Dead Guy in the Bathtub

DEAD GUY IN THE BATHTUB

AND OTHER STORIES

The Short Fiction of Paul Greenberg

PRAISE FOR DEAD GUY IN THE BATHTUB AND OTHER STORIES

There is a dark undercurrent in both Paul Green-berg’s works, the darker side of the human condition comes to forebear and rises, ugly in its context and surroundings, which only adds to the beauty of it. Paul is certainly a writer to watch for the future. A prodigal, literary, ticking time bomb. —Craig Douglas, Near to the Knuckle

"From cooking up meth in kitchen sinks to boosting liquor stores by the donut shop, the crooks, punks, and lowlifes in Paul Greenberg’s Dead Guy in the Bathtub and Other Stories might not be the sharpest syringes at the needle exchange but like all the best screw-ups, they have all the best stories to tell." —Joe Clifford, author of the Jay Porter Thriller Series

"Wear a mouthpiece when reading Dead Guy in the Bathtub. Paul Greenberg’s prose packs punch after punch with characters plucked straight from the streets and dropped onto these pages." —Hector Duarte, Jr., author of Desperate Times Call

Copyright © 2018 by Paul Greenberg

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Edited by Rob Pierce and Chris Rhatigan

Cover design by JT Lindroos

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dead Guy in the Bathtub

Instant Karma

Dead Guy in the Bathtub

Bobby’s Big Brain

Cleaning up the Neighborhood

Not on Tony’s List

Mall of Confusion

Next Stop Hell

The Dead Don’t Care

Nice Job if You Can Get It

He Touched Me

The Delivery Man

No Good Deed

Thirty Seconds of Truth

The Legend of Ballsack Billy

Liar, Liar

Dollar Sign on the Baby

Customer Service

Nice Jewish Boy

Mr. Pothole

A Heavy, Pugnacious Character

A Walk on the Wild Side

El Toro’s Last Stand

Acknowledgments

About the Author

The Down & Out Books Publishing Family Library of Titles

Preview from May by Marietta Miles

Preview from Blind Eye by Marcus Pelegrimas

Preview from Second Story Man by Charles Salzberg

To my boys Justin and Evan.

Never give up on your dreams.

Instant Karma

This is the neighborhood where shopping carts go to die. That’s what I thought as I sat in my Chevy, casing the Quick Mart across from the park. If you could call it a park; it was big as a donkey’s dick with one broken bench to sit on. The other adornments were cigarette butts, lottery tickets, and dog shit. The triumvirate of the working poor. I’m sure that if dog shit were redeemable for a nickel, someone would be out here picking it up.

I had watched a steady flow of customers come in and out of the Quick Mart for the past three hours. Mostly carrying twelve packs and pint bottles in paper bags, along with the occasional carton of cigs. When I had mentally calculated eight hundred bucks, I pulled the car in front of the store in the space closest to the door and readied myself for my pregame ritual.

I took a deep breath and had a good fucking cry. The girl from the Quick Mart was giving me the big eye from the window, but who gives a fuck. A good cry cleanses my soul and rids me of all my bullshit. A good cry is better than going to confession or Zen or TM or primal scream therapy. For me a good ten minutes of bone-shaking, gut-wrenching weeping makes all the difference. I cry then I’m ready for the task at hand.

I exited my car, put a finger to one nostril and shot off a gigantic snot rocket. Then I entered the Quick Mart. I looked around, swung to my right, and put a bullet in the head of the maggot flipping through the pornos, swung to my left and the gal at the register was already loading a bag with cash for me.

I took the cash and a couple of protein bars for the ride. Listened to the silence for a few seconds, gave the gal a two-fingered salute and hit the road.

I don’t know how the cops got onto me so soon but I had two cruisers surrounding me by the time I got to the first traffic light out of town.

I gave it up and they brought me to jail, booked me and walked me to my cell. I had a lot to think about. This wasn’t one of my smartest heists. I’m probably not getting out of this one. Maybe I’ve popped my last big boner. Shit, I’m going to Hell, that’s one thing I knew. That’s where I’d finally get my taste of karma.

