“Let’s see then,” she said, shoving me backwards against the wall in the lady’s room. It was empty, not surprisingly. Bella was probably the first woman to enter the premises wearing a skirt to correspond with the picture on the door.
She looked like the very definition of a man-eater as she stood there, her eyes glinting with bad intentions. I was tempted to cry out “leave me alone, vile woman, I’m just a boy!” but she was already pulling my shirt up, unconcernedly peeling away the gauze and tape like it was a price tag on an item she had no intention of paying for.
Bella frowned. I hoped that meant she wouldn’t continue the strip search. How could Frank let me go off with her? “That’s a new scar.”
“New and old,” I sighed. She wasn’t looking to rape me. That was a relief. “How did you know about my scar?”
“Frankie told me,” she said, as if that was obvious. It was, of course, no one else could have told her. But when? He’d been giving her the cold shoulder since she was on the road to recovery. And why?
“He told you?” I asked.
She traced her finger along the upside-down V. If I could’ve backed up, I would have. Her nails looked as sharp as the instrument that caused my new wound, and I remembered the expression on Henry’s face when he gave it to me. “Aye. He said he’d met someone perfect, but you were flawed now so maybe he had a chance with you. Then I stopped hearing from him so I figured it must’ve worked out. You are him, aren’t you? The little blond tart Charlie sent on a robbery?”
I smiled. Frank was in so much trouble. “He called me a tart?”
“You are a tart, look at you,” she said. “Do they sell chainsaws here?”
“No,” I said firmly, hoping it was true. Bella was truly horrifying. No wonder Frank had so many fond memories of working with her. It had to be like watching a napalm attack.
She held up her tiny purse and pulled out some Dior foundation. I was beginning to wonder what kind of agency employed these two. Cigarettes, a gun, and expensive makeup were all she was carrying.
Bella was unexpectedly gentle with the application. Almost as much as Frank, though he usually had to be a bit rough with me to get me to wear it. “You don’t want to give Charlie the satisfaction of seeing bruises,” she said. “Even if he is about to die.”
“Do you think Frank will be okay?”
“He’s going to be a wreck,” she said. “But he’ll get over it.”
“What was he like when he was my age?” I asked. I knew Frank wouldn’t approve of us talking about him, and was in fact probably on his way to prevent it from occurring, but for the time being we were locked in a bathroom he might hesitate to enter.
Bella smiled. “He was a pain in the arse. Same as he is now. But he was always a gentleman. And good at his job. Better than I ever was.”
“Have you considered retiring?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t get slapped for mentioning the R-word.
“This is the only thing I’m good at,” she laughed.
Maybe I was just projecting, but in that moment, I thought I saw right through her. She wasn’t as tough as she looked after all. She was a little girl who had no choice but to stay behind while her big brother went off to a happy, normal life. She was as scared of being stuck as I used to be. And the saddest part was that she had no idea the hostility he’d held for her.
“Frank won’t keep in touch,” I said.
She nodded. “I know. He doesn’t like the telephone. And writing letters can be incriminating. Even if he’s going…er…straight.”
“I’ll write to you,” I said. And I would, no matter what Frank said, no matter how much he wanted to distance himself from her and what he used to be. What we used to be.
“That would be nice, Vincent,” she said with a smile. It was the first time I’d seen her smile without something devious going on in her eyes. Then she leaned up on her toes and kissed my cheek, leaving a fresh, dark stain on my made-up face. “Tell him I said goodbye, will you? I’ve never been good at that sort of thing.”
And with that she left, her heels clicking down the brightly lit, extra wide aisles. Toward the chainsaws.
We sat in silence for several minutes before he started the car. Frank had known that Bella was going to take off, though he wasn’t pleased with her for leaving me alone. But she hated getting emotional even more than he did, and it wasn’t like he was far away. I didn’t tell him I’d said I would write to her. He had other things to think about.
