Page 64 of The Dearly Departed

When his eyes widened and his hands clawed at his throat, his chest, his mussed-up hair …

As he opened his mouth to scream, only to stop abruptly and fall to his knees, vomiting at my feet …

As he fell and convulsed on the floor until, finally, his body ceased all movement altogether …

Those moments lasted forever, and by the time they were through and the room grew silent and still, my face was sodden with every bit of guilt and regret, knowing I’d carry it with me forever until the day I, too, took my last breath.

“Jesus Christ, finally,” Gerald said with a groan. “Next time, kiddo … bullet through the brain, all right? Trust me. It’s quicker.”

Then he patted my back before walking away toward the back of the room and said, “Dean, call Jesse and get this mess taken care of. I can’t deal with the smell anymore.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, clicking the safety on his gun and slipping it into the waistband of his pants.

“And make sure my boy here gets the body of his friend downstairs,” Gerald continued. “I’m sure he’ll want to handle that funeral himself.”

Then he snorted with amusement, and I tore my gaze away from the corpse at my feet in time to watch him throw his head back, his whole body shaking with laughter as he said, “Good thing you brought the hearse!”

CHAPTER TEN

Dean made a phone call, and in less than ten minutes, the man Gerald called Jesse showed up, smelling like weed and dressed like he’d spent his day at the local skateboarding park.

He took one look at me, sitting on one of Gerald’s leather sofas—per Dean’s instructions—and said, “Well, you’re one scary motherfucker, aren’t ya?”

“Jesse, this is a friend of mine,” Gerald said by way of introduction.

The skater guy stepped over the body, assessing the work cut out for him as he pulled on a pair of gloves and asked, “Does your friend have a name? Or a, uh … a face?”

“You won’t concern yourself with that,” Gerald replied, unamused.

Jesse nodded easily before offering a two-fingered salute. “Cool. Whatever you say, chief.”

I watched him work, and though I had my doubts after seeing his choice of attire and smelling his choice of recreational activities, I could admit that he was thorough. He spent nearly two hours making sure everything was spotless and unlikely to carry any trace bits of DNA, including Gerald’s fancy Persian rug.

Unfortunately, that also meant he demanded I remove my suit and gloves, and I immediately protested.

“Don’t be stupid,” Gerald said, heading toward the drink cart for the fourth time that night. “You’re covered in God only knows what.”

I wanted to argue with him, but he was right. There was blood, vomit, and brain matter all over me—and that was likely just the tip of the iceberg. I could explain some of it away easily, given my line of work, but if someone went looking for any of the dead men under this roof and if I could be placed at the party, I’d be brought in for questioning, and my life would be over.

“I’m keeping the mask,” I negotiated, slipping my jacket off and handing it to Jesse.

He stuffed it into a garbage bag as he looked up at the mask, his expression dubious. “Man, I dunno. I don’t think that’s a good—"

“Let him keep it for now,” Gerald said with another drink in hand. Then he addressed me with a raise of his glass. “We’ll make sure to have extras on hand from now on.”

Extras. He expected this to be a regular occurrence.

Dean nodded in agreement. “I’ll take his measurements for suits and gloves as well.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea,” Gerald said, watching me as I stripped down to nothing but my boxer briefs. “Good thinking, Dean.”

“And am I supposed to just walk out of here like this?” I asked as Jesse left the room with all my clothes in the garbage bag.

“I’ll get you something clean to wear now,” Dean said with a curt bow of his head before hurrying out of the room, closing the door behind him, and leaving me alone with Gerald once again.

The events of the night barreled through me like a tsunami, and I dropped onto the couch, ripping my mask off and holding my head in my hands. My shoulders sagged with the weight of losing Leonard and of stealing someone else’s life away under the guise of revenge.

What am I supposed to do now?