by Paul Moomaw
I go to the telephone and call her number. There is no answer. I decide I have misdialed, and call again. This time I let it ring a dozen times. Still no answer. I slam the telephone down, and then chide myself for losing control. I cannot decide whether I am upset with her for leaving, or with myself for being upset. I pull on running gear and head out the door. I know a run will calm me. I almost sprint up Eighth Place to Galer and turn right. It is another fine day, and ordinarily I would pause at the top of the hill to take in the sight of the Olympic Mountains shining in the morning sun, but today I see nothing but the pavement in front of me. I pound along Galer to Queen Anne Avenue, and then down to the bottom of the hill and on to Denny. I pause just long enough to catch my breath and prepare myself for the long climb back, and then start running again.
When I get home I have managed to tire myself, but I am still buzzing inside. I wander around the house for several minutes, then finally surrender and pick up the telephone. I call Katherine’s number again, and there is still no answer. I go to the front window and stare at nothing for a while. Then I take off my clothes and shower. The hot water does no more to calm me than the run did. Irritated at myself for letting this get to me, I grab my keys and leave.
I do not actually expect to find Katherine at home, but when I reach her house her car is in the driveway and the front door is ajar. I walk through the door and stop just inside. She must be here, but the house is like mine was, too quiet. I walk slowly toward the back of the house and Katherine’s bedroom. That door is closed, and when I open it I see her. She is lying on her bed, still dressed, face up. Her eyes are closed, and she seems barely to be breathing. I step to the side of the bed and take her left wrist. Her pulse is weak and rapid, and her face is flushed. Then I see two other things. On the small table at the side of her bed are three bottles, all with prescription labels, and all empty; and clenched in her right fist is a piece of white pasteboard. I reach over and pull it out of her grasp.
I am holding Edward Angwin’s business card, and I am sure that it is the one he gave me the day we met at the Bagel Bakery. Katherine must have been doing some snooping during the night. My mind goes blank and I simply sit and look at her. I am not sure what to do next, and I know I need to make a decision quickly. I do not do that well. I like time to think, to ponder, to let my creativity work for me. Now there is no time. A part of me whispers that I should just let her die, but it is a very small part, and I will not do that. I should call for help, get her to an emergency room; but then I think of the hazard to me. Who might she talk to and what might she say, especially when her mind is blurred by chemicals? I cringe emotionally from a feeling of risk. I have made a life of staying out of sight and living in the shadows.
I take her wrist again. As I hold it she moves her arm and groans slightly, and the pulse is stronger. I call her name and she turns her head slightly. Her eyes do not open, but she tries. I speak to her again, and this time she manages to look at me, although I cannot tell if she sees me. I go to her bathroom and search through her medicine cabinet, where I have a vague memory of having noticed a bottle of Sudafed the first time I was in her house. It is still there. I take it to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, then return to Katherine’s side. She is out again, but her breathing is stronger. I push her shoulder and she groans again and tries to roll away from me, which I take as a good sign. I put my hands under her back and force her to a sitting position, then tug her legs around so that her feet are on the floor. She opens her eyes and this time I can tell that she sees me.
“Daniel?” she says.
I take three Sudafed tablets out of the bottle and hold the glass out to her.
“Take this.”
“Daniel?” she says again. She shakes her head slowly. “Why?”
“That’s my question to be asking. Open your mouth.”
She does, and I place the tablets on her tongue, then hold the glass to her lips.
“Drink,” I say, and like an obedient child she does.
I take her arms and pull her to her feet. Even with my support she wobbles and sags. I begin walking her toward the bedroom door.
“I don’t want to. Want to sleep.”
“No sleep.” I force her to continue walking.
After an hour she is more or less alert. I settle her at her kitchen table and look for coffee makings. All I can find is Folgers instant. I run water in the sink until it is hot and make a cup for her. It makes me want to hold my nose. I cannot understand how anyone drinks the shit. But I cannot understand trying to die, either. I give her the cup and she takes a small sip and puts it on the table. I pick it up and give it back to her, then sit down and watch as she drinks.
“Get it all down,” I say, and she nods compliantly.
* * *
By the middle of the afternoon she is more or less back to normal functioning. I make her go outside and we walk for an hour along the shore of Lake Washington. We reach Mathews Beach Park and find a bench to sit on, surrounded by the noise of children and dogs. We stay there about an hour, not talking, then walk back to Katherine’s house. I suggest food, and she says she is not hungry, but I make a piece of toast and butter it, and she does not resist. Then she stands up.
“I need to sleep now. You can go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I walk with her to her bedroom and pull the covers back. She gets into the bed fully clothed, and I pull the covers over her.
“I’ll be in the living room.” I leave her in the bed and go to the living room. She has a day bed that also serves as a couch, and I settle down on it. I try to think constructively, but my feelings get in the way, a messy mixture of concern for her, of anger at her, and uncertainty about what comes next. That, most of all, is the thing that looms in my mind. What am I going to tell her about her brother? Evening finally comes, and then night. I eventually fall asleep, but it is a restless slumber with no peace, and some time in the night I come awake again with the dream, and red light flickers in the recesses of my mind until I finally sleep again.
