Waiting for Mister Cool

by Gerard Houarner

  Lee checked the glove compartment for the secured .45 and clips, glanced at the mirrors and the dashboard deck with the readouts from the car’s anti-surveillance instruments. “To me, it would.”

  Max glanced at him as he pulled out onto the Grand Concourse service road.

  Lee waved a hand. “But you’re not me, I know. Fine. I’ll help you with the bodies, no problem, but let’s make it fast. We’re running late, and we can’t leave the pickup exposed too long. As a matter of fact, why don’t you let the Blood of Killers handle this crap? They worship you, and they love cleaning up this kind of shit.”

  “I do my own sanitation. Just like I do my own killing. No guard duty.”

  “I said that when I heard they picked you. He’s not the type, I said, unless you want her dead. But you see how it is.”

  Stopped at a light, Max picked up the car phone. “This is impossible,” he said, punching in the number and securing the scrambled satellite signal.

  “Yes,” said the unfamiliar male voice on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Johnson, or Mr. Tung,” Max said. Though the names were his own invention for his two main, anonymous contacts, the operator knew his identity through voice recognition and embedded signal codes. Calling up Max’s file, the operator could see which government representatives normally dealt with him.

  “Who the hell are they?” Lee asked.

  “They are not available at this time.”

  “The men you call Mr. Happy and Mr. Smiley,” Max said to Lee, who rolled his eyes. The light changed. Max followed the traffic flow onto the Saw Mill River Parkway. He spoke into the phone: “Who is available?”

  “I can handle your call.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The person handling your call.”

  The Beast roused itself, bureaucratic insolence catching its interest. In Max’s mind, a young, clean-shaven clerk had his head smashed into a screen, a mouse jammed into his mouth, and a keyboard shoved up his ass. “Why am I on this job?”

  Clicking keys followed a moment’s dead air. “As far as I can see, you aren’t. The rendezvous is south of your position, but you’re heading north.”

  “Unavoidable business.”

  “We are your business.”

  The Beast roared. Max’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Do you really know my business? Would you like to find out?”

  Lee tapped his thigh. “Max . . .”

  The voice on the line wavered. “You were not briefed.”

  “Not for this.”

  “Briefing you is not my job—”

  “Puffing guard duty isn’t mine. I want to speak to someone in charge.”

  “I—I’m sorry, sir, but there is no one available. And there is no time. You have an operative with you. Let him—”

  “Did somebody forget who I am?” Max shouted. “What I do? Do you seriously expect me to carry this assignment out?” Max gunned the gas, weaved through the traffic. The Beast surged through his heart, chased blood through arteries until life’s flow burned under his skin.

  “You are more than what we use you for,” the voice said, finding resolve as electronic beeps accentuated manic key tapping. “You are whatever we need you to be, for whatever we must use you for.” It was as if Mr. Johnson had gotten on the phone to admonish him. Max wondered if the operator had reached his normal contact through his computer terminal, and if Mr. Johnson was furiously scripting appropriate responses to the operator’s screen.

  “None of this makes sense. How come I didn’t get to pick my team?”

  “There is none. You’re solo. The way you like it.”

  “You people aren’t even following your own security protocols. If this is a defensive operation, how can I work without a team?”

  “There’s a bigger picture, Max. You’re used to a role, which you perform to an exceptional degree. But there’s a lot going on right now, and everybody has to pitch in.”

  Max took a deep breath, curbed the Beast, brought the Lincoln down to the speed limit. He focused on the assignment flaws. “What am I supposed to do, not sleep? Who gets the food? Who patrols the perimeter? What if there’s an emergency with the target? Security breaches in the setup?”

  “We didn’t think you slept.” Someone laughed in the background.

  “Put Mr. Johnson on.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Who’s coaching you?”

  “Is that the problem you’re taking up satellite time to resolve?”

  “What I want to resolve is an inappropriate allocation of resources. What I want to point out is that you’re sending a killer to protect a target, with no backup or planning or coordination. What I’m telling you is that I feel like you’re setting me up, and if you don’t tell your superior what the hell’s going on and get me off this assignment I’ll personally kill the fucking bitch you want me to protect, and then I’ll gut the bastards who were going to pick her up, and then I’ll send the bunch back to you through the mail in three-by-five envelopes. Postage fucking due.” He raised the phone to smash it against the dashboard. The Beast pushed him to sideswipe a passing car and send it crashing into the guardrail.

  “Fucking clerks are taking over the world,” Lee muttered, looking out the passenger window. “No wonder it’s all going to hell.” He met Max’s gaze, winked. “Don’t let them bully you, Max. But don’t let them make you do something stupid, either.”

  The voice on the line settled into a cool, professional tone. “We realize your briefing has been inadequate. However, we know you are flexible enough to adapt to new situations. In addition, you have not been left entirely without resources. The safe house is fully supplied and equipped with electronic security, and the area will be monitored by local agencies for unusual activity. We can divert local assets to you if an emergency arises. And, because of the unusual circumstances, we have just been authorized to convert your assigned safe house to Nowhere House status. That should satisfy all of your concerns. You will not need a team because you will not be found, and there is a low probability of engagement with opposition forces during transport to and from the safe house.”

