The Anatomy of Killer

Chapter 3 - I'm Constantly Thanking God for Elevator Attendants

     The rest of the taxi ride to my new apartment was silent. I sat in the back, brooding about meeting Noah Marx again. This new life was going to be harder than I initially thought.

     The cab slowly crawled through the New York traffic. I was starting to think that it would be faster to just walk to my new apartment. 

     "So is this your first time visiting New York?" Roberto piped up from the front. 

     I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn't see me. "I've lived here my whole life."

     I saw him redden in the rear view mirror. "Oh. Sorry." Roberto said, falling silent.

     When the cab finally pulled up to the apartment building. "Damn," I said under my breath. 

      We'd arrived at one of the most expensive apartment buildings in New York City, right on the west side of Central Park. 

     "Nice building," Roberto said quietly.

     "Yeah," I said. Thanks, Gabe, I thought. He must really like me to set me up in an apartment in such an expensive part of town.

     I paid Roberto and climbed as gracefully as I could out of the cab. I knew from living in New York for years that climbing out of a cab, especially in traffic, can be stressful. Trying to get out of a car fast is not a good idea. I'd face planted in front of many a date trying to get out of a cab.

     While walking through the doors of the apartment building, I dug my keys out of my pocket. I approached the elevator, realizing that I had no idea what apartment number I was until I pressed the button on the elevator. The doors slid open and I was greeted by a friendly-looking older gentleman. "Going up, Ms. Muerto?"

     "Uh, yeah, I guess," I stammered.

     "Apartment 8A coming right up," he said. 

     Thank God for elevator attendants.

     "Don't you have work today, Ms. Muerto?" The elevator attendant asked.

     "O-of course, but I came home because I wasn't feeling well," I lied, smiling. "Nearly puked all over my cab driver." Always include an embarrassing event in your lies to make them more believable. Noah Marx taught me that. He was the king of believable lies.

     The elevator dinged, signaling that we'd reached my floor. "Feel better Ms. Muerto!" the elevator attendant called after me as I practically ran from the elevator and to my apartment. I fumbled with my key until the door opened, letting me into the place I was to call home. 

     I nodded in approval as I took in all that was mine. It was tastefully decorated with lots of Persian rugs. A bike sat in the corner of the room. I enjoyed biking and smiled as I ran my hand over the frame of it. I continued into the living room where I was met with a lovely view of Central Park West.