The Corrupt Trilogy

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  Simon let Jack think he’d gained the upper hand by falling to his back on the floor. He managed the keep his legs around Jack's waist and his forearm above his face, protecting him from the other man's brutal blows.

  Simon snuck his hand under the bed and snatched the rope. Then he lurched up, trying to head butt Jack's nose as a distraction, and whipped the rope in two fast, tight loops around the other man's neck. He pulled tight and watched Jack's mouth purse as he gasped for air that wasn't coming, his eyes bulging out and skin becoming a brilliant red and then purple as he choked.

  Finally Jack's hold on Simon loosened and the bulk of his body began to heave forward. Simon loosened the rope just enough to let Jack heave in one giant gasp of air, the whooshing oxygen sounding rattled and painful in the big man's chest. Then Simon used the moment to flip the man over, heave himself on top, and show Jack that he still had the rope and all of the control.

  He waited.

  Jack finally nodded and put his hands behind his head, acknowledging defeat.

  Simon was sore, his nose was bleeding, and he could feel an array of bruises already cropping up on his body. He'd be hurting in an hour and still to the point of weakness by the end of the day. Fucking great.

  "What are you doing here, Jack?"

  "I should ask you the same damn thing!" Jack was still wheezing, the words coming through his throat like razors. For all of Simon's bumps and bruises, Jack's were worse. His face was a mess, with a large cut streaming blood into his eye. His throat was red and raw, the bruise from the noose already purpling. It was the middle of summer but Simon would place money on Jack wearing turtlenecks for a while.

  "Why is Walter spying on Jessica?" It made Simon's blood run cold. His best kept secret, the thing that had kept Jessica safe, was that no one knew how in love he was with her. That he cherished her. But now he knew there was was audio and fucking visual of his night with her. Walter would know. And the last thing his evil-ass father needed was a card to hold over Simon.

  Because, you know, things weren't bad enough already.

  "When Roger brought her to town, the chief wanted to keep an eye on her. Thought maybe Roger was trying to have a little pussy on the side. Lucky bastard--he has that hot-ass wife, too. The one you made me believe was taken care of. Do you know how much shit I got for not verifying she was dead? What is going on with you, man?"

  One of the fortunate, or maybe unfortunate aspects of their line of business was that Jack wasn't even pissed at being beaten and almost killed by Simon. It was the nature of the job-- you did what you did because you were paid to do it. There was no room for personal feelings. No room to get involved. No wonder Simon had fucked himself over so badly--all this was was personal for him now.

  "I'm working for Walter, same as you," Simon muttered. "So I'm confused why he sent you here, when I told him I was taking care of Roger."

  "If fucking Roger's side-dish is taking care of --"

  Simon punched Jack , stopping him from making anymore asinine comments. "No offense, jerk, but I work in more subtle ways than you. There's an end game here, and getting in bed with Roger's old flame is part of it. They are not fucking, either. She's her because of her daughter."

  "Sure, I bet that's what she wants you to believe," Jack spat back, spraying blood on Simon's face in the process.

  Now Simon had a big dilemma. It was named Jack and it was currently pinned under him, with only a rope around its neck keeping it at bay. If he let Jack go, Jessica was in more danger than Simon had guessed. There was also a chance Jack hadn't shared any of the footage with Walter yet. So really, he should eliminate Jack. On the other hand, Walter was already suspicious of Simon. If Jack went missing, Walter might figure out Simon was double-crossing him. That would make Simon dead.

  "What's in the water bottle?"

  Jack grew stone-faced.

  "Well, either you're here to catch her cheating with Roger, or you're here to kill her."

  Jack was tight lipped. His eyes had narrowed, though. He wasn't stupid and Simon knew it. Jack was figuring out that his chances were shrinking quickly.

  "You love her, don't you?" He snorted. "You're getting his sloppy seconds and you love it. I thought it was Roger on the mike last night, but it was you. The monitor didn't work, but the audio was there--"

  "Walter wanted proof, and then he wanted her killed. To hurt Roger."

