There's no response, but I can hear some water sloshing in a pail in the apartment under mine. I pick up the shoes and the bag and tie him up again. I leave him in the hall and get the car. It's harder than I expected to get him into the trunk. I'm glad he hasn't gotten stiff yet.
Stiffs are a pain in the ass that way.
I drive down Logan, through the checkpoint, through the Square, past the hotel. I look at the tourists as I pass, wondering how many of them will notice the blood on the back bumper, wondering how many of them would care. I drive through another checkpoint, then over to the pier of the bridge. I get out and open the trunk. I light up a cigarette.