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

  “Charlie?”

  “That’s what he does. He finds people in distress, and he offers a solution. His powers of persuasion are astonishing. Even if all they wanted was lawful justice for their daughter, by the time Charlie finished with them, they were after blood.”

  “And you gave it to them?”

  “I drove over a thousand miles with him in my trunk. I brought him back and they got what they paid for.” I watched his face. When he’d spoken about his work before, he’d been more or less indifferent. But now he looked proud. “That was one of my first jobs in the States.”

  “Maybe we were meant to meet,” I said happily. I’d never really believed in crap like that, but in light of what he’d told me, perhaps I was wrong.

  Frank smiled widely. Obviously he believed in destiny. “Maybe,” he said. “For such a small town, you have a lot of perverts living there.”

  Small town was an understatement. Branford was composed of about half a dozen houses, one single-story set of apartment buildings, a nice trailer park, and a shitty one. We lived in the shitty one. There was no stoplight in town. Until I was ten, I’d never even seen one in person, and to this day I considered watching a stoplight change to be bona fide entertainment.

  There was a single school, for all ages, ensuring that anyone without cool older siblings was entitled to at least a decade of getting their asses kicked, and behind it was the sole playground in town, rusty swings and a rusty slide, all built over cement, as if urging you to fall and break your bones.

  We didn’t even have a supermarket. We had a grocery store. There was nothing super about it. And we had a church for all denominations, as long as you believed in Jesus Christ. If you didn’t believe in Jesus, well, then you had better find somewhere else to live.

  And then there was the ditch. It was supposed to be for irrigation, but it was always clogged up with dead leaves and trash, broken bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms. During the summer when we’d have thunderstorms, it would fill with water, and all the kids from the trailer parks and even the apartment building would go swimming there, although no one who ever lived in a house would go swimming in the ditch. And if you had any open wounds, you’d get really sick and you’d be out of commission until school started back up in the fall. I was always getting sick.

  Once I found an unused condom, wrapped in its foil wrapper. It was chocolate flavored, and I carried it around with me, smelling it but never daring to taste it. That was the second coolest thing I ever found there in the ditch. The coolest thing was the little girl. She was from one of the houses. She’d never been swimming in the ditch.

  “Mark can hardly be compared to a guy who butchered a little girl,” I scoffed. Then I got what he meant. To him, statutory rape was just as nonconsensual as sex by force. “I didn’t know that he raped her,” I said quietly.

  It had taken me a long time to admit to myself that sex with Mark would never feel good. When I finally had, I thought it was my fault, as if I had some physical deformity that made it uncomfortable to be with him. But no matter how much pressure he put on me to keep rolling over for him, or how rough he was with me, leaving me curled up with pain while he slept in satisfaction, or turning the bathwater pink with blood, I refused to see it as rape.

  If what Mark did to me was rape, then I’d lose all the validation I’d received from it. Straight guys could give blowjobs. I knew that from personal experience. I’d had sex, real life anal penetration with all the fixings.

  All the pain would be for nothing if I’d just gone and gotten myself raped.

  Now I was almost glad she’d been killed. How could someone go back to normal after that? I could visualize her, that vacant expression that had filled my face after the first time, eyes dead in the mirror while he snored obliviously. Regular sex had fucked me up royally; I could only imagine the kind of shenanigans she’d be up to if she’d survived.

  “He did a number of things to her, Vincent. I’ll say this much, he deserved what he got.” Frank sounded like he was miles away. He’d clenched his fists.

  “That’s what happened to your friend, huh? What he did to the little girl?”

  He went visibly pale, his eyes haunted. “I had a bad feeling. It was too late.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “She’s fine,” he said, a finality in his voice that meant we needed to stop talking about it. “She’s tougher than she looks. A lot like you.”

  “That’s why we get along. Because you look tougher than you are.”

  “Be good,” Frank warned, but it did get a slight smile out of him. “We should get going. It’ll be dark out now.”

  I glanced down at the man’s body. He looked fake, like a prop in a house of horrors at the county fair. When the nightmares came that night, it would be of him alive. “I was really scared.”

  Frank hugged me against him. “This is my fault. I never should’ve put you in this position.”

  “No it isn’t. It’s not,” I said, and I thought about the pain on his face, the guilt he suffered for even lying about ending my life. “Frank, please don’t…you’re not responsible for Charlie. Obviously his parents were really fucked up, probably first cousins, or even brother and sis—”

  “Shh.” He gently put his hand against my mouth. “Put on your shoes.”

  As I left that room for what would be the last time, Frank behind me compulsively not touching anything, the snow was coming down harder than it had been the night I arrived. It was the kind of night I would sit in front of the warm glow of the TV, pretending it was a fireplace, with infomercials for grills instead of roasted marshmallows.

  But tonight I’d get my fire, sitting safely in a BMW that was worth more than my trailer park, but less than my life, with heated seats that smelled even newer as they warmed up, wearing Frank’s leather jacket and a pastel pink shirt.

