Jackson held the needle very close to Romanello’s neck, seeking the perfect entry site. “They will find you here, a young, strapping man felled in his prime by natural causes. Another statistic in the ongoing health debate.”
Romanello’s eyes almost exploded out of his head as he struggled with every ounce of will to break the grip of inertia the stun gun had caused. The veins stood out on his neck with the effort he was exerting and Jackson quietly thanked him for providing such a convenient place, right before the needle plunged into the jugular vein and its contents poured into his body. Jackson smiled and gently patted Romanello on the head as his pupils shot back and forth like a metronome.
From his bag, Jackson extracted a razor blade. “Now, a sharp-eyed medical examiner might pick up on the hypodermic’s entry site, so we will have to address that.” Using the razor, Jackson nicked Romanello’s skin at the precise place the needle had gone in. A drop of blood floated to the surface of the skin. Jackson replaced the razor in the bag and pulled out a Band-Aid. He pressed it across the fresh cut and sat back to study his handiwork, smiling as he did so.
“I’m sorry that it’s come to this, as your services might have been useful to me in the future.” Jackson picked up one of Romanello’s limp hands and made the sign of the cross over the stricken man’s chest. “I know that you were raised Roman Catholic, Mr. Romanello,” he said earnestly, “although you obviously have strayed from the teachings of the Church, but I’m afraid a priest to administer last rites is out of the question. I hardly think it matters where you’re going anyway, do you? Purgatory is such a silly notion after all.” He picked up Romanello’s knife and placed it back in the sheath strapped to his ankle.
Jackson was about to stand up when he noted the edge of the newspaper sticking out from the inside of Romanello’s jacket pocket. He nimbly plucked it out. As he read the article detailing the story of the two murders, drugs, LuAnn’s disappearance, and the police’s search for her, his features became grim. That explained a lot. Romanello was blackmailing her. Or attempting to. Had he discovered this piece of information a day earlier, Jackson’s solution would have been simple. He would’ve executed LuAnn Tyler on the spot. Now he could not do that and he hated that he had lost partial control of the situation. She had already been confirmed as the winning ticket holder. She was scheduled to appear to the world in less than twenty-four hours as the lottery’s newest winner. Yes, now her requests made more sense. He folded up the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. Like it or not, he was wedded to LuAnn Tyler, warts and all. It was a challenge, and, if nothing else, he loved a challenge. However, he would take control back. He would tell her exactly what she had to do, and if she didn’t follow his instructions precisely, then he would kill her after she won the lottery.
Jackson gathered up the shredded newspaper and remnants of the UPS package. The dark suit he was wearing came off with a tug on certain discreet parts of the garment, and together with the now revealed body moldings that had given Jackson his girth, all of these items were packed in a pizza carrier bag that Jackson pulled from a corner of the living room. Underneath, a much slimmer Jackson was wearing the blue and white shirt proclaiming him to be a Domino’s Pizza delivery person. From one of his pockets, he pulled out a piece of thread and, edging it carefully under the putty on his nose, lifted the piece cleanly off and stuck it in the pizza box. The mole, beard, and ear pieces he similarly discarded. He swabbed his face down with alcohol from a bottle pulled from his pocket, removing the shadows and highlights that had aged his face. His hands worked quickly and methodically from years of long practice. Last, he combed a gel through his hair that effectively removed the sprayed-on streaks of gray. He checked his altered appearance in a small mirror hanging on the wall. Then this chameleon landscape was swiftly altered by a small bristly mustache applied with spirit gum, and a hair extender hung in a long ponytail out from under the Yankee baseball cap he was now putting on. Dark glasses covered his eyes; dress shoes were replaced with tennis shoes. He once again checked his appearance: completely different. He had to smile. It was quite a talent. When Jackson quietly left the building a few seconds later, Romanello’s features were relaxed, peaceful. They would forever remain so.