Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder (37 page)

But these people were extra special to me, because for them I thought of Frank’s father; of the will and his in-laws, hunting us down out of arrogance and greed.  I’d take pleasure in killing them, imagining that their deaths would bring Frank the freedom and anonymity that was taken from him.  And I’d do all of this while he was safely on the shore, waiting to take me in his warm embrace, to dry me off and make me his husband.

“What are they doing?” I asked, pulling on my shirt, still full of the heat it had absorbed throughout the afternoon.  I left my bottom half bare, hoping to gain some last minute color from the sun, though I could already see that it would be more pink than brown.

“He’s fucking her over the helm.  Christ, they’re really going at it.”

“Let me see!” I said, snatching the binoculars from his hand and holding them to my eyes.  I wasn’t a huge fan of watching hetero sex, but I knew most of Frank’s sexual education had come from his voyeurism, and his proven ability made it worth a look whenever our marks were getting some.

Frank insisted that it didn’t turn him on to watch people fucking any more than it turned him on to watch them cooking dinner.  Even when marks were attractive he didn’t look at them that way, though we
had
picked up a few useful bits of information for our home life, and some very interesting positions.

It took a second to locate the yacht, bobbing up and down on the waves like Casey’s rubber duck, but when I did they were definitely not doing what he said they were.  Lawrence was rubbing Rachel’s shoulders, kissing her neck.  She was shit-face drunk, staring into space.  “You’re a jerk.”

“And you’ve had enough time off.  It isn’t your birthday anymore,” he said, letting his hand wander down my spine and under my shirt, draping his fingers around my side and across my scar.  “Do you see the buoy on the horizon?” he asked as a couple walked past us on the beach.

I didn’t bother answering.  They were already out of hearing range so there was no point in keeping up the charade.  Besides, in much the same way as closeted homosexual movie stars used to marry beautiful young starlets for an assurance of their masculinity, I was Frank’s innocence.  I made him look like an upstanding citizen by association, not a killer.

Whenever we had a sniper job I’d carry the rifle, usually in an inconspicuous backpack, and I knew that if the police ever caught up with us they’d let us walk right by while other suspicious cases carried by suspicious men were subject to search.  No one would suspect him of performing illegal activities while I was by his side, and as for me, I’d never so much as told a lie.  Only up close could you see the tarnish on my crooked little halo.

“Are you still thinking about swimming back?” he asked.

Frank didn’t like the idea one bit.  The yacht was anchored at least a mile and a half out, but we couldn’t risk bringing our little rowboat back to shore because we had nowhere to put it.  As it was, we were storing the stupid thing in a U-Haul until we needed it, pretending to be moving across town.

Charlie had picked up the rowboat for him in the next state, paid cash and promised not to over-haggle with the seller to make it less memorable.  We’d sneak it to the beach on the night of the hit and I’d row out to Larry’s boat, then sink the thing after killing them.  With the rush I’d get from their murder, swimming back wouldn’t be a problem.

“It’s fine, Frank,” I said.

The hardest part of this job was that Frank’s natural intuition couldn’t be trusted because the boat made him so uneasy.  I didn’t let it worry me.  I was eighteen and that put me in the clear.  And anyway, both Rachel and Lawrence were so fucked-up they’d have a hell of a time overpowering someone with a gun, especially someone who had an imagined vengeance against them.

The lovebirds headed back below deck shortly after, and Frank and I headed home, returning to our shitty motel.  I dreamed of Charlie’s sister that night, coming to warn us with her head tilted to the side, her neck broken.  Frank didn’t sleep at all.

I crouched in the back of the U-Haul with our rowboat, trying to be sexy in the confined space, undressing slowly like a striptease though I knew Frank was watching the ocean, not me.  He was going on day five of zero sleep, and the promise of sex was too much for him.  Usually if I sucked his cock he would get at least a couple hours of sleep, but as of yesterday he’d been so tired he couldn’t even get it up for me to blow him a goodnight kiss.

“It’s almost done,” I said reassuringly.

He glanced at me, smiling at my nude body, sunburned everywhere but the important bits, where I remained milk white.

