Kim Oh 1: Real Dangerous Girl

by Kim Oh

“You’re up to something. Aren’t you?”

  I was making a pot of tea in the apartment kitchenette. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Donnie had rolled in from his bedroom.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Kimmie.” He gave me an accusing look. “You’ve been lying on the couch until 2:00 p.m., most days, just staring up at the ceiling. Or going two or three days without taking a shower. And now you’re up early, and you’re all dressed, ’stead of in your bathrobe. So you must be going somewhere. So you’re up to something.”

  “Gosh.” I poured two cups, one for him and one for me. “I didn’t know there was a detective in the house.”

  “It doesn’t take much.” He held his in both hands. “I’ve known you all my life.”

  “Okay. So you’re so smart – what do you think it is? That I’m up to.”

  “You got a job.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Somebody must’ve called you back. From before, when you were going out looking.”

  I had never lied to him before.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ve got a job.”

  I wasn’t lying.

  * * *

  More coffee. Cheap store-brand instant this time, out of the cardboard box that Monica kept their groceries in. Mostly microwave soup packets and instant oatmeal. I’d had to wait outside the warehouse, with both myself and the motorcycle out of sight, until Monica had driven away to whatever exotic-dancer gig she’d lined up for the day.

  “Okay . . .” I watched Cole ladle a diabetic coma-inducing amount of sugar into the cup I’d made him, using just the hot water tap in the warehouse’s funky little bathroom. We were both taking it black, since I’d knocked the jar of creamer into the toilet. “So let’s say I go ahead and off McIntyre for you.” He took a sip of the tepid coffee, then added more sugar. “What do I get out of it?”

  “I thought we went over this already.”

  “Let’s go over it again. Just to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “Okay. Whatever. For one thing, I’m paying you –”

  “Besides that.”

  “And you’d get the same thing I’d get out of it.” I drank a little from my cup. The last time I’d had coffee like this, I’d been a little kid living with a foster family somewhere in Oklahoma. Whoever made the stuff, they’d improved it since then. “That’s what.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’d be dead.” I set my cup down on the other cardboard box – it’d held ammo before – that we were using for a table, over by the mattress on the floor. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yeah, for you maybe.”

  I had already told him about my previous plans going bust. On top of what I’d told him about the money-stuffed envelope hidden in the bedroom closet. Full disclosure and all – I figured that if we were going to have a shot at pulling this off, I couldn’t be keeping stuff like that from him.

  “You get a lot more than I do,” said Cole. “You get let off the hook. Right now, you’re sweating it because you’ve got something that belongs to him, and when he finds out that you do, he’s going to come down on you like a fifty-pound sledgehammer. Michael and one of the other company security guys – there’s a bullet-head named Louie that I know he likes to work with –”

  “I know which one you mean.”

  “Yeah, well, the two of them will show up on your doorstep and then everything you’re worrying about will start to happen, real fast. They’ll do both you and your little brother. I guarantee it – they like to do that sort of thing. So at least you won’t have to worry about who’s going to take care of him after you’re dead. It won’t be pleasant getting there, though, for either one of you.”

  “Okay –“ I didn’t want to think about stuff like that. “But –”

  “Hold on.” Cole held up a hand. “Just hear me out. Think about it. Somehow I manage to kill McIntyre for you, and maybe somehow along the way I can also drop our pal Michael and his little buddies off a roof – that’s cool. I’d love to do that. Especially to that bastard Michael. He’s the one who set me up. But everything that you and your brother would get, the whole bit of not having to worry about yourselves getting killed . . . I’ve already got that. I’m there right now.” His hand swept toward the warehouse’s empty spaces. “Long as I don’t get all emotional and cranky, about having been made a cripple, and people I trusted screwing me over –” He shrugged. “I can go on like this for a long time. Like a permanent vacation. Got my girlfriend out there making some bucks, bringing ’em home, while I’m lying here all day drinking beer and catching up on the soaps – and some of those are pretty good, ya know – and I’m a happy camper. What’s not to like?”

  “Sure,” I said. “If that’s what works for you. If that’s enough. I didn’t think you were like that, though.”

  “Whether I am or not – let me tell you what doesn’t work for me. What doesn’t work is me doing whatever it takes to blow McIntyre away – and it doesn’t happen. Because I’m not at the top of my game. Right?”

  “Yeah, but . . . it’s the kind of stuff you know how to do . . .”

  “I also know how hard it’s going to be. Given the shape I’m in. Let’s just say you get me somewhere I can take a shot at him. And I miss. Then he’s still alive. And way annoyed. Especially when he finds out that it was me who came after him. Think he’s going to let me come back here and lie around, watching game shows and the Cartoon Channel? Believe me, I’d be screwed – and not in any of the fun ways.”

  I hadn’t thought about any of that. Now I felt kind of self-centered.

