Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder (26 page)

“No contest.”

I grinned, but my moment of glory was short-lived.  They were on the move.

We stayed inside the deli until they’d parted ways, a knowing smile the only evidence that this was not a business meeting.  Then we let Ernest get back to work, and followed his lover.

Frank wasn’t nearly as aggressive with me this time, though he remained between me and our subject.  “Do you suppose there’s any passion between them?” he asked, never taking his eyes off loverboy.

“Probably not,” I said.  He had to be in it for the money.  He was good looking enough to have almost anyone.  Mr. Goldman was a five at best.  “Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I like blonds,” he said.  I stumbled over a bit of raised sidewalk, and would’ve eaten the pavement had Frank not grabbed my arm.  “Careful.”

Having him flirt with me was taking some getting used to.  “Sorry.”

“He’s heading to the campus,” Frank said, and he slipped me his car keys.  “Follow him and meet me back at the car.”

I paused for a second, stunned that he was letting me go alone.

“Play to your strengths, V.  You look like a student.”

“Right,” I said, and continued after my quarry.  Frank had disappeared by the time I glanced back.

The tart branched off toward a series of apartment complexes, ending up on the same side of the street as me.  It threw me off a little, but he cut across the lawn toward the second set of buildings before I had time to decide on a different route.  I remained on the sidewalk, keeping him in my peripheral vision to see which door he went to.

He pulled out his keys and let himself in.  I smiled to myself and continued in the direction I was going, feeling victorious.  163 Jefferson Avenue, apartment twelve.  Frank was going to be so proud of me!

It took another half an hour to loop around and return to the car, parked in a cement-filled parking garage.  Frank’s paranoid ways made parking a huge portion of our business expenses.  He didn’t like anyone to know whether he’d been there one hour or three, so he retained his secrecy and paid the lost ticket fee. And he didn’t validate.

Frank wasn’t back yet, so I played with his prop wedding ring from the glove compartment, trying to think of the married man we were going to kill instead of how insecure I felt when he wasn’t by my side.  I still couldn’t believe that he was actually mine; an international super assassin in love with an emotionally unbalanced kid from Podunk, Illinois.  And
I
was
his
.

I’d always thought that being gay was supposed to let me off the hook with all that marriage shit; his and his towels, flowery curtains and a double-wide trailer to call our own just like Mom and Dad.  It should’ve made his and his sandwiches from lunch threaten to come back up, but it didn’t.  I wanted him to brand me, and I wanted the world to see my brand on him.

“Maybe it’s their anniversary,” I said to myself, setting the ring on the dashboard so I’d stop obsessing about Frank.  Looking at the symbolic jewelry safely out of my reach, I couldn’t help but think of all the extramarital affairs I’d been the cause of.  Had their wives found out?  Had they met with men like Charlie?  Were they ever angry enough to make the tart the target?

I jumped when Frank opened the car door.  I hadn’t realized he was there.  “You need to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he said.  He had another cup of coffee.  And a bouquet of flowers.  “Are you going to propose to me?”

“Huh?” I asked, feeling panicked like I’d stepped into the wrong theater at the multiplex, stumbling into a romantic comedy when I’d paid for people getting blown up in 3-D.  What the hell was I doing thinking about marrying him?  I wasn’t even old enough to be
sleeping
with him.

“Put the ring away, V,” he said.

I threw it in the glove compartment and slammed it shut, glad to get back to the thrilling life of a boring hit.  “You know, if you want to get lucky, all you have to do is unzip,” I said, taking the flowers anyway.

“Way to take all the romance out of it,” he said sarcastically.

“Aw, were you being romantic?”

“No, I was apologizing.”

“For what?”

“Charlie called.”

“And?” I asked, trying to sound threatening, since I had a feeling where this was going.

“I think you’re going to have to sit this one out, kiddo.”

“No!  Why?”

“The client wants an open casket.”

“Then don’t shoot him in the face,” I said.  I still didn’t know why Ernest’s open casket had anything to do with me having to kill Frank to actually get a hit under my belt.

“I’m not going to shoot him at all, V.”

“What do you mean?”

“A silenced weapon says hit.  It doesn’t say mugging.”

