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CHAPTER THREE

PERRY

I’m going to be the best damn sidekick that there ever was. I’ve got my leather gloves. My hoodie. A mask that covers the lower half of my face and has a cool leering skeleton mouth on it. There were a ton of them online, and Elle is the most amazing future sis-in-law ever because she overnighted it to me without the invasive questions Margot would have asked.

I have a place and a time to meet Arlie, and it’s been on my mind all day. I refuse to be late. I even set about five alarms in the lead-up to leaving so that I wouldn’t get distracted and forget, and since I have some time to spare, I’m going to show up with a little something for her as my thanks for doing this for me.

Unfortunately, my bank balance limits what that something could be, so I settle for two coffees. We’re in for a long night, so this will keep us going.

Only when I get to the front to order and the cashier asks for my name, I hesitate. If we’re doing what I think we’re doing tonight, I can’t leave any evidence for the police. That starts now. I need to start thinking like a calculating, cunning creature of the night.

And those calculated, cunning creatures probably don’t give their real names for coffee orders .

“Jerry,” I blurt, proud of myself for catching this. “And Harley.”

The cashier rings me up, I stand to wait, and when they call my order, I remember to answer to the wrong name. I’m already killing this thing. Pun intended.

The street outside looks cut in half, with the bright, busy road and shopfronts, and the still black canvas above it all. I love the nighttime. It makes the traffic and the people seem more magical, and when I smile at the people I pass, most of them even smile back.

During the day, people are too busy rushing around, earbuds in, talking obnoxiously loudly.

I meet Arlie a few streets over, in a shady alleyway that we probably shouldn’t be lingering in—though, I guess we’re the reason people shouldn’t hang out in these places. Boy, that is going to take some adjustment.

“Got you something,” I say, holding out her coffee.

She looks at it like it’s about to explode in her face. “You stopped for coffee.”

“Thought we might be here a while.” I turn a little so she can see my backpack. “Brought snacks and a set of cards too.”

“This isn’t a sleepover.”

“I know.”

“We’re not braiding each other’s fucking hair.”

“That’s lucky, because I don’t know how to do that.”

“We’re killing someone, Perry.”

“It’s Jerry.”

She blinks at me. “What?”

I hold up my coffee so she can see. “Jerry. It’s my alias.” Then I shake her cup at her. “And yours is Harley.”

“Mine is already Arlie.”

“Oh … I thought that was your real name.”

“No.”

“So, wait. I don’t even know your real name?”

The exhale she lets out is slow and measured. “No.”

“Tommy? Everett? Luther ? ”

The way she looks at me answers my question.

“Wow. Okay. Can’t say the lack of trust doesn’t hurt?—”

“We’re going to be late.” She takes both coffees. “Have you drunk from this?”

“Not yet. It was a bit hot.”

“Good.” Then she turns and throws my very thoughtful gift into the dumpster behind her. “We don’t give them DNA, we don’t give them shitty aliases, and we definitely do not go into businesses that have CCTV footage. Come on .”

Damn it. I didn’t think about the cameras. “Noted.”

“We also won’t be here for long if we’re doing our job right. So no need for heavy backpacks or snacks, and dear fucking god, if you’re playing cards on a hit, you’re just asking to die.”

“I wanted to make tonight memorable.”

The look she levels me with almost makes me step back a notch. “Have you ever killed someone before?”

“Not … directly?”

“Indirectly, then?”

“Well, who can say? I littered once—what if the paper blew up onto a windshield and caused a five-car pileup?”

Arlie doesn’t look convinced. “Tonight will be memorable. Trust me.”

“I’m just glad we get to spend this one-on-one time together.”

“Still not friends.”

“We’ll see.”

“Up the fire escape. We’re cutting it close.”

I glance overhead, not thrilled about how tall the building is. “How high are we going?”

“All the way to the top.”

Of course we are. My apprehension is cutting as I climb the stairs, reminding myself not to look down. I’m not scared of heights, specifically, but heights have never exactly done much for me either. The higher we go, the more I’m reminded of that.

“And the rooftop is obviously necessary,” I check.

“Yep. ”

I’m hit by a thought that immediately spills from my mouth. “You’re not planning to push me off, are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I know too much. Holy shit. Was it my name on the paper? Is that why Luther was suddenly okay with me coming?”

“Do us both a favor and don’t think for a while.”

“That wasn’t a no!”

I swear Arlie laughs, which can’t be right because she never laughs. It must have been someone from inside one of the apartments we pass. Someone who sounds a lot like her.

I’m out onto the rooftop first, and I consider for a whole second whether to run or stop her from coming up here or … fuck, I have no clue. But maybe doing something to protect myself wouldn’t be a totally ridiculous thing? Unfortunately, I am ridiculous and apparently have no survival skills because I’ve barely started debating with myself when she joins me.

“Fuck it. Get it over with,” I say, holding my hands out to the side. “Would it be easier if I jumped?”

“Actually, yes.”

I’m about to make my pathetic way over to the edge when she continues.

