Dublin Noir - Ken Bruen [58]
He had a funny accent, even just saying, “Four, please.”
Reed nodded and mumbled, “Me too,” as he hit the button. He glanced over at the couple. The girl smiled at him with a dazzling spray of white.
Reed paused so they could get off the elevator, then followed them down the narrow hallway. The cheap carpet made a swoosh sound as they all glided along. His right hand was up on his hip.
The couple slowed at a room five from the end of the hall and the man fumbled with the plastic card key. Reed heard the door click and then saw a crack of light from the inside. He was on the man right as he entered the doorway, knife out and slashing deep across his throat before the girl even turned to see what the funny noise was. He shoved the shocked man into the bathroom to his left and advanced down on the girl as she turned. Before she could say a word, he had a hand across her beautifully sculpted face and the knife deep into her solar plexus. He wiggled his hand, slicing through veins and heart tissue as he watched the life seep right out of her blue eyes. He pulled the blade out and sliced into her left breast, amazed at the clear liquid that gushed out before the blood. Fucking implants. Unnatural.
He carefully placed her on the wide, unmade bed, even setting her head on the pillow. Then he turned and stepped toward the bathroom. The man was motionless on the ground and the blood still seeped from the massive wound on his neck. Reed had to step away from the door as the red ocean threatened to flow over the threshold. He leaned in and snatched a white towel from inside the door and wiped down his bloody knife, then his hands. He twisted the towel and laid it across the door frame so it would stop the blood from spilling into the room. He didn’t want anyone to find these two for as long as possible.
He checked his shoes quickly, reset the knife in its scabbard, took the Do not disturb sign from the inside door handle, and then opened the door. After hanging the sign, he casually walked back to the lift, more than satisfied with his last job. Now this whole ugly business was over. His own job secured, no one the wiser. As he waited for the lift, he made a quick check of his hands and found a splash of blood on the back of his right one.
The lift bell sounded and the doors parted. He looked up into a wide, round face that seemed familiar.
“Jaysus fucking Christ. What might Galway’s new tourism director be doing in Dublin?” He smiled showing crooked, browning teeth. The lift doors closed behind him as he came up to Reed. “This whole butcher business has pushed every fucking tourist in the country to Galway.”
Reed returned the smile, no easy task. “Hello, Jason, what’re you doin’ here?”
“Just passing through. I’m settin’ up a network for the university. But I thought you’d be up to your arse in work back home.”
“I return tomorrow,” Reed said.
Jason said, “You never answered my question. What’re you doin’ here?”
Reed let a little smile cross his lips. “I better show you.” He let his right hand come to his hip and started to lift his shirt as he slapped the emergency stop button with his left. He’d show the man just how far a good tourism director might go for his job.
HEN NIGHT
BY SARAH WEINMAN
It took three tries before I understood what Deborah was saying. The first time I must have completely misheard; the second, I simply refused to believe it.
“ You’re absolutely shitting me,” I said after the third try.
“Of course not, Andrea. When do I ever?”
She had a point. We’d known each other all our lives and Deborah never, ever joked around about anything. Let alone about where she wanted to have her hen night.
“But Dublin?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.
“Don’t worry, I’m paying for everyone.”
I gritted my teeth. Even though we’d been best friends almost since birth, Deborah always had the knack for reminding me that she’d been raised on the right side of the Jewish ghetto in Golders Green, while I’d been stuck in Temple Fortune—or rather, I’d