Project Northwest by C. B. Carter Page B

push comes
to shove and he knew he couldn’t do any of those things. So he
closed his eyes and thought to a future date, the date he would
call Mr. Wright rather than the other way around. The day he would
tell him this little project was over, that he and Bridget were
out.
    That thought process led to an obvious flaw
in his plan.
    Sure, he could tell Mr. Wright he quit, but
he had no insurance, he had nothing that would prevent them from
rubbing him and Bridget out. Having their names wasn’t going to be
enough. He was certain many dead souls knew the names of their
killers. What did that knowledge do for them? Nothing. They were
still dead and their killers most likely still here, freely walking
around. He had to be sure when push came to shove, that his push
wasn’t responded to with the shove of a couple of bullets into
their temples. He needed something, an idea that made them more
dangerous dead than alive.
    He lay under the covers devising plans,
though they started out well, looked promising, each failed and
ended with him in jail, or him seeing no remorse in the eyes of his
killer, or worse yet, him somehow alive attending the funeral of
Bridget before being hauled off to jail.
    He was up an hour later, took extra care in
placing the robe on the hook, took his shower, dressed and shook
Bridget, “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
    Bridget was always slow to wake up. She liked
greeting the day on her own terms, didn’t like schedules, and had
no interest in the rat race. That maze was for others, she was fond
of saying. He finished cooking breakfast, went back into the
bedroom, and found her hugging the pillow, out cold.
    “Wake up baby, you have to take me to work,
remember? We only have the one car.” She jerked, obviously had
forgotten, and sat up in bed. The clock showed 7:35. “Five more
minutes, please,” she pleaded as she plopped her head into the
pillow.
    “Okay, but only five, I want to get the day
over with.”
    He purposely waited twenty minutes before
waking her. She would instantly know they were running late and he
wanted her to be in a rush.
    “Wake up. We have to get moving now.”
    She sat up again, “Do I have time for a
shower?”
    “No, just grab my robe from the hook in the
bathroom. Drop me off and you can eat breakfast and sleep until you
go to work at five.”
    She rushed to the bathroom, put on the robe,
slid her feet into her most comfortable slippers, kissed James at
the door. “Sorry, baby, you know I’m always running late.”
    “I know, baby, I know.”
    She pulled in front of the bank. James leaned
toward her, kissed her and tapped the robe where the note was
written. He tapped it again and said, “I love you and will meet you
at your work later.”
    She said she loved him too and waited for him
to cross University before blowing him a kiss. She was back on
University, eager to get home and crawl back into her warm bed.
Traffic was heavier than she expected, although she admitted to
herself she was rarely on the streets at this time, so she wasn’t
sure against what she was comparing her idea of traffic.
    The door to the condo closed behind her as
she made her way to the kitchen, quickly devoured the cold eggs,
and took a slice of bacon and a bottle of orange juice from the
fridge into the bedroom with her.
    She jumped onto the bed, landing on her
stomach and that’s when she saw the first part of the note on the
inside of the robe. She stared at it, thinking at first that it was
some type of love note.
    The note was barely visible, but she managed
to read the first few lines. What she read was enough to scare her
and she froze, Are they watching me right now ? she
asked herself. Calculating every move, she repositioned the robe
and read the entire note. She read it again and again. Was this
real? Of course it was, James would not joke about something like
this—he loved her and his job at the bank.
    She pulled the robe tight around her, put her
face into the pillow,