When a Psychopath Falls in Love

by Herbert Gold

Ferd stared, trying to read the future in Kasdan’s eyes. He thought it only fair to express his impatience. “You just stand there, you think you’re all balanced or something, but I’ll tell you what kind of a mood you put me in, Dan. Say something. Give.”

  Kasdan made little circles in the air, a scooping gesture. The blade was not designed for this purpose, but it served. It could penetrate without gouging. It could slice upwards and deal swiftly with gristle and bone, not to speak of mere tissue; given determined pressure, of course.

  “Hey, what’ll your mother think? Okay, Mom’s deceased these many years, I realize that, but still, in heaven, Cowboy?” Ferd’s grin portrayed perfect ease, relaxation, enjoyment, except for the three bleeding dots on his lower lip where he first clenched and then bit. “How about the right to life, what about that? I’m not some abortion you can just flush down the shitter – skoose my language – the toilet, am I? I’m like you, a lonely individual with hopes and dreams, your buddy who just wants to do business with a pal who really needs some profit in his life.”

  Amanda and Sergei weren’t a business to be done. Petal wasn’t a profit in his life.

  “Okay, so if I read your state of mind, I guess I have to, since you don’t share your concerns with your partner, I made a couple errors of judgment, like anybody might happen to do, and isn’t that part of the whole deal when I’m no more nor less than human? A San Francisco citizen who came up the hard way, night law, catching scraps, doing my best? Can’t you give me an answer stead of just prowling around with that...” He inclined his head toward the shining blade, not wanting to excite anybody. “... thinking of taking a life before my time? Making me nervous so I stepped on my favorite designer sunglasses from the Calvin Klein Collection – now I’m very nervous?”

  His foot scraped over the broken plastic and glass, emphasizing the point.

  No answer from Kasdan. Kasdan’s continuing no answer of the morning. Ferd sighed, still bearing the burden of discussion.

  “Okay, in my own way, try to remember I care for you, Dan. A lot. You’re the person I chose among all others to care for. Do I deserve punishment for that, chastisement, is that right?

  Kasdan said nothing, but followed as Ferd opened and shut his mouth, moving sideways a little, back and forth, glass crumbling under his foot. “You aren’t talking to me anymore, Cowboy?”

  Kasdan said nothing.

  “Did I maybe hear you think one of those unfriendly words like ‘sleaze.’”

  It was hurting Ferd’s feelings that Kasdan seemed to have no conversation in his present personality.

  “Okay, maybe you want…” He restarted: “… let me ask you a question relative to Amanda, okay?”

  “Amanda,” said Kasdan.

  It was a relief that his friend finally spoke, helping Ferd continue their discussion in gentlemanly fashion.

  “Are you doing her any good like this? How about Sergei? What’s the help here?”

  And Petal, Kasdan thought.

  “Anybody else I forget to mention?”

  “No,” said Kasdan.

  “Wow. The suff-inks pronounces.” Ferd emitted a dramatic sigh of relief. “The man can talk. The killer speaks.”

  But another space of silence fell between them. Here in Ferd’s dwelling and in Ferd’s entire world, silence was a troubling commod­ity. It distressed him, it said too much. He did his best to wait out the sphinx. Finally he whispered, “Okay then, okay. I have it coming to me. Okay. Go ahead.”

  “It’s not just happening to you!”

  “It’s not?” Kasdan’s sudden shout puzzled Ferd.

  “I’m doing it. I am doing this – “

  “Why?”

  “I want to. It’s necessary.”

  Ferd disapproved of a failure of both logic and appreciation. The broken sunglasses crunching underfoot, the ignoring of a generous Ronson’s table lighter gesture, no metal chunk heaved, no jet of flame to the face. And the unreasonable abandonment of an offered profit center. “So I must have it coming to me. Or is this some kind of special offer?”

  Kasdan said nothing. Now that non-response was becoming a habit, Ferd understood him well enough. He too did what he did just because he wanted to.

  “Okay, go ahead, partner,” Ferd said. He tried to help by adding: “Cowboy.” He smiled into Kasdan’s eyes. He was ready to move things along. He approved of Dan’s procedure. A relieved boy was smiling at his best playmate. A holiday had come; he was looking at the surprises life had brought him. There was an odd greenish glow in his eyes, shiny and reflective, like the petroleum product under Kasdan’s Honda when he parked overnight. Ferd had met Dan’s eyes before, but not as directly, was that it, was that why they seemed to shine with a rainbow glow? His designer sunglasses were crunching like snow under the tread of Kasdan’s shoes.

