Framed for Murder

The second I saw the body I knew I’d been set up. Someone had done a number on the guy and I’d blindly walked in on the scene thinking I was delivering a message to him. The message was from a man I didn’t know who was willing to pay me enough to make it worth my while. Of course, given my living situation at the moment, ten dollars would have been enough and he’d given me four times that, with the promise of another forty dollars when I’d completed the job. Why did I have the feeling that the second forty wasn’t going to happen?

My name is Charles English, Charlie to my friends—of which I have very few at the moment—and I’m just past my thirty-eighth birthday.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but when this all began I was sitting on the sidewalk beside a restaurant, looking for handouts. A necessity, since I didn’t have a job. Haven’t had one since the company I worked for closed its doors well over two years ago. You’d think there would be plenty of other places that would want to hire a decent plumber with good recommendations. Not even. Hell, as far as that went, finding any job seemed to be a no-go in this economy. Not for a guy my age, anyway. With no job, I couldn’t pay the rent on my apartment, or put gas in my car—which hadn’t been in the best of shape to begin with. I dumped the car for a few hundred dollars so I could eat and pay for a room at a cheap motel. When that was gone, I’d ended up on the streets.

Anyway, today I was at my usual spot on the street, in an area with restaurants catering to the working class, cheek-by-jowl with liquor and convenience stores, and two mom-and-pop groceries. I’d been panhandling, not doing too badly. I’ve discovered people who aren’t rich tend to be more giving than the ones who dine at fancy restaurants and shop in exclusive stores. It was early evening, barely beginning to get dark, and the temperature was falling. Not surprising, since it’s only a month or so until winter hits. Not something I was looking forward to.

I was about to pack it in, since I’d made enough to eat at a cheap diner I frequent occasionally, when I saw this dude walking toward me. He didn’t really fit the neighborhood. He was well-dressed, wearing gloves, a nice overcoat, and a hat like the ones my dad used to own. He called them fedoras. The man paused a few yards away, studying me. I heard him say, under his breath, “He’ll do.” I half expected him to proposition me. It happens. Not that I take anyone up on it. I’m not that desperate and never will be—I hope.

To my surprise, the man dropped a couple of dollars in my cup and then looked at me, nodding his head.

“I’d like you to deliver a message for me,” he said. “I’ll pay you more than you probably make in a week of begging on the streets.”

“Me?” I tapped my chest. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” The man took an envelope from his coat pocket.

“You do realize I’m hardly dressed for going into a neighborhood like this,” I told him after reading the address.

Rather than walking away, the man took out his wallet and handed me several bills. “This should cover going over there—” he pointed to a near-new shop, “—to buy clean jeans that don’t look like you’ve been living in them for the past six months.” I frowned at his description. Sure, my jeans had seen better days, but they weren’t ratty. “Buy a new jacket, too. Keep it zipped and you’ll be fine. Make it quick, though. The sooner you deliver this the better. When you get to the house, go around to the back door and ask for him.” He tapped the name on the envelope with one gloved finger.

I whistled when I saw how much the man had given me. “Must be one important message.”

“It is. Deliver it, and there will be another forty for you.”

Meaning if I shopped cheap, I’d end up with maybe seventy dollars. Damn.

I quickly pocketed the money before the man changed his mind, asking, “Where should I meet you, once I’ve delivered it?” So I can get the rest of my money,I thought, although I didn’t say it aloud.

“I’ll find you,” the man replied before walking away.

“Yeah, bet me,” I muttered. Not that I was complaining. I had forty dollars I hadn’t had five minutes ago. If that’s all I’d get for the job, I was good with it.