9 Murder Mysteries

by Don Potter

  “Come on, man,” the dealer said. He reluctantly put the paraphernalia on a large wooden coffee table filled with packages of drugs and stacks of money -- thousands of dollars.

  Jinky indicated that Rollo should put the money in the bag they brought to carry it home. As he did this, another man appeared on the stairs. Jinky shot him in the chest and turned to the drug dealer who had pulled a gun from under the chair cushion. Two shots were fired, both by Jinky. The dealer fell back in the chair after both bullets hit their marks.

  “My God. What did you do? You said no gun play. In fast and out faster. Are they dead? Am I ever screwed. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Get the rest of the money, and find something we can put the drugs in. I’ll check on the conditions of our friends. Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “How can you be so casual about this? Look at what happened.”

  “Don’t worry, Rollo. This will only take a minute.” Jinky saw the dealer was dead. He walked over to the other man and shot him in the head. “Okay, let’s move out.”

  The smoke from the pipe and the gun fire was beginning to dissipate as the rays from late afternoon sunlight knifed through the sides of the drawn shades. This made the murder scene surreal. Rollo knew he would not forget this eerie picture.

  “That turned out better than expected,” Jinky proclaimed. He put the car in gear and they sped off.

  “Better than expected. There are two dead bodies in there and we are now fugitives on the run.”

  “I didn’t tell you my entire plan. The dude had quite an operation going. He held out on the big boss downtown. Through some friends, I was introduced to him. The man knew I had control of the action in my neighborhood except for narcotics. So he offered me the dealer’s business to fold into my territory if I got rid of the guy.”

  The story was a complete fabrication, but Jinky thought it sounded plausible. Nobody in the drug business knew about him and his plan to takeover an existing territory. Jinky thought this bold move would show what a clever and valuable asset he would be to the man who he hoped would soon be his boss.

  “That’s why you killed the guy? Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. And we took care of his sidekick too. That means I don’t think we’ll be hearing from anyone who used to live in that house. Ain’t life sweet?”

  “This can’t be true. I don’t even want my part of the money. Just leave me out of this -- like it never happened.”

  “You can’t quit now. Rollo, my man, in the eyes of the law you’re just as guilty as I am. So from now on you’ll be working for me. I’m an easy going boss and the pay is good. Who knows, you might even learn to like it.”

  The post-crime activities did not take long. The clothes and ski masks were burned. It was a nice clean package with no witnesses to complicate things.

  Jinky had his alibi. “I spent the afternoon with my girlfriend,” he said. “Yours is even simpler.”

  “How’s that?” Rollo was still in shock.

  “No one knows about you and me. Everyone knows you are leaving the old house. So you were busy getting ready for the move. You know packing and shit.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “And make sure we don’t run into each other for a few days. We’ll know by then what’s going on with the cops. In the meantime, the junkies will have to wait for their medicine to get back on the streets. Then they’ll be more than willing to pay the increased prices my business will be charging. This is going to be a real money-maker.”

  “I’m not going to be in the drug business,” Rollo protested.

  “Not asking you to. I have my network pretty well set up with people that know how to work it.”

  “Then what are you expecting from me?” Rollo realized Jinky was pulling the strings, at least for now.

  “You’re a strong athletic-type guy. Since your career as linebacker has come to a sudden end, I need your muscles to head up my collection department and keep my employees in line.”

  “Your body guard?”

  “No, I’ve got Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson to handle that.” Jinky pointed to his hand gun and offered a knowing laugh. “Your job is to see that I have no bad debts and that nobody working for me decides to go into business on their own. Got it?”

  “I won’t be living here for long. Maybe I’ll be moving out of town or out of state. Being a gangster is not what I had in mind.”

  “That all changed today. I need your help and expect to get it. It may not always be that way but for now it is.” He handed Rollo his half of the money retrieved from the drug house. “Twenty grand ain’t a bad afternoon’s work. You’ll have your mother’s bills paid for in no time.”

  “I’d appreciate your leaving my mother out of this.” Rollo tried to remain controlled in spite of his anger.

  “No harm meant. Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk in a couple of days. You’ll be feeling better by then.” Jinky knew he must keep an eye on his new employee but figured he could do that while using Rollo’s services to help expand his business operations.

  Before going home, Rollo picked up a fifth of booze. It was a premium brand compared to the crap he found in his mother’s cupboard.

  “A long shower will wash away the grime from today and a couple of drinks will help me forget about my new problems,” he muttered. “Just a few days ago I was facing a pile of debt. Now I’m looking at a mountain of trouble that goes far beyond money.”

  He didn’t eat much but had more than enough to drink that night. Sleep offered little rest while Rollo tossed and turned in and out of an endless series of disturbing dreams.

  “Are you ready to do the right thing?” the voice said. “Go to the police. Tell them about the mistake you made by going to the drug house but that you had no knowledge of the plan this man, Jinky, had to murder those men and take over the narcotics business. Help the police with their investigation before it’s too late. You’ll have to suffer the consequences of your actions, but you will not be drawn deeper into the man’s criminal activities. Do not wait. Take the appropriate action now.”