* * *
In the morning I start a kettle going for coffee. There are eggs in the refrigerator, and turkey bacon. I assume she believes it is more healthful, and I shake my head at the irony of someone who worries about what she eats but values her life so little. I start the food, and Katherine wakes up to the smell. She comes into the kitchen silently, pours herself a cup of coffee, and sits down at the table. I fill two plates with bacon, eggs and toast, and settle down across from her. We eat without speaking, and when the food is gone, I say,
“Why did you do it?”
She looks across the table at me. Her eyes are sad and depressed.
“That night I decided to explore your place. I wanted to know you more. I was looking for things that would tell me some of your secrets.” She glances away. “And I did.” She stares at me.
“What have you got to do with my brother?” She shakes her head. “What kind of deal do you have with him?” She stands up and glares at me, and her voice rises to a yell. “And why didn’t you tell me you know him? Why did you keep that a secret from me?”
I sit frozen in the chair. All this time I have been refusing to look honestly at the conflict I have brought on myself by getting close to her, treating her as a lover. I take pride in being brutally honest with myself, no matter how often I lie to others. This time I have been lying to myself. I have kept myself in a state of denial more intense than the worst alcoholic. Now I have to face reality.
I know I am not going to kill Katherine. Not now. Not ever. That leads inexorably to something else, and I cringe at first from admitting it, but then reluctantly turn and face it. If I am not going to kill her, I will have to tell her the truth. It is partly that any lie I tell her about her brother will probably come out sooner or later. But there is a deeper question as well, and I am dazzled by a sudden epiphany. For most of my years, or maybe even all of them, I have let life happen to me. I have lived in a bubble
that gave me the illusion of control; but all the time I have let events push me willy nilly, like a cork bobbing on a windy lake. Right now, for one fleeting moment, I have the opportunity to turn that around. I can say, I will do this, and fuck the consequences. As I make that decision another feeling sweeps through me. It is an unfamiliar one, and it take me a while to identify it. I have never actually felt brave before. It has always been a matter of doing what you need to do, and courage has nothing to do with it. Now, as I look at Katherine and accept my intention, I feel brave, and that feels good.
I gaze calmly up at Katherine.
“Please sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
Katherine sits and waits. So do I, my newfound courage threatening to slip away. I grab it by the nape of the neck and force it back into my chest.
“Your brother hired me to kill you,” I say. I wait for a reaction, but nothing shows. She just continues to look at me. Her eyes are calm. Finally she nods slightly.
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t do women.” As I say that, I realize it is true, too. The reason I have never killed a woman is not just that no one has ever asked me to. If someone did, I would refuse. Katherine was safe even before we met. I have no idea why I feel this way, but it is true, and I do not really care why. I accept it.
Katherine sits still for a long time, looking at me as if she is trying to see into my soul, or at least my mind.
“Why you?” she asks finally.
“Why me what?”
“Why did he ask you to kill me?”
“You’re just one on a list.”
“A list?” Her eyes grow wide and she cocks her head. “A list of people to kill?”
I nod.
“That’s what you do? For a living? You go around killing people?”
I nod again. I expect to see revulsion, and have to force myself not to look away from her, because I am being brave. What I see instead, incredibly, is surprise and curiosity, almost fascination.
“You whack people for money? How long have you been doing that?”
“A lot of years.” I am still trying to believe her reaction.
“Are you good at it?”
“I’m very good.”
“Wow,” she says, and shakes her head. She is silent for a moment, then says, “Do you just go after bad guys?”
I shrug. “Everybody is a bad guy to somebody.”
She nods. “Yeah. I guess I’m a bad guy to Eddie.”
“I guess you are.”
“But not to you?”
“Not to me.”
She shivers all over. “Wow,” she says again. “How did you get into it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“That means you don’t want to tell me.”
“Maybe some day.”
Katherine stands. Now she will tell me to go away and never come back. Now she will go to the telephone and call the police. She takes a few steps away from me, tugs at her hair with both hands, then turns back and sits down again. She holds herself erect, almost primly, and gazes at me intently, shaking her head slightly back and forth.
“What a conundrum. Half of me wants to run away as fast as I can. The other half is daring me to see how close I can get to you without burning up.” She laughs. It is a tight laugh, almost a giggle. “Like a moth in the dark.” She closes her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair again. “Or like Sheherezade. When I was a kid I loved The Thousand and One Nights. Now I get to live it. I’ll have to keep you fascinated and wondering what I’ll do next, just like she had to make up stories. I bet she felt just like I do, wanting to run, but fascinated by the challenge.
Her eyes pop open again and she takes a deep, noisy breath. Then she stands up.
“I’d still like to go to the aquarium if you would.”
“Why not?”
“But not today,” she says. “I need some time to digest things, you know?”
