never go beyond the routine investigation since the marks I kill are less than model citizens. The homicide detectives don't pursue the cases because nobody living cares if they ever get solved."
"Did you know any of the targets?"
"A few were my casual acquaintances. Why do I get this third degree from you?"
"Because I'll miss you terribly if you go to prison, or worse."
"I've been at it since age 18, and I just turned 54. That's well over a quarter-century, and you can't argue with that track record."
"Do the math. It stands to reason the odds must be catching up with you."
"I use a repeatable process, and it curbs the risks slim to nil."
"Uh-huh."
"I've also got resources like an army of criminal lawyers."
"You don't after Mr. Ogg exiled you. You're on your own."
It was true; I didn't have the security blanket of his lawyers anymore. If I ever got collared, I'd end up with a lethal IV tapped into my arm's big vein to become my dying sight. "Thanks for the grim reminder."
"Sometimes it takes a big man to deliver the cold, hard truth."
My sardonic grunt acknowledged him.
"You know, I also once killed a man, sweetheart."
My visceral reaction of horror collapsed my tail-hole shut. If you'd heard his flat tone on top of seeing the pile-drivers he carried for fists, you'd've done the same thing. I wanted to laugh at my rampant paranoia. He and I were longtime friends, and I'd little to fear from him.
"Are you burning up with curiosity, sweetheart?"
My head shook. "No sir, it's none of my business."
"Of course I might be messing with you."
"Well then, I'll ask you if you really are a killer."
"Ask the dice, sweetheart."
"What's that quip supposed to mean?"
"Simple. Who knows what any of us really are?"
I scowled at his oblique references. "Give me the digest version."
"He was a redneck on top of a gay basher, and I didn't get his name. What was the point? He roughed up young Hermes, and it all enraged me, so I paid said redneck a visit. We exchanged heated words. The possibility never occurred to him we 'fags' have tender feelings and short fuses, and he ignited mine."
"Oh boy."
"Oh boy is right. I tore the redneck limb from limb. Literally. Why do you think I've stayed silent about your dark shit?"
I drove us in stunned silence before he continued.
"The blood red stigma of Cain stains us both."
"I suppose that's one way to see it except Cain never went to rot on Death Row, but lived to a ripe, old age. Did you like it, ripping into the redneck?"
"Like it? That's sick. Of course I didn't like it." Esquire dragged his bear claw through his moussed hair, combing it up into a ruff of quills. "I felt only the coldest furor of my life." His gaze went out the window to penetrate the city's dark environs.
"Then what happened?" I asked.
"Like you always do, I covered my tracks as best I was able. I streaked home, showered off the blood, and Hermes, coming unraveled, burned my fouled clothes in the chimney. The bourbon came out, we drank, and I talked better sense into him to gain control of his overwrought emotions. Time went by, and he got better grounded, and we've never spoken of it since that night."
I pinched the cold butt between my fingers. The Blue Castle had burned down, its ashy cone dribbled off, and spilled in my lap. I watched Esquire ditch his butt out the coupé window, and I did the same. I brushed off the ashes from my lap.
"Relax, sweetheart, because it's all under control. Since then I've put a governor on my bad temper. That terrible once was enough. It almost ruined our lives but only almost, and that's what counts in the end."
"It still has to torque you up," I said. "There's always that rap at your door. Always the keeping your head on a turret. Always your gut clenching at the sight of any uniform. Always your ears attuned to any keening siren."
"Indeed. How do you cope with it, sweetheart?"
My shrug came with exaggerated nonchalance. "I just say, screw it."
"You're telling a
"Did you know any of the targets?"
"A few were my casual acquaintances. Why do I get this third degree from you?"
"Because I'll miss you terribly if you go to prison, or worse."
"I've been at it since age 18, and I just turned 54. That's well over a quarter-century, and you can't argue with that track record."
"Do the math. It stands to reason the odds must be catching up with you."
"I use a repeatable process, and it curbs the risks slim to nil."
"Uh-huh."
"I've also got resources like an army of criminal lawyers."
"You don't after Mr. Ogg exiled you. You're on your own."
It was true; I didn't have the security blanket of his lawyers anymore. If I ever got collared, I'd end up with a lethal IV tapped into my arm's big vein to become my dying sight. "Thanks for the grim reminder."
"Sometimes it takes a big man to deliver the cold, hard truth."
My sardonic grunt acknowledged him.
"You know, I also once killed a man, sweetheart."
My visceral reaction of horror collapsed my tail-hole shut. If you'd heard his flat tone on top of seeing the pile-drivers he carried for fists, you'd've done the same thing. I wanted to laugh at my rampant paranoia. He and I were longtime friends, and I'd little to fear from him.
"Are you burning up with curiosity, sweetheart?"
My head shook. "No sir, it's none of my business."
"Of course I might be messing with you."
"Well then, I'll ask you if you really are a killer."
"Ask the dice, sweetheart."
"What's that quip supposed to mean?"
"Simple. Who knows what any of us really are?"
I scowled at his oblique references. "Give me the digest version."
"He was a redneck on top of a gay basher, and I didn't get his name. What was the point? He roughed up young Hermes, and it all enraged me, so I paid said redneck a visit. We exchanged heated words. The possibility never occurred to him we 'fags' have tender feelings and short fuses, and he ignited mine."
"Oh boy."
"Oh boy is right. I tore the redneck limb from limb. Literally. Why do you think I've stayed silent about your dark shit?"
I drove us in stunned silence before he continued.
"The blood red stigma of Cain stains us both."
"I suppose that's one way to see it except Cain never went to rot on Death Row, but lived to a ripe, old age. Did you like it, ripping into the redneck?"
"Like it? That's sick. Of course I didn't like it." Esquire dragged his bear claw through his moussed hair, combing it up into a ruff of quills. "I felt only the coldest furor of my life." His gaze went out the window to penetrate the city's dark environs.
"Then what happened?" I asked.
"Like you always do, I covered my tracks as best I was able. I streaked home, showered off the blood, and Hermes, coming unraveled, burned my fouled clothes in the chimney. The bourbon came out, we drank, and I talked better sense into him to gain control of his overwrought emotions. Time went by, and he got better grounded, and we've never spoken of it since that night."
I pinched the cold butt between my fingers. The Blue Castle had burned down, its ashy cone dribbled off, and spilled in my lap. I watched Esquire ditch his butt out the coupé window, and I did the same. I brushed off the ashes from my lap.
"Relax, sweetheart, because it's all under control. Since then I've put a governor on my bad temper. That terrible once was enough. It almost ruined our lives but only almost, and that's what counts in the end."
"It still has to torque you up," I said. "There's always that rap at your door. Always the keeping your head on a turret. Always your gut clenching at the sight of any uniform. Always your ears attuned to any keening siren."
"Indeed. How do you cope with it, sweetheart?"
My shrug came with exaggerated nonchalance. "I just say, screw it."
"You're telling a
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