Revenant

Chapter 39

Driving was beginning to feel a bit like a mark of failure at this point. It seemed that every time I found myself engaged in this particular activity, lazily directing my car through various side-streets and just wandering around, it was because something I'd planned had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

The sun was going down, which meant things would be getting pretty dark soon. I had to get back to my apartment, because that's where I figured I needed to be - the place where I could collect the most amount of data, and collate it properly. But I couldn't head straight back there... not just yet. I had to process a few things first. Winding down after something stressful and scary was an important part of being on top of your game, after all. Adrenaline dumps like the one I'd just experienced led to exhaustion, which in turn led to some pretty poor decision-making. That was something I could scarcely afford, what with my neck on the line and all.

It had been maybe twenty minutes since I'd fled the hotel, so doubtless the whole place was in the process of becoming a 'crime scene' at that particular moment... you know, cops showing up, looking around, determining that something decidedly sinister had occurred, and systematically shutting down all activity that had anything to do with the hotel itself. They'd either found or would shortly be finding a body in the stairwell with its head caved in, a severed head in the alley, a headless body somewhere in the third floor suite, and another body that was in god knows what sort of condition... somewhere. Maybe in the third floor suite. Maybe with a stab wound, maybe with bite marks on it... who the fuck was I to say how he'd died? I'd gotten the hell out of there, like any reasonably sane man would have under those circumstances. Exactly how did Greasy die? No idea whatsoever.

A picture of Stevie's murderous, blood-and-bone face clawed its way up through my memories.

Okay, so maybe I had some idea....

Those in charge of gathering evidence would eventually come to the conclusion that there had been many shots fired during the 'event' that had occurred not half an hour ago, but they would also eventually come to realize that there were no actual gunshot wounds on any of the victims. Based on what I'd witnessed, as well as my knowledge of forensic science, I had a feeling that the scene I'd left behind me at the hotel had just ruined some unfortunate detective's entire month. Poor bastard.

And then, of course, there would be the standard 'question the witnesses' thing they inevitably did when following up on a crime of this magnitude. That had me the teensiest bit concerned.

The couple on the fourth floor hadn't gotten that good a look at me, all thanks to a black duffel bag and a little presence of mind. But the kid at the front desk still kind of worried me. I'd given him a fifty, and we'd traded stares for a moment or two.

In real life, witnesses weren't at all like they were on television programs... not unless they had perfect recall, or an eidetic memory, or whatever. Most people when caught in the throes of a stressful situation can't even remember things like the color of tie someone was wearing, even if they'd been talking to them for five minutes or so. Fact of the matter is that most of us don't care too terribly much about things like what other people are wearing at the best of times. And at the worst of times? Like when the hotel you're working for suddenly becomes a crime scene laden with no less than three bodies, some of which have been dismembered? Yeah... memory can do some funny, funny things in those situations.

Flash! Stevie's murderous expression.

Okay... stop that, brain.

Regardless, chances were whatever the cops got from the kid at the front desk would be pretty useless, when it came right down to it. Some average-looking guy, of average height and average build, wearing bland, uninteresting clothing came up and asked him about the guys on the third floor. And he talked like he was some sort of gangster. Could be anyone, right?