Skillful Death

by Ike Hamill

  I put my hand in my pocket and feel the wad of bills there.

  “How much money?” I ask.

  “I don’t remember,” he says.

  I don’t have to manufacture the anger that crosses my face. I’m getting very annoyed, very quickly. “How much?” I ask, rising to my feet.

  “Five grand,” he says. “In hundreds and fifties.”

  That’s exactly the sum I have in my pocket. I’m going to give it to this guy when we turn him loose so he doesn’t hold a grudge for being picked up and dragged out to the suburbs. It’s as much as he would earn in a week, so it seems about fair.

  “And how long ago was this?” I ask.

  “Six months,” he says.

  “And the bald guy—give me more of a description,” I say.

  He’s beginning to panic now. He senses that he shouldn’t be telling me any of this; that one way or another, he’s putting himself at great risk by conveying this information. He also seems to know that not telling me could be equally as harmful.

  “Uh, I don’t remember much about him. He was fairly non-descript. He was completely bald, or his head was shaven. He wasn’t very tall, maybe five foot seven. He was skinny, but had broad shoulders. He looked old.”

  “How old?”

  “I don’t know. He was wrinkled, but he had one of those timeless faces. Could have been sixty? Seventy? He moved very fluidly though. No limp or anything, so maybe younger.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “I don’t remember. Really, I don’t.”

  I take a step forward so I’m nearly hovering over him now. I’m going to give him the money, but I think he sees my hand moving towards my pocket as a threat.

  “Blue shirt!” he yells. “He had on a blue shirt with fancy cuffs. I remember thinking that he looked like one of those old ‘nothing up my sleeve’ guys, you know?”

  I know exactly what kind of shirt he means.

  29 RIVER

  THE BENCH SWAYED AS the wagon bounced down the road. The swinging lantern sometimes illuminated the trees above or the passing ground below, but it rarely gave the horses or men a better sense of the road ahead. Constantine waited for his moment, but the grip of the men on either side of him remained strong.

  They rode south, down the Yarrow road, to where the road petered out at the edge of a bamboo grove. The moon was high overhead. It lit the roiling river.

  The men dragged the flailing boy to the edge of the road and then down the sharp bank to the edge of the fast-flowing water. Up on the road, the horses stamped and champed, made nervous by the sounds from the bamboo.

  The man on the right switched his grip and pressed a short knife into Constantine’s back. The boy’s feet nearly touched the water. The river was fast, wide, and deep. It cut a steep trench through the land and the men stood on a thin ledge, holding Constantine over the water. The man on the right pulled his blade up Constantine’s back, slicing away his fancy new suit.

  The knife disappeared and the men pulled at the suit, peeling it away from the boy. Constantine flailed and screamed. With his suit removed, the men gripped his arms and then counted. When they reached three, Constantine found himself flying through the air towards the glittery black surface of the river.

  Men told stories about this river, about the things that lived in these rushing waters. Linger too long on the shore, and hungry hands would slither out of the water on elastic arms and pull you back into the depths. Fish caught in this river would reassemble themselves in your belly and eat their way out of your stomach. The water itself was so poisonous that simply breathing in the fumes would drive a man into a deep coma. The moon danced on the oily black turbulence.

  Constantine knew his life was over as he flew through the air.

  The men watched the boy thrash as he was pulled into the main current. He struggled back to the surface once, and then twice, before his submerged form was swept so far downstream that they lost him to the darkness. With only steep banks topped with thick bamboo, the boy could be counted amongst the victims of the river.

  30 STAYING

  EVERYTHING CHANGED FOR DOM that night, but he didn’t realize it until the next day. He went back to the mine. At the little house where the foreman sat in the morning, Dom knocked on the window. Instead of greeting him, head down, refusing to look him in the eye, the foreman rushed out to Dom.

  “Sir, I was wondering if I might have my job back?” Dom asked.

  “No!” the foreman said, smiling into Dom’s eyes. “You have other things to do.”

  The foreman took Dom’s hand and led him by the elbow back to the street.”

  “Boy,” the foreman said, addressing a boy who wheeled a cart full of carbide rocks. “Take Dom to the cafe and introduce him to Tashi.”

  The boy dropped his cart and grabbed Dom’s pinky before taking off at a run. Dom shuffled behind the boy, at risk of losing his little finger. He typically went a week before touching the skin of another human, and then it was usually just Pemba, but today he had already been touched by three different people. Dom was both shocked and pleased at his good fortune.

  When they reached the cafe, which Dom could have found on his own, the boy led the way between the tables to the back, where a fat man sat reading a newspaper and eating pastry.

  The boy didn’t speak, but pushed Dom towards the man before running away.

  The man, presumably Tashi, regarded Dom and then pointed him to a seat.

  “You’re the bear?” the man asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Dom said. “My name is Dom.”

  “Who gave you this name?”

  “Denpa,” Dom said.

  “And this name is true?”

  “I never thought about it,” Dom said. “He said that he gave me the name because when I was a child, I growled whenever I was unhappy, and growled in a different way whenever I was content.”

