Suckers - J.A. Konrath

"So we're going to call the cops, right?" I asked.
"I'm thinking no."
"Then can we at least get out of here? I'm not real comfortable hanging around a dead
body."
"What part of the corpse is bothering you? Is it the ripped-out throat? I bet it's the ripped-out
throat."
"I take it that 'respect for the dead' is not a phrase you use on a regular basis?"
He titled his head. "You know, if I look at the wound on an angle, it reminds me of a
stripper I know."
I amended my "complete asshole" assessment to include the words "from hell."
"So this is where we part ways, slowly drift apart, and eventually fail to keep in touch
altogether, right?" I asked.
"No dice, Andrew Moron. We gotta search the place. I’m looking for a girl, not a naked
dead guy."
I glanced at the corpse and slapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh, God..."
"What?"
"There's a roach crawling out of his mouth..." I dropped to all fours and dry heaved.
Harry shook his head. "I thought you Florida guys were cool with roaches. You call them
palmetto bugs, right? It was probably laying eggs in his—"
I spun around and threw a punch that struck him in the stomach. He let out a loud
"oooomph!" as he staggered backwards a step, tripped over the dead hand, and then landed buttfirst
on the corpse. The sound was unbelievably disgusting and does not warrant a phonetic
description.
"Aaahhhhh!!!" Harry cried out in a most refreshing sissy-like manner. I punched him in the
face, knocking him flat on his back. His butt remained seated on the corpse. The gun remained in
his hand.
He sat up a bit and pointed the gun at me. I was pretty sure that Harry McGlade was the kind
of guy who would indeed shoot an innocent person such as myself, so I dove at him before he
could pull the trigger.
I landed on top of him and we struggled frantically for control of the weapon. Punches were
thrown. Head-butts were exchanged. Obscenities were uttered. I'd been in vicious fights before,
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