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“You— Mother— Fucker—” Tanner grunted. “You— Won’t— Hurt— Her—” He punctuated each word with a fist to Bennigan’s face.
“Tanner,” I said.
He stopped and looked at me. I held the gun out, my hands shaking.
He got off Bennigan, walked to me, and took the gun from my hands.
“Good girl,” he said and turned back to Bennigan.
Bennigan crawled away. He spit blood on the ground and was wheezing through his broken nose. Tanner walked over and loomed over him, the gun pointed at his head.
“Shouldn’t have fucked with me,” Tanner said.
Bennigan looked up. “Just a job,” he said. “Always just a job.”
Tanner pulled the trigger and Bennigan’s head exploded away.
The body slumped to the ground.
I sat there in horror and couldn’t pull my eyes away from Bennigan’s corpse as blood pooled around its shattered skull.
Tanner stood there staring down at Bennigan before turning away. He shoved the gun into his waistband then found the second gun. He walked to me and held out a hand.
“We have to go,” he said.
I stared up at him and was too afraid to move.
“Elise,” he said. “We have to go. Come on, take my hand and move.”
“I just— You just—”
“Take my hand,” he said. “And start moving. One foot in front of the other. Come on, you can do this.”
I blinked away tears. I hadn’t realized I was crying.
I took his hand and let him help me up. I grabbed my stuff and tucked it under my arm.
We walked fast. He hurried me along, tugging at my arm when I slowed. A homeless man wrapped in ratty brown blankets sat up on a bench and stared at us as we passed. Tanner didn’t bother looking over.
“Just keep walking,” he said. “Don’t run. Don’t look guilty.”
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked down at his shoulder. “Fuck,” he said. “Just keep moving.”
We made it to the end of the park and out onto the street. We walked up a few blocks along residential neighborhoods. He stopped at a corner and stooped over as if to tie his shoe, and threw one of the guns down into a storm drain. He stood, looked unsteady, then shook his head.
We kept walking. People stared as we went by. Tanner looked like shit. His face was bloody, his shoulder and arm were drenched in it. I probably didn’t look too much better. Front doors opened, closed. Cars crept past. The wind flowed through my hair. I was numb to everything.
I kept seeing Tanner kill Bennigan like it was nothing.
I knew he was a killer. I knew what he did for a living. But I hadn’t seen it up close yet. I hadn’t seen him actually stand there and end another person’s life like it was no big thing. It sent horrified shivers down my spine and made me want to throw up.
We stopped at another corner and he threw the second gun down a drain.
Sirens shouted in the distance.
He took me on a circuitous route. We walked past drunks coming out of bars, packs of young men stumbling from one house party to the next, girls with glazed eyes and high heels laughing in flocks of ten or more. He took me to Rittenhouse and paused just outside the hotel.
“How bad do I look?” he asked.
I blinked at him and tried to focus. “Bad,” I said.
“The shoulder’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “Shot grazed me. Cut deep, might need stitches, but there’s nothing left in me.”
“That’s… good.”
“We’re going in,” he said. “We need to get cleaned up. You need to get to bed.”
“Bed?” I almost laughed. “How am I supposed to sleep?”
“What you saw—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to do that without you. I’m sorry you saw it.”
“But I did see it,” I said. “How am I supposed to get that out of my head? You… you killed him.”
“I killed a very bad man,” he said. “A man that wanted to hurt you. If I hadn’t done that, you’d be dead. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but it didn’t sink in. I still felt numb. I felt like I was floating, half drunk, half high.
“I’m still scared,” I said.
“Adrenaline. It’ll wear off.” He took my hand. “Just keep walking, okay? Smile at the front desk woman. Walk on my right side so she can’t see me that well.”
“Right. Okay.” I let him position me how he wanted then we headed in through the front doors.
It was a young man behind the front desk. He wore glasses, had dark shaggy hair, a soft pudgy face, and an ill-fitting suit. He was staring at a computer screen and typing feverishly. He barely looked up as we walked past.
The elevator arrived with a ding. We rode it in silence.
Back in the room, he stripped and gently prodded at his arm. “Not bad,” he said. “Not too bad.” He ripped his shirt into strips and tied them around the arm. “I think I’ll be fine.”
