Page 66 of Infected By Virus

VIRUS

Instead of leaving the cleaning up to Santa and Iron, Virus stayed to help. They were the professionals at crime scene clean up, but he felt a bit of obligation. If you remove someone from the census, you should finish the dirty work.

On his last trip to the Eureka Cleaning van that was parked around back, Santa cornered him.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I will, as soon as it’s done.”

“Fuck it, youngin’, just because it looks clean doesn’t mean it is. We’ve still got a few more hours to obliterate the evidence.”

Virus snapped his head up. First, because Santa argued about being old, but used it when he needed an air of superiority. Second, because Virus was stunned. It looked pristine in the studio to him. Like nothing had ever happened. At that moment, he appreciated the fact that the club owned the crime scene cleaning service like he hadn’t before.

“Besides, you need to get to your woman. She’s gonna need you after this.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder toward the back of the studio.

Virus pulled his shirt over his head and scrubbed his face with it the best he could, as Santa tossed him a plain black tee. He was nowhere near clean, but from a distance, he’d look it through the window of his truck if he happened to pass anyone on the way.

When he pulled up, Croon and Wall Street had the burn barrel blazing.

Virus barely noticed Croon’s limp from the shot to his leg he took while with the brothers in Montreal. “Leg all good now?”

Virus wanted to talk about anything but what had happened.

“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent.”

“Maybe keep it that way for a while, milk it just a little longer.”

“Milk what?” Croon seemed genuinely confused. How could he not know?

“I don’t know, Marilyn. Maybe ask yourself why a certain video hasn’t been posted yet?”

He stripped all the way down, tossing everything into the burn barrel. “I hear Sway made Squatch promise to lay off until you healed. I’d say by the way you’re walking, the end of the truce is imminent.”

Croon cursed while Wall Street followed Virus over to the grate and hosed him down, then filled his hands with the soap that came from Eureka.

Virus didn’t touch anything but the towel he dried off with, which went straight to the barrel.

Virus was shivering like a motherfucker. Cold as fuck after being pelted with cold water.

He could smell the chemicals Croon was dumping down the grate as Wall Street walked ahead of Virus, opening each door and adjusting the knobs of his shower. Virus didn’t understand the extra caution since he cleaned outside, but he did as told to do.

“Hotter.”

Wall Street closed the shower door behind him and left. A few seconds later, he returned with some clothes. “Need anything else, brother?”

“No. Thanks.”

Left to the silence of his mind as the water pelted his back, Virus’s shoulders slumped. He’d taken a life. One that wasn’t worth a shit, but the weight of that was still resting heavy on him.

The heavier it got, the more pissed off he got. Punching the tile, he cursed. “Fuck.” His knuckles were raw and the special soap from outside still fucking stung.

The fucker was planning on killing his son. The one he’d just found out about, but Barker had apparently known about from before he was even born. He wished he’d asked Barker about that before he killed him. But what good would it have done?

Everything that he’d learned made him sick. The things he planned to do, the things he’d already done.

“Sunny.”

Fuck, he was wasting time feeling sorry for himself while his sunshine was alone in his bed with all that had happened.

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