The Ethical Assassin

“Yes!” the room roared.

“These people want to stop you from making money and our customers from learning. I don’t know what the hell their problem is, but as long as I’m head of this crew, we’re going to keep on making the world a better place, and we’re go

After the meeting, everyone began to file out by the pool, the way we did every night. I moved through the crowd, trying to keep an eye on Chitra. I heard her say something to Ro

By the pool, the crew bosses would be grabbing cases of tall boys, Bud or Miller or Coors or whatever was cheapest, and shoving them in coolers. Someone would bring out a radio or a tape player. If people in the rooms above them minded the noise, we never heard about it.

I always joined them, at least for a while, but that night I wasn’t up to it. I needed to be alone. The after-sales meeting had been a torture, but at least it had distracted me for a few minutes; now, alone again, I felt like I had to get away. I wasn’t able to make idle conversation, to laugh at stupid jokes. I was afraid that if I had a beer or two, I’d start to cry.

I went back to the motel room. It had two beds shared by four guys- Ro

I sat by myself for a moment, staring at the blank, gray face of the TV. Maybe there was something about the murders. Maybe I should be watching. I continued to stare, afraid of what I might see or not see, until, in a surge of bravery, I lunged forward and turned it on.

The late news would be long over by now, but I figured if there was a murder, the local news stations would jump at the chance to use their generally useless live broadcast equipment. Nothing. No police cars or helicopters hovering over the mobile home. I sat at the edge of the bed, hands pressed against the tattered bedspread that smelled like a mix of ashtray and aftershave, and stared with unfocused eyes at Joh

I wanted to embrace the doubt, but there were too many questions. So I opened the night table drawer and took out the phone book to look up Oldham Health Services. Nothing in the yellow pages or the business white pages. It didn’t prove anything. It could be reasonably close by without being in the same county, but unless I knew where it was, I didn’t see how I could get a number to call them and ask them who they were and- and what? If they knew a guy named Bastard? That wasn’t exactly a conversation I wanted to have.

I stood up and looked out the window, pressing the thick brownish curtain to one side and trying not to cough from the storm of dust I’d unleashed. About thirty book people were out now. The tinkle of music and laughter filtered through the window. I’d flipped off the gurgling air conditioner for a moment so I could hear what there was to hear. Through the glass I could just discern the furiously optimistic jangle of “Walking on Sunshine.” That song was everywhere that summer, and as much as I hated it, its rhythms pumped with an undeniable pull. It a

I looked out the window again and there was Chitra, sitting on the edge of a slatted reclining chair, the sort sunbathers across the country- the world, for all I knew- endured in order to tan themselves. A tall boy was wrapped around those long, silver-ringed, red-tipped fingers. Like everyone else, she still wore her selling clothes- in her case, black slacks and white blouse, so she looked like a waitress. A beautiful waitress.

The fact was, I was going to be eighteen in January, and this virginity business was begi

From my room, I could make out Chitra’s distant smiling face. It was a big, easy, open, and unself-conscious grin. She was one of those pretty girls who didn’t fully appreciate or factor in the effect pretty girls had on men, so she believed the world to be a much nicer place than it was. The brutality of people like Ro

Now she threw back her head and let out a full, tinkling laugh, so high-pitched that I could hear it this far away, through the glass, over the music from the boom box. She was surrounded by a group of people. Marie from the Jacksonville office, a couple of people from Tampa, Harold from Gainesville, who I suspected might be a rival.

At first I didn’t recognize the guy who was doing such a great job of amusing her. The umbrella at their table was up, and the angle was odd. I could tell from the clothes it wasn’t Ro

And then I saw the comedian. Tall, thin, black jeans, white button-down with the collar done up, even whiter hair puffing upward and outward.

It was the assassin. Chitra was talking with the assassin.