“Then I wouldn’t have to listen to you being all dramatic anymore.” She unzips the bag at her waist and pulls out a gun. The metal gleams threateningly, and it’s only just now occurring to me that I’ve never seen one of these in real life before. I’m suddenly not so sure I ever wanted to. “Relax, we’re not here for you.” The next thing she pulls out is a long metal cylinder that she attaches to the gun. She must notice me watching curiously. “It’s a suppressor. This one is a single shot. Bullet cases will land right here, and we’ll walk a few blocks before we ditch them in the trash.”

“Won’t they be found?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if they are. It’s a ghost gun. No serial number, and the kits were bought from all over. It’s untraceable, and I’m gone before anyone knows what happened.”

“How long have you been doing this for? ”

Arlie shrugs. “A couple of years.”

“And you haven’t been caught?”

“It would be more of a surprise if I had.”

I’m not sure what her logic is behind that. The confusion on my face must show.

“The stats are something like only two percent of crime ends in a conviction. And it’s around ten percent where there’s actually an arrest made. Those people are usually amateurs.”

I watch in morbid curiosity as she slides a bullet cartridge into the gun. “There’s no way that can be true.”

“Look it up.”

“I think I will.”

“Fine.” She snaps back the thingy on top with a metal clink . “Either way, I like my chances.”

“If that is true though … pretty much anyone could kill anyone.”

“Pretty much.”

“Even me.”

She eyes me, her hood pulled up, covering her dark hair. “I think you’d be in the two percent.”

“Ouch.” I clutch my chest. “You’re throwing out some hard truths tonight.”

“You bought coffee.”

“Would it have made a difference if it was brought from home?”

“No. The less you have on you, the better.” Her eyes fall closed for a second as she groans. “You brought your wallet, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“With your ID?”

It clicks where she’s going with this, and I don’t want to confirm her suspicion. “No?”

I get the look again. “Still think you’re not in the two percent?”

“It’s possible I see your point.”

“Right. Can we get on with this now?”

This being kill someone. I purposely haven’t asked any questions about the mark or thought too deeply about them and having a family. In fact, the coffee and the cards and the snacks were all because I’ve been actively not thinking about it. But I need a job, and this is all that’s paying right now, so I’m going to have to suck it up.

I nod and follow Arlie to the edge of the rooftop. “You’re pulling the trigger, right?”

“Right. And you’re not actually getting paid for tonight. This is purely to see if you can handle it.”

“Okay.”

“And, Perry?”

I pull my attention from the street below to where she’s watching me. “If you rat any of us out, if you get cold feet and want to tell someone, if you betray me or any of the people I care about … they will kill you. Immediately. Luther’s just the messenger, and the real people behind this operation are very well protected. Guys like Carson Alexander, you’d be an easy target for them.”

I manage a half smile. “There you go with the trust again.”

“I want to make it clear.”

“Message received. Besides, like I said, I’m desperate for the?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, Arlie tugs up her black mask, takes aim, and shoots.

The chick-et, chick-et sounds like a really loud, well, stapler . Then, she lowers the gun.

“It’s done. Let’s go.”

It’s … done? Just like that? A cut-off thought, a millisecond of concentration, and someone’s life switches from on to off as easily as me tossing breadcrumbs to Sir Squeakerton.

I stupidly turn to the street below, and it takes me a moment of searching through the lack of panic to realize that she wasn’t aiming for the street. She was aiming for the apartment across and down three flights from us. With an open window. And a dead guy sprawled out on the floor.

His tattooed arms are splayed out over his long hair, shirt pulled up to reveal a sliver of vulnerable skin, and he’s not moving. I’m assuming because of the bullet holes through his neck and head.

I’m hit with too many feelings to know what I’m feeling as I stare at the suddenly dead body across from here.

“Huh,” I manage weakly. “Good shot.”

“Thanks. Time to go.” Arlie grabs my arm and drags me away from the building and back over to the fire escape. “Pull your mask up.”

I do what she says on autopilot.

“What the fuck is that?” she demands.

“My mask.”

“Why is it smiling at me?”

“Thought it gave it a little something something.”

I swear she fucking growls. “You don’t want something something. You don’t want spice or pizzazz. You want total anonymity.” Arlie’s eyes go big, and somehow, she mimics the exact same look as Margot. The look of complete disbelief in me. “You can’t do this.”

I quickly grab her arm before she can walk away. “I can. I promise.”

“You’ll get yourself killed, and then that’s on me.”

“Come on, Arlie-even-though-that’s-not-your-real-name.” I press my hands together in front of my chest. “Help me. I’m a pathetic no-hoper. I get it. But without this, I literally have nothing. I need you.”

“You want to kill people that badly, huh?”

My whole face screws up. “I don’t want to kill people at all. I just don’t have a choice.”

She sighs, tugging me back toward the fire escape. “We all have a choice. But fine. I’ll text you an address. Meet me there tomorrow, and I’ll teach you how to hold a gun. Then the rest is on you.”