“What … the fuck … is happening?” he asks. I want to remind him that he’s a smart guy, he can probably figure it out. But I chew my lip and just wait for him to voice a few conclusions. “Did you … kill him?” “Umm, yes. But he’s not a good guy.” “And you called me to help you to what … get rid of him?” I shrug. “I got a little stuck. And you specifically said, ‘Any trouble whatsoever, call me.’ This is ‘trouble whatsoever.’” “I didn’t mean killing someone and disposing of their body.” “I did the killing part. I just need a little help with the disposal.”
