The Hitman: Dirty Rotters (5 page)

I stood there and watched it all
unfold. In seconds, the car was slowly driving away. I watched it
go. I did nothing.

Girl scouts found his body the next
day. A piece here. A piece there.

I told Little B right away. She
shrugged her indifference. “The dead can bury the dead.”

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next
ten.

When COPS was over, another episode
came on. We watched four altogether, then the news. I made
spaghetti and we ate while watching a game show. The sky grew dark
and it thundered. It shook the house and rattled the windows. Lead
paint chips flaked from the trim. The air cooled a bit, but not
enough. The humidity was thick as pea soup.

Up to then, we had been
silent.

“
Every one of those Rotters
has made a choice,” she stated flatly, “to do wrong over right.
Every one of them will pay the price.”

She was nearly emotionless. Rocking in
her chair, spilling facts that absorbed the silence. I knew from
experience that after an hour or two of being quiet she would open
up and speak about God. She was a die-hard Catholic. Pictures of
Jesus were everywhere, including those from magazines and church
fliers. She had pendants and necklaces all bearing a cross. And I
knew without asking that the jars of water under her bed had been
Holy Water.

I turned, looking at her. She looked
lost in thought. Small in the chair, with a knitted colorful
blanket across her lap. She rocked gently. Her hands rested on the
arms, her legs were crossed at the ankles, just above her filthy
slippers. I stood, opened the door all the way to let in some fresh
air. Rain was on the way. I could smell it.

“
You ever get scared living
here?” I said.

“
Nothing to it. Just mind
your own business.”

She said it as if she could do it.
Truth was though, her favorite thing to do was to sit on the porch
and watch everybody.

“
Why do you call everyone a
Dirty Rotter?” I asked.

“
They’re dirty and rotten.”
She said as a matter-of-fact.

“
I’m sure there’s some good
people left out there. They can’t all be bad.”

“
There’s all sorts of
Rotters out there. Some are wicked since birth, I believe. Some
started out good, but then something happened that took them away
from God. Rotters have just given up on hope and are living on
their own will. Some never bothered to find God’s will.” She
paused, considering. “Some never knew they had a
choice.”

I looked back to her, listening. She
was looking right at me. All business. I went back to the couch and
sat down.

“
The world can be a hard
place. Cold and lonely. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you
think. Some people out there have had to make some tough decisions.
Regrettable even. They end up having to choose between two bad
decisions.”

“
Everyone has tough
decisions. But not everyone is bad.”

“
The difference between you
and a Rotter is what?”

I wasn’t sure. I waited for her to
continue.

“
It’s in your heart,
Michael. The voice of God. The voice of reason. A living conscious.
Do you know how?”

Again, I waited.

“
You were baptized. I know
your mother was not very big on going to church, but it’s in you. I
see it in your eyes. You’re a good man. You’ve had some challenges
in life, but that didn’t steer you off in the wrong direction. And
life is good at that. Life can take everything from you, all your
hopes and dreams, everyone and everything that you love, and ask
you to respond, see what you’re made of. Do you run around
screaming that the world owes you? Do you use it all as an excuse
to behave unrighteous?”

I looked away, down to the floor
between us. I thought of my mother right then. I missed her hard.
Painfully. She didn’t get the time to say goodbye. Time to wish me
luck. Time to prepare. Death comes like a thief in the night,
Little B once told me. You have to live every second as if it were
your last, she expressed.

“
No. You get up every day
and live. Live with the pain. Live through the pain. Keep your
faith in God. He can do a great deal more than any of us
realize.”

I said nothing. I thought of my
mother. I kept my tears in check.

“
If they only knew how much
God loved them…” she paused and sighed. “It’s Satan’s world anyway,
I guess.”

She rose from her chair and walked to
the door. She stood staring out into the city for a few minutes. We
were both quiet. We heard cop sirens further away. Passing cars.
Arguments. Screen doors slamming. Dogs barking.

I thought of my mother and thought of
what Little B had said and thought that maybe there wasn’t really
that much difference between myself and anyone else out there. I
was angry. I was scared. I didn’t care for living how and where I
was. It’s not what we had planned. We were to live with Little B
for only a short while. We were going to move on. We were going to
have a home of our own again. Someplace nice. Quiet and peaceful
again. She wasn’t supposed to die and leave me with her mother.
None of it made sense and I didn’t care to think of it any more. I
gave it enough tears for the first year. I buried my feelings,
locked them away tight.

Life was never fair.

“
I lived in the country
like you when I was your age. Did you know that? Way back when life
was simple. Your grandfather and I had a farm. Cows and pigs and
chickens. It feels like a lifetime ago.” She spoke with such
frailty as though her words might crack and break and be lost
forever. “I miss him. Every day I talk to him. Someday…”

She had been alone for some time now.
Grandpa died when I was young. My mother was her only child, and
she seldom visited. Little B knew what hardships were. She knew the
depth of loneliness. I didn’t realize any of it until that moment.
I felt so guilty that I was never around to keep her
company.

“
I didn’t know that
grandma. I’m sorry.”

She nodded slightly. She had figured
as much I guessed. “I like you going to church with me. Not enough
young people do that anymore. They’re all too busy. None of them
think they need it. But they do, alright. They do. And they will
realize it too before it’s all said and done. That’s for sure.” Her
voice like a whisper. “Like a thief in the night…”

She moved away from the door, staring
back at the news on the TV. “Well, just listen to your conscious
and you’ll be fine. God will lead you. Don’t be a stranger. Even
when you think he’s not listening. Gold is tested in fire. Remember
that.”

