Indelible Ink

by Matt Betts

  “Easy there, fat boy.” She reached to the back of the seat in front of him and took down the airphone’s handset. “I’m just the messenger, pal. I’m not here to kill you. I do, however, suggest you start moving money around.”

  He took the phone and stared at it.

  As she pulled her sleeve down, she saw the attendant approach, pulling a cart.

  “Sorry for the delay.” The attendant smiled and looked from Deena to Frank. “We’re going to have to rush drink service. What can I get you?”

  “Scotch and soda.” Frank put the airphone down. “As much as you can give me.”

  “Drinks are seven dollars each and I can only give you two at a time.”

  “Fine.”

  The attendant turned and smiled. “Can I get you something, young lady? A cola or juice?”

  Deena shook her head.

  “I know!” The woman dug into her pocket and pulled something out. “Here.” She handed Deena a small plastic pin with the airline’s logo with shiny wings outstretched on either side of it. “I’ll let you clip it on, but be careful not to stick yourself.” The tiny grey feathers gleamed in the light of the sun streaming through the windows. The attendant took Frank’s money and left him his drinks, which sloshed around in the clear plastic cups as the plane hit turbulence momentarily.

  Frank finished the first glass with one swig. “You going to stab me with that pin now?”

  “Please. I’m not going to lay a hand on you. Besides…” she held up the wings. “The tip isn’t even that pointy. See?” She jabbed him in the arm with it.

  Frank jumped, spilling ice into the aisle and dropping his cup. “Christ, kid.” He looked at his arm and noticed the pin hadn’t even made it through the fabric of his jacket.

  Deena thought it was funny that he called her kid, like she was some kind of child on a school outing. She was feeling a little addled and could barely keep from giggling at the thought of a killer on a class trip. She needed rest. Just a few more minutes and this will be over. She reached over and grabbed the airphone once more. “Make the call, Frank. They won’t let you use the phone when we start our approach to land.” She shook the receiver in front of him. “Then it will be too late.”

  Frank took a sip of his remaining drink. “Look, I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, but come on. Wise up, before you get hurt.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to get any wiser at this point. Maybe you should take your own advice.

  “Pffftt.” It seemed the alcohol was going to Frank’s head rather quickly.

  “Well put. You’re obviously an educated man, but let me lay some knowledge on you. Mr. Marsh is not a charity that just gives shit away for free. Neither is he a bank that lends money to dumbasses and then writes it off when they don’t return it. He’s a businessman.”

  Frank swirled the ice in his cup and shook his head, smiling. “Look, little girl, you had a nice trick with the thing on your arm, but unless you’ve got something a little more persuasive, I’m going to walk off this plane and disappear.”

  Deena nodded and closed her eyes. An acidic taste was permeating her mouth, churning up from her stomach. She was nauseous, but she knew it would be done soon. It would be done, she would finish up on the plane and then go home and sleep. She might not leave the bed for days. She swallowed hard—her throat was dry, and started to whisper the new words she’d practiced. New images flooded her mind and she chose the newest one in the repertoire: a spear. She wasn’t concerned whether it was going to fail or not, she just had to go with it. If it didn’t work, she’d go with plan B. Actually, she’d think of a plan B and then go with it. She could feel a little sweat on her own brow.

  Several low tones sounded over the aircraft’s speakers, followed by the attendant’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be starting our approach to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport momentarily. I’ll come back around to pick up your beverage cups and trash immediately. If you’ll please set your tray tables to their upright position, and make sure your lap belts are securely fastened, we’ll be on the ground shortly. Thank you.”

  In the midst of the speech there came a new sound, like someone chewing Jell-O with their mouth open. If anyone other than Deena heard it they didn’t seem to react. She looked over at Frank and saw what she expected; it looked like someone had drawn three short black lines on the man’s face and neck. One behind the ear, one on the cheek and the other just below the jaw. They weren’t large, but they were noticeable if you knew what you were looking for. Frank stared straight ahead, eyes wide, head bobbing slightly with the movement of the plane. A trickle of blood began to swell from each wound.

  A black ribbon found its way back from the cuts and collapsed itself into the area where the tattoo’s mass had been just moments before. It swelled and raced restlessly before settling into the image of a dagger through a broken heart.

  “Shoulda made the call. I always have something up my sleeve, Frank,” she said as she smoothed her sleeve back over her arm, revealing several strips cut wide in the fabric. Deena leaned forward, nauseous. Her eyes watered. She put her head against the seat in front of her and placed her hands on the armrests to steady herself.

  She wondered what her sister was doing and hoped she was well. They hadn’t had breakfast together in weeks. Fruity Pebbles and toast.

  Deena closed her eyes for just a few moments.

  She awoke to the sensation of the plane roughly hitting the ground upon landing. Her head was still against the seat in front of her but her arms dangled at her side. She started to push herself upright, but stopped cold. With her head in that position that, she had a clear view of the floor below her as well as her own legs. The blanket had fallen off her legs and she was startled to see her feet weren’t touching the floor. She leaned back and examined herself. Her clothes were huge on her, to the point where the pants would probably fall if she stood. The t-shirt almost came down to her knees.

