"My bet is the primary bedroom is at the end of the corridor," I said, gesturing in the direction of a room with my knife, narrowly missing stabbing Woody in the arm.
"Watch it with that thing," he whispered. "I thought you knew how to use it."
"I do know," I insisted. "Do you want a demonstration?"
"No, I don't want a fucking demonstration. Come on." He took a couple of steps in the direction I'd indicated.
I lowered my hand to keep the knife out of harm's way and walked behind him.
"This looks like it." He stopped so suddenly I almost stabbed him in the right ass cheek. I pulled my hand back at the last moment and hoped he didn't notice.
That could have been a pain in the ass.
He stood in front of a closed door, one that looked the same as every other door in this apartment. Expensive and solid, the kind of door you wouldn't easily kick down. Maybe if we had a rocket launcher…
Probably just as well we didn’t. We'd destroy the place if we didn't aim right. It'd be my luck if we accidentally brought the ceiling down on us. We already did that once. I didn't want to do it again.
He placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it slowly.
I half-expected it to be locked, but it opened easily and silently. Shame, I was hoping it would have an annoying squeak. Not because I wanted it to announce our presence, but because I wanted the senator to be annoyed every time he opened and closed the door.
Yes, that's petty, but here we are.
The room on the other side was almost too bright. No curtains or blinds covered the window. City lights flooded in, illuminating a huge bed, and the man sleeping right in the centre, arms and legs spread like a starfish. Of course, he took up all the space.
A shiver travelled up and down my spine.
"What is it?" Woody asked.
I shook my head. The scene reminded me of the night Wolfgang was killed. He too liked to take up as much space as he could.
"If you don't want to do this, you can leave," Woody said.
"I'm staying," I whispered.
The senator stirred, his face turning this way and that, in his sleep. He muttered something about 'Appropriations Committee,' then lay still again.
Woody grabbed something off the back of a chair that sat to the side of the room, and slowly approached the bed. He glanced back at me before raising his knife and jamming it right through the senator's palm all the way into the mattress.
The senator's eyes snapped open.
"What the?—"
He was cut off when Woody wound one of his ties around his face, jamming it into his mouth.
The senator jerked his hand, bringing his knife with him. It was impaled all the way through.
He tried to cry out something, but his voice was muffled by the tie. He tried to pull it out with his other hand, but Woody grabbed his wrist and pinned him to the bed.
He held it there for a moment before he grabbed a pair of handcuffs which dangled from the top of the headboard. He pulled them down and snapped them around the senator's wrists, locking them together.
"That's much better," Woody said. He grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled. The scrape of steel on bone was audible, along with a wet sucking sound as it slid free.
The senator cried out again, the sound heavy with pain. Blood poured from his hand, coating the sheets.
I stepped forward. "Remember me? Hi." I gave him a finger wave. "We didn't like being confined to that room down there. This looks like much more fun."
He stared at me, eyes wide.