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Chapter2
Renata
“What is the matter with you?” I blurt out, arms crossed over my chest, trying to hide my stiff nipples. It’s extremely embarrassing that my body’s reacting that way, considering the corpse burrito on the floor behind me.
Lanzo bursts out laughing as he hustles past. “This the guy? Huh, you got him wrapped up, good job. A lot of people sort of panic and don’t know what to do, but this is a solid start. You watch mafia movies or something? Don’t answer that, doesn’t matter. Here, grab his ankles.” He bends over and hefts the shoulders up.
I stand there, gaping at him. “You seriously came in here quotingTerminatorand now you’re just picking the body up? Will you slowdownfor a second?”
“No time,” he says. “Six minutes. Gotta hustle now. If you had answered right away, we could have a civilized chat, but no time for that. Help me get him up then I’ll do the carrying. You go ahead, make sure nobody’s around. We’re heading to a beat-up old Dodge right at the end of the stairs.”
“Wait, hold on.” I wave my hands at him. “I threw up. Over there on the rug. That’s my DNA, right?”
He makes a face. “I wondered what that smell was. But yep, that’s your DNA, and it won’t really matter. Unless you have a criminal history?” His eyebrows raise.
“No, but—”
“Then don’t worry about it. Cops are way less competent than you think. Grab his ankles, please.”
I finally get moving. I help Lanzo get the body up and onto his shoulder. He grunts as he stands.
“What am I supposed to do if someone’s around?” I ask, feeling another wave of panic threaten to consume me.
“Uh, distract them,” he says, walking to the door. “Seriously. Five minutes. Time to run.”
I curse, slipping past him, and head down the walkway to the steps. Sure enough, there’s a truck idling down by the curb.
Lanzo’s coming after me, lugging the corpse burrito on his shoulder. This whole thing is surreal, absolutely insane, and I almost don’t notice the drunk guy stumbling toward the stairs before Lanzo comes around the corner lugging what is very obviously a body.
“Stop,” I hiss at him then run down toward the wasted guy. He’s older, fifties, balding, heavy-set, clearly so inebriated that he’s stumbling. “Excuse me, sir? Sir, excuse me? Did you drop this?” I grab a lighter from my pocket, improvising now.
“Did I what? Drop huh?” He blinks at me, bleary-eyed. “You did what?”
“Your lighter,” I say, waving it at him. “You dropped this over there.”
“My huh,” he answers, reaching for it. “Over where?”
I cock it back and throw it down the sidewalk. “You dropped your lighter over there,” I say, pointing down the sidewalk.
“The fuck?” he says, staggering back, nearly falling down as he turns to look. I steady him before he can crack his skull open. “The hell? You threw my lighter?”
Lanzo comes hustling down the steps. “Move it, you drunk fuck,” he says, and before I can do anything, he slams into the drunk guy with his shoulder, knocking him over.
The drunk guy hits the ground with a grunt. My hands fly to my face, a scream aborted in my throat. Luckily, his head doesn’t bounce off the pavement.
Here I am, trying to finesse this wasted idiot, while Lanzo just steam-rolls through him like it’s nothing. He doesn’t even look back as he hefts the body into the bed of the truck and begins to cover it with a tarp. “Jump in,” he says, tying it down. “We have to go.”
“Sorry,” I say to the drunk man, hurrying away. “Really sorry!”
“What,” he groans, rolling from side to side. “Where’s my lighter?”
I get into the passenger side of the truck. It smells like leather polish and mint, a strangely comforting smell. It reminds me of Grandpop’s workbench in the garage. Lanzo finishes covering the corpse burrito then gets behind the wheel. “Two minutes,” he says. “Damn, I’m good. Let’s get moving.”
“Hold on,” I say but Lanzo’s already pulling out, driving fast toward the exit. He turns onto the main road and hauls away from the dumpy motel dive. “My car’s back there.” I turn around to watch the parking lot disappear into the distance.
“We’ll get it later.” He glances in the rearview. “What are the chances that guy’s not dead?”
“Don’t even say that.” I stare, heart racing, but there’s only the quiet road behind us.