  “My name is Tashi,” the man said. “And you can see that it’s true.” He swept a hand towards his expensive garb, and his surroundings. “You will need to dress more appropriately if you expect to work in expensive homes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Jetsan, Tara’s uncle, came to me and told me that you needed help developing your business. Then I spoke with Chogyal. You put pipes into his home?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s satisfied with your work. His family is thrilled with it. Do you know the difference? Do you know why Chogyal would be merely satisfied, while his family is thrilled?”

  “No?”

  “It is because his family did not do business with you. They merely experienced the product of your labor. People come to Chogyal and they say to him, ‘Who put these magic pipes into your house? How can I get them in my house?’ And do you know what Chogyal says to them?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He says, ‘I paid a street person to do the work.’”

  “Oh,” Dom said. He looked down at his feet. In the village, a street person was not fit to take away garbage. People would rather do without a service than have a street person attend to it.

  “Do you see the problem with your business?”

  “I think so,” Dom said.

  “Then tell me—what is the problem with your business?”

  “People don’t respect me, so they don’t respect my work,” Dom said.

  “That’s quite well said. How many referrals do you suppose you’ve received from your work at Chogyal’s house?”

  “None,” Dom said.

  “None. That’s exact. You are quite perceptive when you choose to be. So what would you do to fix the problem with your plumbing business?”

  “I don’t know,” Dom said.

  “It’s quite simple,” Tashi said. The man looked at Dom for a second and then took another bite of his pastry. He chewed slowly and returned his gaze to his newspaper. After a second, he turned the page and snapped the paper, so it nearly blocked his face from Dom.

  Dom looked around the cafe
. He had passed it many times, but had never set foot inside. It had tall ceilings and arched windows way up high which let in a nice breeze. Elegant tables and high-backed chairs took up most of the floor, but a more comfortable couch sat along one wall. At the back of the cafe, a counter divided the patrons from the staff, and a narrow passage allowed traffic. When Dom looked to the counter, a waiter appeared and hurried over.

  “May I take your order, sir?” the waiter asked Dom.

  “No, thank you,” Dom said. He thought about his meager savings, all the money he’d saved to run away, and wondered how much of it he would spend on a single meal. A quarter? Half? The question was academic. He had left his money back at his apartment when he’d decided to try to get his job back.

  The waiter shuffled away and Tashi snapped his paper again.

  Dom replayed the conversation in his head and tried to decide if he should leave. Tashi had asked if he knew what to do, and then said it was quite simple.

  “What should I do?” Dom asked.

  “Hmmm?” Tashi asked.

  “What should I do to fix the problem with my plumbing business?”

  “Ah,” Tashi said. He folded his paper and set it down on the table. “I’m glad you asked. Until a person asks for help, you cannot be sure that they have the necessary desire to fix their problem. What your plumbing business needs is perceived value.”

  Dom nodded.

  “Do you know how to create perceived value for your business?”

  “No,” Dom said. “I thought the value of running water in the house would be self-evident.”

  “That it is. You are correct. That is the perceived value of the result. But, what of your business? You are coming to install something that nobody has heard of. They’re likely to consider your work to be magic. Who would you want to practice magic in your house? A street person?”

  “No.”

  “No. That’s exact. If a street person comes in and performs magic in your house, it’s likely to bring evil. Over time, Chogyal has warmed a bit to your work, but he still would not recommend it. All we need to do is to present you as a master builder, successful and beneficial, and people will happily recommend your work. Do you understand?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Good. We will call you Torma, and of course we’ll need to fix all this,” he said as he waved at Dom’s body. “Then people will regard you with awe and respect. I will take forty percent of your gross.”

  Dom found himself nodding as he thought about the prospect, but then the math occurred to him. “Wait. I can’t give you forty percent of gross. My profit is less than that. I will owe money for each job if I give you forty percent.”

  Tashi smiled. “You’re brighter than I was told. So much the better. When we have finished recreating your reputation, you’ll find your margins much healthier. But, to your point, we will start at fifty percent of profit and renegotiate after one-hundred days.”

  “Twenty-five percent of profit, or I’ll go hungry,” Dom said.

  “You understand that I’ll be fronting all the money to improve your wardrobe and your reputation, yes? How am I to earn on my investment at twenty-five percent?”

  “You will earn nothing if I starve to death in one-hundred days of giving half my profit to you.”

  “I will not take you on at a salary, if that’s what you expect,” Tashi said. “You would not have any incentive to excel if you’re simply salaried. You can go back to the mines, if that’s what you expect.”

  Dom thought about his savings, and his future. After seeing Tara again, and having dinner with her family, he’d decided quickly to abort his plan to leave. Regardless of the box she carried, and regardless of the promise she’d made to the boy in the mountains, Dom wanted to see what the future held with her. He’d considered not working at all—living from his savings as he attempted to court Tara—but he knew that no girl would respect him if he was unemployed. That’s why he’d gone back to the mine to try to beg his job back.

