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Rats
I came home, tossing my jacket on the pleather entryway bench. I locked the front door behind me when I realized I forgot to kill someone today.
“Well, shoot,” I said, turning right back around.
“Honey?” Grace came down the stairs. “Where’re you off to now?”
“Barry’s,” I said. I picked up my jacket. “I haven't killed anyone this month. I was going to do it today but I forgot. The Explorer’s got a full tank, though.”
“Thanks,” she said, holding her feather duster away from me to give me a peck on the cheek. “Well, good luck, knock ‘em dead, all that.”
“Thanks, honey.” I pecked her in return, headed down the driveway, and hopped into my Prius.
Parking was a bit hectic, but I managed to find a spot. I walked up to the unassuming little building that was Barry’s Vigilantes and opened the door, unzipping my jacket as I entered.
The inside was the unnatural hybrid of a modern dentist’s waiting room and a high-society club, and the forced blending of the two sometimes made me uneasy. Though there was a fully furnished lounge towards the front, there were boxy cubicles towards the back, yet both areas were dressed in warm red and dark wood in some form or another.
I spotted Sam in the lounge area, though I almost didn’t see her. She sat on a black leather armchair, almost blending in with her all-black outfit. And this was an outfit, like she’s always wearing an X-Men Halloween costume. She nodded to me. “Nate.”
“Sam.” I kept walking. “Got nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon?”
To boot, like a comic-book villain, she twirled her gun around on her finger. I would’ve minded if it was a real gun, but we were only allowed to use stun guns. They’re loaded with tiny special pellets laced with a sleeping agent. A bit of a cheap copout, but it makes for much less mess.
Nonetheless, twirling around a weapon like that didn’t sit well with me. Sam didn’t seem to mind. “I like seeing who procrastinates,” she said.
I straightened my shirt cuffs. “You should get a hobby, like not creeping people out. It’s a fun time.”
She didn’t reply. I ignored her and walked up to the front desk.
The front desk acted as the gateway between the lounge and the office, the island between two oceans of odd. Barry, the Manager himself, sat at the front desk today. He usually takes the helm at the end of the month, when the vigilantes flood in, which includes me this month. I set my card down on the desk. “Hey, Barry.”
Barry was a hefty gentleman, one who seemed right at home sitting on his rear end all day. He wore a shirt and tie but never a jacket, I guess to show off his pit stain game. He kept himself well-groomed, though, with a haircut straight out of a men’s hairstyle booklet, though he only shaved once a month. He smirked at me, swiping my ID and scrutinizing it, holding it close to his eyes. “Nathan Pierce—oh, Nate! Hardly recognized ya. It’s been so long!”
I bobbed my head. “Yeah, yeah. What you got for me?”
Barry swung around in his swivel chair and bent down, rummaging through a stack of papers. He emerged with a tan folder. “You’re in luck, I saved an easy job, just for you!” He winked.
“You say that for all us regulars.”
“Well, keeps ya regular, doesn’t it?” He slapped a file folder on the desk. “Good for business. Anyway, take a look. Pretty straightforward job. Good for a Friday, too. The guy doesn’t get out much on Fridays, besides home from work.”
I opened it up and skimmed the application form. Charles (Charlie) Wickman, 29, factory worker close to the bay area. “Reason?” I asked.
“Several gang murders,” Barry said, stroking his round stubbled face. “Had a few requests for him. Guess he got in with the wrong bunch and did some hits to prove his status or whatever.”
I looked up at Barry. “A gangster killing other gangsters? I don’t think this concerns us.”
He jerked a thumb behind him to the cubicles. “Investigations already took a look. Seems these two gangs have been at peace for a while. Usually they just scare each other, break a window, whatever. Wasn’t till fish-face started proving his nerve that they’d ever been violent with each other.”
I flipped the page over to see the pictures of Charlie. He had a thin face, and a thin moustache to match. And yes, his face did resemble a fish’s. He seemed scrawny and hunched over in every street photo. “Still seems like a family feud more than an injustice. I’d rather let the kids sort it out themselves, you know?”
He shrugged. “Murder is murder. Still wrong.”
“There we agree.” I then held up a finger, attempting to catch myself, but Barry was already grinning from ear to ear. We shared a laugh.