  “Get on with it, Dan.”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  “I said get on with it, go ahead, isn’t that clear enough? I’m talked out. I’m otherwise occupied. I can read your mind.”

  “Not so good at that, Ferd.”

  Ferd approved of the sarcasm; he fully appreciated it; all he needed in return was for Dan to appreciate him. “Use it…” He didn’t want to say the knife. “… Since that’s what you’re doing. You didn’t ask my advice, did you? A gun makes too much noise, doesn’t it? That what you thought? So a…” He inclined his head, he ducked, swallowed. “… I hope it’s sharp – is more satisfying in the long run.” He moved closer, his palms turned outward. Kasdan smelled eager fresh sweat.

  “Hey, pal, don’t you feel great, so full of life? There’s blood in your eye but it doesn’t sting, I guess that’s the excitement there, the capil­laries burn out – you feel so young, don’t you, with those glowing eyes? Why don’t I hear you saying thank you?” Ferd’s breathing was irregular, considering whether to take a breath, thinking it over, taking it, then taking another. “Go ahead,” he said. “Do your business. I’m ready.”

  He fell. His knees scrambled among the broken sunglasses. He was still gabbing.

  “I’m ready. I make you only a skinny one-sixty, so you have to use whatever you got, go ahead, get to it.”

  Kasdan moved away from the noise, but held the knife low, pointing upwards.

  “You’re so serious all the time, you need a sense of direction. Let me help. I’ll make you do it, Dan. One-sixty at your age, so next you either plump up or shrivel down, that’s old age, that’s what lies ahead.”

  Kasdan shifted away, braced against the wall. The man on his knees was causing the man with the weapon to cringe.

  “You can’t stop now. It’s easy. Don’t resist, pal.” Ferd ducked a little. Sandy hair fell over his forehead. He looked up again. “Cowboy? Even if you’re across the border to senior, you’re my... hey, should we say amigo? How about that?”

  He reached up and took hold of the blade. He stared at his hand and the thickness seeping between his fingers. “Did I ever tell you when I was a kid I could recite Lincoln’s entire Gettysburg address, plus his zip code?” Ferd’s hand tightened, heedless. The blade was swaddled in Ferd’s fingers. He moved until they touched Kasdan’s fist, wrapped around the handle. “I’m fine, but I need your help with this, Cowboy. I can’t all by myself, so do me, do me, Cowboy.”

  Struggling there, the curtains falling over them, Kasdan’s own finger was cut by the serrated edge. His hand was touching another slippery hand; his arm was spattered with blood. Ferd’s wrist was twisting the blade down, down, reaching into himself. This strength, where did it come from? And then suddenly the twisting stopped, the strength was gone, a softness came to Ferd along with the spurting, pooling fluids.

  “I’ll be dead soon. Then you can stop worrying.”

  Kasdan stared. Ferd’s hand opened. Kasdan pulled his own hand away. He released his fist around the handle of the knife, but it didn’t fall. The blade lay deep inside. Viscousness was swelling onto Ferd’s arm, thick spots accumulating and dropping.
Ferd said: “Hey, finish what you start…”

  “We’ll get you to the Emergency Room,” Kasdan whispered.

  “… It’s okay, please finish, can’t you?” Ferd pulled the blade out and let the knife slide to the floor. Metal clacked against wood; blood was gushing, running fast. “So our good deal is over, Cowboy?” The leaky sound of his sigh filled the room. “Hey, non es problema.”

  Kasdan kneeled to press his sleeve against the hand with its limp fingers hanging, nearly severed. He tried to spread his palm on Ferd’s belly. Ferd shook, fell, gushes of blood and something whitish, wriggling and ropy, pumping out of him, and he was saying, “I have to do everything, don’t I? But it’s okay, you’re my amigo…”

  “I’ll call an ambulance!”

  “… keep the book, keep the deck of hundreds…”

  “I’m driving you to the hospital!”

  “No, no, we can stop cutting now. I’m dead.”

  He was and they did. He winked at Kasdan. He closed his eyes. A voice said: “So make your own plans now and thank you.”