  A chill passed through Max. The Beast stopped short.

  The Nowhere House was well beyond the wetwork world in which Max traveled. “Who is this woman? Who is after her?”

  “It doesn’t matter who she is,” the voice said, toning down the strained formality of its speech. It was as if Max was communicating with several people at the same time, and he wondered if the man on the other end of the line was somehow channeling various officials and representatives assigned to deal with Max. Or perhaps he was simply mad. “The people after her are amateurs. It’s the people she’s going to who are important and require reassurance. They know you, even like you and your peculiar talent. They feel their property will be safe in your hands. More important, your presence raises her value. Getting the best to escort her is a sign of her importance, a badge of honor.”

  The Beast recovered from its momentary surprise and resumed pressuring Max to kill. “I can’t do this.”

  “What’s so hard?”

  “I’ve never done what you’re asking. I’ve never had to protect anyone except myself.” And the twins, he thought. But they were different. They meant something to him.

  “You’re an assassin, you know how you would kill her. Anticipate. Though, as I said, it’s almost certain you won’t see action.”

  “So I’m wasting my time. The hell with this. You do it.”

  “If you don’t pick up this assignment, you will die.”

  “You’d terminate our contract over this woman?”

  “She is part of a plan. So are you. Changes require consequences. Reparations. Adjustments. Your defiance can serve the plan and sustain the value of what is being done, but only if you are punished.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Why not? Would you dare betray us?”

  Max strained to contain th
e Beast. He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead. The hand holding the phone shook slightly. “She must be a hell of a woman.”

  “What is your mission status?”

  Max grunted as if struck in the gut. “Operational.”

  “Check your contact for time limitations.”

  Before Max could reply, the connection was severed. He put the phone back in its cradle.

  “Nice job of pulling a briefing out of those assholes,” Lee said.

  “Thanks,” Max said, with more of the Beast’s grumble than his own voice.

  “So I guess you’re not going to tell me shit, either.”

  “They said I had to check with you about time limitations.”

  “Let me make a call. Maybe we can buy some wiggle room.” Lee took the phone, punched in numbers, spoke in low tones, listened, glanced at Max, cocked an eyebrow, checked his watch, hung up. “Damn. I was hoping to sneak over to City Island and pick up crab legs to go before my next drop. But I really do have to get this Fordham divinity student out of the city before the papal meat boys cut off a few of his heretical parts. Looks like my dinner goes the way of your passengers in the trunk. We’re cleared to delay your pickup, but I hope you’re not thinking of digging really deep graves.”

  “No digging.”

  Lee waited a moment, studying Max as if to gauge his mood, then pressed on. “Goddamn awesome rating a Nowhere House deployment, though. Better write down anything you want to remember that happened to you over the past forty-eight hours.”

  “I thought it was twelve.”

  “You believe government specs? I hung out for a weekend with a team one time before they went inside. Saw them a week later during a Tibetan incursion and they took a shot at me.”

  Max went over the events of the past week and found nothing worth saving. “There’s nothing I need to remember.”

  “Well, don’t forget the protocol and write yourself instructions on what you have to do once you leave the place, or you’re going to be wandering around the South Bronx wondering what the fuck you’re supposed to do with your new girlfriend.”

  “I know what I should to do with her.”

  “Easy, big fella. You’re on company time.”

  Max pressed the accelerator, wove the Lincoln through the close traffic on the Saw Mill’s winding roadway. Horns blared and high beams flashed in his rearview mirror. The Beast was disappointed over the failure of the other drivers’ nerves. They exited at Tuckahoe, drove through quiet, tree-lined village streets with Colonials, split-levels, and the occasional overblown Tudor or small manor set on neatly trimmed lots. A stand of trees blotted out the lights of the surrounding neighborhood. Max slowed. Another house appeared, tucked among the trees. Max turned onto the gravel driveway, switched off the lights, let the car crawl toward a single light bulb shining over a side door to a run-down, three-story Victorian. A realtor’s weathered For Sale sign and a construction company’s renovation announcement were nailed over a faded movie production poster pasted to the door. Max popped the inside trunk release, cracked the door open.

  A dog’s barking drifted faintly through the surrounding woods. Cold air stung his lungs as Max got out and took a deep breath of suburban air. He picked out the blood scents of a cat’s and an owl’s kill, the chemical bites of fertilizer and cleansers, an intoxicating burst of the season’s first, fresh growth.

  He joined Lee at the back of the Lincoln, raised the hood, grabbed one end of a man’s ravaged, naked corpse. Blood and shit stench mingled with the twins’ sweet and musky markings, and with the smell of multiple orgasms spilled by all three. Max gritted his teeth, and was puzzled by the touch of jealousy. The Beast yipped with glee. Lee whistled, took hold of the feet, and stumbled along with Max as they headed toward a hole in the ground beyond the door.

