I stood in the center of the living room, while Stephen opened a bottle of Jameson's and we toasted Roarke.
"Had to be done," I said and Stephen nervously agreed.
"So's this," I said and gutted him with my pearl-hilted knife.
I cut his tongue out while he set about dying; Stephen had been talking to some people about the night we did Roarke.
I stuffed him in his closet, then drank a toast to the soul that was leaking out of his body.
I turned out the lights and walked out of his apartment.