  Rollo woke up with a start. “Maybe I ought to go to the cops and get this over with. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me,” he said in the darkness. “But since Jinky is the only one who knows about my part in this thing, I wouldn’t have to go to jail if he were out of the picture,” Rollo concluded. “It’s either Jinky or me.”

  It took a week, a very long week, before Jinky called Rollo to set up a meeting. “Meet me in Pontiac at one o’clock. There’s a bar across from the old Silverdome, pull into the lot behind the place, and we’ll have drinks in the back room. The place will probably be empty. But we can’t be too careful can we?”

  Jinky was sipping vodka on the rocks when Rollo arrived a few minutes before one. He motioned for his new employee to take a seat at the table.

  Rollo surveyed the room. It was dark, not from the lack of lights but because the back room had no windows and was paneled in a shabby old wood that needed to be washed down or repainted. The table was made of a nondescript wood and the wooden chairs looked to be older than the bar building itself. With country music playing in the background, Rollo felt as if he had entered an old west saloon or a beer bar on a back road in modern day Texas. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “What are you drinking?” Jinky asked.

  “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  “Once a jock always a jock. Are you still in training or what?”

  “Training for what? I just don’t want a drink. Okay?”

  “Don’t be so touchy. Have a drink. It’ll take the edge off. We have lots to talk about. No sense being up tight when we discuss business.”

  “You know I don’t really want to be here. So, maybe you’re right. I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Big things are about to happen. You and I have to make a little trip across state and down to Michigan City to pick up some primo drugs.”

  “I didn’t sign on for the dru
g business.”

  “You signed on for whatever I need you to do.”

  “Aren’t the police investigating the murders at the drug house? This could put us on their radar. Isn’t it better to lay low?” Rollo could not believe he was using gangster lingo. Had he crossed the line without putting up a fight? He hated what was happening to him.

  “The cops are all over the case. Word on the street is they think it’s an inside job. So using traditional suppliers might lead them to us. But there’s a bunch of sick addicts out there who are looking to get well.”

  “So why are we going to Indiana?”

  “We’re picking up enough junk to last for a few weeks. By then, the cops should have a couple of the dealer’s lieutenants charged with his murder or something. And I’ll be the guy who came in from the outside, filled the void and kept the lid on things in our part of Detroit. Maybe I’ll get an award or something for being a good citizen.”

  “That’ll be a ceremony I want to see.” Rollo laughed. It was the first time he remembered doing it in months.

  “Drink up. We’ve got to get on the road if we want to be in Michigan City for dinner. Shouldn’t take more than four hours. We’ll grab a bite. Pick up the stuff. And be back here around midnight.”

  “Why come back here?”

  “We’ll drive there in my car. There’s a van waiting for us loaded with goodies. You’ll drive it back and drop it off at the warehouse I just rented. Then I’ll bring you here to get your car. And we’ll both be able to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Jinky had it all mapped out, yet Rollo could not help but wonder about the man’s true intensions. Before long they were going south on Route 75. They didn’t talk much on the way to the 94 or when driving across the state as the highway turned down toward Michigan City, a quiet town in the upper corner of Indiana near the stateline.

  “Right on schedule,” Jinky said as they came close to their destination. “Let’s stop and get something to eat.”

  “I’m pretty hungry. Any good places around here.”

  “In Michigan City? You must be kidding.”

  “Find a place with lots of trucks parked outside. That means good basic food at decent prices.”

  “Hey, with the money you’ll be making there’s no need to worry about the cost. The sign says there’s a truck stop ahead. We’ll pull in there.”

  “Now I could use a nap,” Rollo said. “The meatloaf special dinner hit the spot.”

  “The chicken pot pie was better than average. But don’t go getting too comfortable over there. We’ll be meeting up with our guys in a couple of minutes.”

  Jinky left the freeway. The off ramp dumped them into an old and mostly deserted industrial area. They drove through it and then onto a stretch of road with no street lights bordered only by an occasional empty building interspersed with parcels of land overgrown with weeds. After a couple of miles, Jinky turned into a small industrial complex and stopped in front of a small factory-type building that looked abandoned as did the neighboring structures. Rollo surmised this was not the first time his new boss had been to this out-of-the-way location.

  After blinking the high beams a couple of times, the giant metal doors opened. They drove in. The doors quickly closed behind them. Rollo did not like the feeling of impending danger that began to envelope him.

  “Glad to see ya, fellas,” Jinky said. He jumped out of the car. “Everything ready to roll? This is the guy who will be driving the van.” He pointed to Rollo still in the passenger seat and walked to the vehicle where three men were standing.

  Jinky opened the double backdoors of the nondescript van. He leaned over to examine the contents of one of the boxes on the floor. Before he could open the first box, one of the men pulled a gun from his coat pocket and fired a single shot into the back of Jinky’s head. The dead man lunged forward and crumpled in a heap. The wound where the hollow-point bullet entered the skull was not big, but the ammunition expanded upon impact and left a gapping hole in the front of Jinky’s head when it exited. Blood flowed over the floor of the van and brain matter was splattered onto the cargo Jinky had intended to take back to Detroit.