  “Not for nothing, Max, but what’s wrong with the traditional incinerator dust-off or swamp dump?”

  “At five tomorrow morning, a cement truck is going to pour a foundation in that pit for a house extension. The people buying the property require blood sacrifices to sanctify the ground on which they plan to hold future services. They’ve done favors for me in the past. This is the least I could do.”

  “Some housewarming gift.”

  Two sets of their shadows stretched over the hole: a faint set from the car’s inside light left on by Max’s open door, and a darker pair set at an angle from the house. They threw the body into the ground and went back for the woman. Max bundled her in the plastic lining the trunk, taking care that none of the blood or gore dribbled out. As they approached the pit again, the body fell out of Lee’s hands. He flailed about, trying to hold on to the slick package, but managed only to grab the woman’s head by her blond curls. The thin shreds of skin holding the body together snapped and the torso landed with a crackle of gravel. Max scrambled to close off the open end of the package while Lee watched, the head hanging at his side from his fist. As Max crouched, his gaze met the woman’s blank stare. The Beast’s low rumble of satisfaction vibrated through Max. He smiled into her frozen expression of pain and terror, remembering for the Beast all he had done to shape her final rictus. He scooped up the woman’s body before he lost himself in thoughts of the last twists and twitches of her flesh. The wind whistling through budding branches reminded him of the whimper of her dying breath. He threw the body into the hole and headed back to the car.

  “You’re dripping,” he said, pointing to the head’s ragged wound.

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin the property values for Satanists.” Lee went down on one knee and rested the head on the ground, atop the blood droppings. He studied the woman’s face, moving the head slightly up and down and from side to side, letting the bulb shed its glow over her face.

  Max picked the shovel and flashlight from the trunk, returned, studied the ground for drippings. He gingerly picked up loose loads of stained dirt and gravel and threw them into the hole.

  “You know, I’ve seen things like this all my life,” Lee said, staring at the woman. “All over the world. Men, women, kids, animals, some shit nobody could ever figure out what the hell they were supposed to be. Seen others and watched you do the work, and done my own share of it.”

  Max policed the area around Lee until he was satisfied there was nothing left except for the head. He put the flash beam on Lee for a moment. The Beast sensed weakness as the night bore down on Lee, framing his weary face. He moved the beam to the woman before the urge to kill overcame him. Her eyes seemed to follow him in the play of light and shadow as Lee continued to pivot the head around.

  “So what? Come on, I thought you were in a hurry to get back.”

  “Was she good?” Lee held the head up to his face, peered into her eyes. “Did she give you a thrill?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she didn’t want to go like this.”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t care.”

  “You just wanted what you wanted, because you wanted to, and that was it.”

  “Yes. Same as you. Same as always. What’s your point?”

  “And it was worth it. No matter how messy or what a pain in the ass it was to clean up after, it’s always worth it. It always is.”

  Max shut off the flashlight, let the blade sink into gravel and dirt with a metallic clink. He knew what was coming, had heard the kind of talk before, in asylums and hospitals, jungle encampments, basements, tunnels, and caves. It was a moment humans seemed to find inescapable, even if the remorse they presented was only a pretense to fool themselves into believing they had feelings of sorrow and regret where there were none, and preserve their place among others and in the world.

  “Do you think there’s any forgiveness for this?” Lee asked, not taking his gaze away from the woman as he presented her head to Max.

  “What’s to forgive?”

  “The pain. The terror.”

  “Isn’t that what life’s about?”

  Lee brought her head back to l
evel with his. “I don’t know, is it?” Her head swung away from him with the momentum of his arm motion. “I think there’s more than just pain and terror.”

  “Yes, there’s always appetite.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about hers?” Again, he held her head high, swinging it slightly back and forth.

  Max watched the pattern of blood dripping on the ground. He thought the drops formed a rough arrow pointing to him. “Mine was stronger.”

  “Don’t you ever wonder if there’s more than that? The game, the killing, the appetite?”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t you ever feel like you’re not human?”

  “All the time.”

  “Do you miss feeling human?”

  The head rotated in Lee’s grip to face Max. The house light fell against the folds and grooves in her face, exaggerating with shadows the expression locked in her flesh. Her eyes, which Max thought had been looking down, now seemed to rotate under the lacerated brow and glare at him through a hanging eyebrow and loose strands of golden hair.

  “What is there to miss?” Max answered through the Beast’s mad roar as it rose in outrage to answer the challenge of the dead. “It’s better being the hunter than the prey. To feel human is to be prey.” He put a hand to his holster, loosened his gun, put his finger on the trigger. The Beast urged him to aim, to put a bullet in the man’s head. Its raging voice was louder than the crack of the gunshot Max anticipated. It was louder than a cannon barrage falling short of its target, and threatened to carry him away on winds more terrible than those raised by a stray bombing run laying down arc light on the wrong position.

  “You’ve never been hunted?”

  Max raised the Ruger, pointed it at Lee. “No.”

  Lee smiled, looked to Max. He grinned at the gun. “Shit. You’re going to love this job.”