Just Right (Part 15)
Gretel: Cash & Crimes
The alarm blasted its shrill siren over and over. I reached a lazy arm from beneath the sheet to staunch the piercing sound, slapping at the button that would bring my ears relief. Most mornings I’m ready to hop out of bed and get the day rolling. Not today, not that it matters. I forced myself out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom and cranked the shower to scalding. The sting felt good, easing tension along my back and shoulders. Thoughts drifted into my brain as consciousness began to take over. What did I get myself into? More importantly — how was I going to get out?
If you hadn’t lied and hadn’t stolen money, hadn’t wanted to kill some poor hooker, hadn’t decided to get caught up with some Russian sex-sicko — if you’d just done your job the way you should have, it wouldn’t be this way.
“Shut up,” I mumbled, envisioning some poor dead hooker looking up from the floor of the shower, blood pooling around her, her eyes open, searing into my soul. “Fuck you!” I kicked out where her head should have been, slipped and crashed to the floor, heard her wailing — or…
