David Morrell: Black Evening

"Mr. Smith?" MacKenzie said.

The young man didn't bother turning. He just chewed another peanut, and MacKenzie feared that he was speaking to the wrong man. After all, the zoo was busy. There were other men in jogging suits. Besides, no matter what the newspapers said, it wasn't easy finding someone who would do this kind of work. MacKenzie had spent several evenings haunting low-life bars before he even got a lead. Once, someone had thought he was a cop and threatened to break both his legs. But hundred-dollar bills were good persuaders, and at last he'd had a conversation on a pay phone. He'd have done this job himself, but after all, he needed an alibi, and what was more, he readily admitted, he didn't have the courage.

Now he'd made a mistake and approached the wrong man. Apparently, the man he was supposed to meet had decided that the meeting was a trap and he wasn't going to show up. As MacKenzie moved to leave, the young, blond fellow turned to him.

"Hey, just a second, Bob."

MacKenzie blinked. "Mr. Smith?"

"Just call me 'John'." The young man's smile was brilliant. He held out the bag. "You want a peanut, Bob?"

"No, I don't think – "

"Go on and have a peanut." The young man gestured amiably with the bag.

MacKenzie took a peanut. As he ate, he didn't taste it.

"Sure, that's right. Relax, and live a little. You don't mind if I call you 'Bob'?"

"As long as we can get this settled. You're not what I expected."

The young man nodded in agreement. "You were counting on a guy in a tight suit with a scar on his face."

"Well, no, but – "

"And instead you got a young man who looks like he ought to be surfing. I know exactly what you mean. It's disappointing." He frowned sympathetically. "But nothing's what it seems today. Would you believe I was a business major? As hard as I tried, I couldn't get a job in management, so now I'm doing this."

"You mean you're not experienced?"

"Just take it easy, Bob. I didn't say that. I can handle my end. Don't you fret. You see these monkeys?"

"I don't… What does…"

"Take a look at them."

MacKenzie turned in puzzlement. He saw a monkey in a tree, masturbating.

"No, I don't mean that one, Bob. Just watch this."

When the young man threw some peanuts, all the monkeys scrambled, fighting for them.

"See, they're just like us. We're all scrambling for peanuts."

"Well, I'm sure that's very interesting, but – "

"All right, you're impatient. I'm just trying to be sociable. But no one takes the time." The young man sighed. "So what's your problem, Bob?"

"My partner."

"He's stealing from the kitty?"

"No."

"He's fooling with your wife then?"

"No."

The young man nodded. "Bob, I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course. It's very simple. What I call the 'marriage syndrome'."

"What?"

"It's like you're married to your partner, but you hate him, and he won't agree to get divorced."

"That's incredible."

"Excuse me?"

"You're right. You do understand."

The young man shrugged and threw a peanut toward the monkey who'd been masturbating. "Bob, I've seen it all. My specialty is human nature. So you don't care how I do it?"

"Just as long as it's – "

"An accident. Precisely. You recall my price when we discussed this on the phone?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Half now, and half later. Did you bring the money?"

"In my pocket."

"No, don't give it to me yet. Go over. Put the envelope in that waste container. A few seconds from now, I'll walk over and stuff this empty bag in. When I leave, I'll take the envelope."

"His name's Patrick Dolan."

"The particulars are with the money?"

"As you wanted."

"Then don't worry, Bob. I'll be in touch."

"Hey, wait a minute. Afterward, I don't have any guarantee that – "

"Blackmail? You're afraid I'll extort you? Bob, I really am surprised at you. That wouldn't be good business."

Dolan left the hardware store. The afternoon was glaringly hot. He wiped his brow. He squinted. There was someone in his pickup truck.

A young man eating corn chips. Blond, good looking. In a jogging suit.

"Of all the – "

Dolan stalked across the parking lot. He reached the truck and yanked the door open.

"Hey, buddy, that's my truck you're – "

But the young man turned, his smile disarming. "Hi, Pat. You want some corn chips?"

Dolan's mouth hung open. Sweat trickled from his forehead. "What?"

"The way you're sweating, you need salt, Pat. Have some corn chips."

Dolan's jaw went rigid. "Out."

"Excuse me?"

"Out before I throw you out."

The young man sighed with disappointment. Tugging down the zipper on his jogging coat, he showed the big revolver bulging from its shoulder holster.

Dolan felt something in his stomach drop. He blanched and stumbled backward, gaping. "What the – "

"Just relax now, Pat."

"Look, buddy, all I've got is twenty dollars."

"You don't understand yet. Climb on up here, and we'll talk a little."

Dolan glanced around in panic. No one seemed to notice him. He wondered if he ought to run.

"Don't try to run, Pat."

And, relieved of that decision, Dolan quickly climbed inside the truck. He ate the corn chips he was offered, but he couldn't taste the salt. His sweaty shirt was sticking to the truck seat. He kept squinting toward the bulging object underneath the jogging coat.

"Pat, here's the thing" the young man told him. "I'm supposed to kill you."

Dolan straightened so hard that he bumped his head against the ceiling. " What ?"

"Your partner hired me. You're worth ten thousand dollars."

"If you think this is a joke – "

"I think it's business, Pat. He paid five thousand down. You want to see it?"

"But that's crazy!"

"Pat, I wish you hadn't said that."

Dolan flinched. The young man reached inside his jogging coat.

"No, wait a minute! Wait, I didn't mean that!"

"Pat, I only want to show you the note your partner gave me. Here. You'll recognize his writing."

Dolan glared at the note. "It's just my name and my address."

"And your description and your habits. See, he wants your death to seem an accident."

And Dolan finally accepted that this wasn't a joke. His chest heaved with sudden rage. His face went red. "That dirty bastard! Why, he thinks he's so damn smart! He's always bitching at me!"

"Temper, Pat."

"He wears that crummy hairpiece, and he wants to buy me out, but I won't let him have the satisfaction!"

"Pat, I understand. It's like the two of you are married, and you want to make him suffer."

"You're damn right I want to make him suffer! I put up with him for twenty years! So now he figures he can have me killed and take the business for himself? That sneaky, rotten – "

"Bob, I'm afraid I've got bad news for you."

MacKenzie almost spilled his Scotch. He turned. The young man stood beside him, eating popcorn at the bar.

"Don't tell me you botched the job!" MacKenzie's eyes went wide with horror. He glanced quickly all around as if expecting he'd be arrested.

"Bob, I never got the chance to start." The young man picked at something in his teeth.

"My God, what happened?"

"Nearly broke a tooth. These kernels aren't all popped. I ought to sue – "

"I meant with Dolan!"

"Keep your voice down, Bob. I know you meant what happened with him. No one cares if someone breaks a tooth. They only care about themselves. A shame. Do you believe in competition?"

"What?"

"Do you support free enterprise, the thing that made this country great??

MacKenzie felt his knees go weak. He clutched the bar. "I do," he muttered weakly.