I scooped up the file folder. “Well, this’ll do. I’ll be back in an hour with pictures and blood. Are there any bag bundles left?”
“Yup, a few in the back room.” He winked. “Saved one just for—”
“Yeah, yeah, just for me. You’re a chum, Barry,” I said, waving. “Later.”
Charlie stirred in his chair, though he didn’t have far to stir. I tended to overdo it with the tape, but for good reason. He blinked.
I set the blood bag next to him on the empty duffel. Blood seeped in from the top of the bag. “Afternoon, Charlie.”
Charlie began our session with a question I’ve never heard before in all thirteen years I’ve worked as a vigilante: “Where am I?”
Kidding. I yawned. “Sometimes the basement of the vigilante outpost gets busy, so we’ll borrow one of these places from time to time.” I looked around the storeroom. No one had bothered to repaint it since the late 60’s, probably. Rust stained the walls in streams underneath any old pipes. Besides few crates and an old sink by one wall, it was empty. But it was clean, at least. “Has character, doesn’t it? It’s like we’re in a budding photographer’s breakout photo.”
He craned his neck in trying to look around his body, his eyes glossing over every piece of tape and stopping at the needle in his arm. “What is this… Why are you…”
“Yeah. Sort of a forced blood donation.” I smiled. “It’s win-win. Saves on cleanup and forces your last act to be a kind one.”
His eyes bulged a little, and he swung his neck around. “Let me out of here, man!”
“Sorry, no can do. We’ve got business to take care of.” I produced an envelope from my pocket. “So, as part of the Assassination Application Request Form—which, by the way, cute name, right?”
His jaw trembled. “What?”
“Assassination Application Request Form. It spells…”
Charlie licked his lips, taking a few short, shaken breaths. “A-A-R-F?”
I sighed. “Yeah, like AARF, like a dog’s bark. Anyway. Applicants have to write a minimum 150 word essay on why their target should be killed. The Manager only accepts applications that give a good reason to kill. So here we are.”
Charlie lurched, but he was firmly taped to the folding chair, and the chair firmly taped to the ground. “Please let me go,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m here, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Nobody ever does when they’re tied to that chair. Sorry to be caught, not for the crime, right? Personally, I tend to think you guys deserve a worse death than this, but this isn’t so bad, isn’t it?” I shook the blood bag to keep the blood cells from separating from the rest of the liquid. “It’s like going to sleep. Painless. But there’s one thing you get to do before you die.”
I held up the envelope and pulled out the folded letter inside. “You get to read the essay.”
He shook his head, his eyes growing watery. “God, what is this.”
“I just said, it’s an essay,” I said, unfolding it carefully so that only he could read it. I wasn’t allowed to. One of Barry’s rules, and one I see as a sign of respect for the applicant. “Can you read this?”
He nodded, starting to read. I watched his face, like I’d watched many times before, but this time surprised me. His eyes went from the top of the essay straight to the bottom before he burst into tears. “Wha… What… No, I’m not… No, I didn’t do it.” He frantically searched the page. Not reread, searched. “I swear, I didn’t tell! I didn’t tell nobody!” He tried to jerk free of the tape, but could only flop from side to side.
Now, “I didn’t do it” was the same old swan song I’d heard a hundred times, but “I didn’t tell” was distinctly different. If he’d committed a violent crime, why would he need to be punished for telling somebody, instead of just doing it? Not to mention just the way he read it—normally, folks are very interested in the reason for their deaths and intensely read the thing from start to finish, but a five-second browse was all he needed.
As Charlie shivered and wept, my curiosity got the best of me, and I turned the letter around. Barry would never have to know.
I searched above and below the message in case this was a mistake, but no, Charlie’s name was at the top in the same blue pen, and all the other identifying information was correct. Under “Offense”, the applicant wrote in “disrespect”. Not murder, as Barry had said. “Disrespect”. This was the reason he was hooked up to a chair and bleeding out, and what an atrocious, frivolous reason it was.
I looked closely at the essay. Little dots of ink topped most of the words, likely when the writer used his pen to count the words and bring his count up to 150.
I turned the envelope over, cheap but fresh and clean and not a wrinkle or stray fold mark anywhere. Barry apparently didn’t use the original envelopes; no doubt he used new ones to hide the fact that there’d been hefty wads of cash stuffed in the original envelopes.
