He turned to her and she smiled and took his hand again, tugging to take him around the corner of the building into the alley. She kept walking until they were all the way in the middle of the narrow lane. A homeless man sat with his back against the wall several feet from the other end, wrapped in a blanket, talking to a second homeless man who was stretched out, looking as if he was trying to sleep.
“They can see us,” Overfield whispered.
She laughed. “Isn’t that hot? Don’t you want to fuck me up against the wall with them watching? How hot would that be?” She put one hand on his shoulder. “I forgot to tell you something, Simon. It’s really important.”
“You need money?” He sounded a little disappointed, but willing.
“No, I’m not the one taking money, that would be you,” she whispered, keeping that same smile on her face. Keeping her tone the same. “You take money to keep quiet about the murders. All those women murdered. Their voices cry out to me for justice. You wouldn’t give it to them, so I have no choice.”
He stared at her a moment, uncomprehending. Then he began to sputter, bringing up his hands to push her away. It was too late. The long, thin dagger went right into his heart. He opened his mouth to yell, and the dagger went through the jugular in the side of his neck. Alena knew enough to stay to the opposite side so the blood spray wouldn’t get on her. She waited until he slowly collapsed to the ground, and she crouched beside him, helping to lower him almost gently.
While he bled out, she peeled off the gloves and clothes, and then pulled off the thin plastic she had covering her clean clothing. That was crumpled up and stuffed inside her tote, which she’d already turned inside out so that rather than a bright saucy red, it was a muted mushroom. She carefully inspected her body and clothing to make certain not one speck of blood was on her.
She wore a dark dress that fell well below the knee and sandals rather than heels. She walked to the entrance of the alley where the two “homeless” men were. Absinthe and Savage had shed their disguises, fitting them into the briefcases each carried. They were now dressed in suits and they emerged together, the three walking toward the upscale hotel in the distance.
Once they’d passed it, Alena dropped the rolled-up plastic into one of the large hotel dumpsters and continued walking without missing a beat.* * *Cooper Knight and Bob Flannigan were doing what they usually did on a Friday night when they weren’t working. Both were very good-looking, in their early fifties but could pass for late fifties or early sixties if they needed to. Some older widows refused to look at men they considered much younger. Knight enjoyed his work. He threw himself into the role of the adoring and attentive male finding an older woman who “understood” him. Often, he had money; other times, he didn’t. Once he was officially widowed, women felt sorry for him and he was fair game. In his role he cared for the woman, and when she died, however that was—he preferred an accident—he felt sorrow for her passing.
Tonight, like most Friday nights, they sat in Bob Flannigan’s apartment, watched porn and discussed acting technique. Knight believed himself superior. Flannigan had difficulty closing a deal with a rich widow, whereas Knight could tell when he was first introduced how big of a challenge the woman was going to be. For him, the thrill was in that challenge. Flannigan felt differently. He just wanted the job over.
“That’s why you have so much trouble, Bob,” Knight said, leaning back and taking a handful of popcorn. “You don’t appreciate the actual work. You’re an actor. You have to view yourself as an actor. You take on a role. We go to these charity events in that role. We get the list of names from Harbin and then we just walk around and talk to the various women. Sooner or later you’ll feel a connection, not between you and the woman but between whatever role you’ve chosen, that person, and the woman.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Knight? You think like that? No wonder it takes you so damn long to get the job done.” His gaze jumped to the screen as he watched two women working a man’s cock. He sighed. “You ever have that? Because those old ladies aren’t going to give you that.”
“Those old ladies have experience, Bob. Some of them are very, very good at what they do. You never look at the larger picture.”
Bob grunted but he didn’t take his gaze from the screen. “I do my job.”