  “Matter of fact,” said Cole, “I’d be doing myself a favor by taking Monica’s cell phone and giving our old boss a call. I’ve still got his direct number. I’m sure he’d love to hear from me. Old times’ sake, you know. Plus, I’m sure he’d get a kick out of how his former accountant dropped by my place and tried to hire me to kill him. Yeah, him and Michael would get a huge laugh out of that one. And McIntyre’s the kind of guy who knows how to show his gratitude – you know, for bringing some sunshine into his life. He’d probably send over one of those big flat-screen TVs. I’d like to have one of those.”

  “Oh.” The amount of stuff I hadn’t thought about was starting to add up.

  “Actually, I’d like to have one of those so much – it’s the movies, that’s what they’re really good for – how do you know that I haven’t already called McIntyre? And told him about these fun plans you’re cooking up for him.” Cole leaned toward me with his twisted smile. “How do you know I haven’t done that, Kim?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in a small voice.

  “That’s right, you don’t. But you can relax. I’m still getting a kick out of this part of the whole process. I can always throw you under the bus later on.” He lit up another cigarette. “Know why I’m telling you all this?”

  “Probably because you want to make me feel like crap.”

  “Nah. I don’t care that much –” A coughing spasm doubled him up for nearly a minute. “But here’s the thing,” he said as he straightened again. “You need to know that I’m actually putting a lot on the line here. I’ve got a lot to lose – and I’m not just talking about not getting a big-screen TV. I’m talking about what happens if things go wrong. I’m not worried about McIntyre wanting to kill you. That’s your problem. I’m just not big on my getting killed.”

  “So what do you want to do?” My head felt as though it were filling like a backed-up sink drain. All kinds of tangled things were floating around in there, and I couldn’t figure them out. “Just tell me.”

  “We’ll get to that later.”

  “Crap.” My shoulders slumped. Who knew that killing somebody was going to be this complicated?

  “Let’s talk about you,” said Cole. “Just what exactly is it that you thought you could help me with? I mean, in terms of taking care of McIntyre.”

  “I don’t know.” I really didn’t. “You’re the profes
sional at that sort of thing. You tell me.”

  “Work with me, Kim. You must have some idea about what it would take. That’s why you came to see me, instead of – oh, I don’t know; the Orkin bug man.”

  “Well . . .” Moving my thoughts around was like shoving giant blocks of granite around. “I guess . . . I could be your backup. Or something.”

  “Backup? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’d . . . be there, I guess. When you’re taking care of McIntyre. And . . . help you out. If anything went wrong.”

  “How would you do that?”

  “Maybe . . . I’d have a gun.”

  “And you’d fire it at somebody?” He smiled. “Like Michael? Somebody like that?”

  “If I had to.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. You’re all cold-blooded when it comes to hiring me to kill somebody for you. But actually coming down on someone yourself? That’ll be the day.”

  I knew he was right. I was already starting to think I’d gotten in over my head, just having come this far.

  “Besides – where would you even get a gun?”

  I pointed around the space. “You’ve got plenty of them –”

  “Not as many as I used to. Had to unload a bunch of equipment – even my ride. That really hurt. But that’s what happens, you go to the hospital without insurance.”

  “Tell me about it. My brother’s meds, they’re just outrageous. And for most of them, there aren’t any generics or –”

  “Yeah, okay. That’s not the main thing right now. What I was trying to tell you is that I don’t have quite the armory I used to. Fortunately, I still know people who can use . . . certain items. And I got a good price for most of ’em. But if I were going to get you all strapped, I’d have to lay one of my favorites on you.” He held up the black .357 he always kept nearby. “Something like this baby. If Michael or one of the guys spotted you holding a piece like this, it might slow ’em up enough for me to get off a shot. That might help. A little.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I reached toward the gun in his hand. “I’ll take it.”

  “No, you won’t.” He pulled the gun away from me. “It’s loaded. Ready to go.”

  “Unload it, then.”

  “No way. I’m not going in there with an empty piece – even if it’s just you carrying it.”

  “Okay, don’t unload it –”

  “Yeah,” said Cole, “and then I’d have to be watching my own back the whole time, wondering when you might accidentally fire it off.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Famous last words. For me, that is. Piece like this isn’t a toy, sweetheart. And you’d find that out soon enough, if you were to fire it. You’d go flying backward and land on your butt a couple yards away. Seriously – giving you this gun would be like strapping a hamster to a skyrocket. Fun and all to watch, but I don’t know if it’d help me get the job done. Not the one you’re talking about.”

  “I could handle it.” My voice sounded defensive even to my own ears. “I mean, if you showed me how.”

  “Show you how – right. And what else would you need from me?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever it would take . . . to get me ready.”

  “Get you ready? For what?”

  “To help you,” I said. “If you needed it.”

  “Oh, I see. You’d be my little assistant, huh? My backup. So tell me – do you want a two-week economy hit man course, or do you want the super deluxe-o professional assassin package?”

  “Don’t screw around with me.”

  Cole laughed. “Sweetie, I am not screwing around with you. But you are definitely screwing around with yourself. You don’t want me to get you ready – whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. What you want is to be me. You want me to somehow turn you into me.” He drew back and shook his head. “Can’t be done.”

  “Why not?” It was a stupid question, but I had to ask it.