  Jack shrugged. "You know how he works."

  It was so, so irritating because Simon did know how Walter worked. He should have seen that bringing Jessica to D.C. on Roger's bill was going to raise suspicions and bring attention to her. Simon had just been too fucking selfish to stop and think about the consequences that action.

  So here he was, in the frying pan, and he'd just added a giant tablespoon of kerosene to it.

  "Bottle or noose, Jack." He said. Professional courtesy and all that.

  Jack started to struggle under him, his hands whipping from behind his head in a move to grab at Simon's own throat. Simon immediately tightened the rope, watching in satisfaction as Jack thrashed and then released quickly, hands held up in truce.

  He loosened it only long enough for Jack to gargle "bottle."

  Moving the ropes to one hand, Simon patted down Jack's body until he found the hidden gun. Clicking off the safety, he aimed it at the stupid asshole's head.

  Simon slowly moved off of Jack and let the man crawl over the bottle. As Jack unscrewed the lid he said, "I wanted the chance to try to take you down. You were always better than me at this game, but I was cocky enough to think I could best you. I was a fucking idiot." And then that fucking idiot smiled, chugged the contents of the bottle, and dropped it on the floor. As his body started to convulse he managed to stammer out "but you're love for that pussy is gonna get you killed."

  Spittle foamed from Jack's mouth with his dying words and then Simon was left standing there, gun in hand, dead body on the floor, a trashed hotel room, and the silence.

  Chapter Nine

  This was essentially a worst-case scenario. He didn't know when Jess would be back, but he doubted he had enough time to dispose of a body and clean up before she got back. Unlike in television shows, that kind of work took hours when you did it solo.

  So don't do it solo. Hmmm... should he? Could he trust the FBI? Or would this just be another murder for them to pin on him.

  He picked up his wallet and found Agent Mike's number. The Agent picked up on the second ring.

  "You got something for me?" Oh, great. He was still trying to pull off the 'tough guy' routine. Someone had watched way too many Law and Order marathons before accepting his badge.

  "Hypothetically speaking, what would happen to me if I had to, uh, eliminate a threat to this investigation?"

  Mike sucked in his breath. "What do you mean eliminate?"

  "In this example I mean neutralize a player."

  "That'd be a terrible idea, Mr. Stills." Damn it, just call me Simon, asshole.

  "So that means no, don't kill anyone, and you definitely don't call to ask for help with clean up."

  "Holy shit, do you have a body?" Did he trust Mike? Simon was a good judge of character. Mike might be a supreme prick, but he wanted this bust badly. He'd wanted it enough to make a deal with Simon that was probably too rich. He should have just offered reduced sentencing, but if he was going to exonerate Simon on all charges? Simon was going to take it. So yeah, Mike wanted Walter bad.

  "No, Mike. Don't be silly," Simon cooed. Mike wanted it bad, but he might also be a stickler for rules about things like murder. Oh well, it was worth a shot. "This was purely a hypothetical question. I just wanted to know what the rules were."

  "The rules are don't call me unless you have something on Walter, Dickhead."

  "Don't call unless I have information-- or I need backup. Right?" Simon emphasized this, because he was almost positive that at some point this crappy situation would turn to complete shit and he would need back up.

  "
Sure, fine. I'm hanging up. Don't kill people, Simon. I mean... common fucking sense."

  Mike hung up.

  Common sense? Was he joking? Who did he think Simon was? What kind of world did he think Simon was working in? Common sense was killing the person who was going to kill you first.

  Fuck. He was still left with a hefty mess and none of his tools to take care of it. The suite was deluxe. It did include a rug. The rug would have to do. Simon pulled it near the body. This was always a common mistake for rookies--they pulled the body to the rug. Great, now you've spread even more DNA all over the place. Way to be smart.

