Malachi, Ruse Master

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

  The old man was still waiting on the bench, for what, I don’t know. I wondered if he lived there. This was not unheard of in D.C., but it would not have happened back home.

  He waved at me and smiled, as if I was an old friend appearing out of the blue. “Hey! How’s it going?” He smiled, exposing a silver tooth.

  “Alright. Alright.” I put my hands in my pocket like I’d seen older men do when they stand around and shoot the breeze. He reached into a basket on his rusty bicycle and returned with a squirt bottle and a rag.

  “Where’s your car? I clean the windows for you.”

  Immediately, I shied away. “Um, I don’t have any money today. In between jobs, you know what I mean?” Besides, the old guy smelled of sweat and whiskey. Still, he was friendly and unassuming.

  “Yes, I do,” he answered. “Why else would I be doin’ this? I tell you what, this one’s on the house. And that is literal, my friend. I am the house. I live in this body. That’s what I can rely on.” He chuckled. “Anyway, it’s a slow day.”

  I walked toward my car. “Okay, thanks then.”

  He began wiping my windshield and whistling a cheery tune I did not recognize. “Why you’re not in college, young man?”

  “It’s not for me.”

  “Ah, that’s okay. It’s not for everyone. I got a nephew, he went down to University of Georgia. Haven’t seen him in a while. I think he’s doing real good. I hope the job thing works out for ya’.”

  “Thanks, Mr.—”

  “Call me Otis. I’m around here all the time.”

  “Good. I’ll pay you next time, Otis. I promise.”

  “Thanks, young man. I hope the job works out.”

  Chapter 3

  Girlfriend Blues

  I knew it wouldn’t be too easy having a girlfriend while working such a job. Duplicity would need to become a way of life. Nonetheless, I was still a straight, nineteen-year-old. In the interim, between jobs, I grew restless. I still wanted to have a life, you know. While I waited to hear from Jack, I needed to fill my time.

  People often questioned whether or not I was straight. I had taken up poetry readings, and though I sometimes would go and read some poetry, I didn’t go to read. I just went to listen. It could have been because I was thin and my hair was thick, dark, and usually perfect, if I may say so myself. People thought I could not be straight. Mind you, I didn’t dress perfectly. That didn’t matter though. I was also the only one at the poetry readings who didn’t smoke.

  Her name was Macie, and she brought her two friends over and sat next to me after asking my permission. I was drinking a double machiatto, and they ordered beers. A young man with hair like He-man and plenty of baby fat was reciting a ballad of dragons. It was quite amusing. This place never disappointed me, and no one looked twice at me when I came in alone.

  Macie, a young girl with soft blond hair and a pristine, aristocratic nose, looked like she could be a movie star if she wore more makeup. Not that she needed it. She took a liking to me and started asking me for fashion advice. Did I look that fashionable? I had a flannel shirt and blue jeans on. Her shirt was very loud and bright, and her friend was making fun of it. What did I care that it was bright? It accentuated her body quite well, and I said so.

  “Well, that proves one of us wrong,” she claimed with a smile, eyeing her friend.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Jaclyn thought you were gay. I wanted to prove her wrong.” She twisted her long, bouncy blond hair around her left thumb and forefinger.

  “Well, no. I’m definitely straight.”

  “Good,” she said, sidling up closer to me.

  It was to be the beginning of a fun relationship that outgrew itself quickly. Not to mention, I was a little embarrassed to take her to my place.

  Nonetheless, that is where she ended up the next evening. We had met up again at an open mic night. I normally would offer a song on open-mic night, but not anymore. Two-bit celebrity would not pay me like this job with Jack could. Anyhow, we had a great conversation about what was going on in the world with politics, women’s rights, and Seinfeld. She was really a fan as well, and neither of us had been ready for his exit from Primetime. So far, so good.

  How could I turn her down when she wanted to come to my place? This was an impulse I’d have to train myself against. You can learn a lot about a person by experiencing their home, and I was putting myself in a situation where I would have to lie right away.