I tried to keep from crumpling that perfect little envelope. The application fee was one thing already, but accepting a bribe to kill someone for no better reason than being a “rat” was not right. We weren’t hands for hire—we were heroes, doing what the court system couldn’t. I could stand the fee and the process, but this act now wasn’t justice. It was a crime.
I fished out a gauze pad from the emergency first aid kit in my bag bundle. I swapped out the needle for the gauze and taped it around Charlie arm. “You haven’t lost much blood at this point. You’ll be fine,” I said, mostly to myself, then raised my voice. “Guess there was a mistake. Today’s your lucky day.” I squatted to seal the bag of about half a liter of his blood, glancing around the dingy little storeroom. “Well, relatively lucky day.”
“You know you’re not supposed to read those.”
It was Sam’s voice, calling out from somewhere outside the storeroom. I slowly stood up and I raised my hands in the air. Sam liked slow. “What’d I say about finding a new hobby?”
In reply, I heard the click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back.
“Seriously, Sam,” I said. “Why did you follow me?”
“You seem like the type to break the rules. Was only a matter of time.”
“Barry’s rules and the law are two different things.”
“Barry has rules for a reason. It’s moral.”
A fire churned in my stomach. “Sam, do you know the truth?”
“Do you trust Barry?” She sounded impatient.
“I did. I really did. Too much, apparently.” My shoulders sagged a bit. I gently waved the essay. “But not anymore after reading this. Maybe you should.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Now, either you get into my car quietly, or I shoot you if you try to run.”
That went without saying, but it was polite of her to warn me. “If you try to shoot me, uh, I'll have to read this letter. Aloud. And if you don't, I'll make sure—” Then I bolted.
Her gun went off. I leapt through an open window, trying to tuck and roll but smacking on linoleum anyway. My shoulder and back ached, but I ran down the hallway, knowing Sam was close behind.
And knowing Sam was close behind, I started to read. “ ‘Charlie is a rat and a weasel! Charlie is a rat and a weasel! Charlie is’—!”
Gunshots cut me off. I ducked into an open doorway and dashed through a warehouse area. Long, thick aisles were packed to the ceiling with large wooden crates. It was my lucky day. Large wooden crates made for perfect shielding from gunfire.
Sam’s footsteps entered the warehouse. I shouted, “ ‘Charlie is a rat and a weasel!’ It’s that sentence twenty times, to pad up the word count! And a bribe at the end, Sam! How’s that for vigilante justice?”
Her response was another shot, which launched up a puff of concrete dust near my foot. I veered around the end of an aisle and ran to an open door. I felt very grateful I made use of that moderately priced treadmill my wife got on sale a few years back.
Sam was rash. Smart, certainly, but rash. Now that I’d led her on this chase and looped us around, I’d be the first to reach my car.
And since she’d parked behind me, I’d be the first to reach hers, too. I whipped out the pocketknife on my keychain, opened the blade, and plunged it into Sam’s rear tire. I then stowed the blade, switched to the key, jumped into my car and stomped on the gas.
I saw Sam in my side mirror, just missing the chance to slash my own tires. She put her knife away and pulled out her phone. I knew exactly which Manager would be on the other line.
My foot teetered over the gas petal, itching for a high-speed chase, but I knew it wasn’t a running game at this point. Once Barry found out, he’d call everybody in the service that I’d broke one of his rules and they’d all be after me. Catching another vigilante in the act of breaking Barry’s rules earned more than a typical Christmas bonus.
I could’ve gone home and protected my family, but there was no way that wouldn’t get ugly. It’d turn into a standoff, and then either a shootout, jail, or a chair just like Charlie’s. If I was in and out of my house quick enough, I’d be able to get Grace and Emma in the car and out of town before anyone else showed up, but then it’d still be a chase, and I was all on my own.
I wrung the steering wheel. There was really only one option left, and that was to sort this out with Barry face-to-face. All I did was read an essay. I could strike some sort of non-disclosure deal, that I wouldn’t tell anyone what kind of scumbag, money-leeching business he was running. It was worth a try.
I stepped out of my Prius into the tattered parking lot of the drug store next to Barry's. I pulled my jacket close to my body as I shuffled across the parking lot. The wind had picked up from earlier today.
