The Undertaker

“That, or he is lying again.” Tinkerton cocked his head and looked down at me with a sadistic smile. “That is the question, isn't it? How much does our new friend “Peter” really know and how much of it is pure crap.”

“He's wrong, Virgil. You don't really think I'd come walking in here alone, do you?” I said confidently. “You're the one who's going to end up holding the bag.”

“I don't think so,” Tinkerton sighed. “But you are right about one thing. Virgil and I can't take any chances, can we? We've got to make sure,” Tinkerton's eyes flashed, “because there is one little question that I've got to have an answer to, one you are going to give me, if it takes all night.”

“Boxers or briefs?” I asked.

“No,” he laughed along with me. “Back in my office, you dropped the magic name of Jimmy Santorini on me. Perhaps you thought you were being cute, or perhaps you threw it in blind, not really knowing about the Pandora's Box you were opening up, but that move cost you your amateur standing. You can save yourself a whole lot of pain if you tell me what you really do know about him.”

“Santorini? He ran a little wine bar up in Carmel. Or was that Santoucci?”

“Did Jimmy hire you?”

“Hire me? I can't cook pasta and I'd drink up all his cabernet. It'd never work.”

“Was it that bastard Rico Patillo or someone else in New Jersey? Or some little staff toad over in Justice.”

“Washington? DC? Never even visited the place.”

“Good! That's what I expected,” Tinkerton smiled. “More jokes. I'm glad you didn't loose that fabulous sense of humor of yours. If you had opened up and started talking, I still wouldn't have believed a word you said, but it might have confused things. I wouldn't have known what was true, what was a lie, and what was just a bit of creative stretching. This way, we'll assume that everything you say is a lie until the very, very end.”

“The ”very, very” end?” I asked. “That sounds a bit melodramatic even for you, Ralph.”

“Very melodramatic, but in the end you'll tell me the truth and you won't find it one bit funny.”

“You're sure about that?”

“Sergeant Dannmeyer and I have done this before, “Peter”, in Nicaragua, El Salvador, Iraq, in Saudi Arabia after the first war, and in a half dozen hellholes in between,” Tinkerton's smile slowly faded. “So, I will know when you're telling me the truth. I assure you, I will know.”

He turned toward Dannmeyer. “Run another NCI record check on him, just to be sure. If you come up with anything new, anything at all, let me know immediately.”

“What if he shows clean again?”

“It doesn't matter,” Tinkerton shrugged. “He's going to disappear all the same.”

Dannmeyer looked down at me with a sly grin. “What about that truck of his?”

“Drive it down to the east side and dump it near the Interstate.”

“The east side?” Dannmeyer sounded pained. “Oh, come on, captain. A nice Bronco like that? Jeez, they'll have it picked clean by midnight.”

“Sometimes you can be an idiot, Virgil. That's the whole point.” Tinkerton snapped. “Now see to it!” He looked up and turned his attention to Varner who was cowering in the corner, giving him an equally hard look as he motioned toward me. “Doctor, if you please.”

Above me, I saw Varner's worried face come into view. He held a hypodermic needle in his fingers. Carefully, he swabbed my arm with a cotton ball and alcohol before he stuck the needle in.

Dannmeyer laughed. “Alcohol? You gotta be kiddin’, Doc. The guy's going to be dead by midnight and you're worried about him getting some germs?”

Varner looked flustered. “Don't tell me that! I don't want to know what you're doing, Dannmeyer. Just get him out of here. I'm sick of this whole business.”

“You? You're sick of this whole business, Doctor?” Tinkerton's voice lashed him. “How unfortunate. We'll have to do something about that, won't we, Sergeant?”

“No, no,” Varner quickly shook his head. “That was only talk, Ralph. That's all. I'm scared. You never told me I'd be involved like this. Not like this.”

Tinkerton stared at him for a long moment. “You are absolutely right, Doctor. You weren't supposed to be involved “like this”, but now you are. In for a penny, in for a pound. I hope you understand that, I really do, for your sake. Now send the ambulance around to the service door. I want him run down to Greene's and I want it done now.”

“Yeah, Doc,” Dannmeyer added. “Larry Greene ain't nearly as squeamish about doin’ what he's told. And personally, I like his clientele one hell of a lot better than I like yours.”

Within minutes, I was out like a light. No hollow pipe. No echoing voices, either. I was out and I remembered nothing of the ride. The next thing I knew, and only dimly at that, was when the two ambulance attendants dropped me on my head. They had backed the ambulance to the rear loading dock of Greene's Funeral Home. None of the outside lights were on and I was lying on a stretcher. The two attendants carried it out the back door of the ambulance onto the dock when I heard a husky male voice say, “Oops!”