I settle Antony into a chair and kneel down in front of her.
“George.” I slap her cheek, lightly, trying not to frighten her but needing to get her attention. “I know this is fucked-up, right? There’s a dead guy on your kitchen floor and I put him there. But I need you to listen to me. I’m going to get this cleaned up, and it’ll be like it never happened. But we need your help. Do you understand?”
She stares at me with those wide eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you do anything freaky.” My voice has gone all high-pitched. I’ve never had to talk my friend through a cleaning before. “I need to know, do you have any tarps or dropcloths in the house? The kind you use for painting or yard work?”
George raises a shaking finger and points to a key hanging on the end of a set of hooks. “In the shed. Around the back.”
“Excellent. Thank you. I’m going to leave you here, but I’m just going to your shed. Nothing will happen to you. Anton— I mean, Mr. Jones is here – he’ll look after you while I’m gone.”
I grab the keys and head around to the small back yard. Instead of the usual patch of anemic-looking grass, George and her mom’s garden is crowded with raised beds bursting with vegetables. There are even fruit trees along the fence line. I open the shed and discover neat rows of gardening tools and a stack of folded tarps. I grab one off the top and carry it back to the house.
Antony and I roll the body in the tarp. We back Tiberius’ car into the garage so that we can drag the body into the trunk without George’s neighbors seeing. Antony collapses onto the passenger seat and calls Galen while I put my arms around George and hold her while she trembles.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry about all this.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever uttered those words in my life. But they fell from my lips too easily now, because I meant them.
Galen arrives a few minutes later, with Tiberius in the passenger seat. I open the kitchen door for them. Galen pushes past me and makes a beeline for Antony, while Tiberius hands me a pizza box and inspects the mess in the kitchen.
“I met the delivery guy in the driveway. I assume this is yours. He seemed keen to get rid of it when he saw me, didn’t even stick around for a tip.” Tiberius’ face had that affect on people. His bulk seems impossibly large in the small room, like he’s trapped in a dollhouse. He looms over us, studying George with curiosity.
Her lip trembles as she takes in Tiberius’ disfigured face. “Mr. Garcia,” she chokes out. “Are you here to kill me?”
“What? Fuck no.” I grab George’s shoulders. “That guy in the garage with Antony is Galen. He’s a doctor. Antony and Tiberius have been posing as teachers to protect me, and by extension you. They’ll make sure nothing else happens to us.”
“But what are they protecting me from? Who was that guy? Why does he want to kill me?”
“He doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to kill me,” I shrug, although I’m not so sure about that, either. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, but right now we need to get this cleaned up.”
George settles her head against my chest. “When I said you’d be good material for my podcast, I didn’t mean quite like this.”
* * *
“Hand me that bleach.”
George’s hands shake as she holds out the enormous bottle. I uncap the lid and dump another slosh into my bucket. Tiberius and Galen had driven off with the body, to bury it in the spot in the desert they used for all their dirty work. Antony slumps over the table, nursing my bottle of port, while I get to work cleaning the blood off the cabinets.
“You really don’t have to help.” I glare at Antony. “Don’t mind us. We’ve got this covered.”
“Good to see, Claws.”
“This isn’t coming off,” George’s voice rises as she scrubs at the blood on the cushions.
“Do you have any shaving cream?” I ask. “It lifts out the stains.”
“My mom’s boyfriend might’ve left some in her bathroom. I’ll go look.” George runs off, returning a moment later with a big can, which she proceeds to spray everywhere like some over-exuberant barber.
“Usually we torch the place,” Antony pipes up, carving off a chunk of chocolate cake and taking a big bite. He kicks the empty pizza box onto the floor. There’s a round circle of pink on his fresh bandages that concerns me, but he assures me he’s survived worse. “There’s less chance of leaving evidence. Claws here vetoed that plan.”
“Huh. Fancy that. And I was worried I’d never learn anything useful from a gym teacher.” George sprays the rest of the shaving cream over the cushions and dumps them into the laundry. “Why does he call you Claws? I’ve never heard anyone call you that before.”
I sigh. “Yes, you have.”
Antony’s chocolate-coated fingers freeze in mid-air.
“No, I—”