“It’s a nice pipe,” I said, admiring the shiny silver sticking out of the beige plastic bag as we drove to where we’d be using it. It would match his wedding ring. “Good and sturdy. Ideal for…pipe things.”
I felt anxious like I was getting ready to meet my boyfriend’s parents for the first time, not show up to kill them. Charlie knew about us now, and he’d had time to let the idea simmer that his beloved Frankie boy was a homosexual. Not to mention that he had no idea I’d pulled through, and seeing me again wouldn’t be a happy reunion.
Still, I’d remain on my best behavior. Frank had told me that when he snuck off to beat the shit out of Mark, he’d stopped by the cemetery and visited my parents’ graves. He’d told them that he’d take care of me. The least I could do was promise Charlie the same.
Charlie’s car was parked right outside his room. It looked like it had been there for months, but then, it always looked like that. Frank got out of the car, coming to my side to take my hand. At first I thought he was just being a good husband, since I had some trouble getting in and out these days, but he didn’t let me go.
Frank knocked with his foot, keeping the pipe up his sleeve and his hand on mine.
The door opened, releasing a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke. “Well, surprise, surprise,” Charlie said with a bit of a laugh, not sounding surprised at all. “Come on in, kids.”
I looked around the room, my eyes falling on a ratty looking puppy tied to the bathroom doorknob. The dog cocked its little head, practically vibrating with excitement.
Charlie ignored me and hugged Frank.
Frank didn’t return the embrace, his body completely stiff, but he did move his face against Charlie’s head, his expression already full of mourning.
Charlie patted his back and then his cheek, warmly, tenderly, like a father. I’d never seen them being affectionate with each other. It made me miss my dad. “So, this is it then?” he asked, and he lit a cigarette. Then he handed him an envelope that looked worn from being handled. “I never paid you for that thing in Chicago.”
Frank took it and handed it straight over to me without looking at the contents. “Vincent killed him. I lied to you. He’s a natural.”
I peeked in long enough to see that he hadn’t given him a discount for the man I killed, and put the envelope in my coat. Frank never told me he’d billed for him.
Charlie chuckled scornfully. “I must say, Frankie boy, I never would’ve guessed you were a queer. I suppose it stems from being on the inside, huh? All those lonely guards. And you with such a pretty face, scared silent.”
I stopped breathing, staring at Charlie in horror. There were already tears in my eyes, imagining Frank, innocent, shy Frank, catatonic from trauma, at the mercy of men worse than Charlie. Real wardens.
Frank laughed incredulously. “Don’t toy with me, Charlie. Not this late in the game.”
“Are you going to tell me it didn’t happen? You don’t remember, kiddo. You don’t remember anything. He believes me. Don’t you, Vincent?”
“Frank,” I said, but I couldn’t say anything else. It explained so much. But then, so did the things he did remember, what had happened with his mother, his lack of social interaction.
“Relax, V,” he said. “It never happened. That little lie was directed at you.”
Charlie smiled. “You sure? Why don’t you let him stick his dick in you? See what memories come back.”
Frank shook his head pityingly. It wasn’t getting to him. I wished I could’ve
said the same for myself.
“I know your tricks, Charlie,” he said. “I know you. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever happened, it doesn’t make any difference. Because I’m happy. And I have you to thank for that. Vincent and I never would’ve met if not for you.” Then he laughed. “Cheers.”
Charlie grinned, trying to look pleased though his expression was one of bitter defeat. Then he sat on the bed, taking the last cigarette from his pack. He paused for a second, and offered it to Frank.
“I quit,” he said, but he sat down by his side and leaned over to light it for him. “I’d appreciate an apology. That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”
Charlie glanced at him and shrugged. “I bought you a dog. Thought you’d be lonely without…Vincent.” Then he looked at me contemptuously. “You’d better take care of him.”
“I will,” I said through gritted teeth that had nothing to do with how his voice affected my fillings. I was utterly disgusted with him, and I wanted to get Frank the hell out of there.