I hurried along and zigzagged in case anyone had me in their sights. I reached the front door soon enough to be safely in the lion’s den.
Barry was still at the front desk, though starting to wrap up for the day. It must’ve been closer to seven. Skies as cloudy as Bevelton’s make it easy to lose track of time.
“Barry,” I said, letting go of my jacket when I realized how tightly I’d been clinging to it.
“Nate, hello,” Barry said, wiping his hands and looking me up and down. “Did you leave your pictures in the car or something?”
Pictures… oh. “No, uh, I’m saving Charlie for next week. Couldn’t catch him today.”
“Ah, well. If you’re hurting this month without a paycheck, let me know, I’ll see what I can do.” He stood up from his chair and started walking to his office, empty coffee mug in hand.
Weird. It was as if nothing had changed. “Hey, Barry?”
Barry turned around, resting a hand on the wall. “Yeah?”
Someone came in through the front door. I whipped around, expecting Sam, but instead seeing Big Jim. Big Jim was as big around the shoulders as Barry was around the waist. He was a quiet fellow, and fairly harmless. More of an honest type like myself, though we’d never had much to chat about.
I breathed out in relief, turning around back to Barry. He gave me a puzzled look. “Something the matter, Nate?”
I glanced down at the gun in Barry’s side holster. He would’ve reached for it long before now, if he knew. But he didn’t, so he must’ve not known.
I felt a slithery chill up my spine. Sam hadn’t called Barry. Of course she wouldn’t; she’d rather claim me for herself than offer me up for grabs to all the vigilantes.
And when I heard Big Jim slip a gun out of his pocket, I realized who Sam had called.
He pulled the trigger, piercing my arm with a sharp pang. Over the next ten seconds, I had the irresistible urge to lie down and rest, though the way down to the ground wasn’t as smooth and gentle as I’d hoped.
I awoke in the basement of the club: a wide unfinished room, lined with brick and plumbing and lit with a few incandescent bulbs. I was not pleased to wake up in this room, less pleased to be taped to a chair in this room, and even less pleased to see Barry, Sam, and Big Jim crowded around me.
However, probably the least pleasing thing of all was seeing a tube stuck in my arm. I groaned. “C’mon, guys.”
Barry stuck his hands in his pockets as he sat in a swivel chair. “You broke one of my rules, Nate. Plain and simple.”
I tried to force myself to wake up. Barry’s rules. They’re moral, as Sam would say, but Sam and Big Jim didn’t know. “Barry’s been taking money for jobs,” I said before Barry had a chance to shoot me. “I don’t think my job Charlie even murdered anybody.”
I froze, watching Sam and Big Jim, waiting for them to turn to Barry and ask if it was true. However, they only stared back at me. I looked at Barry in the middle, giving me a disappointed look but a hint of a smug grin as well. I felt a pit in my stomach. “They already knew.”
“Because they could keep their mouths shut.” Barry folded his arms and sighed. “You were ready to blab about it first thing. Can you blame Sam for doing what she did?”
I watched as the life was slowly drained out my arm and into a bag near the floor, thinking of how to cut the tape, or swing the chair around and start fighting my way out, but until a good opportunity to escape came, I’d have to talk my way out of it. “I can blame Sam, actually. Since when were we accepting bribes over real injustices?”
“They’re still injustices,” Barry said, rubbing his hands. “Murder is murder.”
“Did Charlie actually murder anyone, Barry?” I squinted. “I’ll bet Investigations didn’t take a look. And if they did, they turned a blind eye to it.”
Barry twiddled his thumbs. “Nate, I’ve got bills to pay, here, and paychecks to hand out. A lot of people work for us, and of course there’s taxes—”
“We run a public service, here, Barry, not a private service.”
“Families to feed, Nate. Your family, my family, Sam’s, Jim’s, Ron’s, Carrie’s, Dusty’s. This is both a public service and a business.” Barry spread his hands, shrugging. “If people want to make donations, they’re free to do so.”
He kept using money as an excuse to dodge the issue. I leaned forward, straining against the tape. “Right, so we pick Charlie the rat over a real criminal because it pays more to kill Charlie? That’s not how this business is supposed to work, Barry. Are we a vigilante crew or mercenaries? Choose your answer carefully.”
Barry smirked. “Or what, Nate?”
“Just answer.”
