The Dead King - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,2

dead when they put him in there. Who knows? But it was all filled with water.” She spoke into the phone. “Hello? Yeah, hi. I’m over at the container port…”

As Rosie explained the situation to the police, my mind was drawn to the dead man in the metal box. There was something infinitely more horrifying about a murdered body versus just an unfortunate soul who got sucked out to sea during a hurricane.

Who had done that to him?

Why?

Honestly, it sounded like the sort of thing you read about happening in Miami, when the occasional body washed up in a suitcase. But here? Tampa?

Rosie ended the call with a sigh.

“Well?” I asked. “What’d they say?”

“They’ll come as soon as they can, but everyone’s tied up—trying to keep people from doing stupid shit, like looting and shooting each other.”

I guessed I understood. The man was already dead. He could wait. The living could not.

“So are we just going to leave him out there until they come?” I asked.

“I’m not touching him. You?”

I couldn’t even think about touching a body.

“Plus,” she added, “they said not to mess with anything. Don’t want us to destroy any evidence.”

I nodded, feeling my skin crawl. The body might have to sit out there all day inside that metal container.

I took my seat and dug out my gray cardigan from the big desk drawer where I kept my purse. I slid on my sweater, wrapping it over my midsection, feeling my stomach roll.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said Rosie. “I’m sure they’ll take care of it soon.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Not like he’s going to start walking around and bugging us.” She shrugged. “Shoot. I gotta pee.”

She went outside to hit the girls-only Port-O-Potty. Meanwhile, I couldn’t shake the nauseating sensation building in my stomach. Death was right outside that door.

CHAPTER THREE

The rest of the day crept by at a lazy snail’s pace, the small round clock above the door ticking away like a countdown to my worst nightmare. Even the sky joined in, changing from a light gray to menacing storm clouds, complete with thunder and lightning. The crew had to called it an early day for safety reasons.

As for me, it was just past six, and I was nowhere near done with my forms. It wasn’t like I could finish up back at my motel, which was an hour drive with all the detours and downed powerlines. The small motel still had no electricity. Just a generator they only ran a few times a day—to conserve fuel—for the guests to take showers and charge phones. That was it. Here at the port, we were in a little better shape fuel-wise, running generators supplied by the National Guard.

At six thirty on the dot, Rosie started shutting down her computer. “You almost ready, hon?”

I drew a dread-filled breath, my eyes glued to my screen. “Did they come for him?”

Rosie knew what I meant, but she didn’t answer immediately. “No, hon.”

“I can’t leave yet.” I swiveled in my chair, pleading with my eyes. “I’m not done, and we can’t miss this deadline.” The company needed the money to pay the crew, who’d been working fifteen-hour days to clear away one of the port’s older cranes. The ground had gotten so soggy during the hurricane it fell over onto four rows of containers, pulling up a long stretch of asphalt with it. The entire mess was blocking most of the yard. They had another crane on the other side of the dock, but it was no use to anyone if the supplies from the incoming barge were blocked from going anywhere. And, as sad as it was, the workers—mostly welders and heavy equipment operators—were in high demand. If they didn’t get paid, they’d probably move on to the next job unless Ripley figured something out.

“I can’t, Jeni.” Rosie gave me a pitying look.

She meant she couldn’t stay. I knew she had kids at home, also about an hour drive with all the roads shut down.

I put on a brave face. “See you tomorrow, then.”

She grabbed her tote. “You got an hour of fuel left in that generator, babe. Better hurry.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She left, and a chill immediately swept through the room, leaving behind a dark cloud over my head. In my mind, there was just me and that cold rotting man down on the beach.

“Stop it. Fucking stop it, Jeni,” I hissed at myself. He was dead. Everyone died. And everyone had a body. Which meant we all became like him eventually. Nothing to