Chapter 89

Montreal


“It’s getting pretty cold,” the girl, Heather said, rubbing her thighs to keep warm. “It’s snowing.”
They were sitting on a rooftop on St. Catherine Street in the heart of downtown Montreal, smoking cigarettes.
Heather had her long, beige wool trenchcoat pulled down to her ankles, but was still shivering.
The killer had just finished bedding her doggy-style, in the snow, with her trenchcoat still on, her jeans down to her knees.
That had been quite a feat.
She had a smooth, round ass, as white and as pretty as the moon.
He had muttered a ‘thank you’ to his handlers, like prayer, after ejaculating.
His handlers had arranged for the college girl to pick him up, in a café, to provide him a place to spend the night, en route to Toronto, rather than some motel which might have a security camera.
The Concordia college girl had walked right up to him. Boys just want to have fun.
Much better than a white-walled motel room by the side of highway 40. This made him feel at home.
The killer really needed some skin too, after the stress of committing three mandates all in a row. He didn’t even know how badly he needed it, not until he blew off some steam in the college girl’s ass.
His handlers, as usual, knew what he needed better than he did.
They shared one of her Benson & Hedges, leaning against a large tin air vent that stuck out of the roof. The building was all-night diner and the vent blew the smell of cooking hamburger all over the, It was delicious.
Heather gazed up at the smoggy night, and the killer looked down at the buildings and strip clubs below. St. Catherine Street, all lit up like a circus.
“Pretty cool view, eh? It was this guy I met in Halifax told me about rooftops. Joey Robichaud. You know him?”
She frowned. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know. I never know how much Nova Scotia stuff gets talked about in the rest of the country. He’s this up-and-coming guy, they say. Joe Junior?”
She frowned again.
“Anyway. He told me when I’m on the move, travellin,’ there’s no need to sleep on the street or some homeless shelter. All I got to do is look up, no matter where I end up. There’s all this free real estate, in every city in the world, and nobody’s using it. You can pitch a tent up here. And nobody looks up, man, especially you city people. That’s the best part.”
“You want to stay up here all night?” Heather said, surprised and disturbed by the idea.
They didn’t even have sleeping bags, and it was the middle of a Quebec winter.
The killer smiled, but didn’t answer.
“You’re planning to sleep here? You didn’t answer me.”
She stood up and dusted off her rear end. “I think I’m going to go…”
The killer stood up, immediately, and tried not to panic.
He looked up and down the rooftop, for a weapon, at the same time trying to talk this crazy bitch out of getting them both killed.
“Babe, I told you...” he tried. “I was being serious. Those guys in the strip club were bad guys. You think the Mafia don’t own a place like that? You saw the way those dudes acted toward me. Trust me, they know who I am, or they know who I represent. Where I came from. It’s not safe for you to go back to your apartment tonight. Please take me serious. There’s people that want me dead, real bad. And they got friends all over the world. Know what I mean? They’re searching for me right now. And I’m not trying to build myself up. I’m telling the truth. They’ll kill you and kill me if we go back there.”
Heather was looking very confused and even angry now.
”What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. Just stop thinking about those Italian guys, OK? It was not that big a deal. Just forget it. They were just being assholes.”
“Hesus,” he muttered to himself. “Are you kidding?” Was she pretending or was she really this stupid? She couldn’t be this dumb in real life.
Was she part of an operation? Maybe he misjudged who sent the girl to find him. Maybe there was an ambush waiting back at her apartment. Either way, he needed to find a weapon, quickly.
Some kids had left a little pile of garbage in the southwest corner of the rooftop. There was a cluster of colourful tags and graffiti characters, decorating a short brick wall. He could see empty bottles. Brown and green beer bottles and at least one large Jack Daniel’s with a square base and black label. A 60 ouncer!
Perfect.
“Alright don’t throw a fit, I’m only kiddin’,” he said, changing his voice to sound fun-loving and casual.
He maneuvered bouncily over to the little pile of garbage in the corner and pretended to look over the side down onto the busy street. “Just stay with me for one more smoke. Look, someone left us a mini-bar!”
Heather smiled a little. He picked up the Jack Daniel’s bottle by the smooth neck and held it up for her to see.
Could he really do it? They’d just had intercourse. His instinct was to protect her, to curl up with her in his arms and fall asleep. The thought of killing her gave him a weird boner in his pants, one that tingled without warmth or pleasure.
She smiled, impatiently, and held her arms crossed around her mid-section. Around his semen.
“I should get going,” she said. “It was nice ‘though, hanging out. It’s getting late and I have classes.”
She wouldn’t curl up. She wouldn’t stay. She insisted on leaving. Why?

Heather’s face was turned away, in thought.
It was cold and snowing hard. Huge, square flakes blew all around her hair, like someone was blasting it with a snow blower. The cold flakes melted in the corners of her eyes.
The killer flung the heavy bottle overhand, hurtling it through the air.
The glass made a loud bing sound on impact with Heather’s forehead. It struck the top, left side of her skull and ricocheted off into the darkness, like a pigeon taking flight.
Heather clutched her head with both hands and fell onto the backs of her thighs. She wobbled there for a minute and then opened her mouth in a wide scream, but failed to make a single sound.
The killer charged and booted her in the chest, with a straight leg, slamming her back into the rooftop, knocking the wind out of her before she could make a noise that might carry down to the street.
She twisted into a ball on her side. He kicked her in the back again, just as hard.
She almost got you killed, he told himself. Remember that.