The Red Storm by Grant Bywaters Read Free Book Online Page B

suit.
    I sat down at the executive guest chair across from his desk and waited for him to finish. When he hung up, he said, “What’d you want?”
    â€œCome to cash in on your IOU for those tickets I scored for you.”
    â€œSo you were bribing me?”
    â€œI wouldn’t bribe you, that’s illegal. Getting you them tickets was me being generous.”
    â€œWell, the fight was awful. They kept clenching for all the rounds, and there was no knockout.”
    â€œYou wanted tickets, I got them for you. It ain’t my fault the fight was all rot. You should’ve paid more attention to who was being matched up. You get two out-of-shape heavies in the ring, and that’s what you’re gonna get.”
    â€œAll right, all right, what can I get you so you can get out of here?”
    â€œBill Storm was brought in last night. I’d like to have a look at the autopsy report.”
    â€œWhy, so you can sell it off to the papers?”
    â€œI wouldn’t do something that could get you in more trouble than you’re already in.”
    â€œI’m not in any trouble. Those state investigators can go through my books all they want, they won’t find anything. They’re just trying to put the blame on me for their lack of proper funding. The real crooks are them, not me.”
    â€œIf that’s how you see it, I won’t argue with you,” I said. “Personally, I hope you stay at this job.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But that don’t keep us from doing business.”
    â€œYou’re right about me not liking you,” he said, slouching back in his chair and putting his hands behind his greasy hair. “They just got finished with him.”
    â€œWere you there for the autopsy?”
    â€œNo way. I don’t even want to be in the same room as a dead body. They scare the hell out of me.”
    â€œYou picked an odd career for someone that doesn’t like seeing dead bodies.”
    Wilkins shrugged. “Nobody else wanted it. Wait here.”
    He left his office. I waited. He returned with a folder and slapped it down on his desk.
    â€œThis is hot stuff, haven’t even released it to the cops yet,” he said. This was his salesman’s way of telling me how valuable a commodity he was giving to me in exchange.
    â€œWhat’re the findings?” I asked.
    â€œThey pulled a .38 bullet out of his head. Safe to say, that’s what did the chap in, right? But if the bullet didn’t kill him, he would’ve died of a whole lot of things. He had a bunch of problems; kidney, liver, heart. I ain’t no doctor, but he should’ve been dead already.”
    I said, “Looks like the lead put him out his misery.”
    â€œYou could say that. Not a bad way to go, if you ask me.”
    He handed over the report. It was a standard form, broken into external and internal examination, evidence, and opinion. Wilkins was correct: under the internal section was a shopping list of problems that were discovered. Storm wasn’t lying about not having long to live.
    Wilkins said, “We finished here?”
    I said we were. On my way out, I glanced into the examining room. Two pathologists were overseeing an assembly line of corpses. The dieners worked fast to clean and prep the bodies once the pathologists were done in order to make room for the next batch of flesh. Only the sound of hammering, sawing, and laughter could be heard from inside.
    *   *   *
    I got back to my apartment in time to catch the ringing phone and found a husky female voice at the end of it which I recognized immediately.
    â€œIs this William Fletcher?”
    â€œYes, it is. What can I do for you, Zella?”
    There was a pause. “I called to tell you there is no point in me thinking about seeing my dad on account that he’s dead.”
    â€œYes, I know,” I