They say it’s hard to dispose of the dead body of someone you killed. Whether you meant their death or not is irrelevant. Corpses tend to bleed all over you and the surroundings. They’re a dead weight, ha, ha. They release strange fluids and gases. And they get stiff as boards, making lugging them a challenge.
And other people are nosy. They spy on you and see you dragging your dead husband or wife to the family car for a trip to the nearest wooded area. Or at a stoplight they notice that your companion never blinks or moves from his propped position in the passenger seat. Or blood drips onto the street from the body stashed in the trunk.
Well, who were “they” to say it’s so hard? That’s what he wanted to know.
Whoever they were, they hadn’t asked him if he agreed. Granted, he didn’t have as much practice at disposal as one of those deranged serial killers. Half those guys didn’t seem to care about getting rid of their bodies. They left them lying around for anyone to find. It wasn’t because hiding the body was hard. Oh no. It was because they were lazy.
He would never be so careless, not about bodies or anything. That was why he was so good at what he did. He thought things through, and he always found a satisfactory way of handling every situation, even the ones where death happened.
So “they” should be talking to him. Maybe he didn’t know as much as some, but he had more experience with disposal than the general population.
And he was proud of how successful he was at it.