Robert Ferrigno - Heart of the Assassin

"I assume State…State Security."

"It wasn't State Security."

"Well, then I don't know." Chambers started to speak, stopped himself for a moment. "Why should that concern me anyway? Sandor died of a heart attack. Alexander was killed in a car accident."

"I know how they died, Senator. I killed them."

"I…I beg your pardon?"

"'I…I beg your pardon?'" mocked Rakkim. "I'm trying to help you senator, but you're making it difficult."

Chambers smoothed the sheets. "I really don't know what you want me to-"

"Who do you think is trying to derail your appointment?"

Chambers continued to smooth the sheets. "The Black Robes despise me. If I have any enemies, it would be ibn-Azziz."

Rakkim jabbed Chambers lightly on both sides of his chest, his hand moving so quickly that the second puncture was made before the senator gasped from the first one. "Ibn-Azziz is not your enemy. He's an errand boy, just like you." Rakkim watched a drop of blood form on each side of Chambers's chest, a second set of nipples, black and shiny as obsidian in the darkness.

"Please…I don't know what you want from me."

"I want to know if you have any loose ends you haven't told us about. Something that could become a problem if the wrong people discovered them."

Chambers stared into the darkness.

"You're going to have to help me," Rakkim said gently, "because I can't allow even a potential loose end to interfere with our master's plans."

"Who…?"

"A great deal of effort has been put to bear for your advancement," said Rakkim. "Now it's time for you to do something in return."

Chambers wiped at the blood on his chest.

"Senator…" Rakkim's voice was barely a whisper. "If you don't tell me what the loose end is, that means you're the loose end."

"Could…could you put on a light, please?"

"Not just yet."

Chambers dabbed his eyes. "There was a boy…one you don't know about. I had almost forgotten him myself…no, no, that's not true." He shook his head. "This is very difficult."

"Take your time, Senator. I've been told I'm a good listener."

Chambers laughed. "By whom ? The men you're about to kill?"

"Tell me about this boy you had almost forgotten."

Chambers trembled, the sheets rustling against him. "His name was Louis. I cared very much for him. The others were just…diversions. They didn't even know my name. Louis, though, he was different. When the Black Robes scooped the others up, I stayed silent, but I didn't want anything to happen to Louis. I couldn't bear that…so I warned him." He looked around, trying to find Rakkim's face in the darkness. "I haven't seen him in years. I've had no contact of any kind."

"Please keep your voice down."

Chambers took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "Louis cared for me very deeply. Tell the Old One that I know Louis would never do anything to hurt me."

"Unless?"

"Unless…it was absolutely necessary. Unless he had no other options. You shouldn't blame Louis, you should blame whoever backed him into a corner."

"Why don't you get dressed? We'll go someplace and discuss the matter."

"It might not have been Louis. It could have been my two aides, Alexander…or Sandor." Chambers breathed so rapidly he was almost panting. "All those years they were in my employ, you would have thought there might have been some…some discretion. The more I think about it, I don't think Louis is responsible."

"Get dressed, Senator."

"I…I prefer to stay here."

"Get dressed."

Chambers's teeth chattered, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.

"Senator," Rakkim said softly. "Would it help if I turned on a light?"

Malcolm Crews was on a tear. Dancing and prancing across the stage, jiggling like some retard stuck his dick in a light socket. Crowd loved it too, ate it up and asked for extra gravy. Made Gravenholtz want to walk down the pew squeezing their heads with both hands, pop their damn stupid noggins like green grapes.

"It's not enough that Aztlan invades our territorial waters in the Gulf and steals our oil," said Crews, his white suit flashing in the stage light, amplified voice booming off the walls of the great hall. "Not enough that they send troops splashing across the Rio Grande to claim our croplands. No, not nearly enough for these heathens." He shook his head in disbelief. "Now…now Aztlan's demanding we turn over Colonel Zachary Smitts to them! Turn over the last of our original warriors, the thorny bloom of the Belt. And for what? Because one of their oil ticks got himself killed in Nueva Florida." He shook his head. "Check the whorehouses and dope dens this oil tick frequented, don't come looking here for the guilty. Stay out of the Belt, Aztlan- adios, muchacho, Aztlan-this is the land of the free, the home of the God fearing, the one true God, you polytheistic cock-suckers!" He put a hand over his mouth in mock shock. "Did he say that? Did Pastor Crews really say that?" Hands on his hips now, face arrogantly thrust forward. "Oh sweet merciful heavens, and pass the biscuits, have I offended you, brothers and sisters?"

The crowd roared their approval, stamping their feet so hard that Gravenholtz thought they might bring the whole place down around their ears. The oil tick. That was a good one. He remembered the beaner oil minister looking at him from the back of the limo, talking about his poor fucked-up kid who needed somebody just as fucked up to hang out with. Gravenholtz had sat there, letting the man talk, trying to decide which one of the sentences qualified as his last words. Are you lonely, Lester? No, Gravenholtz had answered. It had been a lie, but he wanted to make the oil minister work for it. My son has never had anyone to play with…no one who really wanted to play with him. Come live with him, Lester. You could have anything. Anything? Gravenholtz answered, enjoying himself now, knowing what was coming.

"What's so funny, mister?"

Gravenholtz looked up.

A young woman stood there. Pretty girl in a frilly blue dress. White gloves and a gold crucifix bouncing between her little bitty tits. Light brown hair, turning up at the ends.

"Can you scoot over?" she said.

Gravenholtz scooted over, made room on the pew as Crews boomed away onstage in his shiny white suit, thrashing his arms overhead like he was summoning lightning.

She sat down in a rustle of blue fabric that spilled over on his leg. "Scuse me," she said, retrieving her skirt, her hand brushing against him. "You don't mind, do you?"

Gravenholtz shook his head, watching her eyes. Light blue, like her dress and…sweet. No, playful, like she was at a movie show.

She leaned closer, whispered in his ear. "I was going to sit further up, but I heard you laughing to yourself. I like a man who laughs in church. Too many serious folks make me want to run for the exits."

"Yeah…I like a good joke myself." Gravenholtz's throat was so tight he barely recognized his own voice.

"I could tell that right off." She smiled, her teeth white and a little crooked. "They say redheads got a good sense of humor."

A woman in the pew in front of them turned around, started to hush the young woman, but Gravenholtz caught her eye and she turned back around fast.

The young woman stuck her tongue at the woman's back and Gravenholtz laughed.

"There you go again," she said. "Oh my, where are my manners?" She held out her hand, charm bracelet jingling. "I'm Karla Jean Johnson."

Gravenholtz hesitated, placed his hand in hers. "Lester. Lester Gravenholtz."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lester Gravenholtz," Karla said, giving his hand a soft squeeze before letting go.

"My hand's a little sweaty," said Gravenholtz. "Sorry."