And I need time to adjust to what I have done, which draws me to the safety of my nest. I sit there now, in my chair by the window, waiting for my inner scold to start in on me, but it is in shock, too. Feelings ripple through me in all directions, but I have a hard time knowing what they are. I know anger when I feel it, even if I usually push it away as fast as it comes. Mainly I have spent a lifetime not having feelings, or at least not acknowledging them. But as I sit and fill myself with Bach and good brandy I begin to settle down, and the currents inside run more smoothly, and then I become aware of an incredible sense of lightness, as if I have just dropped a massive burden. As I let myself flow into that sensation I realize that it is true. For years I have kept my biggest secret to myself, carried it inside in a bag of blackest velvet. Now I have shared it, and cannot take it back; and as unsettling as it is to realize the risk I have taken, I also experience an overwhelming sense of relief.
Chapter 39
The following Monday I am on a flight to San Antonio, Texas. I plan to rent a car there and drive to Corpus Christi, which will take an hour and a half at most. I have not booked a return flight. I can do that after the job is done. This time there is no rush. I am in control.
I settle into my seat and rummage through the seat pocket in front of me for something to read. There is a month-old copy of Harpers that I have not seen before and I try to lose myself in it, but my mind refuses and insists instead on thinking about Katherine. I am not at all sure whether I am in control there. I have no idea what to call our relationship. There is a strong attraction, but I have no idea if it is love. The truth is, I am not sure I know how to love. I am still confused by her reaction to learning the truth about me, or at least the part of the truth she knows. I came close to asking her to take this trip with me. I did not, of course. It would have been incredibly irrational; but sitting in the airplane, staring out the window at nothing, a part of me wishes she were sitting beside me.
We did go to the aquarium, and spent half the day wandering through the displays, watching the otters and seals play, and generally enjoying being idle for a few hours. There is a tank of birds there, I am not sure what they are called, that can fly in the water as easily as they do in the air. The attendants tossed in several small fish while we watched. The fish swam in confused circles for a while, then seemed to settle down and make themselves at home. Then the birds swooped down on them and gobbled them up.
“They didn’t have a clue, did they?” Katherine said as the sudden feast ended. “They were just swimming around, living their lives, and bang.”
“A lot of life is like that,” I said, and she nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Death is the only thing that gives life any meaning. If you never had to die, how awful that would be. Either an eternity of boredom or an eternity of pain. That makes you an important player in the scheme of things. You ever think of that?”
I shook my head. I do what I do, and I don’t let myself be grandiose about it.
“Really. Knowing you have to die forces you to live while you have the chance. And not knowing when it will be all over for you, that just adds spice.” She gazed at me and nodded slowly. “That’s your job. You make life important, even for the bad guys.”
She said she was pretty sure there were two forces in the world, one giving life, and one giving death. “I guess you’re on the death side.”
“And maybe you’re just making excuses for me because you’ve gotten hooked on getting such good head.”
“Or maybe I’m falling in love with you.” Shaking her head slowly back and forth, then looking at me so intently she was almost squinting. “That would be way weird.”
Or maybe I’m falling in love with you, came unbidden into my thoughts, until I knocked it away with a hard mental slap.
As I think of that conversation my mind goes back to her house, with the pictures and books that deal with death. It makes me wonder if that is all our connection amounts to. I deal in death, and she is fasc
inated by it. She said I was on the death side. I wonder which side she takes in that struggle.
Katherine asked me again that day how I got started in this work, and I still could not answer her, but now I find myself thinking about it. I wonder if my life would have taken the direction it has if I had not thought I was in love with Donna so many years ago, and felt the need to kill her lover. Maybe killing is like making a lot of money—the first million dollars is the hardest, and it keeps getting easier after that. Certainly, killing Richard set me off on a period of directionless wandering that led me after a while to the small city of Galveston, on the Gulf Coast of Texas. I landed a job as a bartender and bouncer there, in a small club on the big pier. It was called Silvio’s, which was the name of the owner, Silvio Piesoli. That was the first time I used the name David Hyde. It just popped into my head. My old psychologist would probably say I was getting in touch with my own inner Mr. Hyde, but it doesn’t matter. Silvio was a pretty nice guy, good to work for. He never questioned me about my background or asked for any kind of identification. He did not even check to see if I knew how to mix a drink, but then most of the business was in beer and shots, so he probably did not care. He just said “David’s a nice name. You want to start tonight?” He had a daughter named Carmen, a classic dark beauty. I wanted in the worst way to take her to bed, and she would not have minded, I think. But Silvio wanted her to marry a nice Catholic Italian boy, and he made it clear to me on my first day of work that she was off limits.
Silvio had other deals going besides the club, most of which seemed to involve visits from a couple of other Italians and a Greek. They wore nice suits and drove big cars. One of them had a little too much to drink one evening and I escorted him to the door. He protested and I was about to toss him out on his ear when Silvio hustled over and told me to drop it. He apologized to the man and told him there were a few things I did not understand. Then, at closing, he called me into his little back office and told me to sit down.
“The man you tried to throw out,” he said. “That was Carlo Torrino. He is a sort of a business partner, and a very important man.” He paused for a moment, then gave me a look. “He’s connected. You know what I mean?”