Jesus Christ. I want to rush toward him and shake him, begging him to wake up from the cold slumber he’s fallen into, but I know that would only put me at risk of an attack. His eyes are open, staring without seeing at the ceiling above him.
I have no idea why George was killed, but whoever is responsible for this is going to pay with their life. I have no sympathy for cold-hearted killers, even if I am one myself. Hell burns hot for us, and I’m eager to send others there before I inevitably join them.
I look around the room again, then turn back toward the doorway, walking out. There is no other way into the kitchen, so whoever killed George went out the same way they came in.
I look for evidence as to where to killer may have gone, scanning the faded wallpaper and watching the floor for even the faintest footprints.
Thankfully, footprints aren’t needed. Little drops of blood trail out toward the back door where the wedding venue is being dismantled by the construction crew that put it up earlier today. There are sure to be witnesses to a man rushing out of the house.
I sprint toward the door, clutching my towel tightly as I move. I wish I had some pants to wear. Maybe Honey was right about sleeping naked. Maybe it was a stupid idea all along, but I’ve never had any trouble with it before. I guess there’s no time like the present to start fucking things up.
Use my shoulder to push the back door open, stumbling out into the lawn as the sun sets deep in the southern pines. I’m dismayed to find that the construction crew has already packed up and moved out, leaving no evidence that there ever was a wedding to begin with, much less anyone to witness the killer leaving the house.
Except he hasn’t fully left yet. I spot him on the horizon, running away toward a black car in the distance. I wish I had a rifle with me because the pistol in my hand doesn’t have the range to take out someone so far away. I won’t be able to catch up with the man either, but I squint my eyes studying everything about him so that I’ll be able to recognize him at a later date.
I’m good at this. I’ve caught traitors before just by the way that they walked or breathed. People think that they can get away with anything if they hide their faces, but they’re wrong. Eyes, speech patterns, handwriting, shoeprints, and the way they walk or run can all give me enough evidence to be the judge, jury, and executioner when I come upon them in the street. The man running from the house is no different. I’ve got his profile stored in my head now, and if I ever see him again, he’s a goner.
I just wonder why he would kill someone like George. The man is as sweet as a plum, and he takes orders without hesitation. He’s one of the best on my team, even with how old he is, and I feel sorrow at his untimely death.
Yes, I’ve seen many good men die, but George wasn’t just a good man. He was a goddamned saint.
I step back into the house. I have to call for backup in case there’s someone else in the house that shouldn’t be. I knew I shouldn’t have come to this stupid estate. It doesn’t even have proper security, which is how someone was able to kill George in the first place.
I feel a little useless, letting something like this happen. It’s the first day of unity between mafia groups, and this isn’t a good omen. George wasn’t just respected and loved by me. He was loved by everyone on the crew that had the fortune of knowing him. He’ll be missed, and a lot of people will feel uncomfortable with how easily his life was taken.
Keeping this under wraps will be impossible, but I can smooth it over for now by creating a distraction. It’s a typical power move, but it works. When you’re under fire for mismanaging something, you cause a stir somewhere else. It’s difficult for people to be focused on more than one thing at a time.
But that’s all business strategy. Right now, I need to get Honey to a more secure location and have my men clean up the horrible mess in the kitchen. There’s a phone in the hallway, but I don’t make it to the phone before one of my guards comes through the doorway, doing his usual rounds. His eyes widen when he spots me.
“Sir,” he stammers, clearly taken aback by the fact that I’m running around the mansion in just a towel.
“Not the time for hesitation, soldier. A man is dead in the kitchen, and I need it taken care of,” I grumble, waving my gun down the hall in the general direction of George’s body.
“I didn’t hear anything,” the guard replies.
I roll my eyes. “Knives don’t make sound, buddy. Just get in the kitchen and get your guys to clean it up. I want security doubled, and I want an armored car out of the estate to the southwest office. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m there. You got it?”
He straightens up, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I reply, lowering my gun. “Get me a goddamn coke.”
Chapter Eight
Honey
My arms are crossed tightly beneath my bosom when Carter comes back through the bedroom door. He was only gone for a few minutes, but in that time, I
