Page 7 of Leather & Lark
“You fucker, that’smine. Give it back.”
Budget Batman scoffs when I tap his bicep as the gun lowers to his side.
“No,” he says, then walks away.
He leaves me in the dark as he approaches the new guy, my bag discarded at my feet, the contents of my unzipped makeup pouch strewn across the asphalt. The two men speak in hushed tones and I catch the occasional sentence as I gather my belongings in the dim light.Tow her vehicle … Body’s in the lake … Was probably on her phone. Just a dumb accident …
A dumb accident.
My cheeks heat beneath the cake of white makeup. The urge to snap back with the truth is so strong it chokes up my throat, but I swallow it down and drop to the ground to gather the contents of my spilled bag, shoving everything inside as I shoot glares toward the two men that they don’t see.
And would it really matter if I set them straight? These guys are professionalcleaners. They fix messes for people much more creepy and dangerous than me. I’m sure they’ve seen it all, from legit accidents to torture to everything in between. What harm would it do if they knew the truth?
But it’s a confession I can’t risk getting back to my family. They might not be the squeakiest and cleanest of people, but I have arole to play, and whilechaos agentmight fit the bill,murdererdefinitely does not.
So I plaster on a sunshine smile, hoist my bag up my shoulder, and stride over to them.
“I’d hate to interrupt this little budget superhero whisper party, but we should probably get this show on the road, don’t you think? It’s four hours and twenty-two minutes to sunrise,” I say with a flick of my focus to my watch. When I look up, the new guy’s head tilts as though he’s surprised by my quick calculation. Probably justified, given the dubious first impression. When I shift my gaze to Batman, his eyes are a narrow slash behind his mask. But I square my shoulders and raise my chin beneath, armoring myself against his judgment. “Well? The sooner we fix this, the sooner we never see each other again.”
“Works for me, Blunder Barbie,” my wet-suited Dark Knight snaps. I catch the cadence of an accent despite his attempt to hide it, though I can’t place its origin.
“Don’t drown, Budget Batman. What would Rhode Island do without your exemplary customer service skills and your empathetic medical diagnoses?”
The new guy snorts as I cross my arms and engage in a staring contest with Batman that feels about six years long. He finally relents and shoves my holstered gun at his sidekick with strict instructions to not give it to me. Then he turns on his heel with a huff and stalks toward his car to retrieve his scuba gear.
The new guy and I watch in silence as our disgruntled companion checks his tanks, hauls the gear to the shore, exchanges boots for flippers, and descends into the black water.
“I’m Conor,” my new companion says, not taking his eyes from the lake as he extends a hand in my direction.
“Badass Barbie,” I reply, accepting the handshake. “Also known as Harley Quinn, here for one night only.”
“I figured. Cool makeup.”
“Thanks. Not sure your friend would agree. Is he always such a dick?”
“Most of the time. Yes.”
“Great.”
“Usually he’s more of a piss-taking, button-pushing kind of dick. Tonight he’s just more of a dick-dick.”
“Multifaceted in his ability to be a dick. Good to know.”
Conor snickers and passes me the gun, but he holds it until I meet his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Cross my heart.”
“And if anyone gives you trouble, shoot them,” Conor says. I nod and he relinquishes his hold on the weapon. I pull it from his grasp with a slow and careful hand. With a final, assessing look, he turns to stride away down the deserted road.
“What about if it’s your friend who gives me trouble?” I call after him.
“Definitely shoot him. Just aim for the kneecaps. The rest of him might still be useful.”
I smile and slip the gun into my bag before I turn my attention to the lake. I can see the soft glow from a waterproof flashlight beneath the rippling surface. It’s not long before the sound of an engine approaches and a tow truck pulls up to my Escalade. Conor works efficiently to get it hooked up, and as soon as he finishes, he heads to the shore to wait for his companion.
It’s only a few moments after that when a body rises to the surface, followed by my disgruntled Dark Knight.
My heart rate spikes as he spits out his regulator and folds an arm around the corpse to tow it to shore. I find myself fiddling with the strap of my bag as I watch his progress. In this brief meeting, the scrutiny in his eyes has been like a brand on my skin. Even now, though I can’t track his gaze from this distance in the night, I can still feel it carving me up, a slice from an unseen blade.