Barry licked his lips. “We’re a public service and a business. What’s—”
“Again, Barry.”
“It’s always black or white with you, Nate! What’s to say we can’t be both?”
“This is government-funded, Barry! Why’s money an issue? You should have enough from them to pay for the whole operation.” I shook my head. “This should be a public service, period! What about families who can’t afford an application fee? Or even the families that can? Why does Charlie get priority over their jobs?”
Barry pressed his lips together. “Nate, I think we should calm down.”
I pushed back against the chair. I cleared my throat, my head getting lighter. “You make me sick.”
“No, that’s the blood loss, I think.”
Har har. My vision got fuzzier, like bits of static on a television screen. “So this is it, then,” I said, my throat dry. “I don’t get to say goodbye to my wife?”
Barry’s brow creased for a moment, then fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “Eh, sure. What’s your home number?”
But as Barry dialed the number, I watched Big Jim lift his stun gun and fire at Sam, then pushing her down so she wouldn’t have a chance to fire back. Barry whirled around, but was met with a gunshot as well. He staggered to the floor.
I gazed up at Big Jim, blinking. Perhaps I was hallucinating, but if so, those were some remarkably convincing imaginary gunshots.
Jim replaced the needle in my arm with gauze. “How you feeling?” he said, which I think was the first time I’d heard him speak in a few months.
“Like I’m not dying anymore,” I said, my head still woozy. “But like I’m halfway there.”
After taping the gauze to my arm, he ran to the storeroom in the corner and emerged with a water bottle. “Here,” he said, holding it up to my lips.
“Thanks.” I drank about half until it went down the wrong pipe and I sputtered and coughed. Jim took the bottle back and started peeling away the tape. “Sorry, this is gonna hurt.”
“It’s okay.” I’d take a few yanked-out hairs over death any day. “So why’d you do it?”
He shrugged, a powerful motion considering the size of his shoulders. “I agree with you. I kept an eye out for someone who does.”
“Great,” I said, wincing as he ripped off some of the tape on my arm. “Well, what now?”
“I say we run,” Jim said. “Set up shop in another town far away.”
I nodded my head, imagining that scenario. “Yeah, okay. Set up shop.” I leaned forward. “We’ll read the essays and investigate ourselves. For free.”
He glanced at Barry’s unconscious body. “For free?”
“Yes,” I said, “and just like Barry said, you and I have families to feed. We’ll have to get real jobs on the side.”
Big Jim swept a pile of used tape aside, almost done freeing my right arm. “Five days a week instead of one a month? That’s too much to ask.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He raised his. “Sarcasm?”
I exhaled. “Sorry, hard to tell.” Once my upper body was free, I reached down and took another long swig of water, then helped Jim remove the tape. “Well, let’s get moving. Both out of here and out of our houses. Give me your cell number. We’ll meet up in Des Moines or something and go from there.”
“Sounds good.”
He helped me to my feet and he helped me up the stairs. Even though I had lost a good portion of my blood, I still felt a bit giddy. “A vigilante vigilante service, eh, Jim? Who’d have thought?”
Jim chuckled. “Beats me.”
“Well, shoot,” I said, turning right back around.
“Honey?” Grace came down the stairs. “Where’re you off to now?”
“Barry’s,” I said. I picked up my jacket. “I haven't killed anyone this month. I was going to do it today but I forgot. The Explorer’s got a full tank, though.”
“Thanks,” she said, holding her feather duster away from me to give me a peck on the cheek. “Well, good luck, knock ‘em dead, all that.”
“Thanks, honey.” I pecked her in return, headed down the driveway, and hopped into my Prius.
Parking was a bit hectic, but I managed to find a spot. I walked up to the unassuming little building that was Barry’s Vigilantes and opened the door, unzipping my jacket as I entered.
The inside was the unnatural hybrid of a modern dentist’s waiting room and a high-society club, and the forced blending of the two sometimes made me uneasy. Though there was a fully furnished lounge towards the front, there were boxy cubicles towards the back, yet both areas were dressed in warm red and dark wood in some form or another.
I spotted Sam in the lounge area, though I almost didn’t see her. She sat on a black leather armchair, almost blending in with her all-black outfit. And this was an outfit, like she’s always wearing an X-Men Halloween costume. She nodded to me. “Nate.”