  The room door opened and Frank came out, backlit by a flaming mattress, and he handed me my room key one final time as he got in the car, like it was a souvenir to remind me of the weeks of my life I would never forget. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  I smiled and closed my eyes. It had been so long since home had any semblance of a meaning to me that the power of what he’d said was enough to make me tremble; the unexpected familiarity between us, how protective he was of me and how safe I felt with him.

  Snow was blowing ferociously outside his cozy car, and visibility was next to nothing, but I felt like I’d never seen so clearly. It didn’t matter where he brought me. I would’ve followed him anywhere. He was my home.

  It took a long time to get back to Frank’s hotel. I wasn’t even sure if we were in Chicago anymore. If we were, it was the kind of neighborhood the locals would warn you about.

  Frank led me in by the hand, switching on the lights and taking my coat like a gentleman. Compared to this place, Charlie had been staying at the Ritz. Every object in the room had something wrong with it; missing knobs on the dresser, a lamp that looked like it had started melting, visible stains on the bedspread, unspeakable carpet, and an out of order sign taped to the TV. Home. Temporarily.

  “It’s cleaner than it looks,” he said with slight embarrassment.

  Frank obviously made decent money. What the hell was he doing in a place like this? “Why don’t you stay in the same hotel as Charlie?” I asked, though I was really referring to the quality of the hotel. I knew why he didn’t stay in the same building as his friend. Every time they were in a room together, Frank ended up storming out. Absence made the heart grow tolerant in their case.

  “Four star hotels are more likely to question a cash payment,” he said, understanding my meaning. “I don’t deal with plastic.”

  I smiled at him, letting him know that I didn’t care if he stayed in a dump. He was still classier than The Warden by a long shot, and besides, Charlie’s hotel had been two stars at best.

  Frank’s cell phone rang, making me jump like I had when the body fell off the bed. I ha
dn’t even realized he had a cell phone. It seemed a bit pointless for someone who talked as little as he did to own a phone at all, much less one he could travel with. Frank obviously agreed, because he threw it into the wall, shattering it into so many pieces it may as well have been made of glass. “Sorry,” he said.

  Usually I was very skittish when it came to abrupt violence. It had only taken one instance of pain at the hands of someone I trusted to teach me to cower. But amazingly, I hadn’t flinched away from him during his outburst. Frank had been the one to move, softly putting his hand against my chest and forcing me to step back before he’d added another dent to the already marred wall.

  Frank apologized again. This wasn’t normal behavior for him, though it was exactly how I expected him to be when we first met. He didn’t come across as mean necessarily; he just seemed like the type of person who’d kill your whole family if you made him mad. His personality was a direct contrast to how dangerous he looked. Frank couldn’t have been more passive most of the time. I imagined that was why I was so enthralled with seeing his reaction. It was the first time since I got to know him that my fantasy of rough sex appeared possible. If only he was gay.

  “That was Charlie,” he said.

  “That’s what I figured,” I said, only to have my voice drowned out by the banshee wail of Charlie’s car in the distance. At least we had a warning when he was approaching.

  “Shit,” Frank muttered. “Can you be quiet?”

  “Yes, I can be quiet,” I scoffed.

  “Good. Do it. Bathroom, now. And close the door.”

  I didn’t take offense to his cold tone. I knew he was being protective. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Frank,” I said as I stood. As much as I would’ve liked for Charlie to get what was coming to him, having Frank defend my honor wasn’t going to help anything. “I’m not hurt.”

  He nodded, obviously thankful for the reminder.

  The bathroom was small, but apart from the occasional stain on the cracked tile, and the mirror being held to the wall with duct tape, it had fared better than the rest of the room. There were no signs of mildew in the grout, no questionable leaks behind the pipes. But Frank’s personal effects were noticeably absent. In fact, the entire place looked unlived in. For having been in the same spot for weeks, I’d have thought he’d unpack a little.

  I knelt by the side of the closed door, listening for Charlie’s entrance.

  “Hey, Frankie boy. I tried calling you―”

  “My phone’s broken.”

  Charlie laughed. Apparently he’d seen how broken it was. “Did you do what I told you to do?”

  “I took care of it. You owe me.”

  “About that…”

  “Charlie, I am not in the mood.”

  “All right, all right.” There was a brief pause, during which I assumed they had an exchange of cash. Frank had told me how he took his payments; half before the job, half after. But Charlie had to pay for all of it in one lump sum. That had to hurt. “That’s that, then. You going to finish the thing for what’s-his-name? We probably shouldn’t stay in town after tonight.”

  “I know how to do my job.”

  “Of course you do, kiddo. No one’s doubting you,” Charlie paused again. “You know, it’s for the best, Frank. That kid, that lifestyle, things would’ve only gotten worse for him.”

  “Vincent would have been fine if he hadn’t met you.”

  Frank was having a hard time keeping his cool. This wasn’t good. Then Charlie went on the defensive. “His name was Vincent. Vin-sint. Drop the accent before you get yourself deported.”

  I put both hands over my mouth. I was certain that I was about to hear a gunshot, but there was just silence. It lasted forever.

  “How’s Bella?”

  “She’s fine,” Frank said. He’d sounded irritated during the entire exchange, but now his voice was just cold.

  “What’s say we head south next, huh? Find somewhere a little warmer?”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, kiddo. Call me from the road.”

