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I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Actually, it’s more of a personal thing. But yeah, I suppose you could say it’s juicy.”
He slides the rim of his glasses up his nose and drops the subject. Even though he’s obviously intrigued, he knows not to pry any further when he sees the guarded expression on my face. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, returning to his desk nearby.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I focus on my work, temporarily forgetting the potential threat to both me and my Little Finch’s freedom. David and I head over to Tetra Brew for lunch, chatting as we caffeinate and feed our stomachs. But mentally, I’m far away, devising a plan to sneak into Bryant’s motel room.
And find out what he knows.
When we get back to the Fallbank Chronicle, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else. All I can think about is leaving and getting ready for tonight. As soon as I am able, I gather my things and head for the exit. However, before I can leave, David’s voice calls out from the office, stopping me in my tracks.
“You’re coming to the Christmas party, right?”
If I’m being honest, I almost forgot about it. “Of course,” I answer, fixing a smile on my face before turning around. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
He chuckles. “You bringing that hottie with you?”
My blood boils. How dare he speak about Gwen that way?!
I ought to slit his throat for that, but I can’t make a mess at my workplace. “If she wants to come, then yeah,” I say as I pivot on my heel and make for the exit—before I’m tempted to stab David in front of the entire office. “See you later, Jung!”
I don’t hear what he says next, and I don’t really care. All I need to be concerned with is going home and putting my plan into action.
As I drive over to the motel, the streets are relatively calm. It’s evening, and the detective has taken to visiting the bar located close by. He does this every Thursday night—probably because the Great Boar Tap has an evening special where he can get blitzed on cheap booze. He often brings some unfortunate girl back with him to fuck, too.
I park my rental car in the lot of a nearby business and pull up my hood. After stashing my lockpick in my pocket and double-checking my sheathed knife, I head toward the motel. I scan the area, see no one, and head up the grimy, cracked walkway to room 237. Surprisingly, the lock opens easily, and I slip inside.
I switch on my flashlight and survey the room. Empty bourbon bottles litter the floor by the bed, and the scent of sweat fills the air. I wrinkle my nose; even the mask can’t block out the stench. I begin my search, digging through drawers and inspecting underneath the bed. After finding nothing of relevance, I lift the mattress—and there it is.
Bingo, I think, collecting the leather folder from the stained box spring. Dropping the mattress, I slide the strap back to reveal a bundle of documents. I quickly flip through them, my lips tightening into a thin line; it looks like Bryant really has been up to no good.
As I’m about to give the room another once-over, headlights beam through the window, accompanied by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the lot. I check the clock and realize he’s ended his escapades early tonight. I hear loud voices—a man and a woman—come from outside. Muttering a string of curses, I shut off my flashlight as their footsteps on the walkway grow louder.
With little time to hide, I rush to the closet with the folder, slipping inside and flattening my back against something just as the door swings open.
“So, you’re a cop, huh?” the woman slurs, stumbling inside. “Can I touch your gun?”
“Yeah,” Bryant says, equally wasted. “And you can polish it, too.”
From my hiding place, I observe them through a slit in the closet door. The woman giggles uncontrollably as he shoves her onto the bed. Bryant unzips his pants while she hikes up her skirt before doing away with her thong. He pulls out his cock—and she does some polishing, alright. I suppress a grimace, thankful that they didn’t bother to turn on any lights.
After a brief session of the mattress squeaking and sloppy, disgusting drunk sex, they pass out half-naked. She snores softly, while Bryant sounds like a freight train on rickety tracks. It seems they won’t be waking up anytime soon. But still I wait, making sure they don’t stir before flicking on the flashlight to inspect the object behind me.
It is a large board covered with various things—photographs, notes, evidence, you name it.No fucking way. This is shit you think you’ll only see in crime shows and movies. Pinned to it are photos of me, Gwen, and several others. Mostly people I’ve killed. But what is most concerning is the connections Bryant’s been making.
I study the detective’s murder collage, memorizing everything I can. Part of me wants to kick myself for not bringing a camera along. But I know I cannot risk any trails leading back to me. Not when the authorities are inching ever closer to building a solid case.
I consider taking the folder. Would Bryant think he was too drunk to remember moving it from under the mattress? Something tells me he would become even more persistent in his pursuit. So I go through the documents, making mental notes of dates and times. All the leads he has followed, all the evidence he has gathered.
It quickly becomes apparent from this collection that Bryant has been investigating me and Gwen for much longer than I had initially guessed. And of all things to tip him off?
My fucking forged documents for college in New York!
I seethe silently, wondering just where I went wrong. Regardless, that prick is going to regret sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.
Recording every possible detail I can in my mind, I step out of the closet and tiptoe towards the bed. Bryant’s snoring has finally quieted down, and he peacefully slumbers. His visage fills me with rage. My jaw tightens, and I grip the hilt of my knife, wanting to gut him. But I take a deep breath, knowing now isn’t the time.
Instead, I slide the folder underneath the bed and slip silently into the night.
As I drive home, my mind races as I carefully craft a plan. Bryant has already dug up too much, connected too many dots. And if he keeps digging, it’ll only be a matter of time before he discovers the full extent of things. But if I can get to him first, I can turn the tables on him. Make him regret ever crossing my path.
