Hollow Man by Mark Pryor Page A

money, it only makes sense to do it at the end of the evening. So I don't see any point in following him all day and risking being seen.”
    â€œAh, right. Didn't think about it that way.”
    â€œPlus, it's summer and we should probably do this in the dark, later at night.” I smiled. “Maybe you can leave the master-criminal thing to me.”
    â€œFine, how would you do it?”
    â€œIt'd be like preparing a case for trial, except in reverse. When I get ready for trial, I go through the police report and pick out the witnesses and evidence I can use, make a list of both. And I make a note, too, of the evidence that likely won't be admissible, and a list of flaws in the case. The trick in planning a crime, I think, would be to make sure that second list is nice and full, and that there's as little as possible on the first.”
    â€œThe perfect crime?”
    â€œNo such thing.”
    â€œI disagree. I talked about that with Michelle, actually. She thinks the perfect crime is one where no one even knows a crime's been committed. That way, the perpetrator gets away with it, keeps the money or whatever, and never has to worry about looking over his shoulder. Makes sense to me.”
    It didn't to me. I couldn't fathom doing that much work and planning, putting my neck on the line and taking potentially deadly risks, only for no one to know about any of it. My narcissistic streak, perhaps, but it would be like that tree in the woods, falling without anyone hearing. I would want my crime to make a noise, a crash, I would want people to know that it had been committed and then have to suffer the torture of not knowing who did it. But Gus was right about one thing, I certainly wouldn't want to live my life looking over my shoulder, not any more than I already did.
    As I sat there nursing my drink, I had an idea how to address that particular issue. Then I tucked it away for future use and went back to the subject at hand. “Michelle's perfect crime makes me wonder,” I said, “if maybe your client might be a little hesitant to call the cops and report all that money missing.”
    Gus's eyes lit up. “That's a great point. If he reports it, all of it, there's a good chance the IRS would come poking around. The immigration people too.”
    â€œPrecisely. It's possible that he's better off losing a month's takings than losing his business altogether. So maybe the perfect crime is one that the victim doesn't dare report.”
    Gus painted trails in the condensation on his beer glass. He looked up at me. “You really serious about doing this?”
    â€œI guess you can say that I'm serious about exploring it. You?”
    â€œSeems crazy, but…yeah.”
    â€œCool,” I said. “Although I would have one condition.”
    â€œWhat's that?”
    â€œOur new lady friend is kept out of it.”
    Gus thought for a moment, then asked, “Are you being sweet and protecting her, or…?”
    â€œThe other. I don't trust her.”
    â€œThat so?” He smirked. “I thought you wanted to—”
    â€œWe both want to do that. And I'm happy to, I just can't tell what she's up to, and I don't like that. Have you talked to her since last weekend?”
    He shifted in his seat. “No.”
    â€œBut you've tried.”
    â€œOnce. I called and left a message.”
    â€œDo me a favor and leave it alone, will you? Just for a while.”
    â€œSure.” Gus cleared his throat, then looked me in the eye. “Are we really going to do this?”
    We were, because the elements of my true nature had already collided, a rolling snowball of sociopathy gathering momentum.Impulsiveness picking up on my need for risk, rolling onto my lack of fear and the deceptiveness and sense of self-worth that convinced me I could get away with it. And on top of it all, I got to manipulate another human being into playing soldier under my command. Not to