He turned back to Frank, all the hostility gone. “Believe me when I tell you this, kiddo, I only wanted the best for you. I didn’t know what he was really after.”
Frank nodded, and he took the cigarette from between his lips, tossing it to the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Then he hugged him with one arm and kissed the side of his balding head, and he stood up with his back to me. “Bye, Charlie,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Au revoir, Frankie boy,” he said.
I grabbed the dog’s leash and rushed out as I heard the first swing, a wet crunch with a metallic echo. My head was pounding. I hoped Charlie’s felt worse.
I put on Frank’s sunglasses and walked shakily to the car with our new pet, filled with a sickening sense of unease courtesy of my very recently deceased father-in-law. How could he have lied about something so unspeakable? And what if it hadn’t been a lie?
Frank didn’t talk the rest of the day. He didn’t cry. He didn’t look at me. He wouldn’t even look at the dog, which was doing everything in her power to make him.
I scratched her ears. The dog had fleas, and I was starting to itch, but it didn’t seem right to put her in the backseat. Not after she’d been stuck in Charlie’s hotel room for the past few weeks, living on secondhand smoke and fast-food.
He pulled off the freeway, his hand grazing my knee as he changed gears. I knew where we were going. We’d gone dozens of times. Fire cleansed everything, and we had one thing left to burn.
Frank got out of the car, sitting on the hood and putting a thin cigarette he’d obviously snuck from Bella between his lips. He didn’t light it. I followed with the dog.
The envelope was creased down the center; evenly the way only machines or compulsive people could manage. Frank straightened it out before opening it.
I kept my eyes on the dog. I probably should’ve just stayed in the car, but I wanted to offer as much support as I could. Then I felt his hand on my leg, and I looked back to him. He was holding a small photograph, a wallet-sized snapshot of a little boy with dark hair and downcast, green eyes. I smiled and took it from him.
He was several years younger than he’d been in the newspaper article his brother had, his face unchanged by puberty. He was wearing a blue shirt. His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, mushroomed around his head. He didn’t look scared, though I was sure this was some sort of mugshot. He just looked out of it. Sleeping with eyes wide open. Dead.
I would’ve known it was Frank in the photograph even if I’d had to pick it out of a sea of faces. He’d had the same expression in my nightmares, when I was scared he’d never sleep again, when he’d known bad things were coming, and could do nothing about them.
“You were adorable,” I said, and I showed it to the dog so she wouldn’t feel left out. I wasn’t sure if she’d care about seeing it or not. I’d never had a dog before.
Frank set the file between us and got off the hood. “Give me the dog. I want to go for a walk.”
I handed over the leash. “What are you gonna name her?”
He bent down to be eye level with her, holding her under the chin so she wouldn’t rush him and lick his face. “Jesus, this is an ugly dog.”
He was right about that. The dog’s coat was a mash of colors; browns and blacks, whites and reds. She looked like she’d been puked on, the poor thing. It reminded me of someone else’s coat. “Let’s call her Charlie,” I said.
Frank looked at me and smiled, getting a little teary-eyed. The dog started whining. “Charlie it is,” he said, standing up. “Burn that, will you?”
I glanced at the folder. He had to know that I’d check if Charlie had been telling the truth. I still felt sick after what he’d said. “John Doe?” I asked, seeing the name typed across the top.
“They didn’t know who I was.”
“Can I keep the picture?”
“If you’d like,” he said. “You know I’m giving it to you to destroy so we don’t have to speak of it ever again, right?”
Green light. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to smoke.”
“I don’t care if you do.”
“I’m not going to,” he said. It wasn’t me he was trying, and failing, to convince.
“Can I have your lighter to burn this if you’re not going to smoke?”
He handed it to me.
“You have Bella’s?” I asked.
“Charlie’s.”
“Have fun not smoking.”
