37Fifteen minutes after I called the police, Otto Duranko showed up with two cruisers, sirens blaring. I met him out in front of Polka Central, where I’d just finished my third straight cigarette. Even after all those calming smokes, my hands were still shaking.
Otto had his hand on his gun as he walked toward me. He looked around with fierce alertness, as if the killer might still be nearby, waiting to be dealt with.
Otto was all business when he reached me. “You’re sure it’s him? You’re sure he’s dead?”
“It’s Eddie Sr., all right.” I shrugged. “I didn’t check his pulse, but he definitely looked dead. He has a bullet hole right here.” I pointed to my forehead.
Otto nodded curtly and headed around the corner of Polka Central with gun held high. Just as I lost sight of him, an
