I'm Dead

I’m Dead.

Part 1: The Break-In Surprise

Tucked in a few steps from busy 18th, Tchai and Pog took another hit of courage Vapor pouring out of their maws, they chuckled how easy this was going to be. Tchai took another hit, let it out and added, “Yuh. I seen the guy lock up. Shud be easy. Break, reach around and turn the lock.”

Pog looked at him, head cocked. “Yuh. No one’ll be there. But just in case.” He pulled out the special he got from his cousin..

The two teens put away the vape and special and headed to the halal butcher, Tchai with hammer in hand. They stopped in front, nonchalantly looking around. Tchai looked both ways on 18th. Only a couple of cars now. He swung the hammer out wide and just as he came down on the big front window, they heard loud voices arguing, coming from inside. The right side of the plate glass shattered, shards going in all directions.

Inside, two dark figures screamed–a wild orgy of noise and struggled. One held an item high; they other, slightly taller and clothed entirely in black, scrambled to wrest it from him, all the while screaming, “Hand it to me, you thief.”

Tchai and Pog stood in silent awe for a nano second. Pog brought out his special and fired it in the air. The two struggling figures stopped briefly, then one of them, who seemed to be female, snatched the item and brought it down hard into the torso of the other. Pog aimed and shot again, this time at the two inside. One of the dark figures dropped to the floor and the other screamed and fled to the back of the store.

The two teens, scared shitless, ran out the broken window and up 18th.

Part 2: The Call

A few blocks away in an even grittier part of Adams Morgan, Franck sat in half dark of the Scott PI office. Franck hovering over the police scanner, trolling for work. The phone erupted and Franck jumped. Scrambling, he turned down the scanner and answered. Before he said a word, a British-accented female voice broke the silence. “I need your services.”

Before Franck could make any inquiry as to who she was or her goal, she blurted out, “You have been recommended as being discrete.” (Ha! Thought Franck. Discrete my ass, we have no choice but to be discrete since we have no work.)

“Sure. We’re discrete. Tell me more.”

1 The caller described a special item that she needed to retrieve. NOW, she emphasized. Before the police get there. She gave him the address and repeated it was urgent.

Franck assured her they can get on it now but wanted to know about payment. Silence met the inquiry. He said, “Hello. Hello.”

“I assure you,” came the presented-pronunciation of a non-native, “you will be paid.” Silence filled the next few seconds. “Now, here is what I need back.” She described it to Franck.

Franck called his partner, out in the field. “I’ll text you the address. Get there now. I’ll be parked a few 100 feet from the spot. Pam, go!”

Part 3: Indelicate.

Pam parked down the block and walked to the spot, the gaping hole greeting her. The door was open. She gingerly strolled into the dimly lit butcher shop, crunching on the shards and splinters of broken glass. Then, she saw him.

“Well, what do we have here?”

I’m dead.

“Humph. I can see your dead. What happened to you, my friend?”

Look under my arm.

“I don’t see anything and I am standing right over you. Shit. Sirens.”

I told you. Look under my arm.

“Nothing on your face or neck. Not a tear or hole anywhere in your stunning bespoke. C’mon, friend.”

More sirens. She cocked her head to the broken window. Not far.

“We gotta hurry They’re getting closer.”

It’s under my arm.

“You know, my friend, you really are not helping me figure this out. Ok. Let me see.”

She reached down. “God, I don’t wanna touch you. Let me snap these on first.” She put on gloves. “Let see what happened under the right arm, friend.”

2 No, you idiot–the other arm.

“Nothing. Ok, you’re right. The left arm and...what do we have here?”

Pull it out. Now. Keep it.

“This is grand.” She paused a moment, shaking her blond mane, rolling her dark eyes back. “Just grand.”

Keep it. Hide it.

She lifted up the left arm and saw the jeweled hilt sticking out of his torso. “Shit!” She gasped. Franck described it but the words did not do it justice. She pulled it out and thick blood, held back by the hilt, oozed out and then gushed.

Ah, thank you. I can let more out now that you pulled it out. Oh, a lot more.

“What did you do, friend, to deserve this long serrated point? She asked, touching his brow. “Don’t answer that.”

A dark pool began spreading towards her shoes.

She held up the bejeweled weapon, staring at it in awe. Headlights from the heavy stream of traffic bounced around the interior of the shop and shreds of light coming through the broken front window hit the rubies, emeralds and star sapphires adorning the hilt. She gasped at the spectacle.

Looking down, she waved the dagger around and quizzed her companion. “My friend, I’m sure about one thing. She did not mean to leave this and you should not have even had it.”

Cocking her head to get a better look at his face. It showed surprise–eyes and mouth wide open. “What happened that made her leave this behind?”