  She tried to fight through the sudden adolescent fog and panic that gripped her mind. She’d never gone this far before. Her instinct pushed its way to the surface and she took the belt from her pants, wrapped it around her waist and forced a new notch in it. It wasn’t exactly fashionable, but the shirt almost passed for a dress.

  She pressed her way past Frank and tightened her backpack straps on her shoulder. It was heavier than she expected and she nearly fell backward as she stepped into the aisle. What people there were on the flight crowded together, forming a line to get out. Deena slipped easily in between them and nervously smiled at a crew member and the pilot who were saying goodbye to people as they left. The attendant at the door wasn’t the same one that had brought her a blanket and given her wings, and Deena walked by without a second glance.

  Once off the plane, Deena slowly made her way up the grey tunnel to the reception area. After a moment it occurred to her that she was barefoot and had actually stepped out of her shoes on the plane. She hoped no one would question a little girl walking shoeless through the airport, but decided none of them would care. They were all around her, hugging loved ones, greeting business partners and waiting for the plane to empty out. The airline employees were concerned solely with getting everyone off the plane, out of the tunnel and on their way, so the plane could be prepped for the next flight. There wasn’t a footwear check or anything. Still, the carpet felt strange on her bare feet as she padded away from the plane as quickly and nonchalantly as she could.

  She saw Avi Nolan, her handler, waiting on the edge of the crowd. He looked calmly, casually up and down the line of people that were disembarking. He chewed on a pretzel while he waited. Twice she noticed him glance directly past her without a glimmer of recognition. I’ve never gone back this far; of course he doesn’t recognize me. He’s looking for someone much older.

  She had another fit th
en, a bout of nearly unstoppable laughter and she started to skip a little. Her hair tickled her neck with each step as she moved right past her handler and into the food court area. It was easy, and she didn’t look back. She couldn’t even remember why she’d need to talk to him. The dead man on the plane was becoming something that seemed like a long time ago—maybe when she was younger or lived somewhere else. He was a lost teddy bear or a broken bicycle.

  Next to a pizza place, a shop sold sunglasses and she caught her reflection in a mirror. For a brief moment, she thought about how stupid people looked when they realized they were stupid. In her reflection, she noticed her hair was a mess and she fixed it as best she could. She knew she was supposed to be thinking about something very important, but her hair was the only issue she could pay attention to at the moment. The smell of fresh breadsticks turned her head and she dug into the backpack to find some money.

  As she searched the pack, she found the airline wings the flight attendant gave her. She thought about the plastic feathers on the little badge, thought about flying away. She took a second to pin it onto her t-shirt before scooping up a handful of coins and dashing for the food court.

  2

  The toy monkey with the cymbals showed up sometime during the eighth hour of Morgan’s vigil. It waddled toward the barrel of the sniper rifle, whirring and clanging as it went. Morgan kept his right eye against the scope, but could still see the monkey clearly with the other eye.

  The monkey stopped near the tripod which held the barrel a few inches over the table, twirled and started beating its cymbals together.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Morgan ignored it and focused on the window of the high-rise nearly a quarter of a mile away where his target was overdue. He’d strategically positioned himself on the dining room table of this apartment just after nine o’clock the previous night, pointed his gun out the open window and hadn’t moved since.

  The monkey spun itself in a circle and slapped the cymbals together again.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  It rolled toward the edge of the table and spun to face Morgan. The lips curled back. “You missed your chance. No killing tonight!” The monkey’s lips pulled even further back in a wide smile as it screeched at him. “Too bad.”

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  “Too bad!”

  Morgan stared through the scope and let the annoying little toy dance around. In the apartment he was watching, everything looked quiet. He could see the curtains moving slightly in the breeze, the light on the answering machine blinked red staccatos in the dark room. The target was due to return home after a late dinner with friends. That was hours ago.

  “Somebody’s getting sleepy.”

  Morgan shifted his gaze back to the room he was in. On the other side of the rifle barrel, a large brown teddy bear had appeared.

  “I can see your eyelids getting droop, droop, droopy,” it said to Morgan. “Come on. Cuddle up with your old buddy, Mr. Hector, and take a little nap.”

  The monkey’s eyes blinked. “Couldn’t hurt. Besides, you aren’t going to shoot anyone tonight anyway.”

  Morgan planted his eye back on the lens.

  The happy expression on Mr. Hector’s face drooped. “Aw. Come on. Why so glum?”

  “Don’t take it personally, he hasn’t talked to me either,” the monkey said.

  Morgan blinked his eyes a few times to lubricate them. They were drying out more and more as he stared through the scope. It had been ages since he’d had to wait out a target for so long. He kept eye drops in his upper left shirt pocket, but hadn’t broken down and used them yet. That would require him to look away for longer than he was willing to allow at this point. That was the same reason he’d forsaken his spotting scope; he figured he’d only have one opportunity and needed to be ready quickly once the target appeared.

