Dropping the gun, he looked down at the blood pouring out of him in a wave. Bloody knife in hand, I backed away from him. I’d hit something major. Peter’s carpet was covered in blood. So was Carlos. So was I. With one hand, he feebly attempted to put pressure on the wound, but the blood kept coming. Then his hand dropped away. He was weakening all ready. I couldn’t believe how fast it was all happening. I must have driven the knife right into his heart.
He fell to his knees, looked up at me, and with barely any strength left, said, “Fuck you.” He collapsed onto the floor. I stared at his lifeless body for a moment, then jumped into action. I ran into the bathroom and with a wet towel wiped as much of his blood off of myself as I could. I could have taken a shower and changed, but I felt like I had to get out of there as quickly as possible.
I put the bloody knife in the bag; I’d get rid of it somewhere. On my way to a hotel, maybe. I’d find a quiet neighborhood with an open storm drain. I’d drop it in and go on my way. Of course, I felt bad about leaving a dead body in Peter’s apartment. But he had the perfect alibi. He was in France, so no one would suspect him. And no one could connect me to Carlos without connecting him to the deaths of Eddie and Sylvia.
Calling the police and telling them the truth wasn’t even an option. Hanson had it in for me, and my actually killing someone, even in self-defense, wasn’t likely to stop her. Her devotion to Carlos wouldn’t end with his death.
I left the apartment and bolted down the sidewalk toward the street. I was just about to get into my car when I heard the scream, “STOP RIGHT THERE!”
I spun around. A wave of nausea hit me when I saw Hanson standing in the middle of the street aiming a big, black gun right at me. I breathed deeply, trying to get hold of myself. There was nothing to do but stop. “Where’s Carlos?” she asked.
“He’s in my friend’s apartment. I gave him the video. He told me to take off.”
She gave me a disbelieving frown, then she saw the blood on my clothes. “What did you do?”
“I cut myself shaving.” Raising the gun, she squeezed her eyes as though she might shoot. “I was just protecting myself. He was going to shoot me.”
“I, he…” Realization hit her like a brick. If I was alive and standing in the courtyard, it was clear what had happened to Carlos. Her eyes flashed from sadness to anger.
“You’re a cop. Why is okay that Carlos killed Eddie?” I asked.
“It isn’t okay, but it had to happen. Javier was a prostitute and a blackmailer. Carlos is someone who matters. We couldn’t let Javier--”
“You were in love with him, weren’t you? Carlos, I mean.”
“We had a bond. A deep bond. Something you wouldn’t understand.”
“Did Tripp have trouble understanding it? Is that why you arrested him?”
“He’ll be all right. You don’t need to worry about him. He’ll see that what we’ve done was…necessary.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
She was tired of talking. Glancing around, she plotted her next move. Her Crown Vic sat at the curb in front of the building. She stepped aside, then waved me toward the street with her gun. I suppose she wanted me to think that she was planning to handcuff me and push me into the Crown Vic, but I knew better. If I was dead, she’d be safe.
Still, I didn’t have much choice but to follow her instructions. I wondered if she was just going to shoot me on the sidewalk? Then she answered my question by saying, “Run.” I turned to look at her, almost as though I hadn’t heard her. “Run!”
“No,” I said. I took a step closer to her. “If you’re going to kill me, kill me here. Kill me right up close.” It might be the last thing I ever did in life, but I’d at least make my death harder for her to explain.
“RUN!” She pushed me. I fell back a couple feet, but got my footing and moved back toward her. “I SAID RUN!”
I moved closer.
“RUN! RUN AWAY.”
Pushing me away from her, she attempted to step back from me, but I recovered and stepped in closer. She became more and more frustrated.
“FREEZE!” A man’s voice called out. Hanson glanced over her shoulder. Tripp stood on the sidewalk twenty feet behind her, having just come onto the street.
“This guy’s a cop killer,” she told her partner. “We’re not letting him get away with that.”
“Put the gun down, Lucy. It’s over.”
“The blood on his chest. That’s a cop’s blood. Think about it, Aaron. He killed a cop.”
“It’s a murderer’s blood. You know Matt’s innocent. Put the gun down.”
With another glance over her shoulder, she said, “Don’t make it go down this way.”
“I’m not the one in charge here. You are. It’s up to you how this goes down.”
Hanson bit her lip and thought through her options. From the look on her face, she wasn’t finding any of them acceptable. Unexpectedly, keeping her gun raised, she grunted and spun around to face Tripp. She squeezed off a shot.
The back of Hanson’s jacket blew open in a cloud of blood. A sharp, burning pain sprang to life in my bicep. And then, afterward, I finally heard the shot Tripp had fired.
It was followed by a second shot from Hanson’s gun. The bullet went wild. She was already crumpling to the ground when the gun discharged. Neither of the shots had hit Tripp, but still pain flooded his face.