  I had moved out of the co-op in Georgetown and into a man named Henry’s basement in the outskirts of Washington D.C. Sneaking Macie in was fairly easy. The landlord had made it clear he didn’t want parties going on, and, well, time with Macie could be considered a party in his eyes.

  The house was dark, so I know Henry must be sleeping.

  “We just have to be fairly quiet. I’m not allowed to have parties,” I whispered.

  She smiled slyly.

  “Oh, and, it’s not really that neat. If I had known you were coming over, I would have really cleaned it up.” It was a little white lie, or more accurately, a huge one. “I wasn’t expecting this,” I added, truthfully.

  I showed her to the couch and excused myself for the bathroom, where I had to pick up yesterday’s socks and underwear from the floor. Quickly, I stuffed them under the sink. The hamper was in my bedroom, but I didn’t want to be caught sneaking them into my room. Besides, why would she ever look under the bathroom sink?

  My biggest fear came alive right away. Macie wanted coffee. The coffeepot I had bought in a yard sale served me well, and I always had coffee in it ready for warming in the microwave. However, sometimes roaches were attracted to the scent. Roaches are gross, but I was below ground level, and it was cold outside. One day, I had warmed up a cup of coffee only to find a roach swimming on top of it, dead of course. That didn’t gross me out any less. Just the day before, I had seen two very little roaches in it; they looked like baby German cockroaches, and I hear those are the dirtiest of the bunch. Babies? That could mean a mamma roach had laid eggs in there. I shuddered when Macie made the request.

  Being a cheapskate, I still habitually made a full pot every time. Considering the thought of roach eggs, though, I had been rethinking my process lately. She watched me dump out the remaining coffee and begin to brew a new pot of coffee. I didn’t look at the old coffee poured out. Were there roach eggs in there? I scrubbed the carafe first, just in case.

  “Rinse it out good. I don’t want suds in my coffee.” She sat down and turned on my TV set.

  Nor do you want roach eggs in your coffee, I thought. How she could stand to reveal her cleavage in such weather was beyond me. But I enjoyed looking at it when she was preoccupied with channel surfing.

  Much to her chagrin, I had no movie channels.

  “Sorry. I’m sort of between jobs. I do have a Playstation, though. Get that other remote

  on the console.”

  “Oh, goodie. I love Playstation. My brother has one.”

  The pot was rinsed out and I got the new pot of coffee brewing. It was such a comforting sound, even at midnight.

  “Does coffee keep you up?” I asked.

  “Yes. You’d rather have me awake a while, right?” She batted her eyelashes at me.

  “Um. Yes, thank you. Still, if you want to fall asleep on my arm, that’s fine by me, too.” I eased past the coffee table and handed her a coffee cup, sitting myself next to her.

  “Perhaps we’ll go for both.” She laid her head on my shoulder. I could see right down her shirt. It occurred to me that it was intentional.

  What was I getting into? This level of familiarity would not work with my new job. At this point I was positive I would get the job. Still, forward we went, plunging headlong in to a relationship.

  I had nothing in my food closet that night but Ramen noodles. The morning would bring a hungry woman expecting breakfast, and I had nothing to offer but coffee, but I feared that would run out too since I couldn’t risk servi
ng coffee that had sat out all day.

  These things swam through my mind as she slept next to me on the couch. I had put the huge, thick blanket over her and sat there, silently playing on the PlayStation. I don’t know what time I fell asleep, but morning came too soon.

  “Let’s go get breakfast,” Macie said to my lifeless form.

  I twitched. She ran her hand down my chest and put it under my shirt, touching my stomach and causing me to bolt upright.

  “Sorry, Macie. I’m a little low on money right now, you know, between two jobs. I have an audition this morning.” I lied through my teeth, but I had told her about my penchant for acting and how I wanted to earn some good money to save up for a move to New York. That was a lie as well. I did not belong on Broadway; at least, I didn’t think so.

