesn't explain why he'd flip out and pull a knife on me."

"Ricky was in love with me."

I must've rolled my eyes.

"I don't give a shit what you think," she said. "We were gonna get married soon. We were gonna open that antique store too and save up money and move to a bigger apartment someplace. Maybe in Queens or the Bronx. Ricky had family in the Bronx."

"Stop with that bullshit," I said. "If you and Ricky were so in love, why were you fucking other guys for money? Why were you fucking your landlord, for Christ's sake?"

"I wasn't fucking him!" she screamed, starting to cry.

"And why were you so quick to take the rap for his murder?" I said, not letting up. "You mourned for exactly two minutes then you were out to make a quick thousand bucks off it. That really sounds like true love to me."

"I did love him, you fuckin' prick."

As Charlotte wiped away more tears with the back of her hand, I checked my watch. It wasn't four a.m. yet, but I felt like if I stayed in the apartment another minute I was going to lose my mind.

"We're going," I said.

"It's not late enough," she said.

"You got bed-sheets, a rug, something to wrap the body in?"

"We should wait till»

"We're not waiting!"

She paused, then said, "All I got is what's on the bed."

"Get up," I said.

She stood up slowly, like an old woman with arthritis. The cotton blanket was too thin to conceal a body. I pulled the sheet off the futon, noticing all the cum and blood stains, but it wasn't nearly big enough or thick enough.

I picked up the rug in front of the bed, but it was too small, maybe two by four.

"You got anything else?" I said. "Another blanket or rug?"

She shook her head.

"Come on," I said. "You must have something."

I went to the one closet in the apartment, near the front door. Hanging from wire hangers were dirty, torn clothes jackets, coats, shirts, pants that the Salvation Army wouldn't even accept. On the floor were some boxes of things and a duffel bag, but it was much too small to use.

"Jesus," I said.

"Wait till the stores open in the morning," Charlotte said. She had sat back down on the bare futon mattress. "You can buy a blanket then."

"And wait another day in here?" I said. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" I looked around the apartment again, coming up with no new great ideas, then said, "We'll just carry him between us like he's drunk or he ODIt could be better that way anyway. In this neighborhood that'll look less suspicious than carrying a rug or laundry down at four in the morning."

Dropping the sheet on the floor, I went into the bathroom. The body must've slid forward on the soap-scummed wall, because when I opened the door to the shower stall it fell out toward me. Despite my physical and mental exhaustion, my reflexes were quick enough to catch it by its shoulders. It was about as stiff as before, but it seemed to have gotten colder. Ignoring a surge of nausea, I held the body upright outside the shower stall.

"I need something a rag or shirt or something," I called out.

"What?" Charlotte said.

"I need…" I looked up at the vent above the sink. It was clogged with puffy gray dust, but I knew my voice still might be able to travel to another apartment.

"Just come here," I said in a quieter voice. When Charlotte came into the bathroom I said, "I need a shirt or a rag or something make it wet."

"What for?"

"Just get it."

Charlotte returned about a minute later with a damp T-shirt. Managing to keep the body upright, I scrubbed the sneakers as best I could, even doing the bottoms, and then I wiped the legs of Ricky's jeans, even though I knew fingerprints couldn't be found there. I wasn't even sure the sneakers needed to be wiped down, but I wanted to be as safe as possible.

When I was confident I'd done the best I could, I said to Charlotte,

"Okay, here's what we do. We carry the body down between us as fast as we can, and we don't stop till we get to the park. Tomorrow, when it's discovered, the cops'll come tell you. Just start crying, the way you did before, and there should be no problem. They'll probably ask you"