“Oh yeah,” I sighed.  No wonder he was making me sit it out.  “What were you planning on doing?”

“I was going to beat him to death.  That’s the standard,” he said, as if the client’s request personally offended his sense of decency.  “Normally the wife is keen never to see her husband’s face again.”

“What are you gonna do now?”

“Well, I’m going to have to stab him, aren’t I?”

“So?”

Frank sighed.  Then he took my flowers, stabbed me in the stomach with the stems, and tossed them on my lap.  It was a good thing, too.  He probably would’ve been even more irritated if he saw that it gave me an erection.

“I can handle it.”

“You can handle it?”

“It’s not like I was gonna be the one to stab him anyway.”

“Certainly not after the mess you made last time.”

“Hey!”

“Vincent, whether you like it or not, being stabbed was a traumatic experience for you.  I cannot have you freaking out during a hit.”

“You just protect me like you’re supposed to, and let me do my bait thing.  If it gets scary, I’ll cover my eyes,” I said.  “I got his address.  What did
you
find out?”

Frank gave me about two seconds to enjoy being a bossy bottom before slapping my face.  He kept his hand on my cheek, my skin burning under his warm palm.  “Good job, baby.”

“Thank you,” I said, tilting my head a little so he could get a firm grip on my hair.  “May I do the job?”

He took his hand away, because he was a sadistic prick.  “Yes, you may,” he said, sitting back and putting his seatbelt on.  I threw the flowers in the backseat and straddled him. 
Now
he pulled my hair.

Frank was by far the best kisser I’d ever had the pleasure to make out with.  Being able to wrap his tongue around so many languages couldn’t have hurt his skill of wrapping his tongue around mine.  It felt like he controlled my whole body when he kissed me, his hands on my face, his fingers reaching the back of my head as we tried to consume each other, like only one of us could come out alive in the end.  And his mouth tasted more like the sweet aroma of coffee than the bitter flavor.

I opened my eyes just for a second as he pulled away for a breath, only to see Ernest Goldman’s beige Jaguar driving into one of the spaces behind us.

“Shit!” I gasped, throwing myself sideways and out of sight, and nearly snapping a rib on the parking brake in the process.

Frank looked toward the rearview mirror, then smiled.  “That’s one of the things I found out,” he said, never diverting his glance.  “This is where he parks.  He’s coming back from a meeting.  Are you okay?”

“Yup,” I said, and lowered the brake a little so I could roll onto my back.

“My windows are tinted,” he reminded me, reaching over to rub my sore ribs.

I sat up, leaning close to him so I could see without having to adjust the mirror.  Ernest was standing at the back of his car, talking to someone on his cell phone.  His face was neutral.

“It’s the wife,” Frank said.  “He’s telling her that he’ll be working late.”  With our windows up, and the screech of a car parking nearby, hearing a conversation was impossible.  Frank was reading his lips.  I
had
to learn that one.  “Why do you suppose he’d stand here instead of heading back in to work?”

“Because it’s a lie,” I said.  That was easy.

We watched him take the stairs, every step leading to a firmer body for Andrew.  For someone else, that may have ruined the moment, but not for me.  I tried to resume my position on his lap, and ended up back on the parking brake.

“Not while we’re working,” Frank said.

“Let’s kill him tonight.”

“Vincent James Sullivan, if you try to take charge of this hit one more time, I am going to stab you.”

“You stab me three times a day, Frank,” I said, which succeeded in making him blush.  It took a lot more to accomplish that nowadays.  “At
least
.  How’d you know my middle name?”

“County records,” he said.  “You think Mark was the only I visited?  I was avenging you.”

“You were
stalking
me,” I said.  That might’ve left another boy feeling violated.  I felt adored.  “Did you speculate about me?”

“I didn’t have to.  You think out loud.”

“Do it anyway.  Tell me about me.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Narcissist.” 

“Come on!  Pretend we don’t know each other.  Tell me about me.”

“I’ll owe you another bouquet if I tell you.  You’ll be offended.”

“Then tell me
nicely
.”

“All right,” he said, opening his car door.  “Go for a walk.  I’ll follow you and observe.”

