Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder Read online

  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.”

&nbs
p; 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?

  I looked at Frank, wondering whether that was the connection I’d felt between us. Two murderers seeing one another for what they were. Death uniting us. Not love. “Is that how you got to know him?” I asked, unable to imagine what he was like as a kid despite how innocent he looked sometimes.

  He tensed, but he didn’t leave. That was a good sign. “Not quite,” he said. I could tell by the way he avoided eye contact that the discussion was over.

  “So, why tell me this now?” I asked. Anything to keep him talking. I was beginning to love his voice as much as his face.

  “The way you looked when you told me about your boyfriend. You showed no sign of concern over what might happen to him if I went over there. The opposite, in fact. I could see the bloodlust in your eyes. I figured you wouldn’t have any remorse for killing someone who nearly killed you.”

  “Why should I feel remorse?” I asked defensively. “He stabbed me first!”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Last night, you said Charlie wasn’t allowed to kick me out.”

  “All this, him looking after you, taking care of you, that’s his punishment. He knows I’m pissed at him. He’s trying to make it up to me by doing what I say.”

  “What happens to me when you’re not mad at him anymore?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. If I hadn’t had such a huge crush on him, I might’ve been furious.

  As much as I liked seeing how sadistic Frank looked when he talked about forcing Charlie to do something he didn’t enjoy, I couldn’t help but feel that my life was a game to them. But being a pawn did have an upside. I was getting room and board during my recovery, even if it came with the occasional verbal abuse from The Warden.

  “Oh, I’ll be mad at him for years over this,” he said. Then he looked at me and saw where I was coming from. “No one is forcing you to stay here, Vincent.”

  “Other than my lack of anywhere else to go…”

  “Tell you what,” he said sympathetically, like he was eager to make it up to me, “you stay here, make Charlie’s life miserable for a little while longer, and I’ll see to it that you’re taken care of when this is all over. Okay?”

  Through the years of foster care, living to service Mark and all the men who followed him, I’d been filled with constant worry over where I’d end up. It was always there, a reminder that I would never again have the luxury of letting my guard down, that at any moment I could be right back where I started from.

  I’d heard the promise of security before, but coming from him I could actually believe it. If Frank said he’d take care of me, I had nothing to worry about. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that I wasn’t sure what to make of. I trusted him. “Really?” I asked.

  “Will you stay then?” he asked, that sadistic expression returning to his face. “Play sick for another week or so?”

  “What’s in a week?”

  “My job should be finished by then.”

  I suddenly felt sick. I hadn’t even considered the fact that his out of state license plates were going to stay that way. He was passing through. Getting out. And I wasn’t. “Do you guys move around a lot?”

  “Most of the time,” he said. “Usually we’re in and out in about three weeks. This job is taking longer than Charlie anticipated.”

  I noticed that he didn’t say it was taking longer than he’d anticipated. “Because of me?” I asked, wondering whether Frank was drawing it out deliberately to further piss him off.

  “Partially. Charlie shouldn’t have been seeking work for me while I was away. He knows where I’d rather be, so he has to deal with the fact that I’m taking my time.”

  It broke my heart to think that the man he considered his friend would betray him in his hour of need. Frank was obviously suffering, and Charlie didn’t seem the least bit compassionate. It was no wonder he looked so wounded. Charlie had wronged him. And so had I, even if it was unintentional. But I was determined to make it up to him, by any means he deemed necessary. Preferably with bondage and sexual servitude.

  “How’s your friend?” I asked, hoping that showing interest wouldn’t dissuade him from punishing me for my crimes.

  “Better,” he said with a genuine smile. I could see the relief on his face. He even looked like he’d gotten a little sleep. “I talked to her last night. She is going Paris for some retail therapy. That’s shopping, yeah?”

  “Yeah, it’s shopping,” I said, my already broken heart shattering into a million pieces. His friend was female. Of course she was. She was probably beautiful, too. But his statement had answered another question. The way he’d said Paris was unmistakably French. That was the accent. “Where are you from, Frank?”

  “Here,” he said, a moment too late.

  “You don’t get asked that very much, do you?”

  He gave me a semi-threatening glare. “Eat your lunch
.”

  “You first.”

  Frank rolled his eyes and took a fry.

  “Hmm. French fry,” I muttered.

  He shook his head in exasperation. “You’re going to be a big problem for me.”

  “I’m glad your friend is doing better,” I said. “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Enough questions,” he said sternly. “Eat.”

  We sat in silence for what had to be a record for me, ten whole minutes while I wolfed down the best meal I’d had since before my parents died. Then, when I’d had enough food and quiet, I started up the inquisition again. He must’ve had a long enough reprieve because he didn’t stop me.

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Where’d you grow up?” he asked in response, pushing the last of the fries toward me. He was as picky as a child, but I’d prodded him enough to get him to try a bite of my burger.

  “Near here. A little Podunk town you’ve never heard of. Your turn.”

  “Why’d you come to Chicago?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your turn.”

  He rolled his eyes. “London.”

  “As in England?” I asked. Geography hadn’t been my best subject, but I was pretty sure you didn’t get a French accent from London.

  “Why’d you come to Chicago?” he asked again. He’d been subtle before when he skirted my questions, but now he was just being a brat.

  “You don’t have a British accent.”

  “Nor would I,” he said. “I have an English accent, when I feel like it.”

  “When you feel like it,” I teased. “I want to hear it.”

  “Tough,” he said firmly. “Why’d you come to Chicago?”

  “That’s where the trucker was heading,” I said. It had been my first go at hitchhiking, and despite my usual bad luck, I’d actually found someone nice. He hadn’t even taken advantage of me, and he bought me pie. But he did tell me I needed to get to know My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and that had made me a bit uncomfortable.

  I’d never been a very good Catholic. I wasn’t fond of guilt, and our church didn’t employ any of those handsy priests I’d heard such delightful things about, so I saw no reason to attend. Still, I’d told the man I’d do my best to look up JC once I got settled, just to ease his mind.