Bad Business by Bob DeRosa

I knocked on Jessie’s door at exactly two in the morning, ready to propose some bad business. It took him a while to answer. He didn’t ask who it was, just opened the door and asked what was up.

“I need a favor,” I said. 

“Now? Christ, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I know. But it’s important.”

He stood there in the doorway, his thick arms crossed, belly pushed hard against his cut-off T-shirt. He was a good few inches taller than me. I realized he could kick the hell out of me if he felt like it. Right there on his dirty front porch. 

“Well, spit it out, dumbass,” he said. “Or I’m going back to sleep.”

I swallowed and said, “I need your help.”

“Doing what?”

“Burying a body.”

He rubbed his unruly beard and looked me in the eye for a good twenty seconds before he said, “Come inside.”

I went in, and he closed the door behind us. 

*****

I got this problem; I’ve had it my whole life. I have no idea if people are lying to me or not. In fact, I have zero sense of what anyone thinks of me at all. Playing with other kids when I was little, I would think they were my friends. One time I got home and my dad asked why I was all scuffed up. I told him me and some kids were playing, and he realized they were beating me up. And I just took it cuz I thought that’s what friends did. My dad was pissed, but not at them. He beat me with a belt, saying the world was a tough place and I had to get my act together if I wanted to make it on my own someday. I tried not to cry and told him I’d do my best. Next day, I beat those kids up and got expelled. I never did learn how to figure out who my friends are. 

I met Jessie a few years back shooting pool in this dive bar near the freeway. We’ve had beers since then. Boosted a couple of cars for fun and profit. Shot guns late at night under the overpass where the sound of big-rigs above us drowned out the noise. I was starting to think he was my friend, a good friend. 
But I didn’t know for sure. And it was bugging me. So I asked Jessie’s roommate, who tends bar at this place I like, for some advice. He sells pills out of the bar bathroom on busy nights, and I’d seen him and Jessie fighting over money. I guessed they were tight, but I wasn’t really sure. I waited until the place was nearly empty one night and beckoned from my stool.

Jessie’s roommate leaned across the bar, turned his ear toward me. “How do you know if someone’s a real friend?” I asked him.

He sighed, poured us a couple of shots of whiskey, and said, “If you can call up someone at two in the morning and they agree to help you bury a body, that’s a real friend.”

Sounded easy enough to me. 

*****

I’d been in Jessie’s place before. It was pretty messy, with a lot of empty beer bottles and ashtrays filled with cigarette butts. He offered me a cigarette, and after I said no thanks, he lit one for himself. 

“So who’s the body?”

There was no body. I just wanted to know if Jessie was a real friend or not. But I knew he’d have some questions. I’m not good at making up stuff on the spot so I had my story all planned out. 

“I was walking home from the bar and some guy was following me. When I asked him what his problem was, he pulled out a knife, told me to give him my wallet. I wasn’t giving my wallet to no one, so we wrestled over the knife and he fell on it and died.”

Jessie nodded. “Why bury him?”

“I’m on parole.” This was true. “Cops catch me with a dead body, I’m going back to prison for sure.” Also true, but not really a concern since there was no dead body.

Jessie exhaled some smoke. “Yeah, I can help you bury him. But I’m gonna need a favor in return.”

I shrugged and said sure. Why wouldn’t I? I was feeling pretty good as he led me through his grimy kitchen, out a side door, and into his garage. I had a real friend, something I’d never had before. Now I just had to tell him the truth and everything would be okay.

He opened up one of those big chest freezers. I looked inside and saw his roommate, eyes wide, frozen stiff. 

“I got a body to bury, too,” said Jessie. “We can do ‘em both together.” 

I stared at his dead roommate for a bit and thought, what would a real friend do here?

Which is how I ended up helping Jessie bury a frozen body in the middle of nowhere.    

I never did fess up about my little lie. And Jessie never even asked me about the other body, like maybe he knew it was bullshit. All that matters is I know Jessie’s a good friend, and he knows the same thing about me. 

I’d thank his roommate for the advice, but too late for that I guess.

​© 2025 Bob DeRosa

About the author:
Where Bob DeRosa comes from, nice guys finish first. His screenwriting credits include Classified, Killers, and White Collar. His short fiction has appeared in Escape Pod, Every Day Fiction, and 365 Tomorrows. When he’s not writing, Bob studies Kenpo karate and keeps his Little Free Library filled with good stuff. Come say hi at bobderosa.com