"Please let me die ...please let me die...please let me die..." Imprisoned by the eternal night demons, Goupil lay prone and paralyzed in bed. In the disturbing dawn of waking, during those few lifelong moments of panic sorting the nightmares from the day, the helpless heathen begged, borrowed and pleaded for his life - just as the assassin had so many of his victims do.
This was every morning.
***
There's a facade to the world, a living hypocrisy that allows us to glide through with false faces even as we claim to not be part of it. In this nether region suspended between heaven and hell, upheld solely by the will of Man, resides a special kind of creature who lifts all his values from this anti-world, his feet never touching the ground.
These beings are instruments of their environment, knowing their environment will do anything to keep itself alive, thus keeping them alive as well. In this way, all the duplicity and power mongering and machinations of the world become allies - even as these same forces inflict suffering on the rest. The creatures are favored vassals to rulers of the anti-world, loyalty to the cause their currency.
***
Goupil survived the morning onslaught yet again. He sunk into the hotel bed in a room bathed in beloved anonymity, like he had never breathed its air, never existed. No traces, no regrets - a motto to die by. Goupil's unstated goal was to die in an unmarked grave at an unattended funeral. He'd of simply vanished from sight unnoticed just as he had done a thousand times before.
To angry police agencies around the globe he was better known simply as "the Red Fox", a red-haired Frenchman with a murky trail of dead bodies littered across the continents. Descriptions were always vague, like someone you only saw out of the corner of your eye, facial features a blur. One frustrated Interpol agent described Goupil as "a man with infinite breath. He never comes up for air."
His mentor had been the famous assassin Joubert, who lured him into a life he assured was "quite restful - almost peaceful. No need to believe in either side, or any side. There is no cause. There's only yourself. The belief is in your own precision." Upon hearing this, something snapped inside Goupil, knowing this was the only life for him. Never could he be one of "them", the 9 to 5 androids awash in ignorant self-delusion, tethering loyalty to the world's facade like mindless dogs.
Though on occasion he did "company jobs" - state sponsored killing (master Joubert's specialty) - Goupil detested the work and the unoriginality it required - even as the prerequisite precision it required still fed his dear addiction. No, the Red Fox gloried in the thrill of being hunted, being outlaw, matching wits as in any fox hunt, life and death the only interesting stakes. To him, all the "jobbed people" were his instruments, laying the groundwork that allowed his artificial life to continue.
Goupil knew his keen edge was his greatest advantage, rising above simple human needs - but its success came with disappointment, for never could his hand reach for the cup of human kindness. And yet, no one ever called him on it. He expected to hear, "Why does he live that way? It's not normal." His ungrounded feet couldn't fathom an answer. Is everyone as deliberately unprincipled as I? Can't be! The thought made him shudder, staying with him, eating his mind.
And that's when something snapped again.
***
He'd gone through the fast food drive thru a couple hours before and from his covert stakeout he could see the same girl in the cashier's window. Perfect! She was fresh and innocent, lifting his heart from despair for the few moments of their contact. Yes, she was a grade A target. The more he dwelled on it, the surer he became, his heart pounding like it never did for any of his staged suicides.
He wondered what her reaction would be. Or would she have no reaction at all in the face of it?
The idea derived from a long stuck memory of a priest who'd committed the same act in the same type of drive thru. Ah, the priests! Now there's an artificial lie! The vice-like grip of religion providing fanatical power - too much power maybe, lacking in challenge. No, the Red Fox could never don the priestly robe to be snared in its webbed and stringed ways.
There she is! Poor girl! Such a shitty life! What a crap job to be trapped in. No one should suffer such a fate! I shall free her from that, giving her a special moment of excitement. My hands are sweating like a first timer. Careful, in the end it's just another job. Be precise!
Goupil sweetly savored his last piece of handiwork. He did this often, reliving the sequence over and over, wallowing in his own brilliance, feeding off the clarity of his unerring god. Yes, the target's protectors had been clever, no clear shot available from anywhere. But the Red Fox was more clever! No one but Goupil had thought of a deadly ricochet shot! Genius.
Damn those noisy boys. Thirty yards away a group of rowdy Latinos hung out in the parking lot, sitting on cars, talking loudly. Be invisible. Blend. Nothing to see here. Goupil, at Joubert's behest, had studied with Buddhist monks, learning to make his energy a black hole, to be the least remembered man in a room. All his wiles and tradecraft would be used on this endeavor as well.
Now! Do it, bitch! You've only a small window of opportunity!
The stolen Ford sedan snaked its way out of the adjoining parking lot and into the Wendy's drive thru lane. A girl's voice crackled over a speaker and a restrained voice replied. Hearing the words "Pull up to the next window", the driver could barely contain his erupting joy, making his final preparations at the last minute as he had always done.
The girl in the window shrieked. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. Her co-worker rushed to the window and she too let out a yelp. "Oh my god, he's naked! It's pointing straight up!" Irresistibly peeking, the girl saw the driver take that as a friendly overture. "It just needs some air," he helpfully explained, his lips quivering in fear.
But the party came to a crashing halt as the manager intruded, filling the air with invectives, causing the driver to screech away. The commotion caught the attention of a police car pulling in from the blind side. With a quick word from the manager, a hot pursuit was on for the Ford flasher. In a matter of minutes, the prey was bagged.
"The Red Fox finally came up for air." His myth shattered as a vase weighted under rock upon rock, believing it could go on forever. But shards turned to dust when it came crashing down, the legendary deceiver caught naked in all ways. Like a lid on a boiling pot, human desire cannot be contained, never failing to have its say, one day to destroy our feckless facades forever. The human impulse: for some it makes them, for the rest it breaks them.
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