Before Daisy can lie in an attempt to protect me, I speak. “The man was a threat. I took care of that threat. It is of no concern.”
“Assault and battery is a crime in the U.S., Mr. Anders. It’s my job to look into these crimes.”
His eyes flick behind me, down the hall, no doubt contemplating why Daisy and I emerged from the bedroom instead of sitting beside Christine. I do not believe I can convince him we were engaged in sexual activity. He is no fool.
“I want to hurt no one,” I answer slowly, trying to convey to him that I am no danger to the citizens he protects, only those who would bring harm to Daisy. “We are new college students trying to find a place for ourselves. We want to learn and live in peace.”
“And love,” Daisy interjects quietly.
“Yes, and love.”
Because he is not a fool, I pray that he understands my unstated message. We watch as he evaluates us, weighs our statements.
Finally he speaks. “Do you need help cleaning up before the EMTs arrive?”
Daisy and I stare at each other and then at McFadden, who stands patiently, his hands loose at his sides, as if he has not just offered to engage in a criminal activity.
I nod slowly. “I have big trash in the bedroom. It should be removed before the emergency services arrive.”
“Good thought. Do you have trash services on the premises?”
“No.” I shake my head. Daisy has moved to kneel by Christine, but her eyes are big as saucers over this conversation. “I will have to take the trash to special dumping site.”
“Let’s go then.” He rubs his hands together.
Confused but not unwilling to turn aside this offer of assistance, I walk to the kitchen sink and pull out a big black trash bag. Together we move to the back bedroom. The man is there, and lividity is starting to set in. The twist marks around the neck are purpling, and blood is beginning to pool at the points of his body making contact with the floor.
“Big piece of trash,” McFadden agrees. Together we fold the male in half and roll him into the garbage bag. I tie up the ends and heft him over my shoulder.
“It’s not as easy getting rid of dead bodies here,” McFadden jokes as I carry the body down the three flights of stairs.
“Bah,” I say. “In Russia, we give dash cams at the nursery parties. One can hardly piss without it being recorded.”
The trunk of Daisy’s Audi pops up with a press of a button, and I ease the body inside. Once the trunk is shut, I turn to McFadden. “Why are you helping me?”
“I told you. I didn’t believe you were the shooter.”
“But you think I am something.” Even as we speak, I am moving back into the building. The bedroom will need to be remediated with bleach, and I would like to do that before other law enforcement personnel arrive.
“Sure. You have that look.”
I stop on the stairs and stare backward. “What look is that?”
“You’re always watching. You know who is around you at all times. When I watched you shoot, you sensed me immediately. And, your precise shots. It all added up to something odd.”
“I see. I give myself away then.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“To everyone?”
“Maybe not to regular joes, but to someone who is paid to distrust everything and everyone? Yeah.”
Heart heavy, I climb the stairs.
“Not everyone is going to assume that you are something bad,” he calls after me. “Just not a regular art student.”
Halfway up the third floor stairs I remember the printout. It’s a way for me to even the scales. “Come then. I have something for you.”
Outside the door of my apartment is my abandoned backpack. In it is the sound amplifier. There is a gun in my pocket and knives in my boots. The entire building is one that I have purchased with money I earned as a paid assassin. No, I am not a regular art student. I will never be one.
Inside the front pocket, I pull out the sheet and hand it to him. He peruses it silently as we move to the third floor and into the apartment. I bring with me cleaning supplies and begin to spray the floor of the bedroom with a mix of bleach, lemon, and water.
Behind me I hear him suck in a breath. “A game?”
“Da, I do not know who these are. Which are playing the computer game and which ones have taken it off-line. It appears the Mall of America will be targeted next.”
“Biggest public space,” he muses to himself. “Did you break any laws to get this?” He shakes the paper at me.
I pretend to look offended. “Nyet. It is out in the open. They speak in loose code and believe they are clever.”
“Stupid assholes,” he mutters. He pulls out his phone. “Pierce. McFadden here. I’m looking at an online forum for the new game Hitman. No, I’m not playing video games. I think some punks are playing Hitman in real life. Next stop MOA. I’m finishing up a DV and will be in soon.” He pauses to listen and then says, “No, the perp ran when the boyfriend of a friend interrupted.”