Not Dead Yet

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER 36

  Gary took the man who called himself Kenneth Roberts down to Angelo's cafe, almost empty. Roberts chose a chair with a good view of the door.

  Gary rubbed his wrists, still sore from the handcuffs, feeling confused. One minute Roberts was pointing a gun at him, the next they were sitting in a cafe like great pals. But that incongruity didn't seem to bother the American, who looked very pleased with life. He obviously had quicksilver emotions - probably because he had none at all.

  Gary wondered how to kick off the conversation. Ask him how long he'd been a hitman? Or whether he'd done any interesting jobs recently? Maybe not. He chose a blander topic. "How do you like Sydney?"

  "Oh, you have a lovely city here. Lovely weather. Nice beaches. Good-looking women. But I'm getting a little homesick." He sounded like Rhett Butler again.

  "Really? Where, exactly, is home?"

  An airy wave of the hand. "The States."

  Gary smiled. "And I suppose Roberts isn't your real name?"

  A grin. "It is right now - and now is all that counts."

  A waitress appeared and they both ordered cappuccinos. Gary asked Roberts if he'd seen much of Sydney. He said he hadn't, so Gary recommended some good sights. Then he realised he'd probably never get another chance to have a friendly chat with a top-line hitman. Lots of questions begged for attention. "I don't want to sound rude but, ah, do you enjoy your work?"

  The hitman didn't seem annoyed. "You mean, killing people?"

  "Yes."

  A shrug. "I try not to enjoy it, because that distorts your judgment and is, well, pretty sick. You go down that road and you'll end up in a very dark place indeed. But, like anyone, I enjoy doing my job calmly and efficiently. That gives me satisfaction."

  Gary looked into his hard green eyes and sensed he'd strolled down that road many times and only just managed to stumble back. One day, he'd just keep walking.

  "And, just out of curiosity, how do you usually kill your targets?"

  A small diseased smile. "The easiest way possible - gun, knife, rope, whatever's best - unless, of course, the client makes a special request."

  "What do you mean?"

  The All-American hitman smiled slightly. "Sometimes the client says the target must know that he's dying and why he's dying, and be screaming in pain. Those hits cost extra."

  Gary wondered why the killer was being so forthcoming and realised he was warning Gary to behave. Not necessary.

  As the waitress brought their coffee, the solicitor, Terry Fraser, strolled into the cafe. Gary hoped he wouldn't notice them. But he headed towards their table, smiling like a game-show host.

  "Hello, Gary. I've been trying to contact you. Where have you been?"

  "Away doing a job."

  He nodded at the bandage on Gary's right hand. "What happened to your hand?"

  "Lost my little finger."

  "How?"

  "Chopping up a steak."

  "Ouch. I didn't know you could cook."

  Gary held up his right hand. "I can't - that's why this happened."

  "Hah." Terry looked inquiringly at Kenneth Roberts, and Gary introduced them to each other. The two men shook hands.

  "Pleased to meet you," Roberts said with a cheesy grin.

  "Likewise. You're obviously from the US?"

  "Yes, just visiting. Pull up a chair and have coffee with us."

  Gary hoped Terry would decline. But Terry loved meeting people, especially those who looked prosperous.

  "OK," Terry said and sat down. As he did, his mobile phone played a few bars from the William Tell overture. He pulled it out and turned it off. "Sorry, I'm a lawyer and my clients won't leave me alone."

  Roberts grinned. "I know how you feel. Mine are always ringing up to find out if I've finished a job. It's a pain in the butt."

  Roberts glanced slyly at Gary, who admired the guy's chutzpah and suppressed a giggle.

  Terry said: "Really? What sort of work do you do?"

  "I'm a corporate recruiter."

  "A head-hunter?"

  "Yes." Another smile flitted across his face, like a black crow.

  "What're you doing Down Under?"

  "I've got a job to do."

  "Head-hunting?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know Gary?"

  "Oh, we have some mutual friends."

  Terry recently took his family on a holiday to the United States and listed some of the places they visited. Roberts said he'd been to some, but gave no hint as to where he actually lived. When Roberts said he'd been to Disneyland in Anaheim, Gary wondered why he went there: to assassinate Mickey Mouse, or maybe Goofy?

  Roberts asked Terry if he was interested in the stock market and Terry revealed he had a sizeable equity portfolio. They dove into an animated discussion about the effect on stock prices of shifting paradigms, distribution curves and black swan events. Terry thought it was time to bail out of the market; Roberts wasn't so sure.

  Eventually, the American glanced at his Rolex. "Well gentlemen, I've got another engagement; I should get moving." He rose and looked down at Gary. "I'll wait for your email."

  "You'll get it," Gary said with more confidence than he felt.

  The two men watched Roberts disappear out the door.

  Terry said: "An interesting guy."

  "Yes, very interesting. Guess what he really does for a living?"

  "What?"

  "He kills people."

  Terry looked stunned. "No shit?"

  "No shit at all. He's a professional killer."

  "How do you know that?"

  "He told me."

  "And you believed him?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "My hands were cuffed and he was pointing a gun at my head."

  "Jesus. Glad you didn't tell me that earlier. I'd have crapped in my pants. How do you know him?"

  "Our paths crossed during an investigation."

  "I hope you're not employing him."

  "Hah, even if I wanted to, I couldn't afford him."

  "What's he doing out here?"

  "Working, of course."

  "You mean, he's gonna kill someone?"

  "When he finds the guy."

  "Shit."

  "Don't worry, his target's a very bad dude - scum of the earth."

  "Then I wish him luck."

  "You do? You're a lawyer - what about due process?"

  "Fuck that. We spend too much time molly-coddling criminals. Most of the bastards need a bullet in the back of the head." Terry shook his head ruefully: "An assassin huh? Well, apart from that, he seemed like a nice guy."

  When Terry left, Gary pulled out the business card Roberts gave him. It said: "Kenneth Roberts, Corporate Recruitment". At the bottom was an e-mail address.