Page 23 of The Arrangement

“You must be the husband?” he asked, his voice dry, almost sarcastic.

“I am, yeah. Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?”

He let out a chuckle. “Listen, man, I know she’s here. I want to see her. That’s all. Open the door, and no one has to get hurt. And, for the last time, lower the bat.” He didn’t seem at all concerned that I was standing there, bat in hand, ready to attack. He stood, hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

I growled, wiggling it. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t get the hell out of here now.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and raising his knuckles to the glass of the door. He rapped on it loudly. “Ainsley! It’s me. It’s Stefan. Come on. Open up!”

“I’m giving you one last chance to get out of here, or else I’ll—”

“You’ll what? What are you going to do, tough guy?” He spun around, his hands resting on his waist, where I saw the outline of a gun. Chills ran across my skin at the sight. “You think you’re some big shot, don’t you? Let me tell you something, fucker, you make a move to lay a finger on me, and I’ll have you on your back before you know what hit you. So I suggest you do what I say, take a step back, and think about what you’re about to do—”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The front door swung open, and I heard her squeal. As she did, he lunged for her, both arms outstretched as he stepped toward the open door. I swung the bat, making contact with his head in one swift motion, and his head bounced off the exterior wall before he tumbled to the ground. He rolled over quickly, reaching for his gun, but he was clearly disoriented and I had the upper hand. I swung again, fury radiating through me as I made contact with his skull again.

Over Ainsley’s cries, I heard the sickening sound of the metal bat connecting with his thick skull. It was a crunch I was sure I’d never forget. His hands twitched once more, and I swung a third time. This time, the night fell silent. Ainsley’s cries stopped. The only thing left to hear was my own breathing, heavy and rattled.

“Peter, what did you do?” she asked, her shaking voice carrying across the dark porch. I put my hands over my mouth, feeling vomit rising in my throat as the scent of blood reached my nose. I hurried across the porch, barely making it to the edge before I began to spew the drink I’d had at dinner. It burned my throat and nostrils, my vision blurring with tears as I heard her cry out from behind me.

“What did you do?” she asked again, though I was in no position to answer her. When the retching ended, I turned back around, dropping the bat that I still held in my hand and staring at the body in horror. She flipped on the porch light, giving us a better view of the mess I’d made. His skull had cracked open, blood spilling out across the porch in every direction. “Oh, Peter. Oh, no!” she cried, staring at me, then the body, then back to me. “How could you?”

“He was trying to hurt you,” I said breathily, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I-I had no choice.”

She stared at him in horror, shaking her head with her palm firmly over her mouth. She was fighting back tears as she spoke again. “Oh my God. What do we do? What do we do? The kids will be home soon! We have to move him, Peter. They can’t see this! The kids can’t see this! We have to call the police! We have to do something!”

“Are you kidding? We…we can’t call the police. Look at him. Look at what I did. They’ll arrest me—”

“He was trespassing! He had a gun! He was going to shoot you! He was going to kill us both.”

I slapped my forehead, rubbing the sweat from my temple as I tried to think. I’d killed him. I’d done it. He was dead. The kids would be home soon. If we were caught, I’d go to prison. If Ainsley called the police, I’d go to prison. Would the police believe me? I stepped forward, looking for the gun again to be sure I’d seen correctly. As long as it was there, maybe I’d stand a chance. When I saw it, there in his hand like I expected it to be, I swallowed. Next to the holster where it had been, hung a pair of silver handcuffs.

“What the hell?” I moved even closer, looking the body over. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved navy blue shirt, now spattered with blood, but at his waist, he wore a tactical belt, a gun holster, and what appeared to be high-quality handcuffs. “Is this guy a cop, Ainsley?” I pointed, but she’d seen what I had.

“I-I don’t-I didn’t—”

“Is he?” I demanded. My heart was pounding so ferociously in my chest I could hear nothing else. My vision blurred at the edges as I looked back out at the driveway. He’d come in a red Toyota truck, not a cop car, but if he was off-duty that wouldn’t matter, would it? “Check his pockets…” She shook her head, unmoving. “We have to do it,” I said.

“You do it, then.”

I gritted my teeth, moving toward him cautiously. Though I knew it would be impossible, I kept waiting for him to reach out and grab my leg. I bent down, sticking my hand in his back pocket and pulling out a wallet. I opened it, staring at the photo ID long enough to catch his name and address: Stefan De Luca of 118 Roberts Drive. He hadn’t lived far from us. Just across town. I shuddered as the thought rolled over me. A flap of leather covered his cards, and when I flipped it over, I dropped the wallet. The golden badge shone up at us in the glare of the porch light.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” I paced the porch, pounding my hand into my forehead as I tried to think. “Fuck, Ainsley! What do we do? What did you do?”

“Peter, I swear to you, I had no idea he was a cop. He didn’t tell me that. We didn’t talk about our careers. Maybe it’s a fake badge. I don’t know… We didn’t talk that much… I barely know him…” she trailed off, her voice breathy and shaking. “What do we do?” She was trembling, both her body and her voice, and when I turned to face her, she wouldn’t meet my eyes. She kept staring at the body in horror. I couldn’t bring myself to look as my stomach continued to rumble.

“We can’t call the police and tell them I killed a cop, Ainsley. There’s no way I’m getting off after that. We have to get rid of the body,” I told her in a moment of stunning clarity. “It’s all there is to do. We have to make it look like he was never here, and then we pretend like this night never happened.”

“How can you say that? How can we possibly do that? We don’t know the first thing about cleaning up a dead body.”

“We’re going to have to figure it out,” I said. “It’s our only choice.”

“But…”

“Come on,” I begged her, “please. We have to get rid of the body and his truck. It’s the only way.”

“It’s tampering with evidence—”

“It’s fucking murder, Ainsley. We can’t chance it. We can do this, okay? We can clean it up. We can fix this. You’re always saying you’re the fixer, right? So you have to fix this, babe. You have to.” I watched as she contemplated what I was saying, hoping and praying she’d agree with me. We couldn’t call the cops. It was too much of a risk. To my relief, when she looked up at me again, she nodded, wiping her hair out of her face as she accepted the assignment. She breathed out a heavy breath from her O-shaped lips. “You’re right. It’s…it’s the only way. Let me think for a minute.”