IGMS Issue 8 (15 page)

"Just a disposal job like all the rest," Nigel said. The smile on his face was unnerving. "I want you to kill that cow from Minnesota."

Jacob stared at Nigel. "You're kidding?"

"I never kid about work," he said.

"But why? She's a complete innocent."

"There are no innocents. Not any more."

"That's insane."

"The world's become an insane place, Jacob. We have to do things that are distasteful to promote the cause."

"And what cause is that?"

Nigel looked away, as if distracted by something. "The final battle is imminent. Sides are being taken. We need to throw in our lots with the winning side."

"Which is?"

"Good always triumphs over evil," he said, with a bit of a leer.

"Or so they say."

Nigel leaned forward so he could whisper. "Look, how hard can it be? You have a gun. Walk up behind her when no one's around and bang. It'll take you seconds. You can be finished this afternoon and I can go the hell home."

On the beach, children played in the frothing surf. Jacob watched as their parents stayed close, their eagle-eyes alert for trouble.

Nigel took one of Jacob's cigarettes and lit it. "You're just a soldier doing a job," he said.

"But she's a human being."

"She's a body with a soul. Kill her and set her free. Do her a favor."

Jacob said nothing.

Nigel sighed. "She's taking the bus into town for some shopping," he said, shoving a pamphlet across the table. "Dangerous places these villages. A lot of bad things can happen."

Jacob picked up the pamphlet and walked away.

Innocents die in times of war. They always have. The trick now is to use that as an advantage. The leverage gained can be tremendous. The only problem is acquiring the taste, or at the very least the tolerance, to commit the deed.

Jacob went to his room. He put on a white cotton suit, straw hat, and comfortable pair of shoes. He slipped the gun that Nigel hadn't taken into his belt and stared into the mirror. He barely recognized the old man that looked back.

The bus taking them into town sat parked outside the hotel's lobby. Jacob took the seat behind the Minnesotan so he could study her on the way into town. She wore her hair tied back in a flowered scarf between a set of strong shoulders, the kind that bore responsibilities and gave reassurance. Jacob imagined her as a schoolteacher or perhaps a nurse. The role of caregiver seemed to fit her well.

The ride took twenty minutes over pockmarked roads. The marketplace reeked of tourist trap. Wooden carts piled with plantains and bottles of poisonous rum blocked every escape. A steel drum quartet played American pop songs while scruffy kids pushed cheap souvenirs in high-pitched voices. Jacob watched the Minnesotan buy a miniature bottle of sand decorated with a tiny sombrero and a sign that read "Life's a Beach." When she disappeared into the crowd, Jacob went in search of a bar.

Two hours later as Jacob had hoped, the Minnesotan, laden with bags and packages, came into the bar to quench her thirst.

"Join me?" he asked, his voice sounding wrong. Four lagers and lime wrong.

The Minnesotan eyed him with suspicion.

"I'm sorry I behaved like a jerk yesterday," he said. "At my age behaving like an ass is one of the few pleasures I have left."

The woman laughed and sat down. She was prettier than he'd remembered, but then he hadn't really bothered to notice.

"You made me laugh, so I guess I can give you another chance," she said.

"I'm Jacob," he said, putting out his hand.

"Anna Robertson."

Jacob ordered Anna Robertson a lager and lime, while he switched to bourbon. The gun jabbed into his back.

"So are you running from something?" she asked.

Jacob laughed. "Isn't everyone? What about you?"

"Two ex-husbands and a teenage daughter who'll only notice I'm gone once the rent isn't paid. I plan on hiding myself here until the money runs dry and then maybe I'll whore myself out. Think I'll get much?" she asked, batting her eyes.

"A gentleman never answers a question like that."

"Yeah, but an ass might," she laughed.

They drank three more rounds before the call came to return to the bus. Jacob had one of those phony buzzes where everything feels right with the world, although you knew the cold hand of reality was waiting to grab you by the throat. They took two seats together and the Minnesotan talked non-stop, as she pretty much had since her first beer. She moved seamlessly from the hardware business her second ex-husband was running into the ground to her blood-sucking, job-allergic, daughter. Throughout her patter, she became friendlier, touching Jacob's thigh as she made certain emotional points. Jacob nodded occasionally, as he tried to ignore the gun digging into his back.

"So tell me about Nigel," she said out of the blue.

"Nigel?"

The bus lurched through a pothole.

"He said you two used to work together."

"Did he?" Jacob said. He darkened his tone in the hope Anna would drop the subject. She didn't.

"He said you were the best at what you did."

"Nigel talks too much," Jacob said.

"He told me you were a hero."

"He's a liar."

Anna smiled. "He told me you'd deny it, too. 'Jacob will say he was just a soldier doing a job,' he said, but you fought to protect our way of life."

Jacob turned towards Anna. "He said that?"

"No. I just assumed . . ."

"There's nothing special about me. If anything I carry the burden of more sins than most. Nigel likes to boast because he thinks it justifies the crimes we committed. We'll both burn in hell. The flames around me just won't be as hot."

