David Liss - The Ethical Assassin

“Hi,” I said. “This is your pickup too?”

“Yeah,” she told me. “You weren’t selling today, were you.”

“Not selling?”

“I’ve been here a while. I saw you get out of that car your friend was driving. Did you go swimming?”

“What?”

“That woman in the front was wearing a bikini.”

That was about as far as our conversation got before Bobby pulled up in his Cordoba and she melted back into the store.

Ronny Neil and Scott were already in the car, Ronny Neil in front, whispering conspiratorially to Scott in the back. Did that mean something? Bobby had been picking me up first for weeks.

Why should I care who got to sit in which seats? I was planning on leaving and never coming back. I had bigger and more important things to worry about than whether or not Bobby considered me the best bookman in his crew. I was more interested in making certain I didn’t go to jail for murder or get killed by drug dealers.

The Cordoba came to a stop in front of the store, and Bobby pushed himself out. The engine was still running, and from inside Billy Idol crooned about eyes without a face, whatever the hell that meant. Bobby grinned and came around to the back, flipping open the trunk with a flair of his wrist, as if he were a magician performing a trick. His blue oxford shirt was partially untucked, and he’d spilled something sodalike on his pants.

“So, besides running errands for the Gambler, did you have any time to make money?”

I shook my head. “I blanked.”

Bobby sucked on his lower lip. “That was a pretty primo spot I gave you. Might have helped if you’d been there.”

“I was out there most of the day. It just didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s not like I blanked on purpose,” I said, even though that’s exactly what I did.

“So, what happened?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Bad luck.”

“No such thing as bad luck, Lemmy. You make your own luck.” Bobby looked at me with a kind of seriousness I had never seen before, and I knew he didn’t want to hear my bullshit excuses. He gave his head a little sad shake and then shut the trunk. “You guys want to go behind my back, fuck me up, that’s your business. Get in the car.”

I had to climb in the back with large, smelly Scott. When they picked up Kevin, there was no way Scott would scoot over to the middle, which meant I would be squished between them, breathing in the stink of Scott’s unwashed body all the way back to the motel.

But, I told myself, it would all be over soon. Tomorrow would be the last day in town. Monday morning Bobby would head for home. We would stop on the road to sell, and I’d be back by two or three A.M. early Tuesday, and I would never have to sell books again. Just two more book-selling sessions and then freedom.

A tinny Genesis tune was coming through the radio now, and I tried to concentrate on it. I’d read once that if you had a really bad headache, you could make it go away by thinking about some other part of your body instead. That’s what I was trying out. I figured if I listened to Genesis, if I concentrated on Phil Collins’s voice, I might not smell Scott quite so much.

“I bet you blanked today,” Ronny Neil said from up front. “I didn’t. I got me a double.”

This was where Bobby would tell him to be quiet, that they didn’t talk about how it went in the car. But Bobby didn’t say anything. He just stared ahead as he drove.

“You ain’t gonna answer me?” Ronny Neil said.

Scott shoved an elbow into my ribs. “I heard someone say something to you,” he told me. He scratched at a zit on his nose.

I still didn’t say anything. I decided instead to nurse my indignation.

“Well, did you blank or didn’t you?” Ronny Neil asked. “I thought you understood English so great.”

“You know we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

“I don’t hear Bobby complaining.”

I paused to let Bobby chime in, but he didn’t say anything

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” I said again.

“Shit, boy, you worry too much about what you’re supposed to do and what you’re not supposed to do. Me, I’m gonna celebrate in style. A double. With that bonus I got me six hundred dollars today, and I get me some pussy.”

“Yeah,” said Scott.

“Yeah what?” Ronny Neil asked his friend. “Yeah, your buddy is going to get some pussy? You know you ain’t. Who would get with a fat, lisping fuck like you?”

Scott laughed.

“How much money you think that Chitra will want for her to give me some of that pussy she got?” Ronny Neil asked. “How much you think?”

“I think she’s giving it away,” Scott told him. “Those Indian girls are horny as shit. The dots they got on their heads make them horny. She don’t have a dot, but it’s the same thing.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronny Neil said. Then, on second thought, he added, “Horny as shit. I heard that, too.”

Back at the motel, after everyone had piled out of the car, Bobby put a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. We watched as Scott and Ronny Neil walked off, with Kevin lagging behind good-naturedly, trying to stay in the conversation, not seeming to notice or mind that Ronny Neil and Scott didn’t give a damn about him.

“Wait a minute,” Bobby said. “I want to talk to you.”

I sighed. “I’ll do better tomorrow,” I said, though I knew I wouldn’t. I’d blank again tomorrow because I wouldn’t try again tomorrow. It was that simple.

“It’s not that,” Bobby said. “I want to know what’s going on with you and the Gambler.”

If it weren’t for the darkness, Bobby would have seen the cloud of fear pass over me. “It’s nothing,” I said, reaching for words that would comfort him and in no way encourage him to bring the conversation to the Gambler himself.

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. This morning the Gambler seemed ready to string you up. Now the two of you are best buddies and he’s sending you on errands. Plus, he’s leaning on me to do whatever those two baboons, Ronny Neil and Scott, want. He told me to give them whatever spots they ask for, Lem. He told me to treat them like kings. I’m going to do what I’m told, but I want to know why.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Come on, Lem. I know your story. You want to go to college. A little more than a year from now you’ll be studying for midterms and trying to talk sorority girls into coming back to your dorm room. I’m still going to be here. This is my job, and I want to keep doing it. I like that I make money doing it. I’m good at it.”

“I know you are.”

“Yeah, then why are you screwing this up for me?”

“Because I blanked?”

“You know that isn’t it. The Gambler is angry with me, and I can’t figure out what his deal with you is. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, because I don’t want to burn out here. I’ve put too many years into this. It took me two years to be a crew boss. I can move up in this organization, but not if the Gambler is angry at me. So, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Is it about the reporter? Have you talked to that reporter he mentioned?”

I shook my head again.

“Because you were asking those questions this morning.”

“I was curious is all.”

He waited a moment to see if there would be more coming. There wouldn’t be. “You won’t tell me?” he asked, his voice gone quiet now.

“There’s nothing to tell, Bobby.”

“Fuck!” He slapped his hand down on the back of the car. “I’ve been your friend. I’ve looked out for you, and I’ve helped you make a lot of money. And this is how you treat me?”