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“Grab him by the hips and throw him over your shoulder. Don’t you know how to do this?” She says, gesturing with the gun as I bend over to pick up the man with the roadrunner tattoo.
I freeze in mid-motion and shoot her a withering look.
“Know how to do what?” I say. “Are you really asking if the volunteer firefighter knows how to put the dead man over his shoulder in what is commonly referred to as a ‘fireman’s carry’?”
“Trust me, I’m as shocked about it as you are. But from the shitty job you’re doing, you’re making me glad I never had a situation where I would’ve had to rely on the vaunted services of the Costa Oscura fire department. No wonder you’re just a volunteer — the skills you put on display definitely aren’t worth paying for.”
I drop the dead body back to the floor with a heavy thump. Alexandra flinches at the noise, but I don’t — the asshole’s dead. He won’t feel a thing.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Are you? Because you’re handling that dead guy like you’d rather cuddle with him than get rid of him.”
I gesture to the bottle of tequila in her hands. “If you want me to keep putting up with your bullshit and do the work that you are clearly too drunk to do, then you better pass me that bottle.”
She does. “Drink up, buttercup.”
I take a drink. Then another, because I can see by the way she flinches that this bottle was probably expensive, and she’s already regretting sharing it with me. The tequila burns nicely. It’s quality stuff, so I drink even more.
Then, finished, I toss the bottle back to her and pick up the dead guy.
“Lead the way, princess.”
“Princess?”
My eyebrow raises. Does she really need me to explain? “Who’s your daddy?”
“Are you really trying that old line on me?”
“No, it’s fucking literal. Do I need to break it down for you? Has the tequila zapped that much of your fucking brain? Your daddy’s an MC prez, and your brother was an MC VP. That makes you a club princess, sweetheart.”
“This tequila-zapped brain was still enough to beat you. Now, brave soldier boy—“
I cut her off, because despite the undignified situation I find myself in and the death wish and self-hate I’ve carried for years, I still don’t have so low of an opinion of myself that I’d accept being associated with the Army. “I’m a Marine.”
“Whatever. Let’s get this body to the trunk.”
I don’t move.
“It’s important to me you know there’s a difference.”
“Fine. I accept there’s a difference — they’ve got better uniforms and better special forces units. Marines can’t hold a candle to the Green Berets.”
“You have got to be fucking with me.”
She laughs and gestures to the door. “I am. I honestly don’t care. It’s just one notch away from cosplay in my book. And in the wrong direction, too. So stop throwing a fit and let’s take care of this corpse before he stinks up my kitchen even more.”
I enter the hallway and head toward the elevator, body over my shoulder and Alexandra and her gun at my back.
“You ever done this before?”
“Just shut up and carry him to the stairwell. It’s the third door on the right.”
“Stairs? No elevator?”
She scoffs. “You think I’m going to put myself in a tightly enclosed space with you so you can attack me and get this gun? Right. Not going to happen. Go to the stairs.”
I stop at the entrance to the stairwell, see a sign on it denoting that we’re on the sixth floor.
