The Ethical Assassin

I figured I would hold off for the moment with the Desiree issue, since arguing with Melford probably wouldn’t get me anywhere. I told him what Vivian had said, that the older woman was likely Karen’s mother.

“It looks like she went over there at the wrong time,” Melford said. “Doe clearly had his reasons for wanting to keep the deaths secret, so he killed her as well.”

“What reasons are that?”

“Drugs.” Melford shrugged, as though the topic bored him. “Doe’s got some sort of scheme going on, and he’s more afraid of an investigation that will unearth his operation than he is of linking himself to homicides. And that, my friend, is good news.”

“Tell me how a crazy cop who deals drugs is good news.”

“Look, Doe and his friends hid those bodies. They don’t seem so bright, and I’m sure they left an evidence trail a mile long. If the bodies do show up, the evidence will lead back to them, not to us. At that point they can’t very well say that no, they didn’t kill Karen and Bastard, it was probably a salesman who did that- they only buried them. Doe and his friends have plenty to lose. And what that means, Lemuel, is you are in the clear.”

“What are you saying? That I can just walk away from this?”

“That’s what I’m saying. I’m going to give you a ride back to wherever you want, and as far as I’m concerned, you can go back to your life. You keep quiet about everything you saw, stay away from that cop, and all will be fine.”

“But what about this money they’re all looking for?” I asked. “They’re not going to forget about it, and as long as they think I have something to do with it, aren’t they going to keep after me?”

“Forget the money,” he said, not for the first time. “It doesn’t matter. They sent Desiree to follow you, but she’s going to tell them you have nothing to do with the money. Trust me. She’s on our side, and even if she weren’t, she’d have no reason to tell them you ripped them off when you didn’t. They’ll have to look somewhere else.”

I sucked in air through my teeth. Could it really be true? Had these assholes, for stupid and ill-advised reasons of their own, protected us from scrutiny, all to conceal their sordid little drug deals? I could hardly believe it.

If I were honest with myself, I would have admitted that my relief was marbled with disappointment. I hadn’t liked the terror of being arrested, I hadn’t liked being slapped around by Doe, but I liked the feeling of being a part of something, and Melford had made me feel it was something important, something more than murder. In a couple of days I would be home, I would quit selling encyclopedias, and everything would be back to where it was. And I would still need $30,000 to get to Columbia next year.

Desiree stepped out from the passenger side of the car. She was wearing the same jeans as before, but instead of the see-through shirt and dark bra, she wore a butter yellow bikini top.

She had a nice body, there was no denying it, voluptuous and trim all at once, and under normal circumstances my biggest problem would be how to avoid staring at her breasts. But right now I had to figure out how to avoid staring at her scar. It was huge, unlike anything I’d ever seen before, ru

It wasn’t just that it was unusual. I remembered what Bobby had told me: The Gambler’s boss, Gu

Not looking at the scar was incredibly difficult. It was as though it had its own gravity, pulling in my eyes. I decided to conceal my discomfort by asking about it.

“Can you tell me about your scar?” I said.

I regretted the words the minute they came out. This was life and death, here. She wasn’t just an attractive woman with large breasts, a butter yellow bikini, and a scar the size of a hand towel. She was some sort of agent of evil. Wasn’t she?

She looked over at me and smiled. “Thank you for asking.” Her voice was sweet and vaguely vulnerable. “Most people think it’s polite to ignore it, pretend they don’t see it. This is where my sister was before they separated us.” She ran her left hand along the scar, grazing it with the tips of her unpolished fingernails. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt stupid saying it.

Desiree smiled sweetly again. “Thanks. You’re very kind. You and Melford are both very kind.”

“So,” I said, rubbing my hands together, “what can we do for you this time?”

“Mostly,” she said, “I came to see Melford. I want to hear more about helping animals.”

I sat in the backseat, sidekick status withdrawn, instantly converted to third wheel. I felt sullen and rejected- and cramped, shoved back there as I was into the too small space designed for Japanese children, not American teens and a library load of tattered paperback books. When I asked where we were going, he explained, not very helpfully, that we were driving around. He wanted to keep me busy and away from Doe until my pickup time.

It was hard to hear everything from the back, but I could see that Melford had Desiree enthralled. She sat up front beaming at Melford as if he were a rock star, as though she had a crush on him. I didn’t like her fawning all over him, and I didn’t like that I didn’t like it. I recognized that churning, uneasy feeling working its way through my chest as jealousy, but jealous of what? Did I want the sexy half Siamese twin, or did I hate having to share Melford?

Once again, I felt I was missing something, maybe everything. Why didn’t Melford want to know more about her before inviting her into the car? It seemed to me that the superassassin might be less detail oriented in his work than it had at first seemed.

After about twenty-five minutes on the highway, Melford pulled off and stopped at a 7-Eleven, saying he was thirsty and had to wash up. When he walked away, I felt a sickening panic set in. I didn’t want to be left alone with Desiree. I had no idea who Desiree really was, other than an employee of B. B. Gu

But Desiree showed no signs of finding the situation awkward. She turned around and gri

I fidgeted with an empty plastic cassette holder I’d found on the floor. “I’m not sure you’re his type. Being female and all.”

“You don’t think he’s gay, do you?”

“Well, I did kind of assume it. But look, that’s not important. Who are you, anyhow?”

“Why do you think he’s gay? Because he’s a vegetarian?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I don’t care if he’s gay or he isn’t. I was just letting you know that you may not be his type. But we can discuss that once you tell me why you’re following us around. Melford might not care, but I do.”

“It’s so wrong,” Desiree said, “to just assume things about people, to label them based on appearances. I’ve worked so hard at trying to understand my real self. I’ve been reading about auras and reincarnation and using the I Ching. And you? Boom. You decide he’s gay.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal to me. I was just saying.”

“Have you even asked him?”

“No, I haven’t asked him, because I don’t care.” My tone was growing increasingly shrill. “I haven’t asked him what his favorite color is, either.”

“Why are you getting so worked up about this?” Desiree asked.

Melford came out of the store, a bottle of water in one hand, his keys in the other.

“Lem thinks you’re gay,” she told him when he opened the door.