Diary of an Assassin

by Methos, Victor

  Not to mention the money that would trickle in every month from the inmates. Payment for protection or for a blind eye to drug activities was something that had always occurred and he felt no guilt over being a part of it. One time, however, a man had been killed on his watch because he had been paid to be elsewhere. He had thought it was for drug business, but instead a group of inmates had stabbed a man to death. For that he felt some guilt, but assured that the man was scum, he conceded that he deserved to die.

  Gy passed the small farm that neighbored his home and glanced inside before pulling into his driveway. He had no garage but it didn’t matter, as it rarely snowed. He took his chocolates and his cash and got out.

  As he walked along his driveway to the moderately sized home, he saw something out of the corner of his eye on the sidewalk. It was a pinpoint of red in the darkness, and it would go up and burn bright and then lower and grow dim. It was a cigarette.

  Gy pulled out the knife he kept with him and put the chocolate and the money down on the steps of his porch. He walked over to the man, who was clearly standing on his property. As he neared, he could make out his face in the moonlight.

  “You!” he spit.

  “Oui,” Gustav said, “me. How are you, Gy?”

  “I’m going to cut your balls off and then call the police and have you thrown back into your hole. We’re going to have some fun there, you and I.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll want to do that. You may want to try to stop the bleeding while you can.”

  “What bleeding?”

  Gustav smiled and Gy’s eyes went wide. “No!”

  Gy turned and ran for the house. He stood at the doorway and saw what had occurred inside. Dropping to his knees, he began to weep.

  He screamed and jumped up. He sprinted at Gustav, tears running down his cheeks. He swung with the knife, aiming directly for the throat. Gustav stepped out of the way as if he were a child avoiding a bee. He jabbed his fingers into Gy’s throat and then slammed his fist into his temple before striking full force into the nerve near the armpit. Gy’s arm went dead as Gustav swept his legs out and stood over him.

  “I thought about this day a lot, Gy, my friend. I thought: would it be better to kill you or simply let you live with the death of your family? I decided it would be better to let you live. I think you will destroy yourself with alcohol and prostitutes and perhaps even kill yourself when you realize truly what you’ve lost. So it is, as the Americans say, your lucky day.”

  Gustav left him on the sidewalk crying, a grin on his face as he walked back to the car.

  CHAPTER 19

  Rhett drove over a hundred miles per hour as they sped down the freeway. It only lasted a minute or two before they hit traffic and had to slow down. Then they would speed up as long as they could before having to slow again.

  Stephanie sat next to him, in shock and shivering. Rhett took off his sports coat and placed it on her.

  “I don’t…I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “We can worry about that later. I need to get you out of here right now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “A place I know, upstate.”

  She shook her head. “I need to call my husband.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she said confused.

  “Look at me.” She wasn’t responding and Rhett gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Look at me…your husband can’t help you. The police can’t help you. These people don’t care about laws or morality. They don’t feel pity for you. They don’t care. They have a job to do and are being paid a lot of money to do it. If they fail, not only do they lose this contract, they will never be hired again. You’re worth too much for them to leave you alone.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “I don’t know. But I may know someone that can find out.”

  It was a five-hour drive to upstate New York. The weather alternated between sunshine and a gray, dismal rain. They were near Palmyra now, famous because the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith had a divine vision there. But other than the Mormons, no one cared about this area of the state. It was little more than farmland and forests. Rhett never quite felt like this was New York.

  Getting off an exit a few miles past Palmyra, they stopped at a gas station. Rhett got out to pump and glanced inside the car. Stephanie was staring at the dashboard unblinkingly. She had lost color in her face and he could see that her hands were trembling. He went inside and bought her bottled water and some fruit to help steady her nerves.

  “Here,” he said, getting back into the car.

  “Thanks.” She opened the water and took a few sips as they pulled away. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Isaac.”

  “Isaac, did you kill those men?”

  “Yes.”

  “You just killed them, just like that?”

  “Would you rather I let them kill you?”

  She shook her head. As they drove, she stared out the window at the passing farmhouses and would linger a long time on the horses.

  “I grew up with horses. I worked at some stables when I was younger and I’d spend all day with them. I’d brush them before shows and make sure they had all their medication. They were so…human. They had personalities. If you just spent enough time with them, they would open up to you.”

  “Stephanie, you have one chance to live. You need to do everything I say when I say it. This isn’t a democracy, this is a dictatorship. You’re putting my life at risk too. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Please say it.”

  “I understand. I do what you say when you say it.” She looked to him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Does your wife know you kill people to protect strangers?”

  Rhett was about to ask how she knew he was married when he realized she’d seen his wedding ring. He touched it lightly, twisting it on his finger. “She passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “Any idea why someone would have a contract out on you?”

