“Yeah, think so.”
“My wife is going to freak out.”
“You don’t have to call her until you know more,” I said, helping him to his feet. “That way she doesn’t gotta worry. Or nag you while your head is banging.”
He let out a huff of a laugh at that as he let me lead him out to the street.
I hailed a cab and lowered him in, having to bite back a smile at how fucking easy some people were to manipulate. Especially when they were confused or in pain.
“I’ll be waiting here for you until you return,” I told him, giving the driver directions to take him to the hospital.
It would be fuckingpackedthis time of year. Lots of slips and falls. On the black ice. On the fucking ice skating rink. People hurting themselves falling off ladders putting stars on their Christmas trees.
Hospital waiting rooms in the city were a nightmare on a good day. During the holiday season? I imagined I had six to eight hours to get my fucking mess cleaned up.
I waited twenty minutes to make sure the driver didn’t change his mind about going, then sucked in a deep breath and went inside the warehouse where I knew I’d find some basiccleaning supplies—enough to get me to my next location, at least.
Wearing cleaning gloves I found under the bathroom sink, I came back, lifted the dead guy’s head, and slipped it into a black garbage bag. Then, with some wiggling, his lower half went into another bag.
With that, making sure there was no blood getting tracked, I snuck him into the back of the truck, closed the door, and got to work on cleaning the blood out of the cab, off the door, and anywhere else it sprayed.
The carotid was one efficient way to take someone out, but fuck did that damn artery gush.
I left the doors open afterward, wanting to vent as much of the scent of cleaner out as possible so the driver didn’t suspect anything went down.
Then I cleaned up, emptied the illegal merch into the back ofmyrented moving truck, carried the body over to it, then made sure I locked that shit down good before making my way back to the other truck to unload the toys as quickly as fucking possible.
Paranoia had me constantly looking out the windows to keep an eye on the moving truck to make sure no one was snooping or fucking hooking it up to bring it to impound.
By the time the toys were sorted for the morning crew—since there was no way, with a body to hide that I would be able to come back to do it—morning had dawned on the city. A gray, bleak one, but morning nonetheless.
I’d just closed up the truck cab when a cab pulled up to deposit the driver, now with a part of his head shaved, and little pointy stitches poking out of his scalp.
He looked as tired as I felt.
“All good, man?”
“Just some stitches and a wife worried enough about me that I will be able to sit on my ass for a week straight when I get home.”
“Gotta look for the silver linings,” I said, nodding.
“That’s what I’m saying. Did you get everything out?” I lifted the back door to show him. “Good, good. Well, thanks for your help…”
“Craig,” I said.
“Craig. Appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it, man. Get yourself home safe, yeah?” I asked, clapping him on the back of the neck as he reached for his keys and started toward the driver’s side door.
There was a second when he got in that his brows pinched, likely aware of a bit of a lingering bleach scent or the fact that the whole area was cleaner than it had been. But once he turned it over and the heat blasted old fumes out of the vents, he seemed to forget all about it as he lowered the music, shot me a wave, then pulled out.
“Thank fuck,” I said, rolling the tension out of my neck, then making my way over to my rental truck.
Normally, the Family had someone to deal with bodies for us. But given it was the holiday season—and that I liked cleaning up my own damn messes—I was on my own.
I dropped the goods off at the storage unit, grabbed a large coffee and a few energy drinks, then made my way out of the city.
It was going to be a long fucking day.
