“Because I know too much. Holy shit. Was it my name on the paper? Is that why Luther was suddenly okay with me coming?”

“Do us both a favor and don’t think for a while.”

“That wasn’t a no!”

I swear Arlie laughs, which can’t be right because she never laughs. It must have been someone from inside one of the apartments we pass. Someone who sounds a lot like her.

I’m out onto the rooftop first, and I consider for a whole second whether to run or stop her from coming up here or … fuck, I have no clue. But maybe doing something to protect myself wouldn’t be a totally ridiculous thing? Unfortunately, I am ridiculous and apparently have no survival skills because I’ve barely started debating with myself when she joins me.

“Fuck it. Get it over with,” I say, holding my hands out to the side. “Would it be easier if I jumped?”

“Actually, yes.”

I’m about to make my pathetic way over to the edge when she continues.

“Then I wouldn’t have to listen to you being all dramatic anymore.” She unzips the bag at her waist and pulls out a gun. The metal gleams threateningly, and it’s only just now occurring to me that I’ve never seen one of these in real life before. I’m suddenly not so sure I ever wanted to. “Relax, we’re not here for you.” The next thing she pulls out is a long metal cylinder that she attaches to the gun. She must notice me watching curiously. “It’s a suppressor. This one is a single shot. Bullet cases will land right here, and we’ll walk a few blocks before we ditch them in the trash.”

“Won’t they be found?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if they are. It’s a ghost gun. No serial number, and the kits were bought from all over. It’s untraceable, and I’m gone before anyone knows what happened.”

“How long have you been doing this for?”

Arlie shrugs. “A couple of years.”

“And you haven’t been caught?”

“It would be more of a surprise if I had.”

I’m not sure what her logic is behind that. The confusion on my face must show.

“The stats are something like only two percent of crime ends in a conviction. And it’s around ten percent where there’s actually an arrest made. Those people are usually amateurs.”

I watch in morbid curiosity as she slides a bullet cartridge into the gun. “There’s no way that can be true.”

“Look it up.”

“I think I will.”

“Fine.” She snaps back the thingy on top with a metal clink. “Either way, I like my chances.”

“If that is true though … pretty much anyone could kill anyone.”

“Pretty much.”

“Even me.”