  He stripped Jack of his clothes. Rule number two--leave as little evidence behind on the body as possible. You wanted to make it take as long as you could for the body to be identified, if it was ever found. The bonus of killing Jack was that no one would identify him. People like Jack and him? They didn't exist in normal systems.

  After he crammed the clothing into a plastic bag from the bathroom, he rolled Jack up into the rug. A tentative rule number three was try not to kill someone larger than you on your own. If you did, make sure you have proper tools with you, like saws and plastic tarp, to make moving the body easier. That was tentative, obviously, because situations changed and you couldn't always choose your body.

  He pushed the rolled up rug to the side of the room. Then he looked at what was left. A broken lamp. Turned over table. Some blood spatter and residual spittle from Jack. Time to make a quick decision.

  Leave the broken items, get rid of the DNA. Listening at the door, Simon waited until it was quiet. He stepped out with a small, empty reusable shopping bag. He managed to make it to the housekeeping closet with no one seeing him.

  There was a moment he could have almost whooped with delight-- the bleach the hotel used was oxygen bleach instead of chlorine bleach. They must actually care about removing all of the nasty stains people left behind. Simon supposed it was comforting knowing he and Jess weren't sleeping in someone else's residual aftermath.

  He grabbed it and put it in the bag. Then, when he was sure the coast was clear, he walked back to the room. The bleach was doubly nice because it worked quickly and didn't have quite the pungent smell of standard chlorine bleach. He cleaned the entire area of the fight and its aftermath. The bloodstains and spittle came up easily and he felt as confident as he could that any testable DNA would be compromised. He then dumped the remainder of the bleach into the bag with Jack's clothing, making sure everything got soaked through.

  Now he was stuck. There was no way to get the body out without being picked up by cameras in the lobby. Crap. He still needed help. He called Mike.

  "God, what do you want, asshole?" Mike was almost whiny, and if it wasn't for the predicament Simon was in, he'd enjoy it more.

  "I need you to shut down the electricity at the Jefferson for like... twenty minutes."

  "The hotel."

  "Yep."

  "You want the power shut down."

  "Yep."

  "You're fucking pulling my leg, right?"

  Simon was losing patience with this. What was the point of working with the Feds if they didn't actually work with you? "I'm telling you this now: If you want me to be able to continue to work to get evidence against Walter, I can only do it if I'm not detained. In order to not be detained, I need the goddamn power off."

  "Oh shit, you really have a body, don't you?"

  "Do you really need to know?"

  A pause. Mike was thinking. "No, I don't," he admitted slowly. "I don't want to know why you're putting in this request, but I'll make it happen."

  Simon hung up and went to the elevator, relieved that his instincts about Special Agent Mike were correct. The man was desperate for a big bust, or he’d never have let Simon boss him around like that. He took it down, grabbed a large suitcase roller, and brought it back to the room. He hoisted the rolled rug onto the cart and then placed a few pieces of Jess's luggage on top of it. It looked... still weird, but not out of place. He waited by the door.

  Minutes went by and all he could think was that any second, Jess would be back, he'd have to explain, she'd leave him, and he'd end up in jail while Walter, Roger, hell--all assholes who weren't named Simon Stills-- got to have their cake and eat it, too.

  There was no warning. The power shut off. Go time.

  Simon opened his door, ignoring the clamor of voices that rose behind the other doors in the hallway. A quick glance at the security cameras let him know they were off, though he didn't have much time. By the time he reached the end of the hall he could hear the low hum of the generators, and emergency lights kicked on. There was enough juice, thank goodness, for the service elevator. He rolled the cart on.

  Down it banged, rough and a complete change from the posh main elevators that guests used. He hit ground level and his luck continued-- the staff was in a panic, confused. No one noticed a guest with a rolling cart filled with luggage. They were all crowded next to a phone or pressing through tight door spaces to get to the front, hoping for some answers.

