Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead Read Online Free PDF

direction of the back room and he starts to pick his way over. Someone steps out of the
     bathroom. I quickly pop in and stand just inside, the door half-open. A guy tries to crowd
     in.
    --Occupied.
    He looks at me standing there clearly not using the can for its intended purpose.
    --C'mon, man, I got to take a leak.
    --Go piss in your shoe, Jack.
    He opens his mouth to say something else and I take a step toward him. I stand six three
     and go two hundred and change. He lines up for the ladies' room. Just then Philip sashays
     by looking around for whatever kind of chick would be buying him a drink. I grab a fistful
     of his pink Rayon shirt with a black cat motif, drag him into the John and kick the door
     closed. He spills his Scotch and stares at it on the floor.
    --What the fuck!
    Then he looks up and sees that it's me.
    --Oh, Joe. Jesus, Joe, what happened to your face, man?
    And I start twisting his neck, trying to decide if I should pop his head off.
    The thing is, it's not as easy to pop off someone's head as you might think. I settle for
     forcing his face into the toilet bowl and flushing it a couple times. He comes up gasping.
    --The hair, man, the hair!
    I slam him against the wall.
    --That the only thing on your mind, Phil, your hair?
    --Why would I have anything on my mind, Joe? You know me, I don't like to think, it just
     gets me in trouble.
    --You got that right, buddy. Hey, I ever thank you for that call this morning?
    He looks a little confused at my change in tone.
    --Uh, no, no you didn't.
    --Well, hell, that was sure inconsiderate of me.
    I reach in my pocket, grab a few bills and tuck them into the breast pocket of his shirt.
    --Well thanks, Joe, but you don't gotta do that.
    Automatically, he has pulled a comb out of the back pocket of his painted-on black jeans
     and started to poke at his hair, trying to resculpt it.
    --No, I do. I owe you one there. That was good looking out, letting me know the heat was on
     like that. Too bad I got a call from uptown just about a second later.
    His hands are on automatic pilot, crawling over the gooey mound on top of his head.
    --Yeah? Sorry I couldn't give you more of a lead there.
    --Ya know the real drag about all this, Phil?
    --Aw, man, don't call me Phil, ya know I hate it.
    --You're right. Philip. I'm sorry. Ya know the real drag about this, Philip?
    He's got one hand above his head holding the pomp in place while his Other hand digs in
     his back pocket for his can of pomade. He's staring straight up so he can keep an eye on
     the overhang while the restoration continues.
    --Naw, man, what's the real drag?
    I grab a huge greasy handful of his hair and jerk him up onto his tiptoes.
    --It's the way they made me crawl up there in the middle of the day. The way Dexter Predo
     knew all about the carrier when I hadn't told anyone but you. The way you called me first
     thing when you heard about the mess, like you already knew I was involved. That makes me
     wonder if maybe you were spying on me. Which makes me wonder if maybe you were spying on
     me for Predo and the fucking Coalition.
    I let him drop to the floor, his pomp a hopeless ruin, and turn to the sink to wash the
     grease off my hands. Philip sits on the floor, hair finally forgotten.
    --Jesus, Joe, you crazy or somethin'? Me spyin' for the Coalition? I mean, hey, even if I
     would do somethin' like that, you know them tight-asses wouldn't have me on the regular
     payroll or nothin'. You know that. I mean sure, maybe I pick up some change from them, I
     got a loose piece of information or they got somethin' shitty ta be done or somethin'. But
     spyin'? Hell, they got pros for that. And even sayin' I wanted ta spy for the
     Coa-fucking-lition, and even saying they would have me, I wouldn't never take a job ta spy
     on
    
    
     you,
    
    
     Joe. That's just something I wouldn't never do, you know that. Ya got ta know that.
    I turn from the sink, wiping my hands on a paper