“You have to help me get in the wetsuit,” I said.  I could’ve gotten dressed on my own, but I always liked being fondled before a hit.

I hopped out of the truck, standing nearly naked in the empty parking lot where we’d seen surfers go, remnants of baby powder already on the pavement.  We’d drive closer to the beach once I was dressed.  We didn’t want to leave traces of powder on the sand any more than in the U-Haul.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, distant even as his hands were on me, confining me in neoprene.

“Not at all,” I said, wishing that it would reassure him the way his confidence reassured me.  I was so eager to get the hell out of here and get Frank some sleep that I couldn’t even be excited about the job.

I let him kiss my hair before pulling on a swimmer’s cap and getting back in the truck.  We drove in silence after that, Frank concentrating on the winding road around the beach while I held Rachel Fields’ pearl handled revolver, stolen from her loft apartment, in a Ziploc bag with my own gun.

Finding out that she owned a handgun had been a cause for celebration.  Stealing one had always been an option, but using a weapon registered to the intended murderess was pure poetry.

I’d never fired a revolver before practicing with Rachel’s.  Frank didn’t own any because they couldn’t be silenced.  And it was
far
from silent.  From six shots I was pretty sure I’d done permanent damage to my hearing even through the cotton balls.

He pulled over and helped me haul the boat out of the back.  We carried it to the water together, not dragging it even though it was heavy because clearing the tracks in the sand would be one more thing to worry about.  Then he went to park somewhere else, and I waited by the waves for him to return.

He knew I’d been having bad dreams.  He’d hold me when I woke in the middle of the night, cold from sweating.  But he never mentioned it.  He didn’t even ask what they were about.  I wondered whether I talked in my sleep, or if he just knew.

The night was dark, the waves black against the pale sand.  I held the rowboat steady beneath my hand, staring into the blackness for Frank.  He was less than twenty feet away before I could see him.

“Stay away from the waves,” I said, feeling the need to say something protective.  He looked so vulnerable, so tired, that it broke my heart.  “I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded, his hands in his pockets like a thug, likely holding the cigarettes he couldn’t smoke for fear of someone seeing the glowing red tip.  And his gun.

Frank had confessed that when we first drove to Florida he’d followed me near the beach, watching me from the top of a waterfront apartment complex with his rifle, ready to shoot me and put me out of my misery if I started to drown.  He didn’t know there were lifeguards.  He didn’t know I was such a good swimmer.

“
Je t’aime
,” I said with a smile, giving the boat a shove and hopping in.  He didn’t smile back.

I rowed backwards, watching Frank instead of looking over my shoulder, my arms already tired before he was out of sight.  His expression was like he’d just sent me to my death.

Alone in the darkness, the waves crashing against the boat, moving me from side to side and fighting against the oars, I was beginning to wonder whether that were true.  But once I could no longer see the worried look on his face I was able to forget the anxiety and fully switch into the right mindset for the job.  I felt like a killer.

With Larry Wright’s yacht only a couple meters behind me, I slipped out of the rowboat, holding onto the side as I adjusted to the temperature of the water against the wetsuit.  It wasn’t as cold as I’d expected, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.  I thought of the heat from Frank’s hands and let go, kicking toward the yacht and holding the Ziploc bag with my gun and Rachel’s revolver above the water.

I reached the side of the yacht, holding on tight as the waves pushed me against it with the ferocity of so many school bullies.  It was hard to hear over the noise of the ocean, but I kept my head down and listened intently for voices.  Then Lady Luck rolled in my favor.  The screams of rich, orgasmic pleasure rang through the night, a welcoming sound if ever there was one.  Sex meant distraction.  I smiled to myself and climbed aboard.

Larry and his mistress had been having quite the party.  On the deck there was an empty bottle of champagne with two just as empty glasses and another bottle on ice, plus a meal that had hardly been touched and a substantial amount of cocaine.

I helped myself to a piece of bread and backed up to where I wouldn’t be seen when they surfaced from below deck, and I waited.  While their lovemaking had been convenient at first, it made the actual hit more difficult.  Sex meant sleep, or at least a bit of cuddling, and I couldn’t very well have them both die in bed.  Rachel needed to be the one to pull the trigger.

