“Police?” she cuts me off. “Oh, fuck no, we arenotcalling the police.”
No police? I glance at Dead and Stupid. Yeah, okay, maybe she’s got a point. I don’t know that I could fake remorse right now. In fact, I’m feeling kind of proud of myself.
Michelle starts pacing, and I stride toward the side of the building, pressing my back against the cool stone, trying to ignore the scent of shit, urine, and hot garbage surrounding me. The scents tickle my nose in the most unfortunate combination that has my gag reflex working overtime to keep my earlier chai down. I glance at the dead guy.
This is so your fault, you know, I tell him silently, narrowing my eyes in annoyance.
“You’re married to the mafia,” Michelle says, drawing my attention back to her. “And if Giulio married you to keep your silence about that other matter…” She trails off as her gaze moves back to the dead guy.
So many dead bodies, so little time…
Michelle shakes herself and looks back at me. “Cops always know who the big fliers are; they just can’t get any evidence. But if they know that you’re a mobster’s wife, and they come here for this, they’re gonna use this to make you squeal on him. If you squeal, you’re going to get murdered for real this time.”
“Right,” I deadpan. “No cops.” I seriously don’t have the energy to tell Michelle that everything she’s talking about sounds like the cheesy plot of a crime show. Surely Giulio would’ve been arrested if the cops knew about him. Or maybe Michelle is right, and all their money is used to hide their illegal dealings.
“Ugh.” A groan rumbles out of me. I let my head sink forward on my shoulders. Fuck, my skull is fracturing apart and taking me with it. Why is she trying to make me think? I can’t think right now.
Suddenly, Michelle is in front of me, taking my shoulders in her palms. “Call him,” she orders, shaking me slightly. “You need to call him. Right now.”
I stare at her for a long, bleary-eyed moment.Yup. I still have no fucking clue who the hell she’s talking about.“Call who?” I manage to grit out.
Instead of telling me, Michelle shoots away from me, and I sink back against the wall. God, it’s such a good wall. I pat the brick appreciatively, not minding the gritty, red dust that comes off against my palms.Thanks for holding me up, buddy.
When Michelle returns, she’s got my purse in one hand and my phone in the other. I reach for my bra where I’d put it earlier, but it must’ve slipped out in the chaos. She shoves the cell under my nose and thankfully it doesn’t look any the worse for wear. “Call your husband,” she orders. “Right—no, wait.” She pauses, and as I reach for the cell, it’s pulled out of reach as my best friend glances over at the dead guy. “We should probably move him first.”
I glare at the dead guy. First, he makes me kill him, and now I have to move his dead body? If I could kill him all over again… I would.
Ignoring my groans of disbelief and pleas to just leave him, Michelle bullies my ass away from the comfort of the wall toward the dead guy.
“Come and help me,” she snaps, gesturing for me to hurry my ass up.
With a groan, I shove the gun into the back of my pants, between my shirt and leggings. The warmth of the weapon permeates through the layers of my shirt.
“You take the feet, and I’ll take the head.” My best friend is all in command, leaving her tears to dry on her face now that she’s got something to do. Not going to lie, I’m relieved to see it. Maybe I’m not the only one with mental issues.
On the count of three, Michelle and I lift the guy up, his body weight straining the muscles in our arms. Vomit threatensto reach up my throat as the dark stain of shit and piss is all I can seem to look at. Maybe the bride’s dress had hidden this unfortunate side effect of dying because I certainly don’t remember this. Then again, the woman and the bridal suite had both been doused in so much expensive perfume, I doubt I would’ve known if it were a pigsty if I had been blind.
“Fuck!” Michelle curses as she stumbles over a rock and slips her hold on the body, making me stagger. My foot steps in something wet.
Please, please please don’t be what I think it is, I beg silently.
Mean Daisy grins at me.Don’t look down, she suggests. I mentally flip her the bird and drop the body back down to take another calming breath.
Bad idea, I realize as the scent of urine and feces invades again. “One more time,” Michelle says, and I want to groan, but I helped make this mess, so I have to help clean it. I follow Michelle’s orders and take the legs a second time as she lifts his shoulders and head off the ground. The two of us must look like a pair of pissed-off murder ducks—or geese, as they’re commonly referred to—covered in sweat and blood as we waddle toward the alcove the man had tried to get me in twenty minutes earlier.
Half dragging, half carrying the guy’s corpse, and leaving a trail of his blood, shit, and piss in our wake, we finally manage to get him out of sight of the alley’s mouth. I drop him first, the weight of him too much as I bend over and breathe shallowly. Michelle’s responding grunt is annoyed, but she doesn’t comment. A few minutes later, my cell appears in my face again, this time shoved into my palm.
“Call your husband,” she tells me, and because I have no clue what else I’m supposed to do, I press the right series of buttons and lift the phone to my ear, glaring daggers at where we stashed Dead and Stupid.
Death is gross as fuck.
16
GIULIO
Are wives like cats?
Do they bring you dead bodies if they like you?
