Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder (6 page)

“How do you know he’s not a real doctor?” Frank laughed, though the lack of surprise in his voice was a definite confirmation of my suspicions.

“I guessed,” I said proudly.

“Well,” he started, “that’s irrelevant.  Charlie wasn’t the one who cleaned you up.”

I gaped at him.  “What?”

“Vincent,” he said, as if he’d expected me to have figured this out already.  The accent was definitely still there.  I hadn’t imagined it.

“
You
did?” I asked.  The pleasure of the thought was greatly overshadowed by the fact that I had no idea why Charlie wouldn’t have.

“Don’t take it personally,” Frank said.  It took me a second to realize he was referring to Charlie again and wasn’t shaming me for getting a kick out of him playing doctor.  He probably didn’t even realize my mind would go that direction.  I didn’t take him for the type of man who was aware of how good looking he was.  “Charlie’s very old fashioned…”

“Oh,” I sighed when I grasped what he was trying to say.  The feeling was like being stabbed again. 
Old fashioned.  Closed-minded.  Gay = AIDS.
  That was why he had me change my own bandages.  It had nothing to do with his arthritis.  “I thought he was my friend!” I pouted, though even as the words came out, I knew that I didn’t really believe that.  It was just one more lie I’d needed to hear; that someone in the world, even someone like him, gave a shit whether I lived or died.

“He’s not your friend.  He’s my friend,” Frank said, the coldness returning to his voice.

That was a revealing statement if I ever heard one.  Frank knew it, too.  I could see on his face that he hadn’t meant to say it.  “Is that why you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, as if he’d only now realized the fact.  Then he turned away from me in a sort of stunned silence, his eyebrows knotted together like the lack of loathing deeply troubled him.

It may have bothered him to be that much closer to loving me, but I was overjoyed.  And as irrational as it was, I felt like everything was going to be okay now.  “Charlie does though, right?  He hates me.”

“Has he been rude to you?” Frank asked, sounding like he’d definitely do something about it if my answer was yes.

I looked down.  “He’s just…it’s been a bit uncomfortable lately.  I mean, it’s like I’ve done something to upset him.  I think he might kick me out soon.”

“He’s not allowed to kick you out, Vincent,” Frank said cryptically.  God, the two of them were so hard to figure out.  I couldn’t get it straight, who was working for whom.  “It’s pretty late.  I should let you get some sleep.”  He was changing the subject again.

“I’m not tired,” I protested immediately.  Even if he never answered another one of my questions, I didn’t want him to leave.

He smiled.  “You’re still recovering.  And Charlie isn’t taking as good of care of you as he should be.”

Well,
that
was an understatement.  If I’d been a potted plant I’d be dead.
 
“Will you come back?  Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll try,” he told me as he stood up.  “It would be best if you didn’t mention this to Charlie.”

“Fuck Charlie!  I’m not talking to him.”

Frank laughed.  “Behave.  If you stop speaking to him he’ll know something’s up.”

Something’s up.
  So he was playing chaperone after all.  “Is he afraid I’m going to corrupt you?”

“How would you corrupt me, Vincent?”

The way he said it made me feel like a predator for all the dirty things I’d been thinking about him.  I was tempted to say, “Oh, you’d be surprised,” or something mildly threatening in a sexual way, just to prove that I wasn’t as angelic as I looked.  But I didn’t want to scare him off.  “Try to get some sleep, Frank,” I said, doing my best to mimic my mother’s caring voice instead of her nagging one.  Not that I really remembered what she sounded like.  “Torturing yourself isn’t going to help your friend.”

He nodded and left without another word.  It wasn’t until he was out the door that it occurred to me how badly my interrogation had gone.  Another couple of hours and he would’ve had my entire life story, yet all I’d gotten out of him was that Charlie was an asshole and his friend was dying.  Although, this hadn’t been that much different than most of my conversations.  I had a tendency to over-talk, especially when I was excited.  But this time I’d really, really tried to listen.  Frank just wasn’t talking.

I’d have to attempt it again tomorrow.  And maybe if I bribed him, he’d stick to the subject.