  The little bear with the red bow around his neck climbed over the barrel of the gun and started walking closer to Morgan. “Remember how inseparable we were? Oh, you took me just everywhere with you,” Mr. Hector stood a foot away from Morgan’s face and smiled. “You used to keep me in that suitcase, even when you went off to college. Remember?” The bear’s smile faded. “We didn’t get to stay there very long, did we?”

  Morgan drew a sharp breath at the thought of college. He flunked out before the end of his first year and ended up leaving town altogether just to avoid facing his failure. A swooping movement of the curtain brought his attention back to the apartment in his sights. He mistook it for his target arriving and his heart leapt with excitement before he realized he was wrong.

  “He had all kinds of trouble back in college,” an airy female voice came from behind him. “Funny that you use a gun now, ’cause you surely couldn’t pull the trigger back then.”

  Morgan wanted to turn and see the person who was talking, though he already knew who it was.

  “We talking relationship difficulties or a limp noodle?” the monkey sneered.

  Mr. Hector put his paw to his face and giggled.

  “Oh, he had all kinds of problems—in and out of the sack.”

  The sound seemed closer to Morgan and he almost broke his stance to turn and see her. The cigarette-raspy voice belonged to Nadine Anderson, briefly his girlfriend back at school. He could still close his eyes and remember her stark naked in front of him, every line and curve memorized, but her face wasn’t coming to him today. Still, he could feel himself getting a little hard just at the thought of her. It was no wonder he never made it to many classes back in college.

  “Oh, heavens. Don’t get me started about the problems little Morgie had in bed.” A new woman’s voice emerged from the hallway to Morgan’s right. This voice was also unmistakable. “Wet the bed every night until he was eight. Horrible mess. Had to buy those rubber sheets, I was constantly doing laundry. Terrible.” Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw his mother emerge from the dark. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since he walked out the door to join the army, and now she was standing next to him wearing the same dull green, flowered dress with white fringe, her hair up in her usual bun style, the Charlie perfume she wore wafting into the room. His erection left town in a hurry.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  “Morgie is a bed-wetter! Morgie is a bed-wetter!” The monkey danced in circles.

  Morgan pursed his lips tighter together and stared into the scope. Still nothing.

  “Why don’t you just forget about it?” Mother said. “Go home. Nothing’s going to happen tonight.” She was standing next to him as she spoke. “You were always such a nice boy.”

  Though he couldn’t see it, Morgan could hear something dripping nearby.

  “Oh. Remember that time you almost drowned in the city pool?” Mother said.

  Mr. Hector waved his arms. “I do! He came home and hugged me all night long!”

  “Yes. He was such a nice boy for weeks and weeks after that. Did everything I asked, without me asking twice.” Mother smiled. “It was wonderful.”

  The dripping sound became steadier.

  Nadine’s voice came from behind him. “Is that why you never wanted to shower with me? Afraid of the water?”

  The monkey clanged in circles again.

  “And who saved you from drowning?” Mother asked.

  The monkey stopped spinning and looked at Morgan, Mr. Hector joined him.

  “Son, it’s not polite to ignore someone when they’re talking to you.”

  Morgan squinted down the scope again and moved it to see in the windows of the apartment. He could vaguely see the outline of a bed through the white lace curtains of one window, he could see a couch and the answering machine on a table through the sliding glass door and the other window had a heavy shade drawn. His scope was sighted in perfectly, but he reached up and fiddled with the adjustor ju
st to give himself something to do. Everything got blurry, then focused again, then blurry.

  “He’s probably not talking because of that horrible Foghorn Leghorn accent of his,” Nadine said. “Sometimes I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.”

  “I say, I say, I DO buh-leeve ah wet my-uh beyud.” The monkey bared his teeth, then laughed. The others joined in.

  The trickle of water Morgan heard became a steady stream and he leaned away from the gun to try to find the source.

  “Give it up Morgie. You’re done. The target ain’t showing and your boss is going to be peeved at you,” the monkey said.

  Morgan didn’t want to think about what his contractor, Mr. Marsh, was going to say if this job didn’t happen as scheduled. He wasn’t known for his understanding, though he was extremely generous with people who followed through on their commitments.

  “Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

  “Morgan’s got ish-shoes!”

  The voices all joined in at once, taunting him as he looked around, moving as little from his stance as he could. The water sounded like it was coming down in buckets. From his new vantage point he could see it pouring in over the sill of the open window. Morgan decided it must be some flood, if it had risen high enough to flow through a fifteenth floor window.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! “Morgie fucked up! Morgie fucked up!”

  “Go home Morgan, it’s over,” Nadine said.

  “Shut up,” Morgan said a little louder than he had intended. “Shut up, she’ll be here.” His body ached from being in that position for so long. His lips were dry and cracked.

  “She?” Mr. Hector asked. “You’re going to shoot a woman?”

  The others got quiet and turned to look at Morgan. There was only the sound of the water. He looked away from them, back toward the gun. He took a deep breath and leaned his eye close to the scope. Everything was blurry from when he was playing with the scope before and he started adjusting again.