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Tony nods and doesn't argue this time.
The hallway we are in is clearly a back passage behind the sanctuary. The church is old. The stone floors combined with the worn wood feel cold and empty.
It feels like churches always feel to me. People always claim they can feel God's presence in places like this. All I ever feel is a profound sense of loneliness.
I run my fingers against the yellow Sony Walkman that is clipped into my belt. I never clean a scene without it.
"Alright," I say, turning to Tony. "Since you clearly haven't talked to Marco about what it is you're supposed to be doing here, I'll give you a little instruction. Wait here and watch the door. No one goes in or out. Understood?"
"Yes, boss," he says.
"Oh," I say just before I'm about to enter the sanctuary. "And unless it's an absolute emergency, don't disturb me while I'm working."
I don't wait for his reply. I'm itching to get started.
I never let anyone give me the details of a scene before I'm there to clean it up. It ruffled some feathers at the beginning of my cleaning career. People were worried about the risk. What if I left a body somewhere by accident or some shit like that?
What they didn't understand is that just by looking at the aftermath, the crime itself becomes clear to me. I can see how it all played out just from looking at where the bullets and bodies fell.
I fit my headphones into my ears, press the "Play" button on my Walkman, and push open the door to the sanctuary.
"Tainted Love" by Soft Cell fills my ears, and it is as if I am watching a movie of the crime play out the moment I take in the scene.
Our guy entered from the door I just went through, which meant the handle and likely the frame need cleaning. Starting from the back of the sanctuary, he walked up the center aisle between the pews. If he were smart, he wouldn't have touched the pews, which means I need to clean the tops of the pews.
"...Sometimes I feel I've got to run away..."
Just before he got to the first row, he stopped. The target entered the sanctuary from the confessional that was off to the right. Upon seeing the target, he knelt down in the first pew, as if he were praying.
And that's when the job got sloppy.
Instead of moving to the confessional like he was supposed to do, he tried to shoot the target from a kneeling position in the first pew.
Of course his first shot missed, along with the second and third, meaning there are stray casings and bullets that need to be located.
The target engaged him too, shooting into the pews twice. Two more casings. Two more bullet holes.
I approach the first pew and turn. Our guy's fourth attempt finally hit its mark, but only in the shoulder.
"...now I run from you..."
I walk forward to see the target dead on the ground, blood seeping from his shoulder and his head. The fifth shot did what one bullet in the confessional booth should have taken care of.
I smile.
"...oh, Tainted Love..."
It is a messed-up scene, that's for sure, but that only makes my job that much more interesting.
Scenes play out from start to finish in my mind, but I clean them from finish to start. That way, if I happen to be interrupted, there hopefully won't be any dead bodies or guns lying around.
I pull the plastic wrap from my bag and start the first job of wrapping the body.
As I wrap the plastic around the fifty-something-year-old, I wonder what his life was like and whether he ever expected to be gunned down in a church. Not only do I not want the details of the hit, I don't want the details of anyone's life or crimes. Feeling personally connected to anyone just makes my job that much harder.
"...now I'm gonna pack my things and go..."
The best way to approach this sort of thing is to remove yourself emotionally from the act. Bodies are the same as guns, are the same as fingerprints. It all just needs to be cleaned up.