  The door opened and closed without either of them saying goodbye. I had planned on waiting for Frank to come and get me, until the smell of cigarette smoke started coming under the door. He only smoked when he was upset.

  I peeked out before leaving the bathroom, even though I was sure Charlie was gone. Frank was standing by the wobbly table where he’d set my coat, staring heatedly toward the door with a cigarette in his mouth. There was a towering stack of cash on the bed.

  “You all right?” I asked, approaching slowly.

  He glanced at me, barely moving his head. “How’d I do?”

  “You sounded angry, but I’m sure he expected that.” I went and stood at his side, taking the cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ashes to the floor before putting it back between his lips. “Is that all of it?”

  “Knowing Charlie, it’s a little short.”

  I stared at the pile on the bed. Even if I hadn’t been more or less homeless the last few years, a hundred thousand dollars would’ve been an inconceivable amount of money. “Is that what you usually charge?” I asked, quickly trying to do the calculation in my head. One hundred grand every three weeks was quite the annual salary.

  “Including his cut, yeah.”

  “Can I count it?

  “You can do whatever you’d like. It’s yours.”

  “No, Frank, I―”

  “Vincent,” he started, then got a discouraged look. “Usually I’m really good with names. I don’t know what the problem is.”

  “I love the way you say my name,” I said.

  It didn’t help. He lit another cigarette. “V. I’ll just call you that.”

  “Call me what you want, Frank,” I said. “But don’t do it because of something he said.” Actually, I liked V almost as much his pronunciation of Vincent. It sounded cool. Sleek.

  “Keep the money. You don’t have to spend it, just keep it. It’ll make me feel better.”

  “You shouldn’t feel bad. You had a noble reason for accepting the job. And it’s not like you ever intended to complete it.”

  “Charlie gave me that money for you.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

  “Fuck him,” he said. It was nice to see that my vocabulary was rubbing off. I went and slumped down on the bed beside the stack of rubber banded bills. Frank sat on the other side of the cash, collecting it in one hand and setting it on my lap. “This is from me, not him. It’s a gift. My way of saying thank you.”

  “Thank you for what?” I asked, tracing my hand over the bills, the unfamiliar face of Benjamin Franklin under my fingertips. Hell, even George Washington was unfamiliar.

  “Putting up with him. I appreciate it.”

  I’d actually forgotten that The Warden’s displeasure had been the reason for my long recovery. Even if Charlie never figured out that his money had gone directly to me, Frank would always have the silent satisfaction. “And you say I’m cheeky,” I teased.

  “I have to work tonight,” he said. “You can wait for me here. It won’t take long.”

  “Okay,” I said, looking away. The last thing I wanted was to be by myself, but there was no way Frank would agree to let me come with him. It wasn’t like bring your child to work day, where I could sit with the other assassins’ kids and play with his gun if I got bored.

  He put his hand on my shoulder, once again seeing right through me. “Talk to me.”

  For running my mouth off as much as I did, I wasn’t exactly the most eloquent person. I sighed, wishing there was a feeling defenseless please don’t leave me alone tonight Hallmark card. “Can’t I come? There’s nothing on TV tonight and―”

  “Vin—V.” Frank rubbed his face. My mom used to do that when I was giving her a headache. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Is that a yes?” I asked excitedly, thinking of rubbing something else to alleviate his tension.

  “Yes,” he grumbled
.

  I threw my arms around him, kissing him right on the lips because it looked like I might literally get away with murder tonight.

  He turned away quickly, his face bright red. I’d completely caught him off guard, and all he could do was smile embarrassedly and shake his head. “Please don’t do that again.”

  “I promise,” I said, my fingers firmly crossed behind his back.

  I stood in the center of Frank’s hotel room while he wiped it down from floor to ceiling. His actions were so practiced, so exact, that I could only observe in awed silence.

  The entire process felt sanctified, something vital to his continued existence. He seemed so defenseless while he worked, removing fingerprints that he had to know weren’t there. It scared me to look at him. As dangerous as he’d proven himself to be toward his fellow man, whatever was going through his mind made him seem like a greater danger to himself. I couldn’t look at his face while he did it. The blank expression concerned me about his sanity. Instead I watched his body.

  Frank was very graceful, the slightest movement of his gloved hands or turn of his head making me lose track of time. His figure was willowy, standing over six feet tall with shoulders not much wider than mine and a too-thin frame from not eating. He barely had to stretch to reach the ceiling, but it was just enough for his shirt to lift and expose the faintest sliver of exquisite skin on his lower back, giving me unholy thoughts.

  I hadn’t asked him why he did it, why he went through this routine of cleansing a room that would be vacuumed as soon as he left. He was obviously hiding from someone. What other reason could there be for his fear of fingerprints and unrelenting desire to fit in with the American public?

  “Can I help?” I asked, though he’d turned down my offer for assistance earlier, when he was removing his sheets from the bed and replacing the ones that came with the room. When he’d told me that this place was cleaner than it looked, he hadn’t been lying. He’d even scrubbed the shower, something he said he’d do again before we left. He only let the maid in enough to avoid suspicion, otherwise taking care of the tidying up himself.