“Sam.” I kept walking. “Got nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon?”
To boot, like a comic-book villain, she twirled her gun around on her finger. I would’ve minded if it was a real gun, but we were only allowed to use stun guns. They’re loaded with tiny special pellets laced with a sleeping agent. A bit of a cheap copout, but it makes for much less mess.
Nonetheless, twirling around a weapon like that didn’t sit well with me. Sam didn’t seem to mind. “I like seeing who procrastinates,” she said.
I straightened my shirt cuffs. “You should get a hobby, like not creeping people out. It’s a fun time.”
She didn’t reply. I ignored her and walked up to the front desk.
The front desk acted as the gateway between the lounge and the office, the island between two oceans of odd. Barry, the Manager himself, sat at the front desk today. He usually takes the helm at the end of the month, when the vigilantes flood in, which includes me this month. I set my card down on the desk. “Hey, Barry.”
Barry was a hefty gentleman, one who seemed right at home sitting on his rear end all day. He wore a shirt and tie but never a jacket, I guess to show off his pit stain game. He kept himself well-groomed, though, with a haircut straight out of a men’s hairstyle booklet, though he only shaved once a month. He smirked at me, swiping my ID and scrutinizing it, holding it close to his eyes. “Nathan Pierce—oh, Nate! Hardly recognized ya. It’s been so long!”
I bobbed my head. “Yeah, yeah. What you got for me?”
Barry swung around in his swivel chair and bent down, rummaging through a stack of papers. He emerged with a tan folder. “You’re in luck, I saved an easy job, just for you!” He winked.
“You say that for all us regulars.”
“Well, keeps ya regular, doesn’t it?” He slapped a file folder on the desk. “Good for business. Anyway, take a look. Pretty straightforward job. Good for a Friday, too. The guy doesn’t get out much on Fridays, besides home from work.”
I opened it up and skimmed the application form. Charles (Charlie) Wickman, 29, factory worker close to the bay area. “Reason?” I asked.
“Several gang murders,” Barry said, stroking his round stubbled face. “Had a few requests for him. Guess he got in with the wrong bunch and did some hits to prove his status or whatever.”
I looked up at Barry. “A gangster killing other gangsters? I don’t think this concerns us.”
He jerked a thumb behind him to the cubicles. “Investigations already took a look. Seems these two gangs have been at peace for a while. Usually they just scare each other, break a window, whatever. Wasn’t till fish-face started proving his nerve that they’d ever been violent with each other.”
I flipped the page over to see the pictures of Charlie. He had a thin face, and a thin moustache to match. And yes, his face did resemble a fish’s. He seemed scrawny and hunched over in every street photo. “Still seems like a family feud more than an injustice. I’d rather let the kids sort it out themselves, you know?”
He shrugged. “Murder is murder. Still wrong.”
“There we agree.” I then held up a finger, attempting to catch myself, but Barry was already grinning from ear to ear. We shared a laugh.
I scooped up the file folder. “Well, this’ll do. I’ll be back in an hour with pictures and blood. Are there any bag bundles left?”
“Yup, a few in the back room.” He winked. “Saved one just for—”
“Yeah, yeah, just for me. You’re a chum, Barry,” I said, waving. “Later.”
Charlie stirred in his chair, though he didn’t have far to stir. I tended to overdo it with the tape, but for good reason. He blinked.
I set the blood bag next to him on the empty duffel. Blood seeped in from the top of the bag. “Afternoon, Charlie.”
Charlie began our session with a question I’ve never heard before in all thirteen years I’ve worked as a vigilante: “Where am I?”
Kidding. I yawned. “Sometimes the basement of the vigilante outpost gets busy, so we’ll borrow one of these places from time to time.” I looked around the storeroom. No one had bothered to repaint it since the late 60’s, probably. Rust stained the walls in streams underneath any old pipes. Besides few crates and an old sink by one wall, it was empty. But it was clean, at least. “Has character, doesn’t it? It’s like we’re in a budding photographer’s breakout photo.”
He craned his neck in trying to look around his body, his eyes glossing over every piece of tape and stopping at the needle in his arm. “What is this… Why are you…”
“Yeah. Sort of a forced blood donation.” I smiled. “It’s win-win. Saves on cleanup and forces your last act to be a kind one.”
