The car drove off. The drugs were recovered.
The blood was no longer flowing. A single large drop was darkened and hardening in the bright sunlight. The rest of the slash across his throat was a deep dark line with little areas of red blood showing through. The body had flinched while the breeze blew on it through the open windows, causing little cracks in the hardening blood.
He lay back into the reclined seat, his eyes heavy with fatigue from the long hours of driving at high speed.
The park was completely empty, very long, its parking lot striped for a least a hundred cars. He had left the car in the very center of it where nothing could come out of the woods at him. He felt safe in its isolation. The park would be closed for hours yet.
Miles and miles had been covered, the big city was no longer within a short drive. It was safe to find a place to pull over and rest his weary arms and heavy legs. Finding a place to hide for a while would be a good thing to do.
Finding his way out of the city had been the hardest part. Knowing that he was probably being followed by at least a half a dozen vehicles , a wrong turn into a dead end of any kind, traffic jammed up, or an alley without an outlet, could be fatal.
The cars were being thinned out as he drove recklessly across busy streets and across sparsely inhabited areas of the city where open lots outnumbered the buildings. One of his imagined pursuers lost him when he ran over the remains of a small building; bricks barely sticking out of the dirt in an old manufacturing area. Its cemented bricks holding still enough to tear at the tires and undercarriage of the big car. He kept it moving at all costs.
The sound of the barrage of weapons had been deafening even though he was outside in a closed getaway car. It echoed through the overhead door, it echoed off the metal building across the alley. It echoed in his head. Then there was silence.
He had entered the building carefully. Only one person was still writhing on the floor, the last remaining member of the gang they were buying the drugs from. There was none of his group alive.
The transaction itself was only a matter of patience for him. He was a lookout for the buyers. His only real job was that of waiting for the rest of his gang to complete the transaction and return. Then he would use his skill to disappear from the area, before anyone could follow, be it untrustworthy sellers, or the police. It was a skill that he had used many times.
Only this morning when he awoke to the phone ringing, did he find out what was going to happen later that day. He was fine with the deal, it wouldn’t be his first. Although it would be the first one that would end this way.
He had gathered up the two briefcases, one thin and heavy, the other light and bulging, its insides bursting with white powder. He had almost grabbed only the money in the thin case, but decided that he could find another group of sellers to increase his wealth by getting rid of the dope for him, even if his proportion of the take was small.
Watching the writhing body and the corpses on the floor, he decided that none of them was going to survive for long. The automatic weapons had taken care of that. He counted numerous bloody holes in each of them. Some were gross, causing torn and missing pieces of skull or chunks of tissue blown out of a leg. The amount of blood was horrendous. He was almost sick, but turned away after each visual assault on his stomach.
A single hole pierced the money bag, the drugs were miraculously unscathed, still sitting on the table in plain view. If this hadn’t been true he would have left the leaking powder behind. He didn’t need to leave a trail of white dust right to the vehicle, or even in the air behind him as he drove away at high speed.
The bags tossed in the back seat, he turned and did the job that he was hired to do, even though his employers were all lying all over the warehouse floor. He didn’t relax until he found the park, then he laid back against the head rest, but only for a moment.
Something flickered in the rear-view mirror and his eyes went to it. The back of the seat was pulled back slightly as if someone had grabbed it and scrunched it up in their hand. The wound was painless at first, but began burning. He raised his hands to his throat, but they were met by a hot sticky fluid before he finished raising them. His head slumped forward and he was dead.
The back door was still open when the police found the car. A trail of blood ran down the body, pooling into the seat beside it. Another trail of blood was smeared across the back seat as well. Something had been dragged through it, but was no longer around to be seen. The back seat was empty but for the blood stain. There was nothing else sitting on either end, nor on the floorboards in front of the seating.
A tiny drop of blood was found outside of the vehicle, but it could have been spatter from the body’s cut throat, or from someone exiting the rear of the car. It would take an investigation to solve this murder.
At home, the man listened to the woman claim that she had driven by a car with blood all over it, but she was always full of stories. He was selective about which of them he believed and which he passed off as her imaginative character. He’d be at the police station shortly and he could ask someone there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be embarrassing again, as it had been other times when he brought her stories into work with him.