Bobby

Bobby died three days ago. We kept him the the tub, trying to decide how to get him out of here.
Man, did he stink.
We opened all the windows, but the stink just got worse.
“Let’s leave him,” I said. “Let’s leave him.”
Joe said no. “He’s got the key inside him.”
Without the key, no money.
So, we cut him open, slipping our hands all inside him, pulling things out, squeezing and searching.
Still no key.
Did he really swallow it before we shot him in the leg? Or did he palm it…
Where did that key go?