In Plain Sight by Mike Knowles Read Free Book Online Page B

known enough blood-thirsty women in my life to know Tatiana was as much a suspect as her man. I let myself into the motel room and sat on the bed. Igor was damaged because I had beaten him before, and the embarrassment destroyed his ego. I had broken something in him that was always destined to give way. He blamed me for his weakness, but he was already weak when he first came at me years ago in my office. I showed him what he really was when I put him under the gun. He saw his reflection for the first time in the shine of a bullet, and what he saw didn’t measure up. Plenty of people figured out they weren’t cut out for the life on the same day they learned that they were just man enough to fill a grave.
    In the hospital room, he lied about me killing his partner to Tatiana. The lie was as good as a confession — he was the one who had killed his partner. Igor must have done it because his partner was one of the few witnesses alive who knew he failed to do his job. He killed his partner and in that instant put on a disguise. He thought everyone bought whatever manufactured confidence he wore like too much cheap cologne. He was living a lie, and I was the only one left who knew what the lie truly was. He came to kill me so that he could fully become his false self. It was more than revenge for Igor; killing me was survival.
    Whatever fragile mental case Igor was didn’t matter. He found me. He was connected and just powerful enough to be a problem. Worse still was the cop. The dead nurse would put enough pressure on him to renege on our deal. I had to steel his nerve if I wanted to stay out of jail.
    I stripped off Igor’s clothes and lay above the covers, lights off, with Igor’s gun in my hands. I slept easily because I knew what I was. I didn’t lie, to myself like Igor did. I knew my nature, and I wasn’t ashamed. I also knew what had to be done when the sun rose.
    * * *
    The next morning, my body woke itself up. I turned my head and saw the clock read 12 : 23 . The dim room was smelly. The smell had always been there, but I was too charged up on adrenaline the night before to notice. I was also aware of my body. Morrison had told me I’d been hit by a drunk driver. Laying in a hospital bed, it didn’t feel so bad, but after a night of moving I felt different. My ribs and forearms were sore, but my hip was agony. I was sure that the car had hit me there. I stood and stumbled to the washroom. I grunted and felt my dick pay me back for my medical malpractice with the catheter. It took a few seconds for the blood flowing out of me to fade into pink urine. I looked away from the mess in the bowl to the tiny square mirror hanging over the toilet. A week’s worth of growth had been added to the beard I had before the accident. My hair had been clipped so short two weeks ago that the small bit of growth was unnoticeable.
    I stumbled back to the bedroom, the only room, and pushed the bed up onto its side. I used the tiny bit of space on the floor to stretch. I spent an hour on the floor, stopping only when I could stand up straight without wincing, then I went back to the bathroom and washed in the cramped shower stall.
    There were no towels, so I dried using the bed sheet and then put Igor’s clothes back on. I walked out with the empty duffel bag and opened the trunk. Under the carpet, below the spare, was the compartment full of cash. I had not bothered to move it away from the car before because I was always just a surprise away from bolting. The money had to stay close. Now, with the car no longer anonymous, it wasn’t safe to leave the money inside. I loaded the bag with the cash and walked out to a bus stop. I waited fifteen minutes inside the graffiti-tinted bus shelter for the right bus to pull to a stop. I got on and noticed that my clothes were wrinkled and stained enough to match every other jobless passenger who was riding the bus with me at 2 : 30 in the afternoon