They made their way into hallway.
The moment the lobby door clicked shut behind them, Leon dropped the soda.
The can burst on impact, fizzing across the floor making a mess.
She opened her mouth—whether to shout or to curse at him, no one will ever know—when the first thrust came.
Leon pulled out the knife and the blade entered just under her jaw, angled upward.
She made a wet, choking sound.
He pulled the knife free and drove it in again, lower this time, through the triangle part of her throat.
Blood squirted across his cheek. He didn’t blink.
He kept going.
Twenty-two times the newspapers would later report, though the medical examiner’s photos showed the wounds overlapping, frantic, some so deep they notched bone.
Her hands rose once, weakly, then fell. Her knees buckled. She slid down the wall, painting a long red smear behind her.
Leon stood over her, breathing hard. The knife dripped onto the toe of his boot.
He bent over, to searched her pockets, found the master keys.
The safe was in the office behind the desk.
The combination hadn’t changed since the owner hired him two years earlier.
He opened it in less than thirty seconds—three stacks of twenties, a few hundreds, the weekend deposit bag.
He stuffed it all in his pants and shirt pockets.
Then he walked back towards a helpless Melissa.
She was still twitching, you can see the small breaths bubbling through the stab wounds through her neck.
He lifted one steel-toed boot and brought it down hard against the side of her head.
There was a soft crunch, like stepping on a cock roach. The twitching stopped.
He stood there a moment longer, listening to the Coke machine hum in the distance.
Then he walked out the front door into the warm October night.
The lobby lights kept buzzing behind him, business as usual with guests patiently waiting to be served.
To be continued…