They dragged Tommy into the bath first, with Samantha pulling most of the weight. Compared to the wrestler she’d disposed of in her own tub, a two hundred pound college boy was nothing special, even with a handicap. Samantha pushed him all the way in, snapped on some rubber gloves she had in her pocket and tossed Izzie another pair.
‘Trust me when I say you’ll need these; you don’t want any of that rendered hog fat to be your own.’
She picked up a bottle off the floor and unscrewed the cap.
‘This shit gets rid of anything. You get used to the smell after a while.’
Izzie pulled down the toilet lid and sat down hard, the look on her face saying it was going to be a very long while indeed.
‘How long did it take you to get used to it? Not the smell, I mean, the killing?’
‘The trick is not to think about it too much. Murder’s like any other art form - it has to be organic if it’s to work. When I go hunting, I’m rarely if ever looking for a specific type. I just go with my gut. How to play with them once they’re mine? That I let them decide.’
‘What do you mean?’
Samantha dumped the contents of another full bottle into the tub.
‘I love conversation. It’s a dying art these days, what with texting and Facebook and fucking Twitter, but you can tell a lot about a person from what they say to impress you, and from what they try to hide. Nothing speaks more loudly than deception.’
‘I must be whispering then.’
‘Pardon?’
Izzie’s foot hit Samantha’s chest just as Samantha turned around. She held Samantha up by her shirt collar as she was about to topple over the edge of the tub. All that stood between life and death were the questionable motives of a girl who at that moment reminded Samantha of herself at the same age. Only dumber.
‘Sometimes, you just need to know when to shut the fuck up.’
There was a knock at the bathroom door.
‘Get in here,’ said Izzie.
The door opened. Carey breezed in, carrying a mop.
‘Cool,’ he grinned.
Izzie regarded him the way one might regard something one stepped in at a dog show.
‘Didn’t I tell you to wait for my signal?’
‘I wanted to see you do her.’
‘Surprise me again, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t do you too. How’s your throat?’
Carey wiped at the site of his mortal wound, which was as clean as a whistle but for a small scratch.
‘Feels like you hit it with a brick. Did you have to do it so hard?’
‘I had to be quick, or she would’ve seen me drop the real one. Anyway, it’s a trick knife, dickhead; it would’ve looked pretty obvious if I held back.’
Carey looked at her like it wasn’t obvious at all.
Izzie rolled her eyes. ‘Just hand me the damn knife, and be ready with the mop.’ She snatched the knife away from him and stabbed Samantha in the chest. Five blows, dead centre. Samantha fell into the tub.
Samantha felt the slight sting in her skin as soon as she hit the water, even with a nice piece of college beefcake to fall on. It didn’t matter. The raggy end of the mop came within an inch of her face before she heard the muffled whoop-whoop-whoop of approaching sirens and Izzie and her accomplice scattered. Samantha couldn’t help but let out a little titter; misplaced hubris was a joyous thing to behold. Morales ran into the room, started reaching into the tub to pull her out, then withdrew his hand when he realized what was in it. Samantha didn’t hear what he was saying with the solution running down into her ear canals, but she didn’t need to. Something along the lines of “Are you okay?”
She was okay, alright. When they tested the bottles, the knife, and sundry other things including the winning creature beneath her for evidence, they would be led on a DNA trail that would end with a manuscript, taped to the back of her bathroom door. The first few lines were guaranteed to make it a page-turner.
TALK IS THE CHEAPEST FORM OF COMMUNICATION. I NEVER SAW THE NEED FOR IT UNTIL THE NIGHT I HELD A ROCK IN MY HAND.
An officer appeared in the doorway behind Morales and interrupted Samantha’s wonderment. He was in plain clothes, and he didn’t look local. Hell, he didn’t look twenty-first century. The beret and the flared, navy dungarees were a sight to behold. He stepped in front of Morales and bent over the tub. Samantha heard his every word, loud and clear.
‘Hello, Princess. Remember me?’
Samantha’s eyes widened.
‘We never were introduced, were we? The name’s Mike. Cor, you have given these boys a run for their money. They’ll be scratching their bonces for years over you!’
Mike stood up and reached for Samantha’s hand.
‘Come on, then, love.’
Samantha smiled. After more than thirty years, she was still the smartest person in the room. This was her retirement party, and it was glorious.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
