I don’t have much time to appreciate the scenery, though. I’ve rushed back to the city that shunned me for one reason and one reason only, and every second I wait puts her in greater danger.
A familiar voice crackles over my earpiece. “Let me know when you’re done,” Finn says.
I walk into the dingy apartment building and bound up the stairwell to the third floor. The rickety door I’m here for is at the far end of the hallway; I check to make sure that my Glock is loaded and ready as I stand outside of it.
“I’ll let you know,” I answer, re-holstering my Glock—it’s just a safety precaution. I’ve learned my lesson about making a racket when I don’t need to.
My switch-blade should do the trick for this job. I pull it out of my pocket and give the door in front of me a polite knock. I hear rustling come from the other side.
“... Who is it!?” a concerned voice demands.
I don’t answer. This door has no peephole. I’m going to keep knocking until someone opens up.
Floorboards creak and I get ready. The person inside is understandably hesitant to open up, but when I hear him place his ear against the other side of the door, I knock again.
“What the fuck do you want!?” snaps the jittery, pissed-off voice as he whips open his door.
I’m suddenly confronted by a familiar looking face.
It’s like looking into a funhouse mirror. God, I hope I don’t look that bad. A quick punch to the nose sends Biff Trigger stumbling backwards back into his apartment. Before he has a chance to swear, I’ve slipped around him and brought my switchblade up to his neck.
“No, wait—” he begs.
I slice him open before he can finish.
Slowly, I let his increasingly lifeless body drop to the ground, careful not to make too much noise.
It’s almost like an out-of-body experience as I watch the sorry son-of-a-bitch—my low-level doppelganger, Biff Trigger—bleed out on the floor below me.
This dude has been in an out of jail for attempted rape at least 3 times since I had to skip town. For some reason, no one can seem to get the charges to stick. So, I’ve decided to dole out some justice of my own. I’ll admit, I’m not being entirely altruistic. I’ve got a plan for this familiar-looking body, and it’s going to help me rid this city of every criminal who dares come after me.
“Done,” I say, after Biff’s taken his last breath.
“Do you need any help? You’re both pretty big guys,” Finn asks.
I scoff at the offer. “As long as there isn’t anyone shooting at me, I’ll be just fine.”
The garbage bags come out of my backpack quick and easy. Biff doesn’t get in them so effortlessly, though. We’re just about the same height and weight, but the lifelessness in his limbs makes him twice as heavy as he would be if he were still alive. Plus, Finn’s right; Biff and I are big guys—or, rather, Biff was a big guy. Now, he’s just a big pile of flesh and bones and blood and guts that I’m struggling to roll over.
Maybe I’m out of shape from my little hideaway vacation, but by the time I’ve finished packing Biff up, I’m nearly breathless.
God, I can’t wait to hit up the gym again.
But first, more important matters.
I take a quick break, then haul the wrapped-up body of my doppelganger down the dingy, dimly-lit stairwell of the shady apartment. When I kick open the back door on the ground floor, I’m greeted by a warm breeze and the sound of distant gunshots.
Shit still hasn’t calmed down in the city since I blew everything up with a single hand grenade, but I couldn’t wait a day longer to get back—not after Finn’s bad news hit my ears.
The Russians had found Nia. Even worse than that, Semyon and some goons had paid her a visit.
Finn had been late to show up outside of her apartment for a routine checkup, but he’d still been able to catch sight of the greaseballs as they left. He couldn’t risk confronting them on his own, but he’d immediately rushed up to Nia’s apartment and found her alive, if not completely terrified.
He’d comforted her and asked if she had any other place to stay. Nia had trusted the man in the police uniform and told him about her friend, a former co-worker. Finn had gotten her to call her friend, and then he’d driven her over to his place to spend the night. She’d been so shaken that she’d hardly had the mind to ask Finn any questions—like, how did he know she was in trouble?
Thank god for my crooked cop. I don’t know how I’d ever manage without him.
Finn’s waiting for me in an unmarked police cruiser in the back alley behind Biff’s apartment building. He helps me load the body into the trunk.