  She pouted. No doubt, she was wondering why she always hooked up with this sort of guy. We’d had fun together the night before, but I had known there would be some disappointment in the morning. I got up and started a new pot of coffee.

  “Have some coffee before you go.”

  “Now you’re kicking me out? You didn’t tell me about any audition last night.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I should have.”

  “Next time, tell me. I mean, I assumed we were going to hang out again. It wasn’t just last night, right? I don’t do one night things. You did ask me out for last night. Why don’t men just be honest about this stuff? If that’s what you were thinking, you should have told me outright.”

  I stood by the coffee-maker and watched it percolate. Waiting. Wishing it was just me in the room. Loneliness sounded good right now. A strange mixture of emotions flooded me. The warmth and tenderness I had felt with her the night before, and the sheer desire to get her away from me at the same time.

  “I didn’t mean for it to sound like I’m kicking you out. I’d offer breakfast, but there is really nothing here. I’m seriously bach-ing it right now, and I’m in-between jobs.” This was all true.

  “No coffee for me.” She put on her boots. The pout still graced her lips. She looked cute, smiling or pouting. What an emotional roller-coaster. Why did I open myself up to this? Never bring a girl back to your place if you are not ready.

  “Are you sure? I can even give you a cup to go. I’ll call you later.” I wasn’t, myself, convinced of this. It was a white lie I tossed out like an olive branch to hopefully ease the tension.

  She came up and stood in front of me. “Okay, a cup to go.”

  “Okay, coming up. Cream or sugar?” Her face fell when I poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. Was I supposed to change my mind and invite her to stay?

  “No, thanks.”

  I walked her up from the basement then hugged her tightly and lightly kissed her, noting the lack of energy in her embrace. Who could blame her? She was on an emotional roller-coaster as well. The things we learn the hard way. She turned away and went out the door.

  With mixed emotions, I watched her walk down the driveway with just one glance back.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said. I waved with a weak smile, which she ignored as the words fell to the sidewalk outside my door.

  Mom always taught me, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything.” This led to a slew of white lies in my youth; what can I say, I had trouble staying silent, and my gift of gab came along with a talent for listening, and by listening you can find out a lot about your opponent, target, or anyone you need to impress. This impressed my mother greatly, though she never saw it is a sly thing, but rather the gift of being personable.

  “You could have a great career as a therapist or psychologist,” she would say with a smile. “People like to talk to you; they open up with you so easily. You can really make a person feel good, too.” Too bad that was just more evidence of my ability to manipulate the truth in order to manipulate a situation. Man, it sure could get me out of trouble at times.

  Dad grew more and more quiet as the years went by. He and I both quickly learned to avoid disappointing Mom at all costs. He probably got tired of making up stuff to sound good. He didn’t seem to be as good a liar as I was. I suppose he drowned his words with each bottle. That only got worse when Mom got sick.

  As much as I lied to her, I still could make Mom smile. She always said I was a charmer. “Your hair looks nice, Mom.” “You still look twenty, Mom.” “Of course I passed my chemistry test, Mom.” I just barely got out of high school with a low B average. Those Science courses really challenged me, and I got an F in Math once. Had to work my butt off to get Kurt M. to do my homework for me! When Mom found out that was the reason I spent so much time with my new friend Kurt, she was ticked.

  “You can’t use that kid like that! He’s a nice boy.”

  “Yes, very nice. I enjoyed studying with him.”

  With red face, she coughed out, “This paper is not in your handwriting. I’m sure it’s Kurt’s. But it has your name on it. You’ve been lying to your teacher and lying to the school; now don’t you dare lie to me!”

  I sat down with a sober face. “Of course, Mom. I won’t lie to you.”

  “Then tell me the truth.”

  “I’ve been paying Kurt to do my homework. Well, I’ve been doing his yardwork to pay for his doing my homework. I know, I said he was helping me study. Walt, another guy in class, actually gave me test answers.”

  “We’re gonna march down to that school tomorrow and tell that teacher AND the principal what you’ve been doing.”

