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“Ain’t none of your concern what I’ma do, take a hike, Scissorhands.” He goes to come at me but gets held back by the guy who looks identical to him.
“It’ll be my problem when this place is crawling with cops, all because you didn’t do the job right.”
The guy looks pissed as fuck, and after shrugging off the other guy, he makes a few long strides toward me, wraps his hand around my throat, and slams my head hard into the wall behind me.
“You got quite the imagination there,” he hisses at me.
I take a breath, trying my best to ignore the fact his hands are on me and reminding myself to stay cool. Dealing with people with this level of intelligence requires some tact.
“If you wanna clean up whatever’s in that room, you're gonna need more than what you got there.” I glance back down at the bleach bottle he's holding in the hand that isn't threatening to choke the life outta me.
“Yeah, and what the fuck would you know about what I’m here to clean up?”
“I know that only an oxidant is gonna strip out blood and that the shit you got in your hand will barely wipe the surface. The room will light up like a town square in December if anyone puts a UV light on it.” His hand quickly releases me and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Who you work for?” Suddenly he’s suspicious but I can tell he’s impressed at the same time.
“I work for myself. You should call up your boss, tell him I’ll make that room cleaner than a nun's cunt… But I want 500 dollars for it.”
The guy laughs, then looks over his shoulder at the other one.
“You hearing this, Screw?” he snorts at his brother, and is still smiling when he faces back to me.
“No one tells my boss jack shit,” he warns
“Well then,” I hold my hands up in defeat. “I’ll leave you to it.” I’m about to walk away when his hand grips at my shoulder and wrenches me back. This guy’s far too fucking touchy for my liking.
“Wait up, you're telling me that you can make whatever it is in there look like it never happened?”
“I’ll have to evaluate first, but I can’t see why not.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t, but you don’t want to risk whatever’s in that room blowing back on you people. See, what your friends never asked me earlier, when they stormed in like The Sopranos, was if anyone else knew who was in that room. If they had, I’d have told them that an agent checked him in, and that agent only paid for a two-night stay. This is his second night. So I’m guessing someone will be back for him in the morning.” I tip my head toward the door.
“Fuck.” The guy kicks at one of the porch pillars, then crouches down to rest his hands on his knees and take some deep breaths. He straightens up again, shakes his head at his brother, and pulls out his cell.
“Prez, it’s Squeal. Yeah, we’re here, and we got a serious problem.”
Both guys wait with me in the office for their boss to arrive, watching the clock on the wall like it’s a bomb about to detonate.
When the same van from earlier pulls up and the silver-haired guy charges in, he looks pissed as hell.
“Tell me what you know.” He slams his fist on the counter.
“What I said, your guy was checked in by an agent,” I answer him calmly.
“And how can you be sure.”
“Because that same agent came and scouted the place out the day before he was brought here.”
“Shit… has the room been bugged?”
“Hell if I know, I could tell you once I’m in there,” I assure him, already feeling the anticipation building inside me. It's been so long since I’ve had to clean anything up. It’s almost sickening that the thought’s giving me a head rush.
“And if there is?”
“Then I guess you're fucked. But if it ain’t, and you let me take care of it, when they come back and find him gone, there will be no traces that you were ever in there with him.”