I took a deep breath and listened.  The ocean was still providing background noise, but I could hear hushed whispers, then the sound of movement on silk sheets and a squeak of springs.  I tightened my fingers around my gun and hoped for a second brush with luck.

As it turned out, tonight was my night.  Rachel came out the door with not so much as a sheet wrapped around herself, her body tan and extremely thin, and headed toward their forgotten dinner.  I moved a little to my left, watched her frown at the empty bottle of champagne before struggling unsuccessfully to open the new one while her overly long French-tipped claws got in the way.  Then she turned around with the unopened bottle in hand and I followed her back toward the door.

She grabbed the knob with her free hand, and had just stepped inside when I took her gently around the shoulders and held my gun to the side of her head.  Larry made a motion to get out of bed, but I held her in front of me and pointed it at him.  “Don’t move,” I said, then put the gun back to her temple.  “I’ll take that,” I told her, and she hesitantly handed me the bottle.

“My wife sent you,” he said with certainty.

I let her walk down the steps ahead of me and tossed the unopened bottle on the bed.  “You have a choice here,” I said, resuming my hold on her and pulling her close.  She was a good deal shorter than me, which made holding her a hell of a lot easier.  “Your wife pays well, but I’ll bet you pay better.  Make me an offer.”

She started to cry.  This was working better than I thought.  Crying was good, and not struggling was even better.

“How much did she give you?” he asked.  I took Rachel’s hand in mine, slowly raising her arm in front of us like I was admiring her gigantic rock, keeping my gun to her temple.  She wasn’t even his wife and she got a ring that was worth more than my share from this job.  “That cost a hundred grand.  I can get you more.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” I smiled, and stepped away from her to shoot her in the head, the gunfire echoing loudly throughout the cabin.  Then I shot him once in the right side of his chest and hauled her back up by the waist, making sure not to get any of her brains on my wetsuit.  The last thing I needed was to attract sharks.

Her body was limp in my arms as I switched my gun to her hand, my finger wrapping hers around the trigger, and I shot him in the head.  Goodbye in-laws.  Hello anonymity.

I pushed Rachel forward out of my arms, backing away from the spreading pool of blood.  Even as the boat rocked beneath my bare feet I felt steady, the familiar adrenaline pulsating through my body, my ears still ringing from the gunfire.  I wondered whether they felt this way with all their cocaine.  I’d have no problem swimming back.  I probably could’ve made the trip twice.

I walked above deck, searching the darkness for my boat and shooting three suppressed shots into the bottom with my gun.  Then I waited for it to sink and my gun to cool before putting it in the bag to keep it dry.  I dove back into the black depths, giving myself as much of a push off the side of the yacht as I could.  It would be a long swim.

Frank waded out to greet me, getting soaked up to the waist for what would probably be the last in a very long time.  He pulled me into his arms like he hadn’t seen me in a year, kissing me hard and holding me even harder.  His heart was beating so fast I could feel the pulse in his wrists against my back.  “It’s okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said.  “Went off without a hitch.”

“And the boat?”

“Sunk.  Frank, you’re soaked.  I told you to stay on the shore.”

He looked down, as if he hadn’t even realized he was wet.  “I thought something was wrong,” he said. 

I kissed him, holding his hand like he was a two-year-old and walking him back to the shore.  He needed to sleep.  He was completely out of it.

“Come on,” I said, not letting go until we made it to the U-Haul.  My wetsuit had air-dried, so I kept it on and had him change into my clothes.  His cigarettes were completely saturated, the scent of nicotine and tobacco mixed sickeningly with saltwater.  Thank God he hadn’t lost his keys in the ocean.

I’d fucking kill Charlie if he ever booked him a job like this again.

Two hours on Wednesday.  One on Thursday.  Nothing on Friday.

“This is ridiculous!”  I yelled, throwing his cup of coffee across the room.  His insomnia was causing so much tension between us that we could barely make eye contact.  I felt guilty for sleeping, and I knew there was jealousy on his part, the way he’d look at me when I awoke, fully rested while he was suffering through the sluggish fog of sleeplessness.  “You have to get some sleep.”