Greg ran from the parking lot to the dark area behind Jenny’s Blarney wearing a dark ski mask and a backpack on a hot summer night. Definitely suspicious looking and he needed to get out of sight. He hopped a fence and sped through a green space where, during the day, people used their lunch hour to walk their dogs. He had parked his truck 1.74 miles away, according to Google maps. Hurrying along, he slipped off his backpack, took off his ski mask and stuffed it inside. He pulled off his gloves, turning them inside-out and put the knife in the bag as well. Concentrating on what he was doing, he had to make a real effort to stay on the trail. The lights from the plaza dimly lit the path and made the shadows darker, almost black. Out of the glow, the forested area was dark as pitch. He zipped up the bag and using his phone’s GPS map, he ran-jogged the trail, waiting for the wail of sirens to start heading towards him. Squinting at the bright screen, he kept losing his night vision whenever he looked at it but it was his guide and he needed the damn thing to find the fence surrounding the quarry. Looking down at his phone, he walked into the fence meant to keep people out of the area and from falling a few hundred feet at the sudden drop-off onto sharp rocks. He grunted, dropped the phone into the brush and the light went out.

“Damnit!”

He knelt and swiped his hand across the ground to where he thought the phone landed.

“Where is it?” He said through clenched teeth. He tensed, his shoulders climbing up to his ears. He heard it then. The sirens. He moaned and turned back to the ground, the tension pulling at his bowels and he thought he just might have to take a crap out here. He realized the saying wasn’t just a saying, was it? Scare the crap out of you? That could actually happen. He was touching cotton here and he needed to go and he couldn’t take a crap on the forest floor after committing a murder and he couldn’t leave his fucking phone. It was the burner phone. He needed it, but the ambulance was coming and behind them? That’s right. The cops. They might even have a dog with them. Follow his stink right here, where he had shit himself looking for his stupid phone in a dark forest and his hand closed over the hard plastic and he was so relieved, tears blurred his vision. He stood and stuffed the phone in his pocket. Holding the handle of the backpack tight in one hand he waited for his night vision to return. He saw the fence line and didn’t think he’d be able to throw it far enough from here. He moved along the fence watching where the earth ended and the drop into the quarry began while the screeching sirens announced their impending arrival. There. He found a spot. He gripped the handles, aimed for a gap in the trees and tossed the bag over the fence and into the quarry below. He made his way back to the path and hustled to his truck. One cop down. If he wanted to get both of them, he had to move. If only those two people hadn’t stumbled upon him shoving Kelly under the truck. He had wanted to go through the truck and see if the recording was in there. Too late now. Goddamnit. Still, he knew that could happen so no reason to bitch about it now. Besides, the detective probably had it. She was the detective after all. And who knows? It might work out for him. If he could get to the hotel before the detective hears of this, he could ambush her. Not in the lot, there were too many cameras there. Too many cameras everywhere. But he could get her leaving the lot when she gets to the road. He scouted it before and he could roll up on her, fire a couple of slugs from his Mossberg pump into her and be done with her. Wait. How would he get the recording then?

He stepped out of the bush, scanning the road to make sure all was clear, and then he ran to his truck and climbed in. He had another ski mask and gloves in the passenger footwell. They were under the top rack in his toolbox. He turned on the truck and mulled over the problem. He’d need time to search the hotel room and the detective. How could he do that? He’d have to be bold. He’d have to be fast. It’d be ideal to kill her in her room. He grinned in the darkness. He loved this shit. He loved killing and remembering the way Kelly had dropped under his knife, like he had cut off his legs instead of just stabbing him, thinking about it made Greg grow erect. A painful pleasantness in the confines of his black jeans. It’d be fun doing the detective too. But Kelly? He’d remember that forever. He had to get a move on though if he wanted this to work. Time for the detective. No reward without risk. He put the car in drive and peeled out.