A starring role, just for me!  Ever since I was little I’d had a tendency to pause for applause.  There was no such thing as bad attention.  “What about Ernest?” I asked, beginning my role by acting like I could think about anyone but myself when the spotlight was on.

“He’s working.  Let’s go.”

I got out of the car, trying my hardest not to keep looking back at him for approval, not knowing how far I was supposed to walk or if I was supposed to head a certain direction, averting my eyes when warm places to stay passed by lest Frank had to kill someone before the big day, thinking what I’d say if he asked
me
to do this exercise with him, how not to offend him by saying that he looked like he killed people for a living.

“That’s far enough.”

“That was only like, five minutes,” I complained, the curtain rudely dropped before I could take my bow.

“It was twenty,” he said, gesturing for me to sit on a nice secluded bench.  “Shall I?”

“Be nice,” I warned.

“Adolescent, approximately fifteen, five seven—”

“Five
eight
.”

“One hundred twenty pounds, give or take.  He doesn’t walk, he swaggers.  This implies vanity.  But his clothing is too large for him, and he seems nervous.  This suggests insecurity.  He virtually ignores women and his peers, and consistently notices significantly older men, only he appears frightened to make eye contact.  I’ll come to the conclusion that he’s been a victim of physical abuse, most likely at the hands of his father, and is probably a homosexual.”

“Is he dangerous?” I asked.

“
Extremely
,” he said.  “I would follow him, despite my best judgment.  For that, I would lose my life.  And it would be worth it.”

“Because I’m the angel of death,” I said proudly.  I should’ve known that giving Frank an assignment of watching me walk would only end in praise.  My ass was just
that
great.

“For me you are.  Goldman might not be so willing to give his life for beauty.  You have to trust that I’ll protect you.  Lure him without insecurity.  Make him believe it.”

“I won’t let you down, Frank.”

“You haven’t yet,” he said sweetly.  “And by the way, Mr. Coors Light…his wife died.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” he said with a smile.  “I’m projecting.”

We watched Ernest for almost three weeks, our only break from the monotony when we’d tail his lover instead.  The tart was named Andrew Warren, and he was a full-time student whose only source of income came from being attractive.

Andrew was closer to a prostitute than I’d ever been.  In addition to Goldman he had an old drag queen covering tuition, and two more men for living expenses, one of whom worked in Ernest’s building.  Frank and I had a huge laugh about that.

Otherwise, their lives were pretty standard.  Frank saw nothing out of the ordinary, which made him more comfortable about having me approach our mark when the time came.  We’d even found the perfect spot; a park several blocks from his work.

Every Tuesday, Edith met with a book club in her home.  This week it was
Atlas Shrugged.
  On Thursdays, she had a knitting class, and she always chose pink yarn.  Those were the nights Ernest would go to the gym, skipping out a little early from the office because his boss did the same.  He was also having an affair, though not with Andrew.  Then he’d walk through the park to his car, and go visit his boy for dinner and dessert.

Our plan was for me to get his attention a block from the gym, lead him into the park, and that would be that.  It really was simple enough for me to do on my own.  In fact, it would’ve been more of a challenge for Frank to do it solo, because he’d have to pull a gun on him to get him off the path.  All I had to do was imply sex, but that didn’t stop me from having performance anxiety.

“How do I look?” I asked, doing a little twirl in a skimpy outfit Andrew would’ve worn.  It was tight enough to hinder my movements, which I was definitely not used to.  I felt cold, constrained, and to make it worse, I didn’t smell like Frank anymore.

“Edible,” he said, kissing my neck like a panther going for the kill.  If he hadn’t been holding me so tight, he would’ve had to mop me up off the floor.  “You should wear your size more often.”

The clothes were his idea; a powder blue shirt from the little boy’s section at The Gap, and pants he had to pour me into.  He wanted me to remind Goldman of his young lover, and then make him forget he ever existed.

“These aren’t my size,” I said.  “They’re too small.”

“Think of it as a costume,” he said, taking advantage of my restrictive jeans and smacking me on the ass before I could run away.

“Do you ever wear costumes?” I asked, letting him rub the spot he’d slapped instead of doing it myself.