  “No. I’m almost never home. Most of my time’s spent in Washington. Do you think…it could be my husband?”

  “Is your husband wealthy?”

  “No.”

  “Then it couldn’t be him. The company I work for—worked for—doesn’t pay less than half a million per contract. That means they’re probably paid double that for the initial retainer. This is bigger than a domestic dispute.”

  “You work with these people?”

  “I used to. But not anymore.”

  “You were a…”

  “I killed people for money.”

  She swallowed and looked away, out the window again. “Why are you helping me? Really?”

  “You remind me of someone, and no one was there to help her when she really needed it.”

  “How do I know you’re not still working for them?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, I’ve had a dozen opportunities. This is the exit.”

  They pulled off the freeway and into an intersection that led up a road with several farms. Turning down another road past a herd of cattle that was fenced off with an electrified fence, they followed a dirt road up and over a hill before coming to a gate on their left. Rhett got out of the car and retrieved a key from his pocket for the gate. He drove the car through and then got out to lock the gate again, glancing down both sides of the road before getting back in.

  Up another dirt path was an old farmhouse. It was like something out of the nineteenth century. White exterior with a big unfenced yard and an old red barn about a hundred meters south of it. Rhett parked under an apple tree and stepped out. He opened the door for Stephanie and helped her out as his eyes darted around in search of anything that may be out of place.

  “Where are we?” she said.

  “It used to be my grandparents’ place.”

  They walked along the gravel road t
hat curved up to the farmhouse. Rhett unlocked it and they went inside. The home was one story with a Dutch oven in the living room. One entire wall was glass and looked out onto the orchard of apple and peach trees. The kitchen and bedrooms were off to the side.

  “Nobody knows about this place,” he said. “Just make sure not to call anybody from the landline. You shouldn’t use your cell phone either.”

  “I have to make calls. I have appearances I’m supposed to be at, meetings, people are going to think I’ve disappeared.”

  “You have disappeared. No calls. You said you would do as I say. If not, you can be on your own.”

  “Fine, no calls.”

  “There’s no food here. I’m going to run up to the store. I should be back in half an hour.”

  She nodded as he walked out the door. Rhett locked it behind him and did a quick run of the property. He checked the barn, and the work shed that was behind the home. He stood quietly for a long time and just listened. When he was satisfied that no one else was here, he got into his car and passed through the gate. As he locked it, he looked down both sides of the road and realized they couldn’t stay here long. They would find them here. They would go through all his records and every single one of his relative’s, and hers too. They would check everywhere just to be sure.

  As he pulled away, he glanced into his rearview mirror and saw Stephanie at the window, staring out at him.

  CHAPTER 20

  Rhett turned on the radio as he drove and then turned it off when he found he couldn’t concentrate with it on. The farmlands that surrounded him were comforting, reminding him of his childhood.

  Though he remembered little of his parents, his grandparents stood out in his mind as the kindest people he ever knew. He couldn’t remember a single instance of his grandfather getting angry with him or anyone else.

  His grandparents were Mormon and had lived in rural Alaska for most of their lives. They had moved out here to be closer to the large community of Mormons that had made upstate New York their home. After having five children, including Rhett’s mother, they retired and worked their farm, making just enough money to get by. Though they didn’t have many luxuries, Rhett couldn’t remember a happier home.

  His parents would come up from Philadelphia and drop him off here throughout the year for long stretches of time. Occasionally for more than six months. School was off and on so his grandparents took it upon themselves to educate him. He would study history and math and religion outside under the apple trees when it was warm, and inside by the fire when the snow was pouring down.

  The most vivid memory he had of his grandfather was after Rhett had gotten into a fistfight with some of the local boys. He came home bloodied and bruised, and as his grandmother got some ice and aspirin out of the kitchen, his grandfather, a hulking man from a lifetime of physical labor, sat him down in the front room and looked him in the eyes.

  “Why did you fight those boys?”

  “They were calling me names and one of them took my hat.”

  “Isaac, I used to fight too. I used to be under Satan’s influence. I would get drunk and I would fight and I would womanize. And you know what it brought me? Nothing. Nothing but unhappiness. Every action you make affects your happiness. I’m not saying not to fight. Sometimes you have to show the world that you’re not playing around. But do you really want to lose your life over a hat? Let it go, son. You just let some things go.”

  Rhett had never forgotten that. It gave him perspective and an even temperament. Life was too short to worry about petty insults.

  The grocery store, a small family-owned place called Mark’s Mart, was empty except for a single elderly woman shopping for fruit. Rhett took a cart and began filling it with food and toiletries. He stood in front of the magazine rack and wondered what Stephanie would read. He ended up choosing Cosmo and The Economist and put them in the cart as well.

  As he was checking out, the old man behind the counter saw him and smiled.

  “Isaac, how have you been?”