The color drained from Anna's face. She clammed up and kept a silent watch out the bus window for the rest of the ride. Jacob stewed in self-pity. He cursed himself for not having loaded the gun. Not so he could shoot the Minnesotan. He'd known when he looked in the mirror that morning that he wouldn't have the nerve to do it. He just wanted to put the barrel into his mouth and get it over with.

Nigel was waiting for him when he got back to his room.

"You're drunk," he said.

"Screw you," Jacob said, and collapsed onto the bed. Nigel pulled him back to his feet.

"I've gone out on a helluva long limb for you," he said. "You better pull yourself together."

Jacob pushed Nigel away and poured himself a whiskey. "I'm not doing it," he said.

Nigel knocked the glass out of Jacob's hand and slapped him hard across the face. Jacob swung back and missed. Nigel punched him in the face, making the room go from red to black. Jacob fell backwards onto the couch.

"What's happened to you? It was never like this in the old days."

Jacob rubbed his jaw. "I believed your crap back then. I'm too old for lies now. Besides, it's over. Earth is dying. Soon there won't be anything left to fight over."

"The battle is much bigger than this stinking planet," Nigel said.

"So whose side are you on now?"

Nigel clicked his tongue against the back of his front teeth, another of his annoying habits. "The same side as always. Who did you think you sold your soul to anyway?"

Jacob shook his head. "All these years and it's been nothing but lies, hasn't it?"

"And you believed every one of them," Nigel said. "The human soul is so pathetic."

"And yet it's such a popular commodity. You can go back to Hell. It's finished."

Nigel took a gun out of his pocket and checked the clip. "Nothing's finished until I say so."

"What are you doing?"

Nigel smiled. "I'm going to do what you couldn't do," he said.

"But there's no point."

Nigel took aim at the lamp on the desk and pretended to squeeze off a shot. "A good soldier follows orders," he said. "You were a good soldier once."

Jacob got up off the couch, but Nigel turned and pointed the gun at him.

"Go ahead," Jacob said. "Shoot me."

"Poor Jacob," Nigel said. He rotated his neck as if releasing the tension of a bad day and like storm clouds parting for a devil moon, the little man's façade dropped to reveal the tortured creature within, the twisted vessel of stolen souls. Jacob remembered the drunken evening when this creature had claimed that he was fighting to regain the status he'd had up above, before he'd fallen from Grace. That was how he seduced Jacob. But it had always been about evil. Always. Jacob knew that now.

The creature that called itself Nigel blinked bloodshot eyes at Jacob, who looked away.

"Look at me," it hissed. "I am your mirror. I'm what you don't want to admit about yourself."

But Jacob couldn't look back.

"Fine," the thing said. "Live with your cowardice. I'll do the deed myself. But just remember, Jacob. There are no innocents here, only different degrees of sinners. You've learned nothing if you haven't learned that."

"Don't do it," Jacob whispered.

The door opened and closed. The creature was gone.

Jacob knew he had to find Nigel and stop him. He tried to guess how Nigel would do it. He knew he had a flair for the dramatic. He also knew Nigel would wait until Jacob arrived to stop him, since that would add a level of sport to the affair, one that the mere act of killing lacked.

He hurried to the lobby where he heard talk of a tropical storm. "Nothing to worry about," the night manager said. "It'll blow over by morning."

Outside the sky had turned angry. Jacob headed for the beach hoping the sea air would clear his head. He was finished with drinking. Indeed, he'd probably come to the end of a lot of things.

The palms churned above him, their dry whispers sounding alarms. The ocean spread before him, teasing him with its offer of permanence. Jacob ran into the surf, water splashing his legs, hoping the cool water would clear his head, but it only made his suit cling to his ankles. His head was littered with memories, things he'd done and seen and tried to forget. A lifetime of death and despair. What did it matter anymore? When had it ever mattered?

It had all been lies.

Up ahead he saw shadows on the beach. The little man. The sturdy woman. Nigel had made it easy.

"Anna," Jacob cried. He saw her turn, and then Nigel. He saw the gun in Nigel's hand.

"Go back," Nigel called. "There are more than enough bullets in this gun."

Jacob walked towards them. "So what's it all about, Nigel? A show of loyalty? Another dead soul notched in your belt?"

"She wants to go," he said.

"Only because you've sold her your deceptions."

Jacob reached where they stood on the sand. He looked at Anna. She stood passively by Nigel's side, her eyes faraway and dreaming lies of paradise.

"Give me the gun, Nigel."

The air shivered. Rain fell, as the moon turned away.

Nigel didn't move.

"The gun," Jacob repeated, holding out his hand.

Nigel smiled, showing his foul teeth. He pointed the gun to Anna's head. She continued to look off in ignorant bliss.

"Say bye-bye," he hissed.

"No," Jacob yelled.

He lunged at them, pushing Anna free. Nigel stumbled and fired, missing them both. "Bastard," he shouted as he regained his footing on the sand. He pointed the gun at Jacob.