  But the mine would leave him little free time for courting. Working there, he would always be sore and tired whenever he got the chance to see Tara. If he went back to plumbing, he would have more time and energy to spend on her. This could be the opportunity Dom was looking for, but he didn’t want to become a slave to Tashi. Men like him, with their luxury and wealth, earned their money from the sweat of people like Dom. Tashi didn’t want to pay a salary, and Dom didn’t want to see all his profit disappear into Tashi’s newspapers and pastries.

  “I understand you want to recover your investment, but I would rather take a salary at the mine than watch half my profit disappear forever.”

  Tashi’s face began to harden at the center as he spoke. “With a word to the management of the mine, I can relieve you of the choice.”

  “No need,” Dom said. “You don’t need to go to the trouble. I have another proposal. You’ll take seventy-five percent of profit.”

  Tashi’s face began to soften in preparation for a smile.

  “Until your initial investment is completely recovered,” Dom said. “And then, once the debt is satisfied, you’ll receive twenty-five percent of profit and a commission for each new job you refer.”

  “You have a shrewd mind for business, Torma,” Tashi said. Dom tried to imagine the name belonging to him, and failed. He still thought of himself as Dom—the bear. “I accept your terms, but at thirty-five percent after the investment is recovered.”

  “Thirty,” Dom said.

  “Deal.”

  31 TORMA

  IN THREE SHORT DAYS, Dom found his life transformed. He carried a ledger—a duplicate of a ledger carried by Tashi—which showed all the expenses he’d incurred. He had wildly underestimated how much money the transformation would require, and despaired at the thought of how long it would take to pay back.

  The results were indisputable. Dom found himself with professional clothes. He looked like half businessman, half magician. His professional tools were efficient and shiny instead of the weathered tools he kept in an oily pouch. He had a new, powerful name. Tashi re-introduced him to Chogyal, and suddenly the man became proud of the fixtures in his house.

  Tashi took Dom (Torma) and Chogyal to lunch with a few new prospects, and Chogyal praised the wonders of modern plumbing as he ate and drank on Tashi’s account. Dom’s new clients received the information about plumbing as if they were being granted the secret to accessing a wonderful new world. They plied Dom (Torma) with questions, not about the technical details of installation, but only of the benefits of fresh water. It seemed they had already sold themselves on the idea, and were bolstering the arguments that they’d present to their neighbors and wives.

  With all the expensive meals required to lure new customers, the ledger grew long and worked its way into Dom’s dreams. The dreams competed with those he still had about Tara. Beautiful Tara, for whom he’d decided to stay, remained somehow outside of his grasp. He hadn’t seen her once since their dinner. All his time went into meetings with clients and Tashi, and endless shopping trips. The ledger grew and grew.

  On the fourth day after his dinner with Tara’s extended family, Dom (Torma) found himself working as an upscale plumber. He didn’t have any materials yet, but he had his tools, so he worked to prepare the giant house for the new pipes.

  At Tashi’s direction, Dom (Torma) didn’t arrive at sunrise. When he’d worked as a plumber before, he would always arrive as soon as the morning light found the windows. Tashi informed him that only servants arrived at dawn. Professional men arrived after they’d slept in and eaten a leisurely breakfast. Dom dressed in his fancy clothes and sat on his bed until Tashi’s appointed time and then found his way to the client’s house. He arrived just as the man of the house left to attend to his business. They passed in the house’s garden, as if they were colleagues headed to separate meetings. The man was dressed in his business suit and Dom (Torma) wore his fancy clothes, carrying his carved box of shiny tools.


  At Tashi’s direction, Dom (Torma) was careful to keep himself neat and clean during the day. He stopped to sweep up any dust, always brushed off his knees when he stood, and never left a room unless it looked as good as when he’d arrived. With this new process, getting anything done took forever, but he found himself enjoying the role. He took his lunch on the patio, and the woman who worked in the kitchen brought him lemon water to accompany his meal.

  In the late afternoon, when other business people began to return home, Dom (Torma) cleaned his final area and said his goodbyes. While still dressed in his fancy clothes, he stopped at a specialty shop and chose a pouch of tobacco that the clerk said was “Exquisite.” Dom had the clerk affix a tasteful black bow and then he walked to Tara’s aunt’s house. Tashi would receive a healthy reward for his help, but Dom had not yet thanked Jetsan, Tara’s uncle.

  Dom waited in the foyer while Chodren fetched the man.

  Jetsan led him into the front room and offered him a seat.

  Dom perched, rather than sat. He didn’t want to stay and impose himself on dinner.

  “I want to thank you for helping me establish my business and linking me with Tashi,” Dom said. He held out the small pouch of tobacco. “I hope you’ll enjoy this gift.”

  Jetsan took the small pouch and bounced it in his hand.

  “Thank you, Dom,” Jetsan said. “I appreciate the gesture, but it’s completely unnecessary. As for Tashi, I’m not sure you will thank me in the end. The man is quite shrewd, and you’ll be lucky to gain more than stature, being linked with him. He’d sooner scale a mountain than share a penny.”

  “Oh,” Dom said. His agreement with Tashi suddenly felt complicated and unsettled. He clutched his ledger closer to his side.

  Jetsan smiled.

  “You have other, more pressing business at my house?”