  Before exiting the car, Jinky had placed his gun on the driver’s seat to avoid any problems in case of a pat down. Instinctively Rollo reacted to the murder that had just occurred by grabbing the gun and flinging the door open. He ran toward the huge doors through which they entered the building. The other men began firing at Rollo, but he used his football training to safely run a broken path to the end of the building.

  Rollo slipped in a small pool of gasoline before reaching the small service door. The gun began to slip from his grasp. As he tried to tighten his grip, Rollo inadvertently squeezed the trigger and discharged a single shot but the bullet ricocheted away, inflicting no damage. The recoil, however, caused the gun to fall from his hand and slide across the concrete floor. Rather than stop to retrieve the weapon, he kept moving.

  He grabbed the door handle, pushed down on it, and burst into the darkness of the overcast night. Rollo ran as fast as he could, staying close to the other buildings so he would not be an easy target for his pursuers. The gunmen were not far behind when the chase began, but Rollo was fast and his endurance was that of a trained athlete; he easily out-distanced them. Soon he was out of the complex and onto the road.

  After traveling a half-mile or so, Rollo noticed headlights coming from the direction he just left. He went off to the side and hid behind a cluster of rusted 55-gallon chemical drums. The car inched its way along the road while flashlights from inside the vehicle scanned the area. Rollo was certain his heart would jump out of his chest as he remained as still as possible when the car came close to his hiding place. After what seemed an eternity to him, the search ended and the vehicle retreated in the direction from which it came.

  Rollo ran in the direction of the freeway hoping to find someone or someplace so he could report the murder and get police help. He was scared. So scared that he did not consider the possibility that criminal charges might be filed against him for his part in this drug deal that went so terribly wrong.

  Looking over his shoulder every few yards seemed like the right thing to do. This slowed down his progress, but it gave him some sense of security. During one such glimpse, Rollo saw the sky behind him light up as a ball of fire rose into the night. Rollo was certain this was happening at the location where he had been and the fire was set by those wanting to kill him.

  The lights of the freeway were now insight. He would get to the other side and look for some signs of life. If there was none he would go onto the highway and flag down a truck before his pursuers got back on his trail.

  Before he reached his destination two fire trucks with lights and horns going turned onto the road and whizzed past him. Not far behind them was a county sheriff’s patrol car. Rollo jumped onto the shoulder and waved his arms franticly. The vehicle screeched to a stop.

  “That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” the deputy shouted. “Can’t you see I’m going to a fire?”

  “Well, somebody is trying to kill me and I think they set the fire too.”

  “Jump in the back.” The officer clicked the unlock button and Rollo scrambled in. With the siren wailing and lights flashing they quickly arrived at the scene. As suspected, the building from which Rollo had escaped was engulfed in flames.

  “You stay close to me,” the deputy said. It was more of a command than a warning. Rollo had no intention of leaving his side. He feared the killers could be in the crowd until he realized there was no crowd - only the firefighters, the deputy, and him.

  Several minutes passed while the deputy watched the fire dwindle as the firefighters used their equipment to dowse the flames. He turned to Rollo and said, “Okay. Now what do you know about the fire? And who’s trying to kill you?”

  Rollo realized that telling the whole story could result in big trouble for him, both here and back in Detroit. He told a different version
of the story saying that the murder victim was an acquaintance from his neighborhood and was going to pay him to drive the truck back home and that he had no idea that drugs were involved until it was too late. The officer made notes then talked to the fire chief.

  A firefighter pointed to a handgun lying outside the building. The officer bagged it and asked, “Recognize this?”

  “Yes. It looks like the one Jinky had.”

  “Why was he carrying a gun?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “Oh no sir. I never even fired one.” Rollo wished he had not volunteered his last comment, because he knew the gun in the baggie had his prints on it.

  “Please step over to the car and place your hands on the hood.” The cop patted him down. “Okay, where is the guy who belongs to this gun?”

  “They killed him.”

  “Who?”

  “Jinky. They tried to kill me too but I escaped.”

  “And just who are they?”

  “I don’t know, but they were the ones with the van I was supposed to drive back to Detroit.”

  “Do you know where the van is?”

  “Inside the building.” Rollo pointed to the building that had been on fire. Before he could continue another firefighter came over to the deputy and whispered in his ear.

  “Did you know there was a body in the van?”

  “I was going to tell you about it. Jinky is the guy they murdered. It’s a long story.”

  “Please put your hands behind your back.” The cuffs went on. “Not too tight are they? We’re going back to the station so you can tell your story to the folks in homicide.” Rollo was assisted into the back seat and the patrol car drove away.

  “Did you tell me the complete story?” the public defender asked.

  “Look there’s no reason for me to lie now that all the testimony is over. This whole thing was put together by the police. They need to close the case and I’m the fall-guy. I can’t explain everything but neither can they.” Rollo said.

  “Whether you like it or not, they have enough evidence to put you away for a long, long time. Depending on the jury it could be worse.”