All around the arena, red lights ripped the night, slashing across the countless police officers scurrying here and there with such self-importance. He leaned against the glass, looking down on all the activity. From here in the soundproof building he could hear nothing. But he imagined the shouts and police radios and car doors slamming.
All this chaos — thanks to him.
He smiled.
A policeman strode by, talking into the radio attached to his shoulder.
He stifled a laugh. All these uniforms hustling around looking for a killer — and there he stood. Right in front of their faces.
He’d already given his statement to one police officer. He’d seen nothing, knew nothing.
Cops were morons. Not to mention unjust. In his previous existence, they’d liked nothing better than putting him behind bars. First time at age sixteen. He hadn’t deserved that.
Last time he got out, he’d vowed it—no more jail. Never again. For by then he had a new mission in life. He’d been sent to watch the Special One.
He slipped parole and secured a new identity. Now his past was wiped clean.
“Hey.” One of his fellow workers appeared beside him, arms folded and pulled tightly to his chest. Guy looked nervous. “This is insane, isn’t it?”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Me either.”
Down below, a new police car carved to a stop outside the building. The driver’s door opened, and a cop hurried out.
“It’s so terrible.” The man next to him sighed. “Poor Tom.”
“Yeah. Poor Tom.”
He ran a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile.