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

by Nicole Castle

  “Eat your toast,” Frank said, and then glared at my admirer. It worked wonders. Even with a broken face, he looked like he’d never lost a fight. The trucker turned his head so fast he likely hurt himself, and didn’t dare look again. “I have been dying to do that!” he said, and he smiled at me with such intense ownership that I could practically feel the heat of a branding iron on my skin. If the waitress hadn’t come by with our check, we might’ve spent the rest of the day staring at each other. He still over-tipped her.

  We drove by the Goldmans’ house first, a two-story stereotype of the suburbs with green grass and a white picket fence. The mark had already gone to work, but Edith Goldman was still at home. She was pruning the roses in the yard, holding pink handled hedge clippers that matched her garden gloves. I watched her from behind the tinted windows of Frank’s car, seeing no indication in her behavior that she’d paid for her husband’s murder.

  “Did you see those roses?” he asked as we pulled out of the neighborhood.

  “You’d better be careful, Frankie boy. You’re starting to sound gayer than me.”

  “Call me Frankie boy again and I’ll take you back to your buddy at the diner,” he threatened. “I was referring to the bouquet on the piano in the living room. They were a different color than the ones in the yard.”

  “Oh,” I said. I hadn’t even noticed that the living room was visible through the front windows.

  “I’d say it was two dozen. Baby’s-breath and all. Why does a man buy someone flowers?”

  “He’s trying to get lucky?”

  Frank shot me a look.

  It was no wonder that the French had come up with the phrase faux pas. “But that’s not why I bought you flowers.”

  “Why else?” he grumbled.

  “He’s in love?” I said. That got me into even more trouble, and I wasn’t even sure why. I’d have to hit up the florist before I made things worse. Ah ha! “To apologize!”

  “Hmm,” he mused, and didn’t speak again until we were outside Ernest’s office building. It reminded me of a place my mom had worked right before she died; dull and gray and full of assholes who made her yearly salary in a week. They’d hired her as a secretary, even though she couldn’t type. She’d been two days shy of qualifying for a life insurance benefit when she was killed. Her boss hit on me at the funeral. He thought I was a girl.

  “What were you apologizing for?”

  Breaking his nose came to mind…“I wasn’t apologizing. I was feeling romantic,” I said, clutching his hand over the gearshift. I could actually see it working. Maybe I wouldn’t have to make the trip to the florist after all. We spent the remainder of the morning in a cafe down the street, watching people come and go from the building. Sometimes they came in to get caffeine, at which point Frank would continue watching for Ernest and I’d observe the new customers. It was easy to tell someone’s status; executives came in one or two at a time and only ordered for themselves, assistants always came in solo, and left juggling so many drinks they could’ve qualified for circus work.

  If nothing else, now I knew why Frank had such trouble sleeping at night. He was on his fifth cup of coffee by the time our mark appeared to take his lunch break. “Come along,” he said quietly, leading me out and following Mr. Goldman on the opposite side of the street.

  Frank kept his body positioned close to me, nearly forcing me into the passing buildings so I’d be as far away from our prey as physically possible. But I had to say this for him, it gave me a perfect view of what Ernest was doing, and I could stare freely because it looked as though I was giving my attention to the handsome man at my side.

  Tailing someone was nothing new to me. I’d followed men for entire city blocks just to get a better look at them. Anything could set me off; the way they walked, how their clothes fit, absence of a wedding ring. It was strange how readying myself to murder someone seemed more harmless than my previous actions, hunting to kill rather than to seduce.

  Since I was the bait, I was supposed to be even less visible than Frank. Now that the purpose for my pursuit had changed and I wasn’t supposed to be seen, it was considerably harder. And not only because every time it looked like Ernest might turn his head our way, Frank would slow and force me out of the line of sight, usually stepping on my feet in the process. My toes were throbbing by twelve ten, when our mark decided on a place to eat. And he wasn’t alone.