I nodded. I thought I
understood.

“
Rain’s coming.”

The rain came then. Sudden and fierce.
Large drops pounded against the house with the authority to knock
it down. We both looked outside. The rain was relentless and
commanding. Minutes later I looked to Little B and she was gone
into the kitchen, making lemonade.

I sensed that she was struggling with
something. She seemed sad, as if she had been fighting for so long
and she was ready to call it quits.

I stared out at the rain for a few
minutes more. The dark sky was filled with wispy pale stretches of
wool clouds and the cool breeze swept through the house. I walked
to the door and stepped out onto the porch. Visibility was poor.
The rain soaked everything in a matter of seconds. The streets
looked empty. It was the only time I liked the city.

“
Jesus loves you, Michael.”
Little B said behind me, startling me so that I jumped. “Don’t ever
feel alone.”

“
I know.”

“
Well, just don’t ever
forget it. No reason to ever feel abandoned or forgotten.” She
almost smiled. “Got some lemonade out there. Ice cubes are in it
melting like we are.”

“
Thanks,
grandma.”

She walked away from the door. She
looked older somehow. Smaller. Frail. I pondered everything we had
talked about. I watched the rain fall in a steady downpour. The
relentless pattering against the cement, the shingles, the aluminum
siding, and trees, was loud. A car passed by with its brights
shining and its wipers moving as fast as they would go. I watched
it go by and thought about my mother. I thought about the last time
I saw her. Driving. Leaving what we knew behind.

Leaving me behind.

Leaving for good.

I wanted that day back.

I began to hate life right
then.

Chapter 4

A year later I met Pamela.

Arrows shot into my chest instantly.
Those who say they don’t believe in love at first sight have simply
never felt it. It’s real. It’s intense. It’s breath into a new
life.

Pamela sat next to me in the pew, on
my left, with Little B on my right. I shook her hand in church one
Saturday after confession. We introduced ourselves. We both smiled
bashfully. We were about the same age. She was shorter and trim,
definitely fit. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, blond
and silky. Her eyes were green, dazzling and mesmerizing. The
twinkle in them was full of mischief.

I was in love with her that very
second.

The handshake had lasted
longer than it should have. My fault. It was late spring and it was
warm out. Pamela wore an emerald colored dress. She was stunning. I
stared. I stared until I felt a strong slap against my right thigh.
I turned to see Little B giving me a look that said
‘
get a grip kid, act like you’ve seen one
before
.’

But she was wrong. Dead wrong. I had
never seen anyone so gorgeous. The very first moment I saw her, I
swear she was under a Halo.

I forget everything else that
day.

The next Saturday I had made sure to
look my best. Favorite clothes and even a splash of newly
bought-for-this-day cologne. I had been smiling enough for Little B
to grow suspicious.

“
What’s wrong with
you?”

“
What?”

“
That smell. Why did you
put all that cologne on? You’re going to make the choir
nauseous.”

“
It’s not that
bad.”

“
Well, we’re sitting by a
window. That’s for sure.”

We got to church early that day. I had
made sure to leave a spot next to me open. When the priest took his
position at the front, and the pews were full, the organ began
playing, we all rose, but no Pamela.

When mass was over, Little B and I
were making our way to the parking lot. I didn’t remember anything
from the previous hour, save for the letdown. I was already
thinking of going to Sunday’s mass in the morning. Maybe she would
be there. Maybe Saturday was a fluke. It was worth it, I
thought.

“
Michael?” An anxious voice
called out behind us.

I turned. I saw Pamela weaving her way
through the grey-haired crowd, one hand in the air, open palmed,
fingers extended. As if she were reaching for help. I waited for
her.

Pamela reached us with a smile.
“Michael, wait!”

“
Pamela?” I played it cool,
as if I had forgotten her name, as if my heart wasn’t fracturing my
ribs right then.

“
I got here late and just
hung out in the back with all the mothers with bad kids. It’s like
a circus back there. But I wanted to talk to you.”

“
Me? About
what?”

“
Well after our last
conversation, I came to realize that I would probably die waiting
for you to ask me out, so I am taking the initiative.”

We both laughed. She had a sense of
humor that I got. We fell into that awkward silent moment. I didn’t
care. I was looking at her and she was looking at me. Nothing else
mattered.

“
Well, I guess I can manage
on my own.” Little B said. “Nice to see you again, Pamela.” Before
turning away, she added to Pamela, “And you would have died waiting
for this one. Good luck.”

She could have said more. I didn’t
know. I was busy noticing small freckles on Pamela’s nose. Her lips
moved as she said something in return to Little B, then a great
smile.

“
So…?” I said
nervously.

She shrugged. “I always eat after
church. You hungry?”

“
Most of the
time.”

A girl who admitted to eating. I knew
then it was love.

“
I know a place with the
best burgers.”

It got better by the
second.

We didn’t hold hands, but we strolled
away from the church, side by side.

Best day I ever had.

We were inseparable.

The weeks passed by and we grew
closer. We were best of friends. I loved Pamela. I wanted nothing
more in this life than to be married to her. To see her face
smiling. To see her green eyes every morning and night.

Little B could sense it, I thought.
She had begun to point out wedding pictures in magazines. She had
begun to tell me about her wedding, and my mother’s. She did
everything but grab me and tell me to marry the girl.