Anatomy of a Killer Read Online Free PDF

he is now. What he does.”
    “Yes. And I better mention this,” said Turner. “Kemp’s got a bodyguard.”
    Sandy exhaled with a sound which he covered by tweaking his nose, as if something itched him there. He sounded busy, very preoccupied.
    Jordan did nothing. He had a matchbook in his hand and was playing with that but he had been doing that anyway. The bodyguard thing was a technical matter. He had no reaction to it, except technical interest. “What kind of bodyguard is he?”
    “What kind? What do you mean what kind?”
    Jordan looked at Sandy and Sandy explained it. “Is he just a punk or has he got training, Turner?”
    “Well, he carries a gun. He hangs around all the time and, you know, watches.”
    “You didn’t answer,” said Jordan, and Turner, who very much wished all this were over because he had nothing else to say and what else was there anyway, having met Jordan and seen all there was to see, started to giggle again.
    “I mean, he carries a gun all the time.
You
know. That kind.”
    Sandy sighed a slow sigh. Then he said, “In Pennsylvania. Where they dig coal. And he’s got a gun all the time.
That
kind.” Suddenly he slapped his hands on his thighs and started yelling. “Are you making this up as you go along, Turner, like maybe working up some kind of a comedy routine, or is this supposed to be the report that’ll lay out this Kemp or whatever?”
    “I—what I mean….”
    “Shut up!” Then Sandy sighed again. He stretched back in his chair and said to the ceiling, “Of all the jinxed-up, screwed-up deals that I’ve ever seen.”
    Turner squeaked the bed.
    “Jordan,” said Sandy. “You getting anything out of this?”
    “Yes. A few things.”
    He had a name and a place, and there were two men. He was startled by Sandy’s anger, just as Turner was, though for other reasons. He was impressed that Sandy had spoken up like this, though he wished he had not used the word jinx. And now, maybe, they could break up this meeting and Turner would leave, and perhaps there would be some time to have a beer somewhere, but without Turner.
    Turner said that he was sorry there was nothing else, and why couldn’t Sandy take a reasonable attitude about this the way his friend there, Mister Jordan, was taking it, and the only thing about the bodyguard was, he did not seem to be there because of Kemp’s maybe getting active again, but had been there with him for some time. “You know how those older ones are,” said Turner, “those kingpins, always having somebody hanging around. You know what I mean?”
    “No,” said Sandy. “I don’t.”
    “He means habit,” said Jordan.
    There was a knock on the door and the young man stuck his head in. “Oh,” he said, and smiled at Sandy.
    “Yeah,” said Sandy. “We’re almost done.”
    “I didn’t mean….”
    “That’s all right, that’s all right,” and he got up, stretching.
    “Maybe a drink?” asked the young man.
    “Now that,” said Turner, “would be a fine idea,” and he bustled his papers around and stuffed them into his pocket. “As a matter of fact, there’s a drink I know, what you do is….”
    “Not right now,” said Sandy. “Later.” Then he looked at Jordan and said, “Finish up.”
    “I’m done,” said Jordan, “unless Turner here….”
    “No. I got nothing else.”
    The young man in the door raised his eyebrows at Sandy, and Sandy nodded at him. “Okay,” he said. “We’re done.”
    Then the young man opened the door enough to come in and leaned against the door frame. He smiled at everybody and waited.
    “You’re looking fine,” he said to Jordan. “How you been?”
    “Fine. Thank you.”
    “But tired, huh?”
    “Yes. Some.”
    They all stood around while Turner took his papers out again to refold them, and while Sandy put on his overcoat. Jordan was chewing his cigarette. The party sounds were much clearer now, and with music.
    “Tell you what I’ll do,” said the young man. “How