The weather man said that we were in for some unseasonable warmth, so instead of lazing around in my birthday suit I got dressed and went outside.  Unseasonably warm wasn’t exactly Miami, but if I walked fast enough I could avoid shivering, and after spending nearly a month without fresh air, I was thrilled to be out.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this good.  The sun beating down on me would’ve been nearly orgasmic if not for the bite of February cold, and even though I’d gotten really out of shape from all that bed rest, the brisk walk was invigorating.  I knew the fifty dollars Frank had given me was supposed to be for a new coat, but I had other plans in mind.

It was about two miles to downtown, and although I had never actually been inside, I knew exactly where the bookstore was located.  I walked in, immediately feeling in over my head.  Reading had never been a passion of mine, and having the geeky sales clerk approach me the second my foot was in the door didn’t help my apprehension.

“
Jane Eyre
,” I mumbled quickly, avoiding eye contact.  Guys my age held less interest for me than books, so the fact that he was doing his best to flirt with me as we walked through the store was awkward to say the least.  I would’ve liked to have blamed my wardrobe, the pink shirt screaming homosexual, but in reality, I got hit on a lot.  What could I say?  I had a prettier face than most women, and an ass that had turned so many heads I deserved a chiropractic commission.

“It looks like we’re all out,” he lisped, the peppy tone in his voice not fading a bit while he stood too close to me in the literature section.  “I can special order one for you.”

“That’s okay,” I said, grabbing the closest Bronte book to my hand without looking.  “I’ll take this instead.”

“You know that’s not―”

“I’ll take it,” I said more forcefully.  If Frank liked
Jane Eyre
so much, he’d probably like something else by the same author.  Besides, he had to be getting sick of reading it by now.

“Okay, great!” the clerk said, practically skipping as he led me to the cashier.  “Hook him up with my employee discount, will you?” he said to the chubby girl at the counter, who smiled like she was imagining all the exciting dates I’d have with her co-worker.

Aaron, as his rectangular name tag stated, kept talking to me as she completed the transaction.  He said something about being off in a couple of hours, and wrote his phone number on the receipt.  And I thought
I
was aggressive when it came to picking up guys.  “That’s okay, I won’t be returning it,” I said irritably, and left the receipt on the counter.

I was so annoyed that I didn’t even feel the cold on my way back to the hotel.  His flirting probably wouldn’t have bothered me as much if they’d had the damn book I wanted.  Then again, I’d always seen young gay men as competition rather than allies, and I couldn’t help but think of him hoarding all the copies of
Jane Eyre
just so
he
could give them to Frank.

The parking lot of the hotel was even emptier than it had been when I left, more people checking out than checking in, but there was a shiny black BMW parked a couple of spots away from my room.  I put the bag behind my back and approached, unable to keep myself from smiling.

Frank got out, holding a larger bag and looking none-too-pleased with me.  “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to leave,” I said, though that wasn’t exactly the truth.  I’d purposefully gotten back before one o’clock so The Warden, as I’d started thinking of Charlie, wouldn’t see that I’d gone anywhere.  I knew Frank wasn’t supposed to give me my key back.  The last thing I needed was for Charlie to find out we were playing nice.

“Of course you can leave, Vincent,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the hand I held behind my back. “But you’re not wearing a coat.”

“I didn’t find one I liked,” I shrugged.

He shook his head.  “Get inside.”

I quickly obeyed, doing my best to keep the bag out of his sight.  He followed closely, looking suspicious.

“If I’d known you were planning on going out, I could’ve lent you one,” he scolded, setting the bag on the nightstand.  “Having money doesn’t give you an excuse to freeze to death.”

“It wasn’t bad today,” I said, sitting on the bed and shoving his book under the pillow before letting my curiosity get the best of me.  “What’s in the bag?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he teased, though he handed it right to me. “Charlie’s taking the afternoon off.”

