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“W-Why am I changing?”
“We don’t want you getting pulled over by the police and being charged with murder.”
“Why’d you coat me in it?”
“You’re going to tell Stonewall you dumped my body in the bay off Verrazzano Bridge. You’re going to wait here with me until midnight, then make the run. Drive over the bridge, wait ten minutes, turn back around and drive back over it. There’s a toll both ways, they’ll be able to track that. When you get to Stonewall’s, you’re going to tell him you dumped my body and that you forgot to dump your clothes.”
I groan.
Hank shakes my shoulders. “Hewillbelieve it. You’re freaked out, never having killed anyone before. People forget things.”
Licking my lips, I nod.
Hank bends to look me in the eyes, and the grip on my shoulders increases. “He’s going to ask you for your clothes. But if he doesn’t, ask him what you should do with them. Okay? This is important. We need him to check your clothes. Got it?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
Moving out of his grip and away from him, I say, “Yes, yes, yes.”
Hank nods once. “Get changed.”
Hank jogged into the darkness to what I assume was a waiting car, or he jogged back to wherever he’s staying. The man is like a machine—focused, uncaring, and deadly.
I’m driving back toward the city, hands shaking, trying to stay in my lane. Turning on the radio, Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” is playing. I groan and hit the button for another station. This time “Dancing With Mr. D” by the Rolling Stones assaults me, so I hit the button again, and it’s as if the forces of nature are angry with me as “Don’t Fear the Reaper” is playing. Turning off the radio, I concentrate on the road. There’s the occasional car, but it’s dead at this time of night.
Dead.
Jesus, even my thoughts seem to betray me.
Driving over the bridge, the lights of the city greet me. I do as I’m told and stick to the speed limit. It takes about ten minutes to get from one side to the other, but I slow right down in case they check how long it takes me to cross the bridge. Hank didn’t tell me to do this, but it feels right. When I eventually get to the other side, I pull over and wait.
My left leg bounces up and down as the clock seems to take forever to click over. A few homeless people walk past, but no one comes close to the car. I’m guessing that people who hang out this time of night in a running car are up to no good, and no one wants to get involved. Finally, the timer on my cell phone beeps. I jump, put the car in drive, and head back to campus. Hank told me not to wait to call Stonewall, that if I think about it too much, I’ll fuck it up. Picking up my cell phone, I dial him.
The number seems to ring forever before he finally picks up. He sounds awake, annoyed, and impatient with one little word.
“Hello?”
“It’s done,” I reply.
“Meet me at my office.”
He hangs up without so much as a goodbye. It takes me another ten minutes to get to my destination. I park in the faculty parking area. No one is here this time of night, then I open the trunk and pull out my bag of clothes.
Keeping in the shadows, I make my way to the side entrance of the main building. The handle turns easily, and the door swings open. I’m too tired to walk up the stairs, so I take the elevator. When the doors open, Jonathan Stonewall is standing outside his office, hands casually in his pockets. He nods at me and steps inside. My legs feel like they’re made of lead as I walk the distance to his office. Once inside, Stonewall is leaning against his desk, whiskey glass in his hand.
“How?” he asks as he takes a sip of the amber liquid.
Holding up the USB that Hank did for me, I throw it at him. “It’s all on there.”
Stonewall catches it and moves around his desk, inserting it into his computer. He sits forward, watching the screen, a smile spreading across his face.
“Good job, Simon.”
It seems like everyone is telling me how great I am this evening—the monster who’s my girlfriend’s father and the monster who runs my school.
What does it make me?
