The Clean Exit
When a crime scene cleaner finds a body before the job even starts, she knows something’s gone wrong

Cleo Vance didn’t mind blood. Not anymore. After ten years of scrubbing crime scenes for a living, the shock had worn off. The way people stared when she showed up in her van marked “Hazmat Response Solutions” still amused her. They didn’t know the real work she did.
They didn’t know that, on some nights, Cleo helped criminals disappear.
Her second job was less official. She was the planner behind clean getaways. High-end burglars, quiet crews, and smooth operators hired her to handle exit logistics. She mapped escape routes, scouted safe houses, and scheduled everything down to the second. She didn’t ask questions about the jobs. That was the rule. She cleaned, she planned, she walked away.
But tonight wasn’t going according to plan.
The house was supposed to be empty. Just a stop on her prep list. A sleek glass-and-steel modern place in the Hollywood Hills, remote enough for a quick drop-in, quick drop-out kind of job. The crew was set to hit the house in two nights. Cleo came early to check entrances, study the layout, and stash some gear in the crawlspace.
The alarm was disabled. That was standard.
What wasn’t standard was the man in the living room.
He was dead. Very dead. Face down on the white marble floor, blood pooled under him like spilled wine. Cleo stopped just inside the door and stared. The body wasn’t part of the plan. No one was supposed to be here. Especially not someone with a bullet in the back of his skull.
Her first thought was: did someone beat the crew to it?
Her second: am I being set up?
She backed out slowly, careful not to touch anything. She’d seen enough scenes to know when things were fresh. This one was. Less than an hour, maybe less. The blood hadn’t started to dry. That meant whoever did it might still be nearby.
Cleo climbed into her van and locked the doors. She didn’t drive off yet. She needed to think.
She pulled out her burner phone and dialed a number she hadn’t used in months.
“Yeah?” a voice answered.
“It’s Vance,” she said. “I’ve got a problem.”
A pause. “What kind?”
“The dead kind.”
Another pause. “Talk.”
She explained what she saw. Left out a few details. Cleo didn’t trust anyone completely, especially not Marcus. He was the middleman, the guy who connected her with the crew set to rob the house. If anyone could've sold her out, it was him.
Marcus cursed. “That wasn’t part of the job. That house was clean. No one lives there full time.”
“Someone does now,” Cleo said.
“Leave it alone,” he told her. “Walk away. I’ll handle it.”
That was not what she wanted to hear.
“Walk away?” she asked. “You don’t think this has something to do with the job?”
He didn’t answer.
“Marcus,” she said, “did you double-book this house?”
He exhaled. “There was interest from another crew. I said no. But maybe they didn’t like that answer.”
So that was it. Someone else wanted the target. Maybe they showed up early to take it by force. Maybe the guy on the floor was part of that crew. Or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Cleo felt her stomach turn. This wasn’t just a heist anymore. It was a mess. And messes were dangerous.
“I’m out,” she said. “Tell your crew to find another planner.”
“Cleo—”
“I don’t walk into houses with fresh bodies on the floor. That’s not my job.”
She hung up.
The problem was, walking away wasn’t so easy. She’d already stashed equipment on-site: tools, gloves, burner phones, fake plates. If the cops found any of it, they’d trace it back to her. She had to go back. Clean up her own mess. Literally.
So she waited an hour. Drove back in through the canyon once the roads were quiet. Parked a block away. Entered through the back, gloves on, mask in place.
She removed everything she’d left behind. Wiped down the crawlspace. Took nothing that didn’t belong to her.
Then, she stood over the body again. She didn’t know the man, but he felt familiar somehow. Something about his watch. The ring on his finger. A memory clicked.
She had seen him before. A photo. On Marcus’s phone.
He wasn’t just anyone. He was a client.
Marcus hadn’t just double-booked the job. He’d set up a hit.
That changed everything.
Cleo looked around the room, scanned the corners, then checked the ceiling. No cameras. No obvious bugs.
She took one last look at the body, then left through the garage.
By the time she got home, she’d made up her mind. This wasn’t just about walking away. Someone tried to burn her. She couldn’t let that slide.
She opened her laptop, pulled up encrypted files, and started digging. Every crew Marcus had worked with. Every job she’d helped him plan. She’d find the connection. She’d find who pulled the trigger.
Because Cleo Vance wasn’t just a cleaner.
She was also very good at taking out the trash.
About the Creator
Solene Hart
Hi, I’m Solene Hart — a content writer and storyteller. I share honest thoughts, emotional fiction, and quiet truths. If it lingers, I’ve done my job. 🖤

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