form of art. Nietzsche doesn’t require that the superior man make no mistakes; rather that he perfect his life as a process, developing until, ultimately, he exerts his will, warrior strength and talent—’
‘I see your point,’ Evan interrupted with his mouth full. He ached all over, had been up all night. And, frankly, he was tired of Sty’s monotonous ramblings about abstract, idealistic principles that had little to do with the situation at hand. Mostly, he was just plain tired. ‘What does Nietzsche say about getting rid of a body?’
‘Shh!’ Sty looked around, scowling. The booths around them were mostly empty; the week before Christmas Eve was slow at State Diner.
‘No one’s listening.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ He cut a wad of pancakes. ‘We can’t afford to be careless. Look what carelessness did to Leopold—’
‘For Christ’s sake, Sty. Will you stop harping about them? We are NOT like those two—’
‘The point I’m making, Evan, is this: Had Leopold not been careless and dropped his glasses at the scene of the body dump, the two would never have been caught. We will make no such error.’
Evan sat back, staring at his half-eaten omelet. Checking to make sure they hadn’t been careless. Reviewing everything they’d done so far. Remembering the kid running into the snow. That had been careless of them, for sure; the neighbors had seen him. Still, no one had connected the event to him or Sty or even to Sebastian Levering’s disappearance. He’d seen the woman later at her window, but she couldn’t have seen anything incriminating; if she had, she’d have called the police again. So, no. So far, no damage had been done. He sat up again, relieved, and took another bite. Added salt.
‘According to the news,’ Sty swallowed coffee, ‘our young Sebastian is traveling all over the country. He’s been spotted in Colorado, Ohio, Miami – who knows where. Nobody’s looking for him here.’
‘So? We’ve still got to get rid of him.’
Sty nodded, chomping pancakes.
‘And the ground’s frozen. We can’t bury him. We can’t get on the water to drop him in the lake—’
‘We’re going to have to wrap him up and take him on a little trip. There are miles of empty woods and hills around here. In fact, I think I’ve found a perfect container for him. We dump it; no one finds him until spring, if then.’
Evan bit off a piece of toast. Sty sounded confident. Maybe last night hadn’t been as bad an outcome as he’d thought; maybe they were all right after all. He skipped a breath, felt a ripple in his chest, recalling the elation of the kill.
Sty poured more syrup onto his stack. ‘Meantime,’ he grinned as he cut into his food, ‘we start looking for our next project. We’re smarter now; we’ll do it right this time.’
Lou was making tuna melts – finally something Harper liked. In fact, they smelled terrific. Harper stood in the foyer gazing out the window, watching that same dark SUV make its way slowly past the house, waiting for the mailman to hike up the walk.
She opened the front door just as he was about to ring the bell.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he grinned, handing her a package.
‘Same to you.’ Harper took it and shut the door, excited. The box was probably a Christmas gift from Hank. Thrilled, she rushed to the hall table to open it, but glancing at the address label, she realized that the driver had made a mistake.
Grabbing the package, she ran back to the door and shouted to the driver, but too late; the truck was already pulling away. Damn. She’d have to call the post office and tell them to pick it up. She checked the label again. Odd. The address was actually correct; the post office hadn’t made a mistake about where to deliver it. But it had to go back to the sender; the package was meant for someone named Ed Strunk. And there was nobody by that name at her house.
Vivian stuck her head out of the kitchen. ‘Come eat.’
Harper set the
‘I see your point,’ Evan interrupted with his mouth full. He ached all over, had been up all night. And, frankly, he was tired of Sty’s monotonous ramblings about abstract, idealistic principles that had little to do with the situation at hand. Mostly, he was just plain tired. ‘What does Nietzsche say about getting rid of a body?’
‘Shh!’ Sty looked around, scowling. The booths around them were mostly empty; the week before Christmas Eve was slow at State Diner.
‘No one’s listening.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ He cut a wad of pancakes. ‘We can’t afford to be careless. Look what carelessness did to Leopold—’
‘For Christ’s sake, Sty. Will you stop harping about them? We are NOT like those two—’
‘The point I’m making, Evan, is this: Had Leopold not been careless and dropped his glasses at the scene of the body dump, the two would never have been caught. We will make no such error.’
Evan sat back, staring at his half-eaten omelet. Checking to make sure they hadn’t been careless. Reviewing everything they’d done so far. Remembering the kid running into the snow. That had been careless of them, for sure; the neighbors had seen him. Still, no one had connected the event to him or Sty or even to Sebastian Levering’s disappearance. He’d seen the woman later at her window, but she couldn’t have seen anything incriminating; if she had, she’d have called the police again. So, no. So far, no damage had been done. He sat up again, relieved, and took another bite. Added salt.
‘According to the news,’ Sty swallowed coffee, ‘our young Sebastian is traveling all over the country. He’s been spotted in Colorado, Ohio, Miami – who knows where. Nobody’s looking for him here.’
‘So? We’ve still got to get rid of him.’
Sty nodded, chomping pancakes.
‘And the ground’s frozen. We can’t bury him. We can’t get on the water to drop him in the lake—’
‘We’re going to have to wrap him up and take him on a little trip. There are miles of empty woods and hills around here. In fact, I think I’ve found a perfect container for him. We dump it; no one finds him until spring, if then.’
Evan bit off a piece of toast. Sty sounded confident. Maybe last night hadn’t been as bad an outcome as he’d thought; maybe they were all right after all. He skipped a breath, felt a ripple in his chest, recalling the elation of the kill.
Sty poured more syrup onto his stack. ‘Meantime,’ he grinned as he cut into his food, ‘we start looking for our next project. We’re smarter now; we’ll do it right this time.’
Lou was making tuna melts – finally something Harper liked. In fact, they smelled terrific. Harper stood in the foyer gazing out the window, watching that same dark SUV make its way slowly past the house, waiting for the mailman to hike up the walk.
She opened the front door just as he was about to ring the bell.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he grinned, handing her a package.
‘Same to you.’ Harper took it and shut the door, excited. The box was probably a Christmas gift from Hank. Thrilled, she rushed to the hall table to open it, but glancing at the address label, she realized that the driver had made a mistake.
Grabbing the package, she ran back to the door and shouted to the driver, but too late; the truck was already pulling away. Damn. She’d have to call the post office and tell them to pick it up. She checked the label again. Odd. The address was actually correct; the post office hadn’t made a mistake about where to deliver it. But it had to go back to the sender; the package was meant for someone named Ed Strunk. And there was nobody by that name at her house.
Vivian stuck her head out of the kitchen. ‘Come eat.’
Harper set the
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