I know what you’re thinking. It the 21st century, everyone is used to how death goes these days. There is a massive industry built up around ensuring it happens naturally, traditionally, and full of hope for those who weren’t being cremated that they’d stay dead. Not everyone, but some people are still traditionalists, Toni’s folks in particular.

In the dinner conversation, went from a talk of her next occasion, to help make sure, they didn’t end up like her dad. You see her dad died a few years ago, but he didn’t stay dead. Like many people his age, he ended up undead. Sorry, ‘re-animated’ A zombie, specifically. He’s being moved to a home upstate. Toni, though, Especially, didn’t want to go into that.

So I was torn, commiserating with my girlfriend, over her excruciating decision to help the grandfather in making sure, that when he died he stayed dead. She had to talk at least four phone calls over dinner, not to mention a series of texts, the content of which could be read on her face each and every time.

By the time we got back to my place she wanted to forget about it all.

I wish I could. The elevator doors opened. Standing in hallway, the mezzanine overlooking the lobby, was a uniformed cop, a young crew cut blond man and standing beside him the more swarthy and portly and mustached Arturo.

“Morning constable,” I told the officer, looked over at my super. He looked distinctly unhappy, fingers at his sides clenching and unclenching..

“You OK?” I tried.

He shook his head.

“Mr. Smith-” he started. Arturo is a very polite man. “What happened in that apartment is very wrong. I only opened the door because the police were worried, I wish I hadn’t. I am sorry, but I think it is going to take much work to make it ready for the next tenant.”

“I understand,” I told him, looked over at the cop who was waiting patiently.

“Do you need him for anything else.”

The cop shook his head. Arturo was muttering under his breath. I couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, but it sounded Spanish, and it sounded distinctly religious.

“We were just waiting for you, sir,” the officer offered neutrally. “Mr. Vasquez has very helpful.”

I nodded.

“He always is,” I told him, turned back to Arturo. “Whatever you saw, we can deal with later after the police go through what they have to do, huh?”

I nodded, he replied in kind, if slowly..

I moved over to him, put my hand around his shoulder.

“What you need to do,” I told him. “Is go back to your apartment, and hug your wife and daughters. Don’t worry about a thing. It’ll all be fine.”

Sure, I didn’t believe that for a minute, but, you see when I hear people talk and they start using phrases like mother of God, Jesus protect us, those sort of things, I can’t help but want to lie.

So you can understand my trepidation, on what I was about to experience based on Arturo’s horror of what he saw in apartment 213. Gruesome scenes haven’t been my thing for a long time.

I turned to look over the halls half wall down at the two police talking to a reporter and a cameraman down in the lobby. Turned to the blonde cop.

“Was it you guys who let them in.”

The cop looked down at his fellow officers, shook his head.

“Want us to get them out of here.”

I nodded.

“Just keep them out of the building,” I told the constable. “I don’t want them bothering the other tenants with this crap. Please. I don’t think we need any selfies today.”

He called down to the uniformed cops in the lobby. Followed up with a gesture.

The reporter and the camera man looked up, spotting me on the mezzanine.

“Mr. Smith,” the reporter called up. I vaguely recognized her. Was she the one that always went over the top? “Do you have a comment? Does this have anything to do with the Grappo killing?”

God, more than hundred murders a year in this city, and she brings that single one here in the last five years.

“No comment.” I called down. “Why don’t you go cover a new bakery opening or something. People love muffins. Bagels too. Danishes even.”

I turned to the cop, deciding no more mister nice guy.

“Get them out of here and keep them out.”

At least the conversation put my mind in gear to get what I had to do.

Because I like my job, and I like my boss, and I wanted to keep my job, I smiled as Arturo finally left, looking back worriedly at least once, and graciously allowed the policeman to follow me as I headed towards the apartment. And then turning left, and walk towards the group of men wearing clear plastic over their clothes, who were moving some bulky equipment, around the end of the hallway by the exit door.

And I walked towards them, with a growing sense of dread, making every step I took, even harder and heavier, than the one before. Passed 207, then 209, 211. And finally, ahead of me loomed 213.