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“What do you want to do, Zed?” Romero asked.
We’d have to get rid of Gustave’s body and erase all evidence pointing towards me or my family. Before that, I advanced towards his dead body, sidestepping a slew of files.
On his thick thigh sat a single playing card.
I picked it up with my gloved hand and flipped it around.
Another joker.
Romero and I dismembered Gustave’s body piece by little piece and dissolved him in acid. No bones. No teeth. No evidence.I was man enough to admit my sadness over the PI’s death. He’d been good to the De la Croixes and since he had no family, his eulogy consisted of Romero smoking a cigar and me staring pensively at the ground.
On my drive home, I filtered through the events leading to today so I could figure out my next move and get a better understanding of this entire circus.
1. I killed Armel because he touched my sister, making sure the security cameras of the Lancasters’ residence were shut down before I shot him. Nobody besides Yves knew my plans beforehand and he would never rat me out. Unless I’d been seen in plain sight, which was unlikely, someone came to the conclusion that I was the only one willing to put a bullet into Armel. Most people in the underworld knew my views on the sex trade business and how I detested the Lancasters’ discreet involvement. While nobody would miss Armel, this was the perfect opportunity for my enemies take me out of the game.
2. Miles Moretti was hired for fifty thousand dollars by said someone to call the MPD with the tip, and then was killed after the job was complete because he would be a loose end.
3. Mayor Hill and the MPD suspected me, but I derailed their plans of putting me behind bars. The case was closed after they found a scapegoat to take the blame for Armel’s murder.
4. Gustave Melrose died just like Miles Moretti. Gruesome and in cold blood. Whoever killed Moretti killed him too, knowing I would have gone to Melrose for help.
I’d be a fool to believe that the killings weren’t linked to the text message I received. Coincidences were scarce in my world and this was just the beginning of a long road filled with bloodshed.
One thing was for sure.
The person responsible for all of this held a personal grudge against me.
I could say with conviction that there was only one individual who loathed me with every fibre of their being. One individual who would love to see me gone. One individual who would taunt me because I’d taken Darla as a wife instead of Violette.
Antoine Toussaint.
I was going to fine comb Montardor for the motherfucker.
And once I found him?
He and my gun were going to have a nice chat.
Past midnight, Cimmerian darkness abutted the estate like a welcomed companion. I roamed the west wing and my feet absentmindedly carried me down the hallway, where my wife slept soundlessly in her room.
Slithering inside, I went to stand at the foot of her bed.
Realistically, I should have gone to my own room where I could shower away the day’s stench and brood with a glass of whiskey. But the need to be close to her prevailed. I had made sure to burn my old clothes, change into a new suit, and wash my hands before entering Darla’s vicinity.
My wife’s frame rose steadily underneath the thick duvet, her face the only thing visible under the ray of moonlight. She looked so peaceful.
I wondered what she dreamt of…and wished it were me.
The same way I dreamt of her last night.
Energy drained from today’s events, I felt like a shell of a man. Old and weary, despite my young years.
A bigger part of me longed formore. Perhaps that’s why Yves pushed me to pursue Darla so the loneliness driving me to my wife’s room late at night could be assuaged.
Lost in thoughts and my wife’s gobsmacking beauty, I realized a second too late she was shivering.
Her feet stuck out under the blanket and I touched them, her toes ice-cold.
As quietly as possible, I searched her drawers for socks, finding a pair of pink fuzzy ones. Darla didn’t make a sound as I gently rubbed her feet to bring them some semblance of heat.
