I don’t mind stayin’ here so long as I can see those cabinets, but in the darkwhy, hell, I’d be thinkin’ they might be gettin’ out an’ lookin’ me over.”
Phillips sat up. “What you mean, gettin’ out? How the hell can a stiff do a thing like that?”
“I’m not sayin’ that they’d do it. I’m sayin’ what I think they might be doin’.”
“Don’t be a nut.” Phillips swung his feet off the bench and got up. “Now I’ll show you somethin’. Let’s have a look at some of these guys.”
Franklin backed away. “I don’t want to see them,” he said hurriedly. “This burg’s spooky enough without lookin’ at corpses.”
Phillips went over to the cabinet and pulled out a drawer. It slid out silently on the roller−bearings. In the drawer was a big negro; his pale pink tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes seemed to be bursting out of his head. Phillips hastily slammed the drawer shut. “That guy was strangled,” he said shakily. “Let’s try another or I’ll dream about him.”
The driver edged close, but Franklin went over and sat on the bench. Phillips pulled another drawer open.
An elderly man, his face covered with a good half−inch stubble of beard, came into view.
“You wouldn’t think he was dead, would you, boss?” the driver said.
Phillips shoved the drawer to. “Naw,” he said, “he looks like he was stuffed.” He walked over to the other side of the room. “Let’s have a look at some of the dames.”