I was about to stretch out on the cot when I heard two sets of feet slapping the concrete. My cell opened and the guard pushed in a six-foot-seven, four-hundred-pound bruiser, uglier than my mother’s tits.

The guard said, Here you go Hymie, meet Mr. Sensitive. He likes to sit in his car and cry right before blowing someone’s head off. Nice guy. You’ll love him. The cop locked the cell and walked off. Hymie stood over me kind of swaying back and forth until he said, Sensitive, huh? That’s so sweet. And he pulled down the fly of his pants. Talk about instant karma. I couldn’t help but cry.

Back to TOC

Dead Guy in the Bathtub

Jim Swagger was sitting at a card table playing solitaire as I entered the safe house on West Slaughter Avenue.

There’s a dead guy in the bathtub, he said, "so if that type of thing offends you, I suggest you piss in that bucket over there and if you have to take a shit, be my guest to grab a roll of toilet paper and head for the woods out back.

Me, I don’t mind the company when I’m in the shitter, he said, as long as the company doesn’t start to stink more than I do.

I took a peek in the bathroom. A freshly dead Tom Hinkins lay there staring at the ceiling.

I closed the door and instinctively felt for the snubnose jammed in the back of my pants. All I had to do was wait for Mitch Lavoie to show up with the money. In a half hour I would have my cash and I’d never see this ugly fuck again.

You’re probably wondering how I came to kill Hinkins, Swagger said. "It’s simple. That boy could not be trusted. I knew from the start we should never have brought him into this. No experience. And stupid? He couldn’t find the bell in an ice cream truck.

"When we got here, I got him to admit that he told some hooker we had this score goin’ down. Couldn’t be trusted. I had to get rid of him. So, I put one into the back of his head as he sat down to watch the Powder Puff Girls or whatever the fuck.

Dragged him into the can and dumped him in the tub. It was a bitch and a half to do, I don’t mind telling you.

I sat down on a chair not covered in brains, picked up the remote, and turned down the volume on the Power Rangers. Got up again and headed to the fridge for a beer, found only a Dr. Pepper and something greenish, maybe a half-eaten double chalupa.

I should get his share, seeing that I was the one that brought this job to you boys in the first place, Swagger said.

I checked my watch, got up, took a look out the window, thought about using the bathroom, took a haul off the Dr. Pepper, picked up the remote and started channel surfing until I found Humphrey Bogart in The Caine Mutiny.

I think we got a good team, the three of us, Swagger said. You’re an ace of a driver and with Mitch and I doing the heavy lifting, after we lay low for a bit, we should try another job. I know some drug dealing maggots in Cleveland that always have a ton of cash on hand.

A car pulled into the driveway and I looked out the window.

That’ll be Mitch, alright. That boy is all about punctuality. I knew it that first time I met him. Punctual as fuck. You can’t beat that. Punctuality is a sign of loyalty, did you know that? That’s what my Moms always told me.

Mitch came in with a satchel and put it in front of Swagger, wrecking his card game.

Jack and I were just talking about our next score, Swagger said as Mitch was pulling fat stacks of cash out of the bag. What do you say to another gig somewhere down the line?

Mitch looked at me as I pulled my snubnose from my pants.

What do you think, Jack? said Mitch. I pulled the trigger, putting a bullet right through Swagger’s left eye.

Love to. Now, help me get this asshole to the bathtub.

Back to TOC

Bobby’s Big Brain

Your brain is way too big for that haircut, joked Cassie.

I had to admit that with the sides as tight as they were my forehead appeared like a billboard with nothing on it.

Jenna from Supercuts laughed as she was finishing me up, rubbing gel in my hair, while Cassie critiqued and waited patiently. As Jenna swept back the smock, Cassie walked over to the window and did a quick look back and forth. She gave me a thumbs up sign—the street and the strip mall were quiet.

I thanked