Rain in Las Vegas was like an old man trying to pee -- it took forever to start and only dribbled for a moment. Dante staggered to his doorstep late that afternoon, just as a few fat raindrops splattered around his feet. His eyes blinked at the atrophic sunlight, at the dirty gray clouds smearing the sky.
Quiet thunder rumbled far away between drops.
He went inside. The house felt empty and the air stale, silent except for a clock ticking in the living room. Paige hadn’t returned from work yet. He still had time to clean himself up and wash his clothes before she found out. Worse than explaining where he disappeared to last night, would be the additional headache of trying to explain the blood.
After stripping in the laundry room, he tossed the bloody clothes into the washing machine. Then he went into the bathroom and showered. While in the shower, he scrubbed beneath his nails and clipped them as low as possible. Afterwards, he scrubbed at them again.
He couldn’t scrub them enough.