  “I understand.”

  She kept coughing. “Ronnie!” she called.

  “Hon, just leave it be. We’re not taking you out in the damp weather to that old school. If he’s supposed to be caught, he’ll get caught.” Suddenly, he stood at the doorway. “And believe me, son, you will get caught some day. If you don’t get caught at this or stop doing all this dishonesty, well, it’ll be a bigger offense someday. Lord knows, you could get yourself landed in jail. And don’t you DARE ask me to bail you out.”

  “Ronnie, just take him in there. Make him feel like a heel. He’s sure been cheating a long while. Anything else you’ve been lying about?” Her eyes were red and wet with tears.

  “Mom, I just knew you couldn’t handle me failing an important class. I’m sorry. I was trying to survive.” I sat down and put my head in my hands.

  “Survive? Can’t you see I’M trying to survive? Do you think this is helping me?”

  “I’ll go in tomorrow and tell them, Mom. Whatever the consequences. I know it was wrong.”

  Sadly, Mom was even sicker the next day and had no energy to bring it up again. Dad took a few days off of work to be with her, but he sure wasn’t thinking about marching up to school and dragging me by the ear to the principal’s office.They were right. I might get caught for breaking some unheard of law next time. But it didn’t happen, and my white lies continued. That’s what I called them, white lies. Uncle Louie always called them white lies. He said most of what a man says to a woman is a white lie, because they just don’t know what a woman wants to hear. I didn’t really agree with him, but in the case of my mom, she sure couldn’t handle the truth.

  All the while, my brother looked down his nose at me. I was so glad to get a scholarship to college and leave town. Mom smiled and acted proud, but behind those eyes I could see a sadness; she knew I hadn’t really earned it. To be fair, my time on the debate team did help seal the scholarship. As Dad had always said, I had the gift of gab.

  So, knowing the weight of words and even of lies, a little white lie like “I’ll call you later” was really light in comparison to some of the doozies I’d told in my young life.

  Chapter 4

  Purpose

  Jack had warned me about limits to my personal life. This job had to be a secret. Sometimes I’d be nothing more than a cover for him, other times I’d feel like a courier. It could be simple, or it could be trying. He sat me down for a further talk when first informing me I was hired. This was my ‘training’ session. It f
elt more like an indoctrination.

  “I will not be your employer of record.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Will I be doing anything illegal?”

  “Well, that is up to you. I give you a goal, and how you reach that goal is up to you. Of course, I will be taking taxes out and you will have to file every year, but you are listed as a contracted employee. And I suggest you keep the other employer or come up with some sort of self-employed scheme. When people ask where you work, my name and my business should not come up. This may be hard for you. You’ll meet people and want to make friends, but you can’t tell them about this job. I do not want them to know you work for me. The name on the door implies that I may be a lawyer, if anyone sees you going here and wonders why.”

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m a good actor. We’ve gone over that.”

  “Well, sometimes you’ll have to be an outright liar.”

  “Yes. I can do that; I’m pretty good at it,” I said, unashamed.

  “I’m offering you $300 per job to begin. After ninety days, I’ll move it up to $400 per job. Some jobs will possibly be a little more dangerous. You may want to have a disguise. Dye your hair, dye it back, get a hippie wig. You know. You’re an actor; it should feel natural. You’ll make $500 on those types of jobs.”

  I sat up in my seat practically salivating.

  “One more thing. You don’t have to carry a weapon, but you may if you wish. You are never expected to shoot for a target. It would only be for self-defense. Oh, I forgot. You’ll need a fake ID. I can’t have you being restricted from certain places.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll set you up with Larry. He’ll get you an ID in no time. By the way, your new name is Malachi Wilburn.” He handed me a card. Pointing at it, he said, “Meet him here at this address in thirty minutes.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

  Jack stood and shook my hand. “After that, come back and I’ll give you an advance of $50. You’ve got great potential, kid. You’ll report to my office for work next Monday.”