  Simon went out the back door and straight to the garbage bin. Final rule: You can go through ridiculous lengths to get rid of a body. Try to sink it in a river or lake. Dig a grave in the forest. Whatever. All that shit will just get you caught. The fastest, cleanest way to get rid of a body was to put it in a dumpster. Especially one like at a hotel. They were emptied regularly, no one checked them, and if by some chance your body is found you have at least thirty different people who could be named a suspect-- way too many to narrow down in an investigation.

  It took some effort, but he heaved the whole rug into the bin. He was sweating, but the hardest part was over. He took his cart and Jess's luggage back inside, back past the distracted staff. He left the cart at the service elevator and just moved her luggage back to the room. It probably hadn't been necessary, but it is hard to gauge these fucking details on a whim.

  One final problem. He went back into the hall, relieved to see the power still out. He listened at doorways until he found a silent one.

  The power being off meant the electric locks were temporarily disengaged. Simon opened the door tentatively. He moved inside. No one was in the suite. He stole the rug from it, apologizing silently to the owners of the clothing thrown haphazardly on the bed. They'd have a hefty replacement fee on their card for the missing rug. And if the body was found... they'd also have a world of trouble.

  Simon placed the rug in Jess's room. Then he put socks over his hands and went through the room, opening drawers, throwing things on the floor, not leaving prints to make it look like a break in. He counted himself lucky he didn't actually need to steal anything of Jess's. She'd left most of her valuables at the house, not wanting to move them until she had a new home to move them to.

  He grabbed the clothing, his own wallet and keys, and left.

  The power was still off. Way to go, Mike! It was close to the twenty minute mark, but Mike must have panicked and asked for more time. He wondered what kind of favors the Agent had to call in, what kind of rebuke he'd receive for the order, and hoped there was a mountain of paperwork left for him at the end of it.

  Simon made it to his car before the power came on. He was climbing in when he heard the cheer of the staff and patrons of the hotel.

  He took the clothing to another dumpster and ditched it. Then he went to his home to clean up. He'd just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang. Jessica.

  "Hey babe, what's--"

  "Someone broke in!" She sounded hysterical. "Someone broke into my room and tore it up!"

  He hated this part. Not the lying, per say, but how easy the lying came to him. He really was a bastard, even if this was for her own good. "Babe, slow down. Tell me what's happening."

  "I was looking at houses this morning and just came back to the room, and it has been completely ransacked!"

  "Did they take anything?"

  "No, but I didn't really have anything to take. I just don't understand
how this could have happened!"

  And here was the risk. "I'm at work, but I'll be by as soon as I can break free. In the meantime, call the manager's desk. Let them call the police to come take a look, okay?"

  She started sobbing. "Okay. You can come?"

  "Yeah, I can come. I'll be there soon." He hung up. He just had to hope he had taken care of everything. Professional or not, situations that he didn't plan for always made him anxious. It was too easy in the stress of the moment to overlook an important detail.

  Chapter Ten

  She was shaking and it was shredding his heart into pieces. Guilt, something he was not familiar with, had become a blanket wrapped so tightly around him he felt he was suffocating. In the heat of the moment with Jack, Simon had only been able to focus on what needed to be done to fix it. As Jessica trembled in his arms, it hit home.

  Someone had been sent to kill her. If he hadn't been there, Jack probably would have been successful. Simon might as well have put the poison into her bottle himself.

  God, was this the price of his hubris? Everything he'd been doing he'd been doing for her. But instead of making her safer, he'd dragged her into his crazy world, and he'd never even given her a choice.

  Here she was, terrified at an invasion of privacy, thinking it was just a burglar. That would have been traumatic enough. Simon knew the truth, though, and that truth was so much more invasive and scarring.

  "What happened?" He asked into her hair, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

  "The manager said they lost p-power this morning," she sobbed. "He guesses the burglar snuck in and went into rooms. There's only a rug missing from another room--" Simon cringed. Damn it, he should have stolen some things to make the story look more complete. "--but my room was the only one r-r-ransacked." At that, she broke down further, anything she was saying becoming indecipherable.