Another murderer in the same Deli
The other dishwasher was a full-blooded American Indian who went by the name Little Wolf. We got quite friendly and he’d come back to crash at our place sometimes.
Little Wolf was only eighteen but he had quite a tale.
He and his girlfriend, best friend and his girlfriend had sold everything to buy a camper van. They set off to discover the heart of American and see if they could find themselves. It was very sixties.
They travelled across from the West Coast doing casual work to buy food and petrol. Arriving in Chicago they stopped off at a liquor store. Little Wolf’s girlfriend was the only one who was twenty one so she went in with her ID to purchase a couple of bottles of wine.
On the way out a guy was standing in the entrance and grabbed hold of her. There was a struggle, the bottles got dropped and smashed. Little Wolf jumped out of the van to sort it out and the guy pulled a knife on him
Little Wolf pulled out his gun and shot him three times in the abdomen.
They jumped back in the van and hit the road.
A few days later they arrived in Boston. They were going down Massachusetts Avenue when a big Pontiac jumped the lights and slammed into the side of them at great speed.
Little Wolf regained consciousness in a hospital ward with a police officer standing guard over him. They had discovered the gun and an ounce of weed.
Little Wolf lay there with thoughts of a murder charge hanging over him. He was sure the guy he had shot was dead. The last he’d seen was him lying in a big pool of blood. He was also certain that they’d trace the gun back.
Later that day a solicitor came in to see him. His client was the Pontiac driver who was a rich man. All Little Wolf had to do was say that it was him that had jumped the lights and the gun and weed would magically disappear.
He jumped at the offer.
Later the four of them went back to the van. It was still on its side at the side of the road but it had been stripped. The wheels, engine and even seats had been taken. All they possessed were the clothes on their back and the money in their pocket.
His friend decided to hitch back to the West Coast with his girl and Little Wolf and his girlfriend had hitched to New York. Somehow Little Wolf and his girl had become separated in the rush hour and he couldn’t find her again. He looked for three days and then decided to head back to Boston in the hopes that she’d have the same idea. That seemed a long shot to me. But that was how he had become a dishwasher in the Delihaus.
He was hanging around hoping to meet up with his girl again.
I was beginning to wonder if everyone else in the Deli was a violent axe man, secret poisoner or vicious stabber. But they all seemed very cheery, normal and friendly. So it was only Boris and Little Wolf.
It made me think though when a young man was shot dead outside the door of the Deli one night. Once again we were inundated with armed police but nobody had seen anything and all the diners carried on eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
It seemed that murder was taken for granted.
I was only there two months. If I had been there a year I might have discovered more skeletons in a few more closets. Maybe everyone who worked there was a murderer?
What if I was but had forgotten? I couldn’t remember killing anyone but I am getting a bit forgetful these days. It had probably been in the job description as a requirement.
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