David Ohle - The Devil in Kansas

A male clerk with hearing aids in both ears and thick-lensed glasses types into a computer keyboard with artificial hands. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yeah. Jerry Bradley. I’m with ILI–Inequity Life Insurance. We’re offering a brand new kind of policy. The sicker you are, the less it costs. Everybody benefits. It’s a hell of a deal, especially for guys like you.”

“Thanks, but we have plenty of insurance. We’re a little busy right now.”

“Would it be at all possible to purchase a copy of your customer list? Just regular customers, the ones dealing with very sick people, not just one-timers.”

“Mr. Morrow’s out to lunch — he’s the manager. But I don’t think he’ll want to do that. That kind of stuff is confidential.”

“It’s in that computer, right?”

“Yes.”

“All you gotta do is print it out, right?”

“Yes, but….”

Junior flashes a hundred-dollar bill, slides it across the counter. “But what?”

The clerk looks over to make sure the mechanic isn’t paying attention and takes the hundred. His artificial hand presses the mouse to click on the Print icon. The printer spews out dozens of names, addresses, and phone numbers.

A marina in Sarasota, Florida. Rain pours down as a deep sea fishing boat docks. Several people get off, drenched. Among them is Ray, who converses with a beer-gutted, middle-aged high roller. Both drink beer.

The high roller says, “Fucking rain all day. The trip was a bust and you came all this way from where?”

“Wichita.”

“Where’s that? Texas?”

“Nope. Kansas.”

“Kansas, huh? Been through there but never stopped. Come on, Ray. Lemme buy you a real drink. If I do another beer, I’m gonna fucking explode.”

In the dimness of the Surf ‘n’ Sand bar, Rick takes out a thick roll of money, peels off a hundred to pay for the gin and tonics. “The last time I went out on that boat we came back with a hundred and fifty pounds of red snapper. Today, nothing. Just fucking rain.” After serving the drinks, the bartender watches People’s Court .

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting used to bad luck. That’s the way things’ve been going lately. My wife died a couple of weeks ago.”

“Wow. That’s a toughie. My condolences.”

“She was real sick. But she hung on, you know. Cost me a fortune. It wasn’t like a sudden thing. It was a long, long thing.”

“Same here, man. Same here. My older brother’s on his last legs. Weak heart. They did everything they could think of. Bypasses, pacemakers, the works. He’s just lying there now, staring at the ceiling, waiting to go, you know, anxious to go. His wife died ten years ago. Nothin’ to live for.”

“It’s a sad ass thing when you got a loved one suffering like that.”

“Tell me about it. I go in his room the other day. Three guesses what he says? He says, ‘Rick, please…I wanna go. I’m tired. I wanna go.’ He begs me to get his gun. He’ll do it himself, he says. Oh, man. He already wrote his note and everything. All I had to do was give him his gun and it would have been all over. He’s too weak to get up and get it himself. It’s like ten feet away, in his dresser. I couldn’t do it, though, no way.”

“You mean, if somebody handed him the gun, he’d do it himself.”

“Yeah. But if he can’t pull the trigger himself, they might have to put it in his hand and help him pull it. He begs for the gun every time I see him. It’s breaking my heart, man. I don’t wanna see him linger like that.”

“Yeah…yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Another drink, Ray?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, bar guy. Another round over here.”

“So, Rick, what do you do? You look like a well-off guy. Deep sea fishing in the middle of the week. It must be nice.”

“I made some smart investments…real estate…banks…couple race horses…lotta different stuff.”

“A lotta fingers in a lotta pies huh? Lemme ask you a hypothetical question. Let’s just say, for example, that there’s somebody out there who’s willing to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Take care of the problem. Hand him the gun. Put it in his hand.”

“Hadn’t thought of that angle.”

“For a fee, of course.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s negotiable. Income adjusted, maybe.”

“This don’t sound so hypothetical any more.”

Ray shrugs. “Maybe not.”

“You know somebody.”

“I might. Lemme make a call.” Ray finds a pay phone. He punches buttons, listens, smiles at Rick. Junior answers.

“Hey, listen, I think I got a customer. All you gotta do is hop on a plane and come down here and hand a gun to some old guy. He’ll do the rest himself.”

Vickie enters the room, unseen by Junior, and overhears his end of the conversation.

Junior does a little excited jig. “This is incredible, man. I did a job last night and I got two more lined up. One this week, one next week. Ten K each. And now you come up with another one…in Florida. Who is this guy? Has he got bucks?”

Ray turns away from Rick’s steady gaze. “High roller all the way. Loaded. So we don’t have to be shy about the fee. I figure my cut, as the broker of the deal, is twenty percent.”

“Fuck you, Ray.”

“I found the guy. I did the groundwork. It’s almost completely set up.”

“Twelve-five.”

“All right, twelve-five. I’ll tell him.”

“All I gotta do is hand a gun to somebody?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Why don’t you do it if it’s that easy? You’re already there, man. That’ll get you fifty percent.”

“I can’t do people as easy as you can. It goes against my nature.”

“Okay, so I come down there, I hand a guy a gun, and he does the rest.”

“He’s weak. You might have to help him pull the trigger.”

“Help him?”

“Maybe.”

“If I might have to help out, I gotta charge more. Tell him fifteen if I gotta help. I’m firm on that.”

Ray continues talking to Junior a few minutes, then returns to the bar. “Yeah, there’s this friend of a friend’s friend sort of thing. He’ll do it for twelve-five.”

“He’s fucking nuts. My goddamn yard man would do it for half that. Eight-five, tops.”

Ray returns to the phone, listens a minute. He approaches the bar as closely as the phone cord will let him. “Eight-five is acceptable, but his wife wants to come. A little mini-vacation or something. Two days, two nights in a class motel, a rental car, meals, airfare. You pay the freight.”

Rick shrugs his assent, raises his glass. “Tell him the weekend of the twenty-fifth would be ideal.”

After another trip to the phone, Ray brings Rick the news. “Okay, he says the deal’s on. The twenty-fifth is best for him.”

“I’ll book a flight on the twenty-fourth.”

Back home, Vickie startles Junior as he hangs up the phone. “Flight? To where?” she asks.

Lorna comes out of the bathroom still wiping vomit from her lips with toilet paper. “Yeah, I heard that. Where you going?”

“Don’t worry, you’re going, too.”

Mickey enters. “Somebody going somewhere?”

“Florida. I got a job.”

Vickie pops a beer. “You got a job? In Florida?”

“A weekend thing. It’s temporary.”

Lorna wants to know where in Florida. “Can we go to Disneyland?” She eats a big slice of chocolate pie.

“Sarasota.”

“All right! That’s where Disneyland is, isn’t it?”

Junior doesn’t know.

Vickie’s buying none of this. “And the job’ll pay for two round trips? I’m getting a bad vibe from all this shit.”

Junior’s beginning to think Vickie’s going to be a real problem. “It’ll pay a lot more than that, Mother. Mickey’ll tell you about it.”