  “He’s hardly blond,” I scoffed. The tart was a light brunet twenty-something with a decent body and clothing tight enough to show it off. Though he did have a nice smile, and had he been about fifteen years older, I might’ve considered him for a conquest.

  “Blonder than the missus,” Frank said, and steered me toward a deli that was diagonal to the restaurant they were entering. “Go order something,” he added, sitting in the second to last chair by the window. I could only guess what seat he was saving for me. It was a good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic, his tendency to block me in was getting as compulsive as his other behaviors.

  I bought two sandwiches, a soda for me and a bottle of water for Frank even though they sold coffee. He gave me a look like I’d been stomping on his feet for the last ten minutes, but accepted it anyway. “Eat slowly. They’ll be awhile.”

  “Okay,” I said, and started picking at my sandwich the way he did. Usually I would wolf down my food at breakneck speeds. Frank referred to it as “starving orphan syndrome” to explain how someone with only one mouth could eat so fast. I’d never taken this long to eat, and my stomach growled at me the entire time. I was actually hungrier when I was finished.

  We were still left with some wait time before the lovebirds emerged, and even though I could’ve been honing my speculation skills on strangers, I kept my eyes on Frank. Being with him while he was on a job was an experience in itself. He was almost a different person, completely confident with no signs of his previous awkwardness. Then I’d say something distasteful and he’d turn away from me to smile, proving that he was still shy after all, and I’d get that protective feeling again, stronger than ever.

  “We’ll follow the tart when they leave. I want to find out where he lives.”

  I nodded, picking at Frank’s sandwich since he was obviously done with it. “So, am I cuter than him?”

  “No contest.”

  I grinned, but my moment of glory was short-lived. They were on the move.

  We stayed inside the deli until they’d parted ways, a knowing smile the only evidence that this was not a business meeting. Then we let Ernest get back to work, and followed his lover.

  Frank wasn’t nearly as aggressive with me this time, though he remained between me and our subject. “Do you suppose there’s any passion between them?” he asked, never taking his eyes off loverboy.

  “Probably not,” I said. He had to be in it for the money. He was good looking enough to have almost anyone. Mr. Goldman was a five at best. “Do you think he’s attractive?”

  “I like blonds,” he said. I stumbled over a bit of raised sidewalk, and would’ve eaten the pavement had Frank not grabbed my arm. “Careful.”

  Having him flirt with me was taking some getting used to. “Sorry.”

  “He’s heading to the campus,” Frank said, and he slipped me his car keys. “Follow him and meet me back at the car.”

  I paused for a second, stunned that he was letting me go alone.

  “Play to your strengths, V. You look like a student.”

  “Right,” I said, and continued after my quarry. Frank had disappeared by the time I glanced back.

  The tart branched off toward a series of apartment complexes, ending up on the same side of the street as me. It threw me off a little, but he cut across the lawn toward the second set of buildings before I had time to decide on a different route. I remained on the sidewalk, keeping him in my peripheral vision to see which door he went to.

  He pulled out his keys and let himself in. I smiled to myself and continued in the direction I was go
ing, feeling victorious. 163 Jefferson Avenue, apartment twelve. Frank was going to be so proud of me!

  It took another half an hour to loop around and return to the car, parked in a cement-filled parking garage. Frank’s paranoid ways made parking a huge portion of our business expenses. He didn’t like anyone to know whether he’d been there one hour or three, so he retained his secrecy and paid the lost ticket fee. And he didn’t validate.

  Frank wasn’t back yet, so I played with his prop wedding ring from the glove compartment, trying to think of the married man we were going to kill instead of how insecure I felt when he wasn’t by my side. I still couldn’t believe that he was actually mine; an international super assassin in love with an emotionally unbalanced kid from Podunk, Illinois. And I was his.

  I’d always thought that being gay was supposed to let me off the hook with all that marriage shit; his and his towels, flowery curtains and a double-wide trailer to call our own just like Mom and Dad. It should’ve made his and his sandwiches from lunch threaten to come back up, but it didn’t. I wanted him to brand me, and I wanted the world to see my brand on him.

  “Maybe it’s their anniversary,” I said to myself, setting the ring on the dashboard so I’d stop obsessing about Frank. Looking at the symbolic jewelry safely out of my reach, I couldn’t help but think of all the extramarital affairs I’d been the cause of. Had their wives found out? Had they met with men like Charlie? Were they ever angry enough to make the tart the target?

  I jumped when Frank opened the car door. I hadn’t realized he was there. “You need to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he said. He had another cup of coffee. And a bouquet of flowers. “Are you going to propose to me?”

  “Huh?” I asked, feeling panicked like I’d stepped into the wrong theater at the multiplex, stumbling into a romantic comedy when I’d paid for people getting blown up in 3-D. What the hell was I doing thinking about marrying him? I wasn’t even old enough to be sleeping with him.

  “Put the ring away, V,” he said.

  I threw it in the glove compartment and slammed it shut, glad to get back to the thrilling life of a boring hit. “You know, if you want to get lucky, all you have to do is unzip,” I said, taking the flowers anyway.

  “Way to take all the romance out of it,” he said sarcastically.

  “Aw, were you being romantic?”

  “No, I was apologizing.”

  “For what?”

  “Charlie called.”

  “And?” I asked, trying to sound threatening, since I had a feeling where this was going.

  “I think you’re going to have to sit this one out, kiddo.”

  “No! Why?”

  “The client wants an open casket.”

  “Then don’t shoot him in the face,” I said. I still didn’t know why Ernest’s open casket had anything to do with me having to kill Frank to actually get a hit under my belt.

  “I’m not going to shoot him at all, V.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A silenced weapon says hit. It doesn’t say mugging.”

  “Oh yeah,” I sighed. No wonder he was making me sit it out. “What were you planning on doing?”

  “I was going to beat him to death. That’s the standard,” he said, as if the client’s request personally offended his sense of decency. “Normally the wife is keen never to see her husband’s face again.”

  “What are you gonna do now?”

  “Well, I’m going to have to stab him, aren’t I?”

  “So?”

  Frank sighed. Then he took my flowers, stabbed me in the stomach with the stems, and tossed them on my lap. It was a good thing, too. He probably would’ve been even more irritated if he saw that it gave me an erection.

  “I can handle it.”

  “You can handle it?”

  “It’s not like I was gonna be the one to stab him anyway.”

  “Certainly not after the mess you made last time.”

  “Hey!”

  “Vincent, whether you like it or not, being stabbed was a traumatic experience for you. I cannot have you freaking out during a hit.”

  “You just protect me like you’re supposed to, and let me do my bait thing. If it gets scary, I’ll cover my eyes,” I said. “I got his address. What did you find out?”

  Frank gave me about two seconds to enjoy being a bossy bottom before slapping my face. He kept his hand on my cheek, my skin burning under his warm palm. “Good job, baby.”

  “Thank you,” I said, tilting my head a little so he could get a firm grip on my hair. “May I do the job?”

  He took his hand away, because he was a sadistic prick. “Yes, you may,” he said, sitting back and putting his seatbelt on. I threw the flowers in the backseat and straddled him. Now he pulled my hair.

  Frank was by far the best kisser I’d ever had the pleasure to make out with. Being able to wrap his tongue around so many languages couldn’t have hurt his skill of wrapping his tongue around mine. It felt like he controlled my whole body when he kissed me, his hands on my face, his fingers reaching the back of my head as we tried to consume each other, like only one of us could come out alive in the end. And his mouth tasted more like the sweet aroma of coffee than the bitter flavor.

  I opened my eyes just for a second as he pulled away for a breath, only to see Ernest Goldman’s beige Jaguar driving into one of the spaces behind us.

  “Shit!” I gasped, throwing myself sideways and out of sight, and nearly snapping a rib on the parking brake in the process.

