The Hitman: Dirty Rotters

by Sean McKenzie

  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.

  I had a job through the church restoring houses, mostly in the neighborhood, but we worked all over the city. The problem was that it didn’t pay well. I took up a part time job at a restaurant doing dishes. I hated the work, but I knew what I wanted. I was determined. I knew a less-than-lustrous job did not define me as a person.

  I saved up for months, all summer long in fact. It was in September when I began to shop around for engagement rings. I knew I had enough money saved up for something special. Pamela was going to get the best.

  “None of that will matter to her,” Little B argued. “It’s the meaning that we want.”

  “She’s getting a diamond, grandma.” I had been looking at sales ads in the Sunday’s paper. Little B was frowning at me the whole time.

  “Let me tell you a little secret about women.” Little B started, sitting down across from me at the table, drinking hot coffee at three in the afternoon. “We would rather have chicken wire wrapped around our finger with a man that is faithfully in love with us, than a giant ring that shines when the love fails.”

  I looked at her. “I want her to have the best. The best of me, the best of everything.”

  “I see the way she looks at you, Michael. She’d be happy with a ring made from a piece of aluminum foil as long as it came from you.” She sipped her coffee slowly. “Rings aren’t forever, you know. All that fades away. Just like life itself. Then one day you wake up and it’s all over. You’re alone and your best friend has moved on without you and you’re left with memories more precious than any diamond ring.”

  I looked into her eyes. They were teary.

  I reached over and took her hand into mine. “I’m sorry, grandma.”

  “For what?”

  “That you’re alone. That I—we— didn’t come to visit you enough. I wished we had.”

  “Don’t bother with that.” She sighed heavily. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  She looked down, through the table, back to someplace special, someplace in time that was going to hurt when she came back to reality.

  I knew she was right about the ring.

  But I was stubborn.

  Six hundred dollars in my pocket.

  I was heading to the jewelry store. The one on Front Street, made from black marble with diamond flakes in it, at the other end of town where it was safe to walk the streets with a wad of cash in your pocket.

  Or so I thought anyway.

  The two men came out of an alley as I passed, just two blocks short of where I needed to be. I had a bad feeling right away.

  “Hey, slow down kid.” The bald one said, rushing up to my left side. He wore a plaid shirt with no sleeves and dirty jeans. “I just need the time.”

  My stomach churned in knots. I knew what was about to happen.

  “Come on, kid.” His partner said. He wore a sweatshirt with a hood and grey sweats that were dirty as well.

  Sweatshirt put his hand firm on shoulder to spin me towards him. I panicked. My adrenaline was pumping so hard, so fast, and all I thought about was the ring I was going to get for Pamela. I threw the first punch. Missed terribly. I didn’t get another shot. Plaid had me wrapped up while Sweatshirt delivered a series of gut shots that left me gasping, choking for air. They ransacked my pockets and howled when they found what they were hoping for. I doubled over to the sidewalk in front of a shoe store as they raced away.

  I cried hard. Bystanders tried to help me up, but I shrugged them off. I buried my face into my hands and wept until the police arrived. I was embarrassed. I was humiliated. Violated. I felt small and vulnerable. I felt guilty.

  When I got back to Little B’s that night I didn’t want to te
ll her anything. I didn’t want her to tell me it was a mistake in the first place. But I did, regardless. Little B said nothing to spurn me. She patted me on the head as I slumped onto the couch.

  She stared out the window and I barely heard her curse, “Dirty Rotters.”

  Pamela came by the next day.

  I told her everything.

  “Six hundred dollars?” she tried to keep it quiet as we were standing on the porch around noon. “Michael, that’s way too much money.”

  “I just wanted to get you something nice,” I said.

  “Something nice would have been dinner and a movie. Don’t you know how guilty I feel now?”

  “Why? It’s not your fault.”

  “Michael, I know you don’t have much money. I don’t ever want you to think that buying me something expensive is going to make me love you more.”

  Little B was inside, rocking in her chair. I heard her reply, “That’s what I said.”

  I moved closer to Pamela, who folded her arms against her chest and turned away, facing the street. I embraced her anyway. I felt foolish.

  “I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. That’s all. I know you don’t expect it from me, and that’s why it was so important.” I turned her around so she was facing me. I looked her in the eyes. “I wanted to get you a ring. I want to propose.”

  I watched her face change slowly. The anger in her eyes was swept away by a look of disbelief then one of excitement. Her face lit up then. I felt her arms wrap around me tight. She jumped up and down and yelled in excitement. Tears rolled down her eyes, then mine. Then Little B was in the doorway, overwhelmed as well.

  “Michael Lynch!” she hit me on the shoulder. “I don’t need a diamond! I just need you!”

  “Don’t you know I love you, Pamela?” I hugged her tight.

  She cried. “I love you so much. You mean the world to me.” She kissed me. “The answer is yes, Michael! It’s always been yes!”

  We kissed.

  “I’ll get some wine!” Little B said and went inside.

  Pamela and I broke apart a minute later. We both were giddy. We went inside and found Little B in the kitchen with three glasses of red wine. I got down one a knee and proposed. She said yes. We clanked glasses together.

  “Wait! I have a camera in my car. I’ll be right back!”

  She ran through the house to the front porch. She had parked on the street right out front. Little B and I hugged. We talked, unable to stop smiling. I had never felt more alive.

  “What’s taking her so long?” I said.

  “You might want to get used to that, Michael.” Little B laughed.

  I set my glass down on the table. “I’m going to see if she needs help.”

  I walked away, through the house, out to the porch, smiling. I saw her car at the curb, not even fifteen yards away. The driver door was wide open. Pamela was nowhere to be seen.

  I hated September forever then.

  Chapter 5