Joe Lansdale - Devil Red

“Oh, goodie. But now Devil Red is after you.”

“The guy that would pay them, he’s not around anymore.”

“Then why bother with me and Leonard?”

“That’s personal. You may have already been on their list, and with you talkin’ to Jimson, and him talkin’ to them, that sealed it. You know, he was quite a talker. I think I made him nervous. He told me all about you and wantin’ to know about Devil Red. The whole nine yards… You know why I didn’t take the job to kill Devil Red?”

“Because you shot the guy who was going to pay you,” I said. She wrinkled her brows. “Well, yeah. There’s that. But also there was this: I didn’t want to kill Devil Red, because I know them.”

“Them?”

“You’ve met them. Mr. Kincaid and his former wife, Ms. Clinton.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if I had just discovered Jesus had sent me a Christmas present of the Holy Ghost with a personal note signed “Love and kisses.”

“The old man and his ex-wife?” I said. “They’re Devil Red?”

“Isn’t that a kick?”

“Can’t be.”

“Can and is. Where do you think I learned my craft?”

“Them?”

“Oh, Hap, you are so cute when your jaw is on the floor. Yes. Them. Let me tell you something. Mr. Kincaid, he looks like hell, but actually, he’s quite spry and doesn’t need the chair or oxygen. Sometimes, garbed up like that, he uses it to get close to people. Who expects an old-looking man in a wheelchair breathing through a tube to be a killer?”

“You’re foolin’ with me, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to fool with you, but no.”

“And my client’s son? His girlfriend’s mother and stepfather. You know anything about that?”

She held up her hand and spread her thumb and forefinger. “Teeny bit,” she said. “Mr. Kincaid and Ms. Clinton have a kind of get them all and poison the well attitude. My guess is Mini’s stepfather-”

“Bert.”

“Whatever. He made a wild guess they were involved, stirred them up, like you did, and they took him out. The mother, she was probably an accident. They tried to kill Leonard. You’re next. I wouldn’t be surprised if they went after your employer.”

“Marvin?”

She nodded. “Maybe your redhead. Anyone associated with you.”

“Did Jimson know Kincaid and Clinton were Devil Red?”

“He didn’t really know who I was. Just my reputation. But he knew how to contact the ones you’re calling Devil Red. And he did. And he contacted me. But did he know Mr. Kincaid and Ms. Clinton were in fact Devil Red?… No.”

“You said Kincaid and Clinton trained you? There’s people who do that? That’s not exactly a college course.”

Vanilla shifted her long legs seductively and leaned forward a little.

“Some people find the job naturally. Others have it thrust upon them. I had it thrust upon me and took to it naturally. I developed my own style, my own way. But they were my mentors. I am who I am, and I have come to embrace it. I’m almost the best there is.”

“Almost?”

“There are my instructors.”

I knew how good Vanilla was, and that made me realize even more what I was up against. I said, “Why would anyone want to raise you to kill?”

“Family business. Though I doubt you could call us a real family. There was never what you would call love, whatever that is. But there was affection of a sort, like you might have for a goldfish, I suppose. I don’t know. Never had a pet. There was also another reason. They were a kind of factory. I wasn’t the only well-trained and well-oiled cog in their machine. There were others.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“He didn’t train there,” Vanilla said. “Once we knew the trade, they hired us out. Male and female. Prostitutes of Death they called us. We got a cut of the kill, and they got the bulk. I didn’t know it was unfair for a few years, us making so little. I was fifteen when I made my first hit. I wasn’t even scared.”

“It didn’t bother you?”

“I didn’t know the man I killed, so no. I’m not sure it would have bothered me if I had known him. Hell, Hap. He could have been my father. He was the right age. I don’t even know why they wanted him killed. It didn’t matter to me.”

I let that soak in. I said, “Kincaid had a second wife, right? What did she think about all this?”

“She was unaware of the business. An airhead. She bore him two children. Ms. Clinton couldn’t have children. There was an arrangement. He cared for his wife, but Mr. Kincaid really cared for Ms. Clinton. Maybe it was love. I don’t know. I’m a little confused on that issue, Hap. They never really stopped being together. There was a house in town for the wife, and an estate in the country where he and Ms. Clinton spent their time. Where I was trained.”

“You call them Mr. and Ms.?”

“That’s how I was taught. I can’t think of them any other way. But this isn’t about me. This is about you, Hap. You and Leonard. Though they may have already punched his ticket. They’ll wait and see. Why take an extra chance? It’s my bet he never even saw his shooter. They’re too good for that. But if he doesn’t die, they’ll be back to finish the job. And there’s you.”

“They leave a devil’s head at the scene of their murders, staged events. Why? Why leave any indication?”

“Did Picasso sign his work?”

“They see it as an art?” I asked.

“You could say that. So do I. But I don’t sign my work. They don’t if time and situation doesn’t permit. But they are proud of their craft. After years of doing something well, on some level, they want to be recognized, not caught. It was also a way they could challenge anyone trying to discover them. Here’s our calling card. Respond if you can.”

“So you deserted them at some point.”

“Most do. It’s the way of the job. They always have a few who live on the grounds. People who protect the place and them. They saw us as their retirement. But they haven’t quit. They won’t retire.”

“No one should be raised to be a killer,” I said.

“You could say I was exploited. But it has given me a livelihood. And I am an artist.”

“You’re a killer, Vanilla. That’s all.”

“For me it beats being a teacher or a nurse. No offense to your redhead.”

“Plenty taken.”

I thought I saw her blink when I said that, but it could have been the light.

“And you?” she said.

“What exactly are you?”

“I suppose I’m the same as you.”

She looked at me for a long moment. Her face seemed so soft, her lips so kissable. She was mesmerizing. I sat farther back from her.

“You’re not like me at all, Hap. You’re not even close. For me, there’s no passion in the act. It is what it is, and I do it artistically. That’s what makes me second to them. They are still passionate about their work. And you, you’re no artist and you don’t do it for money. You have reasons, views. I don’t get that.”

“And you’re telling me all this because…?”

“I don’t know really. I feel we have a connection. Do you feel it?”

“I do.”

“What is it exactly?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Maybe that’s it,” she said.

“I hope not. All I know is, I have to get them. They shot my friend.”

“He means that much to you?” she said, turning her head slightly, as if trying to position herself to believe that idea.

“He does.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“Maybe.”

“They’re better than you,” she said. “I’m better than you.”

“The chips aren’t down yet,” I said.