  Frank looked toward the rearview mirror, then smiled. “That’s one of the things I found out,” he said, never diverting his glance. “This is where he parks. He’s coming back from a meeting. Are you okay?”

  “Yup,” I said, and lowered the brake a little so I could roll onto my back.

  “My windows are tinted,” he reminded me, reaching over to rub my sore ribs.

  I sat up, leaning close to him so I could see without having to adjust the mirror. Ernest was standing at the back of his car, talking to someone on his cell phone. His face was neutral.

  “It’s the wife,” Frank said. “He’s telling her that he’ll be working late.” With our windows up, and the screech of a car parking nearby, hearing a conversation was impossible. Frank was reading his lips. I had to learn that one. “Why do you suppose he’d stand here instead of heading back in to work?”

  “Because it’s a lie,” I said. That was easy.

  We watched him take the stairs, every step leading to a firmer body for Andrew. For someone else, that may have ruined the moment, but not for me. I tried to resume my position on his lap, and ended up back on the parking brake.

  “Not while we’re working,” Frank said.

  “Let’s kill him tonight.”

  “Vincent James Sullivan, if you try to take charge of this hit one more time, I am going to stab you.”

  “You stab me three times a day, Frank,” I said, which succeeded in making him blush. It took a lot more to accomplish that nowadays. “At least. How’d you know my middle name?”

  “County records,” he said. “You think Mark was the only I visited? I was avenging you.”

  “You were stalking me,” I said. That might’ve left another boy feeling violated. I felt adored. “Did you speculate about me?”

  “I didn’t have to. You think out loud.”

  “Do it anyway. Tell me about me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Narcissist.”

  “Come on! Pretend we don’t know each other. Tell me about me.”

  “I’ll owe you another bouquet if I tell you. You’ll be offended.”

  “Then tell me nicely.”

  “All right,” he said, opening his car door. “Go for a walk. I’ll follow you and observe.”

  A starring role, just for me! Ever since I was little I’d had a tendency to pause for applause. There was no such thing as bad attention. “What about Ernest?” I asked, beginning my role by acting like I cou
ld think about anyone but myself when the spotlight was on.

  “He’s working. Let’s go.”

  I got out of the car, trying my hardest not to keep looking back at him for approval, not knowing how far I was supposed to walk or if I was supposed to head a certain direction, averting my eyes when warm places to stay passed by lest Frank had to kill someone before the big day, thinking what I’d say if he asked me to do this exercise with him, how not to offend him by saying that he looked like he killed people for a living.

  “That’s far enough.”

  “That was only like, five minutes,” I complained, the curtain rudely dropped before I could take my bow.

  “It was twenty,” he said, gesturing for me to sit on a nice secluded bench. “Shall I?”

  “Be nice,” I warned.

  “Adolescent, approximately fifteen, five seven—”

  “Five eight.”

  “One hundred twenty pounds, give or take. He doesn’t walk, he swaggers. This implies vanity. But his clothing is too large for him, and he seems nervous. This suggests insecurity. He virtually ignores women and his peers, and consistently notices significantly older men, only he appears frightened to make eye contact. I’ll come to the conclusion that he’s been a victim of physical abuse, most likely at the hands of his father, and is probably a homosexual.”

  “Is he dangerous?” I asked.

  “Extremely,” he said. “I would follow him, despite my best judgment. For that, I would lose my life. And it would be worth it.”

  “Because I’m the angel of death,” I said proudly. I should’ve known that giving Frank an assignment of watching me walk would only end in praise. My ass was just that great.

  “For me you are. Goldman might not be so willing to give his life for beauty. You have to trust that I’ll protect you. Lure him without insecurity. Make him believe it.”

  “I won’t let you down, Frank.”

  “You haven’t yet,” he said sweetly. “And by the way, Mr. Coors Light…his wife died.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t,” he said with a smile. “I’m projecting.”