  “Hi, Mr. Fielding.”

  “You don’t have to call me Mr. Fielding anymore but I appreciate that. Wow, look at you. You know, I haven’t seen you since you were eighteen years old. You got your granddad’s good looks.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So what have you been up to?”

  “Just work.”

  “You married? Any kids?”

  “No.”

  “You gotta have kids, Isaac. They’re the meaning of life.”

  “I’ve heard. How’s the grocery business?”

  “Ah, that damn Wal-Mart got built up the road a little ago and they’re killing us. I’m gonna be closing up shop soon. I just can’t sell as cheap ’cause my produce is fresh from the ground that day. You’d figure people would want better quality. But who the hell knows? Maybe things’ll swing back the other way.” He began bagging the groceries. “Boy I miss your granddad. He was a good man. Anybody around here had any problems, he was there like lightning to help out. People ain’t really like that no more.”

  “I miss him too.”

  “So your grandma told me all them years ago, you got into the CIA? Is that right?”

  Rhett blushed. He had told his grandparents not to say anything to anyone. He could picture his grandmother, gushing with pride, unable to control bragging to someone about her only grandson.

  “That was a different lifetime ago.”

  “So what d’ya do now?”

  “Government work.”

  “Well you need anything you come ask me, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  As Rhett pulled away, he glanced into the store and saw Mark Fielding helping the old woman choose her fruit. That kind of life, his grandparents’ life, didn’t exist anymore. Rhett was mature enough now that he felt old age creeping on him and he longed for simpler times and simpler people.

  He began driving back to the house, and turned on the radio to a classical station.

  CHAPTER 21

  Vanessa Hailstorm sat outside the terminals at JFK and waited for an attendant to grab her car. She had been traveling now for thirty-six hours straight with no sleep other than a quick nap she could grab here and there.

  She was glad to be out of Paris. Though she enjoyed Europe’s old architecture, as she would enjoy a museum, she didn’t feel France had much else to offer. The United States was where she felt most at home. She didn’t understand the French insistency on relaxed moods, the long meals that would stretch over a couple of hours, the view that life should be easy. She had to be constantly moving, constantly working, and she felt right at home in someplace like Manhattan or Los Angeles.

  For a long time, she thought of herself as extremely driven and felt that working eighteen-hour days was simply what driven people did. A man she had been dating—he wanted to make it more serious, and she had rejected him—had told her that she worked so much because she was running from something. That she simply wasn’t courageous enough to settle down.

  Dating…Vanessa suddenly remembered she had set a date for tonight. She sighed as she checked her watch. She could cancel, but she was starving anyway, as she refused to eat plane food. She might as well eat with someone else there.

  When she got her car, she hopped onto the Van Wyck Expressway heading toward Manhattan. People crowded the streets and it was just cold enough that faint steam rose from the sewers. When she was little, she remembered that the steam would billow out of the manhole covers like massive plumes of smoke. But lately, over the past twenty years, that had changed and, somehow, they didn’t steam as much in cold weather.

  The Blue Fin was in the busiest section of New York: Times Square. Usually, Times Square lacked any good restaurants, but Blue Fin wasn’t bad for seafood and sushi. Still, she wished her date had picked anywhere but Times Square. Tonight she wanted to eat by candlelight somewhere quiet and then go home and take a long, hot bath before sleeping for fourteen hours.

  Sh
e used the valet and went inside. The restaurant was beautifully decorated and had a warm, golden glow. One wall by the staircase appeared raked over, like fingers through warm sand. The man she was here to see was slouching at a booth and he waved her over.

  “He’s with me,” she said to the hostess before going over.

  The man rose and kissed her hand, causing her to nearly roll her eyes.

  “How are you?” he said.

  “Exhausted, but I’ll manage. How are you, Dave?” she said as she sat down.

  “Better now. I called you earlier about the show and got your voicemail.”

  “What show?”

  “We’re going to Rock of Ages? Remember, we discussed it last week.”

  “Oh, right. Dave, I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours. Do you mind if we just have dinner and call it a night?”

  He glanced down, playing with a glass of wine he had in front of him. “Sure. I guess.”

  “I hate when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Pout. Just tell me how you feel.”

  “I already bought the tickets and I was looking forward to it. How do you think I feel?”

  “Well take someone else. I’m sure you’ve got other women lined up after me.”

  He shook his head. “Boy you really do have ice in those veins, don’t you?”

  She exhaled. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. How about this weekend we go up to Cape Cod and get a little cabin.”

  “That sounds great,” he said with a grin.

  When the waitress came Vanessa ordered an appetizer and several dishes of sushi. She leaned back in the booth and felt sleep coming over her under the warmth of the lights. As she turned to find the waitress and order a Diet Coke, her cell phone buzzed.