Jimar got back to me with my cut of the truck deal that evening. When asked what he did with the dead body, he chuckled.
“Off loaded the whole box from the bed of the truck into the dude’s front yard. As soon as that was done, I drove it to the chop shop.”
I said, “It would be funny to be around when the guy woke up and thought he was leaving for work, or for wherever he’d planned to dump the body.”
“Get yourself dead,” Jimar said.
“He’d never see me. I want to know where he’ll take it.” I was thinking of taking pictures and blackmail, but I didn’t say that part out loud. Didn’t want Jimar stealing my ideas. He’d brought cocaine and had spread two lines on my mirror. He used one of the fifty dollar bills he’d gotten from the truck deal and snorted a line. I watched him. I wasn’t sure about his dealer. I didn’t like putting anything up my nose unless I knew the source. When he seemed fine, I leaned over and partook.
“So, what now?” I asked. I’d propped my feet up on the coffee table and had my hands behind my head. I was feeling good.
“We could do it,” Jimar said.
I tried not to snicker, but he heard me before I could get a grip.