He smiled at me and kissed the top of my head. I grabbed him for a quick hug before he pulled away. He had his cigarette lit before he was even out of sight, but I paid him little mind. The file was screaming for my attention.
I sighed and picked it up, my heart racing as I opened it.
There was a silver paper clip attached to some papers where his photo had been. I set it aside. The first page was his description, height, weight, eye and hair color, estimated age eleven to thirteen, and a detail of his crime. They’d pinned his mother’s death on him along with the landlord.
I closed my eyes. Frank knew that was in here. He might’ve even known he’d been convicted of it. He’d screened the whole file before giving it to me. But I still felt like I was going behind his back. Then I read a little closer.
She hadn’t died right away. She was in a coma for two days. Shit. Just like I was. I almost lit the thing up right then and there, not wanting to see what other secrets it held in store for me. But if I was never allowed to mention the contents again, I had to see for myself whether Charlie had lied.
I flipped to the next page. Psychiatric Evaluation:
Patient refuses to speak.
Patient remains unresponsive.
Patient refuses to attend class.
Patient refuses to leave room.
Patient does not eat. Patient does not sleep. Patient hospitalized for observation.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Next came Charlie’s handwriting, a little neater than the most recent sampling I’d seen, under the heading of Physical Evaluation. That gave me chills.
Patient medicated. Patient fed intravenously. Patient released. Doctor’s expert opinion: Patient insane, but we knew that already.
Patient sent to infirmary with bruises & lacerations. Doctor’s expert opinion: Patient had shit beaten out of him. Patient patched up and sent back to cell room.
Patient sent to infirmary with bruises & lacerations. Doctor’s expert opinion: Patient needs to learn to fight. Patient has no defensive wounds. Patient should get a steel pipe.
Patient sent to infirmary with broken arm. Doctor’s expert opinion: Patient an easy target because he does not fight back. Will see Patient again soon.
Over and over and over. There was no mention of sexual assault, just Charlie’s attempt at humor over Frank getting his ass kicked. But according to the dates, Charlie saw him a hell of a lot more frequently than his psychiatrist.
After a couple of pages, his “exp
ert” opinion began to include more observations, that Frank seemed alert, Frank seemed to be paying attention, Frank no longer appeared immune to pain.
Frank was coming around.
And there it was, on the bottom of the fifth page of Charlie’s chicken scratch, written in bold and underlined several times: Patient can speak. Patient ribbits to Doctor. John Doe’s a FROG!!! Doctor deserves Nobel Prize...and RAISE.
I flipped the page. Nothing more from Charlie. No more visits to the infirmary. Just a release notice, signed and stamped. If I hadn’t looked at the dates, it would’ve seemed like all this had happened relatively quickly; justice being served efficiently. But it went on for over two years.
I touched Frank’s lighter to the bottom of the file and tossed it in front of the car. It hadn’t answered my question; it had only provided new ones. Just like most conversations with its subject.
Charlie came bounding across the darkness, instinctively staying away from the fire. She tried jumping up on the hood next to me but didn’t quite make it. She wasn’t discouraged for long, and her second attempt ended with dirty paw prints and scratches all over Frank’s car.
He wasn’t far behind. He smelled like cigarettes.
“Well?” Frank asked, sitting down and putting his arm around me.
“Do you think he was lying?”
“We’re not supposed to talk about it.”
“It wasn’t in the file, it’s fair game.”
Frank smiled. “Cheeky.”
“Well?”
“It didn’t happen, Vincent. I know Charlie. If it were true, he never would’ve said it. He read you, and he wanted one last attempt at making you uncomfortable around me. That’s all it was.”
I watched his eyes. His confidence was reassuring, but Charlie’s lie had done damage. I knew I wouldn’t be able to shake the thought for a long time. It was an appropriate wedding present coming from a man like him. Although, Frank was right. He had brought us together. And it would take more than a lie to tear us apart. “You got beat up a lot.”
Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder Page 33
