The Ethical Assassin

Once Doe had left the room, B.B. came out of the bathroom, where he’d been hiding in the tub behind a tan shower curtain streaked with a Milky Way of mildew. Now he walked into the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. He dusted off his linen suit and flattened out his pants as he walked.

B.B. sat in the armchair but shot up almost at once. “The chair is wet,” he said.

“It’s just water,” the Gambler said. “I spilled some ice last night.”

“You saw I was going to sit in a wet chair, and you didn’t say anything?”

“Jesus. I spilled the water last night. I forgot about it.”

B.B. went into the bathroom and got a hand towel, which he dabbed repeatedly against his ass.

He’d always been a little off, but this was how it had been going lately- fussing over his clothes, his hair, and his shoes like a woman, obsessing over the smallest and strangest details of the operation, having his crazy scarred bikini girl do all the important work. Lately he’d been distracted, as though the business were taking him away from something more important.

That morning, while they’d been waiting for Doe to show up, after agreeing that B.B. would hide in the bathroom, he’d wandered off without telling the Gambler where he was going and when he’d be back. Next thing you know, there’s no B.B. The Gambler had stuck his head out the door and seen him, on the balcony, staring at a couple of shirtless boys by the pool. If Doe had come by, the plan would have been shot to hell.

Not that the Gambler cared. If B.B. wanted to go around fucking boys or chickens or accident fatalities, that was his problem, but don’t forget you’re ru

It was at that moment- when he saw B.B. leaning against the rail, leering at a couple of boys like a drunk in a strip club- that the Gambler knew he couldn’t let things go on this way. For everyone’s good. The only problem was that he had no idea how to take over. This wasn’t The Godfather. He couldn’t have his boys whack B.B.’s boys. There were no boys to speak of and no whacking. Their operation didn’t work that way. They kept it low-key, what with the encyclopedia front and the hog lot front.

Now B.B. was staring at him, slightly red in his smooth, babyish face, wiping at his ass as though he’d just taken a shit. “Next time be a little more mindful.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” The Gambler held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry you sat in my wet chair. Let’s move on.”

B.B. tossed the towel on the Gambler’s bed. “I just don’t like to sit in wet things.”

“Let’s move on.”

Pressing a hand to the corner of the bed, testing for hidden wetness, B.B. considered for a moment and then sat very carefully, as though the bed might turn into a fountain if he weren’t careful. “Those two kids by the pool. You know them?”

“Why would I know anything about kids by the pool?”

“They looked, I don’t know, familiar or something. You seen them with their parents?”

“What does it matter?”

“You know I run a charity for neglected young men. I’m just wondering if they need help. You see them with their parents, you let me know what the parents are like, okay?”

“Fine, but can we get back to Doe? What did you think?”

B.B. shook his head. “I think the guy is full of shit, but that doesn’t mean he took the money.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“Mostly it means that he’s full of shit. But he knows he’d better come up with the money. I’m glad that Desiree wasn’t with me to hear what he had to say. She doesn’t like that kind of talk. He mouths off like that in front of her, I’ll kill him.”

“Somebody might have to kill him.” The Gambler didn’t know if it was true or not. Even if Doe had taken the money, he was still essential to keeping the Jacksonville operation alive. And the Gambler knew that he himself was necessary for keeping the book operation ru

B.B. glared at the Gambler. “You’re awful quick with the violence, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m the one who just says, okay? Remember that.”

“What? I’m not allowed to make suggestions?”

“Make good ones, and you’ll be allowed.”

“Christ, you’re touchy today. Let’s forget it.” He looked out the window. “You think having Desiree follow the kid is worthwhile?”

“No, it’s a waste of time. That’s why I’m having her do it.”

The Gambler shook his head. “Okay, B.B. Whatever you say.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.”

The Gambler didn’t answer. There was no response that didn’t involve kicking the crap out of him.

Back in his room, B.B. sat on the side of the bed and picked up the phone. He dialed the number he had memorized but not yet called until now. For an instant he felt the hammering in his chest might be the sign of something serious. He might look like a young man, but he was in his fifties, and people his age, seemingly healthy people his age, dropped dead from heart problems all the time.

It was only nerves. Odd he should feel so nervous, like a kid asking a girl out on a date. He was just calling, that’s all.

He heard the click of an answer, and he prepared to hang up until a familiar voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“Chuck?” B.B. said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s B.B.”

“Oh,” he said with cheer, wonderful, heartening cheer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” B.B. said. He was silent for a minute while he gathered his thoughts. “Listen, I was just calling to tell you that I, you know, had a good time with you last night.” He hoped it didn’t sound stupid.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Chuck said. “The food was good.”

“And the wine?”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell my mom about that, but it was good, too.”

“Maybe you’d like to try some more,” B.B. said.

“That would be neat.”

“I have a nice collection at my house.”

“Okay.”

The boy sounded hesitant. Did he not like the idea of being invited over, or did he not know exactly what having a wine collection meant?

“Maybe you’d like to come over sometime next week. See the collection. Sample a few choice bottles.”

“That would be cool. Thanks, B.B.”

He felt himself suck in a breath. Chuck wanted to come over. He wanted to drink wine with him. Desiree wouldn’t like it. She would think he was up to something. B.B. would deal with that later, because Chuck was a special boy, maybe the most special boy he’d come across, and there was much to teach him and show him. That was what it meant to be a mentor.

In the distance, he heard Chuck’s mother call his name in her shrill, gnome voice.

“Listen,” B.B. said, “I have to go, but stop by the foundation early next week, and we’ll set up a time.” He’d have Desiree out on a wild goose chase that afternoon. Something.

“That sounds great. I’ll see you later, B.B.”

He hung up the phone and shook his head against the power of it all. Here it was, the boy B.B. had always known was out there. The one he could show things and educate and enlighten, and together they could tell the world to fuck off with their narrow-minded suspicions.

Maybe everything was changing. Maybe it was time to move on, hand the business over to Desiree. She’d been overwhelmed by the idea, of course, but he only needed to help her gain the confidence. That would get her out of the house, certainly.

There was one last thing, however. He couldn’t hand things over to Desiree with the Gambler still ru