Without sound Fellsinger said, “Hello, Vince.”
“Are you dead, George?”
“Yes. I’m dead?”
“Why are you dead, George?”
“I can’t tell you, Vince. I wish I could tell you but I can’t.”
“Who did it, George?”
“I can’t tell you, Vince. Look at me. Look what happened to me. Isn’t it awful?”
“George, I didn’t do it. You know that.”
“Of course, Vince. Of course you didn’t do it.”
“George, you don’t really believe I did it.”
“I know you didn’t do it.”
“They’ll say I killed you.”
“Yes, Vince. That’s what they’ll say.”
“But I didn’t do it, George.”
“I know, Vince. I know you didn’t do it. I know who did it but I can’t tell you because I’m dead.”
“George, can I do anything for you?”
“No. You can’t do a thing for me. I’m dead. Your friend George Fellsinger is dead.”
David Goodis, Dark Passage
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