didn't like it, but then, I really couldn't complain. I always put my feet up on the coffee
table. I went to the fridge and got him a bottle of beer anyway.
He didn’t complain. Without comment, he took it, ripped the cap off and poured about half of it down his throat as I stepped across the room and sat back down in my chair. At first, we just stared at each other.
"It's funny," said Johnny. "When I was a kid, we lived on the same street. I even used to look up to you. Now, look at us. I'm a cop who's gone as far as he's ever gonna go on the force. You’re just an old hood.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s me, Johnny. How’s the wife and the boy?”
“Good, good. It’s two boys, now, actually. You still in the legal mediation business?”
“Most definitely.” I make a modest living providing a service for people who are being threatened with lawsuits. I arrange a private meeting with the plaintiff and, after talking to me for a couple of minutes, the plaintiff decides to settle out of court.
“We want you to do something for us, LG.”
“I’m listening.” To make a long story short, I have a simple arrangement with the cops: they pretend like I don’t exist and, in return, I do some dirty work for them every now and then. And, usually, it’s not about righting a wrong, either. When the cops come to me, it’s more about wronging a right. It’s what I do.
"There's a woman that we want dealt with. She's been warned."
I laughed at that. "Maybe you better warn her again. Because I can’t see me rolling up on some woman."
"She’s killing people right and left, LG.“
"So, arrest the bitch and put her ass on death row.”
“Can’t,” he said. “Can’t prove a damn thing. She gets other people to do it. I don’t know how, but she does.”
“So, what do you want me to do? Talk to her?”
“I’ve already talked to her and she told me to fuck off. So, kill the bitch. She’s got it coming.”
I had a feeling this was going to a long story. I returned to the fridge and got two more bottles of beer. While I was in the kitchen, he asked me if I read the newspapers.
“Sure,” I said, “they always have the paper at the café across the street when I go in for breakfast.”
He asked me if I had been keeping up with the Friday Night Murders. I was thinking about that when I came back with the beers. I realized it was Friday night.
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