Her cell vibrated. “Wait a sec, hon.” She stepped back out of the way of the flow and tapped the phone. Looking down at him, she hissed apologetically, “Gotta take this call,”

Turning around for a modicum of irrelevant privacy, she replied, “Yep. Three blocks away?” came her tobacco-hoarse shout. The muffled voice of the caller parked just a couple of doors away answered that he could see the flashing lights coming up 18th–must be at about T.

3 You have to go, Now!

“What? When did she call?” She looked down at the spreading pool and stepped back a few more inches. “Jesus, it’s gushing out,” she screeched.

You have to go.

With tenuous patience, she listened. “Yep. Uh, huh. What? She listened then admonished the caller,“Tell her I found him. Wait. Wait. Wait. No.” She paused and then peering over her shoulder, “She already knows where he is. Tell her nothing...yet.”

The crimson pool widened and slipped under her right boot. She looked down, “Damn!”

She looked around for paper or something. “Cain’t leave a trace, my friend,” she twanged. She spied a torn sheet of smelly butcher paper a couple of feet away on the floor. She gingerly stepped through the broken glass from the front window and grabbed it. She wiped the speck of blood touching the tip of the sole of her boot.

Sirens even closer.

You gotta go!! Take it. Hide it. Don’t let her find it.

Looking around again, “now what can I wipe the blade....?”

Bowing her head in deference to her companion, she added, “I’ll keep this safe.” With that, she dropped it into a ziplock evidence bag she’d stuffed into her bag before leaving the office

“What did you do,” she oozed again sympathetically. “Where did you get this?”

Wiping the trace of blood from her boot, she added, “That’ll have to do.” She stuffed the scrap of paper into the bag and bent down one more time.

“Might could be in a world of trouble if I don’t scoot,” came her departing admonition as she glanced down one more time. “See you later, pal.”

Flashing red and blue lights reflected off the butcher shop window. Too late. She pivoted away from the entrance and headed back to interior of the shop. The smell of fat and blood repulsed her. She squeezed by blocks and tables. Knives. Hooks. Finally, at the back. Snippets of flash light beams scanning the store front flickered through the gloom of the back.

4 She tried the door. It budged a bit. She shoved again and it flew open. The force threw her into a tiny, shitty space with a sliver of an outlet and fire escape ladders up. She silently closed the back door. She looked up. The ladder had already been pulled down. So, I’m starting to get the picture. Broken window. Thinking back to the 2010 attempted robbery by two teens who through a brick through the halal butcher shop, surprising the owner who was in the back. No robbery but two murders.

Already on the third rung, she heard them. “Back here,” came the bass voices of the District’s finest.

One more rung, Then, two more. Almost to the roof. Her coat caught on something sharp. Rip. Dammit. She pulled herself up one more rung and threw herself onto the roof. Scrambling, she reached over the edge of the roof and felt where her coat caught. She felt around blindly in the dark and found some fabric. She pulled it away and stuffed it into her pocket. Not leaving any evidence behind.

Cell vibrated. Shit. She pulled it out and tried to silence it.

Part 4: The Fabric.

The pickle was short. She leapt across the sliver of the space between the buildings when she heard the cops starting up the ladder. The next roof and then a fire escape down to the alley just north of the butcher shop. The last part of the ladder would not slide down and she jumped.

Oh, if only my dad could see me now.

Upright, she gathered herself and sprinted to 18, Across the street sat Franck’s wreck of a car. She hurled herself around to the passenger side and slid in.

“Go. NOT FAST, just go.”

Pam checked her coat sleeve. Neither sleeve was torn. She reached into her pocket and found the fabric. Studying it, it came to her that this must be from our client. Oh, this is rich.

“Did she tell you her name?”

“No. But she’s British or ... .”

“Or? Or what?”

“Well, I detected a slight Arabic accent.”

“Arabic? Should we call Dan? He’s the expert.”

5 “Nah, let’s get paid first and then we’ll get the item back to her.” He glanced at her. “She described it to me. Wanna show me?”

Pam pulled out the Ziplock bag and dangled it from of Franck.

“Holy shit? That’s gotta be a stolen piece. You know, I think the caller is someone important...a big muckity muck in antiquities.”

“And a murderer. The dagger was in the torso of some poor slob. Shit. And, now we’re accessories after the fact.”

“We?”

“You’re driving me from the crime scene. We’re not giving this back.”

“And, she’ll come after us.”

“So, she’s the perb and we have the weapon.”

“Ok Sherlock, what are we going to do now?

“Don’t know but keep driving. I’ll think of something... .”

Title: I’m Dead

By: Stephen B. Clemmer

Date: September 25, 2026