"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall."
Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene I)
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"Oh, God, please don't let me die like this. Please don't let me die. I'm not saying I deserve to live, but please don't let me die like this..."
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God greases the skids to living when you're wicked with passionate intensity, but man, the minute you step off that train you get run over by the train. It's when you try to go straight when the shit really hits the fan. Maybe there was more to my life of sin than I gave credit to. All I know is everything is shit now.
There's this new voice in my head. I call it the Lecture Voice. I know it's wrong and stupid and guilt induced and yet still I heed its word! Just fucking insane! Can someone explain this to me, please? Oh yeah, that's right. All you straights are as fucked up as I am.
Well, not all...
There was Melissa, sitting next to me in first class. One of my covers while traveling is a photographer. It's great because it gives me an excuse to surveil my target and surrounding areas legitimately. I'm no pro but I know my way around a camera enough to cover my ass in a conversation or at least cut it short if it goes too deep like a pro might.
But I guess I'm a fucking character actor. Posing as Mr. Photographer I truly wished to become that person. Melissa was funny and honest and true - not like anyone I had met before. I had no intention of reaching for her, that would be like reaching for the stars. But, damn, what a woman! A woman only available to an honest man. Not my kind.
Once that thought entered I couldn't get it out of my head. The more I argued against it the more I wanted to do it. Maybe not a photographer but something to get out. To give life a chance like I never have before. Perhaps things aren't so dire as they seem. Then suddenly I find myself looking through a scope and I had no idea why I was doing what I was doing.
Losing focus for a hit man - in any sense - is fatal.
That's when I knew I had to get out if I were to survive. Shit! I was being dragged down a path over which I had no control. That's only for "other people", not me. That's when trouble starts. That's when the shit hits the fan and God says, "Aha! Now I've got you." Sort of like when Scarface killed his associate rather than the small children in the car.
You know how in the movies that sooner or later the hit man's boss turns on him and wants him rubbed out? It's like that in every assassin film! But I'll be damned if that's not what happened to me! Since I literally know where the bodies are buried they figure why take the chance on me living.
But I couldn't bring myself to believe my life had deteriorated beyond repair.
There's this old house I return to, very modest - where I grew up, actually. It's my safe house. Returning to any place I'd been before was a bad idea, I know. I knew better, but I couldn't do better. I so badly wanted to have one safe spot in the world. One place to call home. It just had to be - had to be!
And that's when Lecture Voice kicked in. "If this really is a home you'll relax and act like it is! You need to prove this is your home! Everyone else has one, why don't you??" So I did the thing most vulnerable: I took off all my clothes, getting ready for a shower. Walking around the house naked I feel a sense of elation, of freedom. I am loved in the world after all!
But part of me (guiltily) stayed on alert. Not a moment too soon I noticed the outside shadow. By habit I'd not turned on any lights despite the dusky hour. That one habit gave me just enough edge to hide - in the dirty laundry.
There's a chute right by the middle bathroom just big enough for me to squeeze into with some laundry still inside. Luckily enough I hate doing laundry so I climbed in and buried myself under the sweat stained shirts and smelly socks. And all I could think about was the headline reading of a man shot naked in his stinky laundry hamper. What a way to go out!
"Oh, God, please don't let me die like this. Please don't let me die. I'm not saying I deserve to live, but please don't let me die like this..."
I could hear those same measured footsteps I used to make. Fortunately for me, I knew every squeak in the floorboards and every creak in the joints. In order to make oneself invisible, one must not even recognize one's own presence. You must convince yourself you're not there, a black hole. It's an art I've perfected over time. You have to not be sensed.
I know what you're thinking: why not use my gun? Well, Lecture Voice wouldn't let me keep it. My gun was too much a part of me, part of my pride. It was a fine custom made piece, an extension of my arm like a pool player's Balabushka. It was for my personal protection only but Lecture Voice demanded, "No guns!" If I kept a gun it means I didn't really quit. Goddam, I hate rules! It's why I got into the business in the first place.
"Of all base passions, fear is the most accursed."
King Henry the Sixth, Part I (Act V, Scene II)
Fighting the urge for self-recrimination, I froze my mind, body and spirit. An assassin must have the senses of a blind man, to "see" a presence. If they were super top notch they'd shoot every crevice first and ask questions later. But they only searched and stalked...searched and stalked...
Fear became me. I had only two choices: give in to it or give in to trust. I had to admit it may be too late in my life for a time to trust, burned too many bridges to find a way back. Logically, these men were pros and I had no chance. In fact, it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought I'd get out alive unless I got a lucky headlong rush. But with two of them, the odds of that working were too slim to even calculate. Fuck! How did I get into this position??
When the silencer slowly opened the laundry chute to peek inside, an eerie calm came over me. I gave in to the trust. The Lord's will be done. If there's no way out left for me then so be it. Stupidity is the one crime that never goes unpunished. If I die, I really can't be pissed about it. Then the chute cover snapped back and I waited for the bullets to come.
Instead, I heard whispered voices.
"He's got to be here. There's his fucking clothes."
"You have no idea how cagey this son-of-a-bitch is. You know what boss man said, don't underestimate him. When you think you've got him, he's got you!"
"Fuck! Then those clothes are an obvious ruse and he's probably lining us up as we speak."
"Let's get the fuck out while we still can!"
I couldn't believe it. They outsmarted themselves. As a rule I tried to psyche out most everyone I met just so they would make a mistake like that. Never thought it would work! Whenever serendipity fell into my lap on a job I claimed it was my plan all along, done with my keen sense of insight. It's the kind of bullshit statement you can only get away with on people who have little or no insight, but for the most part that was who I as dealing with.
I was shaking when I finally exited the hamper. The house was completely dark now - just like my life. It was intolerable for me to think of Melissa reading the headline about my death. That I had fooled her so badly, that I died at the hands of vile men in utter ignominy. It was her brilliant eyes thinking I was somebody - it was me thinking I was somebody.
I crawled into my empty childhood bedroom, the place where I pretended to be James Bond and Captain Kirk. Who would have thought decades later I'd be in that same room hounded by hit men, my life a complete mess. How can I ever go up to the Melissa's of the world and honestly say, "That was my life then, this is my life now"? Hell, I don't even know how to have a life. Just lie. And kill.
Maybe it is too late. Maybe the whole world is laughing at me thinking I can avoid the inevitable bullet to come the minute I relax. Where's Melissa now, ya think? Probably at some party being witty and funny and flashing that winning smile of hers. Boy, did she know how to make the straight life be exciting! She'll never know how much she affected me, changing the entire course of my life. That's what a shining star can do.
Been a long time since I've had such a helpless smile on my grim face, just thinking of her. And that's certainly the best part of being an ex international assassin: for once, I can smile.
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