@rcsegld
Certain death looked back at him from the body on the ground, but in the end it was either he let himself be killed or kill the one who tried to take his life. Gunning a man down wasnāt how he liked to do things anyway, but what choice did he have when one was pulled on him? Milo paced about after the altercation, blood on his hands and pooling in the alley. A deal gone wrong is what it was. A setup, staged by people who wanted him out of the business altogether. Money had never even hit his palm before a punch had landed against his cheekbone, though once he came to his senses it seemed it was a pistol that had struck the bone instead. Blurred vision made it tricky to fight for the gun, but in the end he ended up covered in blood that wasnāt his and with a problem bigger than what he knew to do with. Where did one even dispose of a body? Did the bastard have a family, and were they going to mourn his loss? Milo sat atop a a trash can trying to decipher what message was being sent to him, wiping his hands on the t-shirt that was already ruined. āFuck Milo, what the hell.. What am I gonna do?ā The cops would be showing up before long if the shot was heard, but he couldnāt move. He was frozen trying to let the choice sink in. Heād killed a man. The first time he ever pulled the damn trigger and it worked all too well.
Action needed to be taken, and so it was his decision to load the dead weight into his car. Leather seats could be cleaned, couldnāt they? A quick clean and it would be like it never happened, right? Once he had forced the body into the backseat he was forced to think about the next step, and there didnāt seem to be one. The cops would understand, wouldnāt they? He was just doing his job, selling the product his boss pushed so hard for him to get out there. For a moment he thought on the older man, sitting behind the wheel and looking at the evidence in his rearview. Did his boss send the man? Who else would have known about the meeting? His eyes turned on the gun in the passenger seat, and he picked it up to wipe the fingerprints from its handle. Wiping and wiping until he realized it would never be clean enough, not when it was in his possession. It taunted him, laying in his lap threatening a life behind bars. He just needed to get rid of everything, every shred of the crime he could manage and it would all go away. Who did he trust enough to help him though? Milo certainly couldnāt do it on his own, he was smart enough but he didnāt know how to handle something so difficult. Instead of sitting and thinking about it until the cops showed, he threw the car into gear and started driving. To where? He wasnāt exactly sure. Just someplace to get him out of trouble.
Maybe he didnāt trust her, but he did know that she had dealt with her fair share of bloodshed. Heād heard plenty, and had seen the way she handled herself in the presence of men much more menacing than himself. She could help, but would she? He stared at the door from his car for a good couple of minutes, but eventually got out of the car and tucked the gun into his waistband as he walked. At the door, he let his knuckles knock in rhythm against the home of his enemy, hoping she would see the worry in his eye and take pity on him. Milo glanced around as he waited, one hand keen on resting atop the .38 in the front of his jeans. Maybe it was another trap. What if Aurora was ready to cut him down and save her father the trouble of some low-rung thug. It was the only option he had though, so he knocked again.
