How To Hide A Body

Blowing Up Two Birds With One Stick Of Dynamite

The outfit I wore for Stage B of the plan (Stage A being programming the app) was in my most hated top 10. It ranked number 3. I was dressed as a poor widower: I had stuffed one of the hotel's pillows up my back, creating what looked like a humpback, and covered that with a ragged t-shirt (Bart had worn it to a place which had accidentally blown up during our visit. I told him to keep it for reasons just like this. Of course, I never thought I had would ever need to blow up the Statue of Liberty. Not this early in my lifetime, surely.). Thrown over my hunched shoulders was a purple and yellow paisley shawl which was slightly tucked into some frayed khaki pants (also Bart's). I had stolen some shoes from a homeless guy earlier on the subway after he had tried to mug me. I had thrown on the white wig, which covered most of my face, but just to make sure my face would be hidden, I wore a black surgical mask and had put in one misted over contact lens, making me look visually impaired in one eye. 

It had been a long, boring journey from the hotel to the dock. Bart followed far behind me, dressed as some bigshot in a tuxedo, constantly 'on the phone'. I had a black sling-on bag which trailed along the floor collecting dust, chewing gum and rat urine (I made a mental note to burn it later. Of course, once I had disposed of all the dynamite.). Our plan was that Bart went on the ferry, while I stayed behind on the mainland. I found myself a bench close to where the waves gently hit the ground. I took out a packet of breadcrumbs and started nonchalantly throwing crumbs onto the ground. In a matter of seconds, I had been surrounded. Feathers flew everywhere and I was quite overwhelmed at first. Pigeons pecked at the ground and flew away clumsily after they had captured their prey. Of course, it was only until two flocks had come and gone until the prey became bait. 

I grabbed the other paper bag, which contained small little squares of C4 dynamite wrapped in a black foliage with a tiny little tracker stuck onto it. This tracker was connected to the app, which would, therefore, show the whereabouts of each pigeon. If the pigeon was on Lady Liberty, I would simply press on the little red dot on the screen, causing the C4 to explode. I then sprinkled the next lot of breadcrumbs on my lap, which was then ambushed by a whole new lot of pigeons. I grabbed two pigeons at a time, which made the other seven fly away. On these two, I quickly tied two squares of C4 to their legs, after a five minute long struggle. These two then flew away, in the direction of Lady Liberty. Most of the pigeons in New York City roost on Lady Liberty's torch at night, which was in my favour. Bart was going to count how many roosts he could find. He also had a photography hobby, so he was killing two birds with one stone. Or should I say, blowing two birds up with one lot of C4? 

After I had captured six pigeons, I was out of breath. Exhausted wasn't even the word to describe it. I was also covered head-to-toe in feathers, making me look like their own. How did my life get to this? 

Instead of putting myself through the same ordeal, I developed another plan. I always carried a taser around, cause you know, I am not only a criminal I am also a woman. I put it on the lowest voltage and casually shocked each bird which landed on my lap. This put them out for around ten minutes, giving me enough time to straddle the dynamite onto their legs, place them on the ground next to me, wake up a little dazed and then fly off. After half an hour, I had caught 40 birds. It was then, when Bart stepped off the ferry, winked at me, then walked towards the subway. I had ten dynamite packages left but decided to call it a day. As I stood, feathers flew everywhere, making me human again.

There was no way I was going to keep this outfit on any longer. I walked a couple blocks and entered a restaurant, where I kindly asked to use their bathroom in a Spanish accent. 

"Abuela, come with me," one of the waitresses offered kindly, touching my shoulder, too close to the pillow. I shrugged her hand off, which made her glance at me curiously, but after that, she kept her hands to herself. 

In the musty bathroom stall, I dressed in the extra set of clothes I had brought with me, jeans and a white 'save the planet' shirt. Once I had removed the wig I was showered in my curls. I hurriedly removed the itchy contact lens, disposing of it in the bin. I then washed my face, ageing down 70 or 80 years. 

I climbed onto the toilet seat and peered through the tiny window. Directly behind the bathroom stall was a big green dumpster, which only added to the gross smell of the bathroom. I shoved the old lady (mostly Bart's) clothes through the window but kept the bag. I then stole the bottle of lavender scented hand cream which was neatly placed by the sink and then the small potted orchid, thinking it would make a nice present for Cléo. As I left the stall, the waitress, who had waited for Abuela outside the bathroom peered at the bag queerly but didn't ask me anything. As I walked past, I quickly snagged her 20 dollar tip money from her flour-dusted apron. 

I then got to the counter, where one of those college drop-outs was manning the till, "Hi, could I have change for 20 dollars? I would like to use your vending machine," I winked at him.

He hastily removed one of his headphones, releasing some outdated Hip-Hop music into the restaurant, "Sure thing," he said. He handed over two ten dollar bills, pointed over at the vending machine, "You have to punch the buttons really hard. Nice way to take out your anger.". When the coke can hit the bottom, followed by a soft thud of a Snickers bar, I heard the college drop-out being asked to turn the volume up of the small TV-screen which had been hung meticulously in the corner of the room. It was the news, showing an all too familiar face. 

"A man previously thought to be found dead in his hotel room has recently been spotted alive!" the spray-tanned news anchor said, "He was seen at Los Angeles Airport, LAX. A bystander, who wishes to remain anonymous, snapped his picture as he got into a black Uber van. We await further proof-" The show was interrupted by the small bell from the door ringing, a new customer entering. It was Eulalie. 

"What on earth are you doing here," I muttered. 

"Go back to the hotel," she muttered, reaching down to fetch my Coke and Snickers for me. 

I snatched them from her, "Why?" She shrugged. 

I pushed the pull door, making Eulalie laugh (note to self: get Cléo to fire her when this is over). Once on the pavement, I hailed a taxi. As she tried to enter, I slammed the door and mouthed, "Get your own cab."