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Gilman is a cop that writes crime fiction. His stories have appeared in a variety of internet crime magazines including Thuglit, Demolition, Orchard Press Mysteries and Blazing Adventures Magazine. His flash fiction is featured at Muzzle Flash and MFOB. He has work coming to the second edition of Out of the Gutter Magazine and Issue #3 of The PulpPusher. His first novel is right around the block.

The Condiment King by Keith Gilman

I had the lunch special, a piece of hot sausage on a hard roll with a side of macaroni salad. Tomorrow, it would be something different like clam chowder or chile with garlic bread. I'd been eating at Ralph's Deli for over twenty years and always had the special.

Ralph still referred to me as Officer Steelman, though I'd been retired from the force for close to five years. He'd say it loud enough for the other customers to hear, let them know there was a cop in the place. I didn't mind too much when I was in uniform. Now, it was a pain in the ass.

I helped myself to a can of iced tea from the cooler and took a seat at the counter.

"Well, look who it is, Officer Steelman."

"Don't sound so surprised, Ralph."

"Dotty, take care of Officer Steelman."

Dotty already had a hefty slice of meat sizzling on the grill. She knew how I liked it, with melted cheese, smothered in ketchup. Dotty was Ralph's wife and she's the one who had crowned me "the Condiment King."

Dotty winked at me, put the sandwich onto a paper plate and dropped it in front of me. I thumbed through yesterday's newspaper and tried to keep the ketchup off my shirt.

There weren't many people in the place: a public works crew, a couple of trash men, a few women from the linen supply up the street…the usual crowd.

Ralph had a table set up in the back where he kept his book and a phone that never stopped ringing. Ralph made more money taking bets than he did off the deli. According to Ralph, one hand washes the other and he made no distinction between dirty money and clean. Money was money. It was all good and it was all green.

***

I liked to bet baseball, especially when the Phillies were hot. Everybody bet football. I usually did pretty good but I'd been on a losing streak lately and was into Ralph for about ten grand. I was also into Ralph's wife, which was turning into a bet I couldn't pay off.

It started about a month ago. A guy walks in, points a gun at Ralph's nose and tells him to cough up the cash. I should have stayed out of it, should have known better, but old habits are hard to break. I don't even know why I still carried that hunk of metal on my hip but there it was, cold and heavy in my hand.

The guy never had a chance. His choices were to either drop the gun or die. He chose death.

The holdup got Ralph real paranoid. He kept plenty of cash on hand and his operation was no secret. Ralph needed security and he figured out a way to get it. It would be a way for me to work off my gambling debts, good honest work.

Dotty would make a deposit every afternoon. I'd escort her to the bank. Ralph couldn't leave the store. We started working a little cocktail into our routine and then it was back to her place.

I felt guilty at first––Ralph's bed, Ralph's wife, Ralph's money, Ralph's food. Dotty only mentioned it once, lying naked on her bed.

"So, you're working for Ralph now."

"I guess so."

"How long is that going to last?"

"Until I'm paid up."

She laughed.

***

Dotty began getting ideas, the kind of ideas that made our business trips into more than just a way to kill a couple hours. She put it to me quite simply. She had the cash, the key to the safety deposit box, control of the bank account and last but not least, she had me.

She planned it all out. It was set to go down on Friday, Ralph's busiest day. The coffers were full and he'd be hung up on the phone. We'd have a few hours head start. She was doing all the talking. I just bit my lip.

The special on Friday was a fish patty on a bun, French fries and cole slaw. Dotty killed it with tartar sauce but I lost my appetite. We were ready for our afternoon run. Before we left, Ralph wanted to talk to me, at his table in the back.

"Dotty's cheating on me."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. And she's skimming money too."

"I'm sorry, Ralph."

"What are you sorry about?"

"I feel bad."

"So do I. I want her dead."

"Ralph, you're kidding."

"Am I laughing? Do this for me and we're even. You won't owe me nothing. I'll owe you. You're a cop. You know how to stage these things. Take her to the house, make it look like an accident, a robbery like we had a couple months ago. Call me when it's done."

Dotty was a little suspicious when I wanted to stop before hitting the road but I made it sound like I needed to have her one more time. She liked the idea. Her blouse was off before she took two steps in the door. I still wasn't sure if I could pull it off, with her all over me, and all that money in neat hundred-dollar bills. I wanted it both ways and knew it wouldn't work.

I put a bullet in that beautiful brain of hers and left her right where she fell. I called Ralph, hoping he'd never know just how many problems one bullet could solve. I walked out the door, the suitcase full of cash in my hand. I hesitated for a moment, took a breath of fresh air, and heard the sirens, coming fast, growing louder like a song stuck in my head that I just couldn't place.

THE END