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Maybe not consciously, but he does seem to be pushing his luck attaching himself to me. Another example of people lacking that basic survival instinct. I am the predator, and he is the prey, and he doesn’t even know it.
It’s pathetic really.
Even if I don’t get caught, I consider how terrible it would be for me to put an end to him, for mercy’s sake. I’d be doing him a kindness. Saving him from the cruel world before it eats him alive.
Even as I think it, I know I’m justifying it because of my own proclivities for violence. That’s why I have rules in place. They’re as much for my safety as the rest of the general populace. The question has often been asked, what separates us from the animals? Well, my rules are what separate me from psychopathic serial killers.
You’re welcome.
I’m vaguely aware that John’s mouth is moving. He’s jogging, trying to match my pace, but he’s way out of his league. I keep at my brutal speed, arms and breath and legs pumping, while he yacks away as if I’m listening to a word he says.
I’m not. In fact, the wireless earbuds in my ears prevent it entirely.
I cast a sidelong glance at him, which turns out to be a major mistake. John smiles and continues talking more animatedly, making me wonder if I’ve somehow spurred him on.
The man is insufferable.
I’d intended to work out a whole hour tonight, but John has ruined my plans. I’m now eager to retreat to my apartment where I can kick back in my recliner, drink a finger or two of scotch, and stare out the windows, watching the city undulate in the evening rush.
Stepping off the treadmill, I punch buttons to turn it off and follow with my earbuds, cutting off Mozart’s “Jupiter” and subsequently my patience. An unlikely pairing, a hitman and classical music, I’m sure, but I once read that classical music heightens brain activity and thus expands creativity, so I use it any time I need to connect with my muse.
John is, much to my aggravation, on my heels.
“Hey, man, you wanna grab that drink? The dining room is still serving. I’ll buy us cocktails! Or beer,” he quickly amends, his confidence waning a touch. “Do you like beer?”
“I like silence.”
I don’t mean to be harsh, but some people can’t take a hint, and you have to be blunt. John is never going to catch a hint.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to faze him.
“I know what you mean, man. Long day at the office?” He socks my shoulder lightly. “Let me buy you that drink. We can sit and brood over a couple of beers. Bonding time, man. Whaddaya say?”
What is with this guy?
I start to tell him, as politely as I can, to fuck off, but when I look at him straight in the eyes, I hesitate.
He’s so eager, so earnest. So desperate for attention. I find myself wondering what happened to this poor, pathetic soul that he has resorted to hounding a murderer like myself to keep him company. Maybe he’s pushing his luck on purpose. Maybe he secretly knows who and what I am and wants to die.
Or maybe he’s just as damaged as my clients and is longing for connection wherever he can get it.
I’m a hard man. Yet I still find myself nodding ever so slightly, and then we’re headed toward the dining room for drinks.
Ten
~Faith~
My curiosity got the best of me. In a moment of weakness, I’d climbed into my car and driven to Glenn’s work. I’d hoped to see Cal there, and I wasn’t disappointed.
For hours, while he watched Glenn, I watched him.
At first, I thought for sure he’d spot me. He never did. Like him, I hung back, nestling my car among several rows of employees’ cars and truck trailers. And then I’d waited.
Was this what Cal did all day, watched and waited? Calculating his next move?
It was at once boring and exciting, knowing he was actively concocting a plan to carry out our agreement. Soon, he would act on it, and then I would be free to do as I pleased.
How could I not be happy? How could I not be on top of the world?
