Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
She was losing it.
The rage was gonna drain, leaving her a mess.
I moved forward across the floor, pressing my gun into her free hand.
"You or me," I told her, watching as her face lifted to look me in the eye. "Either way, it's got to be done."
She'd never be allowed to walk away from this.
He would track her down.
She'd probably get the same treatment her sister had all those years ago.
Then they'd kill her.
"We both know it is the only option."
"She can't do it," Monty insisted, sure, so fucking sure. "She still loves me. Always hero-worshipped me."
To that, her hand slid to the trigger as she snorted, pressing it into his skull.
"That was back when there was anything even vaguely heroic about you. Rot in hell, Monty."
The bang was loud in the small apartment.
Alerting all the neighbors.
Maybe not a new sound to them, but one that would likely bring the cops.
I rushed past her, going into Monty's bedroom, grabbing hats and sweatshirts, coming back with a washcloth, scrubbing at her shocked face as she stood there, body slightly trembling, getting rid of the blood.
"Stay with me for five more minutes," I demanded. "Ya can lose yer shite when we are out of here," I added, gathering her hair up under her cap, pulling the shirt over her head. "Come on," I asked again, wiping her hands while grabbing the gun, stuffing it into the front pocket of the sweatshirt I threw on. "We got to go now," I told her, walking over toward the window.
"Where are you going?" she asked, finally looking up from her brother's body.
"Fire escape. We gotta go down a floor. The neighbor is out. We can let ourselves out through her apartment. We can't walk out of the hall here."
Nodding a bit numbly, she followed me out into the heat of the end days of summer, down the slippery fire escape to the window one floor below, thanking God the locking mechanism was busted as it slid right open to her living room - all floral and dated.
We walked out to the door, stopping in the hall when I saw a group of guys standing at the far end.
Taking a look at Lou in her boxy, sexless outfit, I shoved her up against the wall, shoving my tongue into her mouth.
"Fucking fags," one of them hissed at us as we walked past.
Lou's lips were lifeless under mine, but I kept it up until the guys seemed out of the hall.
"They'll say they saw two guys making out if the cops ask," I told her, ripping off her sweatshirt, and walking her right out the front door. "Ya gonna be able to hold it together enough to drive back to the motel?" I asked, knowing I couldn't leave my bike there. It wasn't exactly registered. And the plates weren't exactly mine. But there were fingerprints. I didn't need those fuckers going onto a file somewhere.
"I'm fine," she assured me. And, what's more, she was. Momentarily. It wouldn't last. She was going to lose it. But that was what I needed to know right then.
"No stops," I demanded, giving her hand a squeeze.
With that, I got on my bike, waiting for her to get in her car, and I followed her back to the motel.
"Shouldn't we check out?" she asked, about as enthusiastic about the idea of driving back to Navesink Bank as I was right that moment. Which was not at all.
But we really could use to get out of Philly.
Just in case. I didn't know how careful she was about sneaking in. And she was the kind of woman you remembered seeing.
"I'll grab our shite," I told her. "We'll drive out of the city limits. Leave my bike at the Walmart we passed. I'll have some of the guys come pick it up. Ya and me, we'll catch a hotel. Something we don't feel gross sleepin' in."
"Why not just go back to Navesink Bank?"
"It's late. Ya need to clean up. I need to get this gun cleaned, and disappear it. Let's just go with my plan for tonight, aye?"
"Alright," she said, no fight, no hesitation, very much unlike her. Which only further proved she was barely hanging on.
So we did what I said, and I shuffled her up to a fifth-floor room with a king-sized bed and a soaking tub.
"Come on," I demanded as soon as I threw our shite onto the bed. "Let's get those clothes off. I gotta get rid of those too. Ya gotta scrape yer nails, scrub yer body and hair. Ya know the drill," I demanded, not liking the way she just stood there, slowly undressing, everything about her blank.
I was gonna need to leave, too.
Not for long.
Just a short trip to drop off the gun, and find a place to get rid of the clothes as well.