  “Because you don’t have what it takes. If I brought you along when I go after McIntyre – you’d just freeze up. You’d be no frickin’ help at all to me. Because this isn’t something that someone like you can do. That’s why you became an accountant. If you had what it takes, you’d already be me – or somebody like me. Even if you had a little bit of what it takes – there isn’t time. McIntyre would be dead of old age before I could teach you everything you’d need to know.”

  “All right.” I started to get up from the chair. “Sorry I wasted your time.”

  “Sit down.”

  I froze half-way up, then sat back down. “What? You’re not done?”

  “What I’m saying is that I can’t turn you into me. But I can turn you into you. The real you. Maybe not a killer – but close enough.”

  “I don’t think so.” I felt tired already. “I don’t think that’s what I am. I don’t even know what I am.”

  “The hell.” Cole ground the cigarette butt out on the bare concrete at the side of the mattress. “Don’t try to tell me my business. This is the stuff I know about. You remember what you told me, about when McIntyre fired you? When he told you about how you weren’t getting the CFO job, that he was giving it to the Ivy League jerk instead?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “You know what most women would’ve done, if that’d happened to them? They would’ve dissolved into a puddle. Boo hoo hoo. And McIntyre would’ve been handing them a tissue from the box on his desk. That’s what most men would’ve done. Nobody puts up a fight anymore. Nobody. But what did you do?”

  I didn’t say anything. I was watching a movie inside my head, a short one, with just McIntyre and myself in it.

  “You went for his throat,” said Cole. “You launched yourself out of your chair – and went for the sonuvabitch. With your fingernails, like you were going to rip out his windpipe.”

  I looked straight at him. “You believed me about that?”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed it. Somebody had done it – gone for McIntyre’s throat – but I wasn’t sure if it had been me.

  “The deal’s off.” I stood and started zipping up my jacket. “This was a bad idea.”

  “No, it’s not.” Cole held me transfixed with his slitted, unsmiling gaze. “It’s a really good one. Because I can do it. If you help me.”

  I stood there listening to him.

  “But it’s going to take more than just me giving you a gun and showing you how to wave it around without hurting yourself – or me. We can do this thing, all right. But the only way we can do it is together. Got me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Dig it. You were right to come and talk to me. About what you want done. Maybe I can’t walk anymore, but I can still shoot.” He picked the .357 up again. “And you won’t need to. It’ll take some planning, but if you can get me someplace where I’ve got a shot at McIntyre, then he’s a dead man. I don’t care how many security people he’s got around him.”

  “You said you were worried. About what would happen if you missed. And McIntyre was still alive.”

  “That was just talk,” said Cole. “I just wanted to make sure you knew where I was coming from.”

  I finally understood that. And where he had been heading all along.

  “Okay. Tell you what.” I looked straight back at him. “You can shove this whole thing.”

  He smiled. “That doesn’t sound like a little accountant girl talking.”

  “It isn’t. It’s me talking. Because here’s what’s going to happen.”

  Cole tilted his head to one side, one eyebrow lifting as though he were discerning something about me for the first time.

  “We’ve got a deal,” I said. “But I’m going to tell you what it is.”

  “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Hit me.”

  I stepped onto the mattress and looked down at him. “I’m not going to go through all this, then you’re the only one who winds up gett
ing to take a shot at McIntyre. So here’s how we’re going to do it. You won’t be the only one taking a shot.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I’ll have a gun, you’ll have shown me how to use it – and I’ll be taking a shot at McIntyre, too.”

  “No, you won’t. You don’t have what it takes. And I can’t give it to you.”

  “All right, then. I won’t be able to. But it won’t be because I don’t know how to shoot some stupid gun.”

  “You know –” Cole looked up at me in disgust. “You’re making things way more complicated than they need to be. This job’s already going to be tough enough without some novice spraying bullets around me, while I’m trying to get some work done. No way.”

  “Then we don’t have a deal.” I turned and walked away, toward the door.

  “Hold on.” He called after me. “All right, all right. I’ll show you how to use the piece – mainly to keep you from blowing my head off.”

  I didn’t turn around to look at him. But I was smiling. Because all of a sudden I knew it didn’t matter.

  Maybe I wasn’t a killer like him –

  But I could dream about it.

  SEVENTEEN

  Cole gave me some homework. Something to take home and practice on.

  “You need to start getting used to this.” That was what he had said, when he had handed me the gun. There was a metal cabinet, on little rolling caster wheels, that he’d had me drag over to the mattress on the floor, so he could get into it. There hadn’t been much in it – as he’d already told me, he’d had to sell off a lot of his equipment. But what there had been was another .357, not grimly black like his favorite that he always kept close at hand, but a gleaming brushed silver.

  This is the problem with getting to some future utopia, with no guns and everybody just getting along with each other. The guns are just so much prettier.

  I had stood there at the warehouse, weighing the .357 in my hands – it pretty much filled them up – while Cole had watched me.

  “Just start getting your mind wrapped around it,” he had told me. “Just the fact of it being around. We’ll get to the actual firing-it-off part.”