“You brought me lunch?” I beamed, reaching into the bag with excitement.  Charlie had been bringing me burgers and fries from the beginning, but even if the order was the same, it was still better because it was from Frank.  But this was definitely
not
the same order; a biodegradable takeout container that must’ve been worth more than the food Charlie usually brought, the most perfect cheeseburger in existence, ground beef with grill marks that didn’t look like they were painted on, a toasted, not stale, bun, lettuce and tomato and even pickles, and potatoes cut into ideally shaped fries that actually earned the label
French
.

“Thanks,” I said in awe.

Frank nodded, this time managing not to turn red when I showed my appreciation.

But as filling as the
almost
-too-perfect-to-eat meal looked, and as stylish as the takeout container was, there was still only one of them.  “You want a bite?” I asked, even though there was no doubt in my mind that I could finish it by myself.  And then some.

“I’m fine,” he said.

I pushed the container toward him.  “You’re having some whether you like it or not.”

He glared at me.

“Please?  I’ll show you what I bought you…”

Now he
did
turn red.  “That money was for you.”

“I know, and I used it on what I wanted,” I said, handing him the bag.

“Where’d you get this?”

“It’s called a bookstore.  You see, when you finish reading one you’re supposed to buy another―”

“Cheeky,” he said under his breath.  Then he slowly pulled out the book I’d purchased, his expression like he’d never received a gift in his entire life.  “You didn’t have to do this, Vincent,” he added, one last moment of modesty before flipping it to the cover.  A smile spread across the entire width of his face, his green eyes practically glowing as he read the title.  “I love
Wuthering Heights
.”

The fact that he’d read it before would’ve discouraged me if he hadn’t looked so overjoyed.  As it was, I was still in suspense.  I knew he was out of my league intellectually; I hadn’t even finished high school, and he spoke seven languages.  I wasn’t even sure if there was a word for that.  “They didn’t have
Jane Eyre
, so I figured you could read a different one of hers.”

“Oh, actually, they’re sisters,” he said like it was no big deal. He opened the book with excitement and actually looked stunned that the pages stayed in place.
 
But his shock was nothing compared to mine.

“What?”

“Charlotte wrote
Jane Eyre
.  This is Emily’s,” he said, as if the women were old friends of his and he knew that people got them confused all the time.

“Shit!” I swore. 
That’s
what the clerk was trying to say.  “I am so stupid.”

“You are not,” he said, actually sounding angry with me. “Do not say that again.”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I was utterly humiliated.  All I wanted was to do something nice for him, and I’d gotten the author wrong.  For someone as well-read as Frank, it was probably an insult.  I should’ve just bought him a Snicker’s bar.  At least if he didn’t like that he could give it to me.

“I can’t even pick out a book without fucking it up!” I said in defense of my insecurities. “And look at the mess I made with that guy! 
You
had to fix it because I couldn’t kill him properly.”

He’d watched my outburst in concerned silence, but now he spoke, “Yes, you could.  You killed him.  All I did was move the body and start a fire.”

I stared at him, not believing what I’d heard.  I
had
killed him?  I could see Frank searching my face for guilt, but there was none.  “Charlie said I didn’t―”

“That’s what I told him.”

I was amazed by how little the revelation affected me.  I felt exactly the same now as I had before he’d told me that I’d killed another human being.  No, I felt better, knowing that the man who’d scarred me was gone forever, and
I’d
been the one to send him on his merry way.  I was justified.  “Why would you lie?”

“If he’d known that you’d killed someone, that you were capable of it…I didn’t want him to get his hands on you,” he said, sounding fiercely protective for someone who hadn’t even known me at the time.  “Charlie offered you that job for purely selfish reasons.  He was testing to see if he could make you profitable.

“When my friend got hurt, I was gone for a long time.  I could have been gone even longer.  He felt threatened, and you were an opportunity.  A backup plan in case I didn’t come back.”

So that was it. 
That
was his job.  Frank didn’t merely destroy evidence, he killed people for Charlie.  It was almost comical to think that Charlie had wanted the same from me, until I remembered that I’d
met
his expectations.

Frank had said that Charlie was good at reading people; had he seen a killer in me from the very beginning, tromping through the snow with no coat, a teenager who was one bully away from shooting up his school?  Had he set me up to do more than property damage, or did it simply turn out better than he could’ve ever planned?