His eyes bulged a little, and he swung his neck around. “Let me out of here, man!”
“Sorry, no can do. We’ve got business to take care of.” I produced an envelope from my pocket. “So, as part of the Assassination Application Request Form—which, by the way, cute name, right?”
His jaw trembled. “What?”
“Assassination Application Request Form. It spells…”
Charlie licked his lips, taking a few short, shaken breaths. “A-A-R-F?”
I sighed. “Yeah, like AARF, like a dog’s bark. Anyway. Applicants have to write a minimum 150 word essay on why their target should be killed. The Manager only accepts applications that give a good reason to kill. So here we are.”
Charlie lurched, but he was firmly taped to the folding chair, and the chair firmly taped to the ground. “Please let me go,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m here, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Nobody ever does when they’re tied to that chair. Sorry to be caught, not for the crime, right? Personally, I tend to think you guys deserve a worse death than this, but this isn’t so bad, isn’t it?” I shook the blood bag to keep the blood cells from separating from the rest of the liquid. “It’s like going to sleep. Painless. But there’s one thing you get to do before you die.”
I held up the envelope and pulled out the folded letter inside. “You get to read the essay.”
He shook his head, his eyes growing watery. “God, what is this.”
“I just said, it’s an essay,” I said, unfolding it carefully so that only he could read it. I wasn’t allowed to. One of Barry’s rules, and one I see as a sign of respect for the applicant. “Can you read this?”
He nodded, starting to read. I watched his face, like I’d watched many times before, but this time surprised me. His eyes went from the top of the essay straight to the bottom before he burst into tears. “Wha… What… No, I’m not… No, I didn’t do it.” He frantically searched the page. Not reread, searched. “I swear, I didn’t tell! I didn’t tell nobody!” He tried to jerk free of the tape, but could only flop from side to side.
Now, “I didn’t do it” was the same old swan song I’d heard a hundred times, but “I didn’t tell” was distinctly different. If he’d committed a violent crime, why would he need to be punished for telling somebody, instead of just doing it? Not to mention just the way he read it—normally, folks are very interested in the reason for their deaths and intensely read the thing from start to finish, but a five-second browse was all he needed.
As Charlie shivered and wept, my curiosity got the best of me, and I turned the letter around. Barry would never have to know.
Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel. Charlie is a rat and a weasel.
Enclosed is advance payment. This will be tripled once the job is done.
I searched above and below the message in case this was a mistake, but no, Charlie’s name was at the top in the same blue pen, and all the other identifying information was correct. Under “Offense”, the applicant wrote in “disrespect”. Not murder, as Barry had said. “Disrespect”. This was the reason he was hooked up to a chair and bleeding out, and what an atrocious, frivolous reason it was.
I looked closely at the essay. Little dots of ink topped most of the words, likely when the writer used his pen to count the words and bring his count up to 150.
I turned the envelope over, cheap but fresh and clean and not a wrinkle or stray fold mark anywhere. Barry apparently didn’t use the original envelopes; no doubt he used new ones to hide the fact that there’d been hefty wads of cash stuffed in the original envelopes.
I tried to keep from crumpling that perfect little envelope. The application fee was one thing already, but accepting a bribe to kill someone for no better reason than being a “rat” was not right. We weren’t hands for hire—we were heroes, doing what the court system couldn’t. I could stand the fee and the process, but this act now wasn’t justice. It was a crime.
I fished out a gauze pad from the emergency first aid kit in my bag bundle. I swapped out the needle for the gauze and taped it around Charlie arm. “You haven’t lost much blood at this point. You’ll be fine,” I said, mostly to myself, then raised my voice. “Guess there was a mistake. Today’s your lucky day.” I squatted to seal the bag of about half a liter of his blood, glancing around the dingy little storeroom. “Well, relatively lucky day.”
“You know you’re not supposed to read those.”
It was Sam’s voice, calling out from somewhere outside the storeroom. I slowly stood up and I raised my hands in the air. Sam liked slow. “What’d I say about finding a new hobby?”
In reply, I heard the click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back.
“Seriously, Sam,” I said. “Why did you follow me?”
“You seem like the type to break the rules. Was only a matter of time.”
“Barry’s rules and the law are two different things.”
“Barry has rules for a reason. It’s moral.”
A fire churned in my stomach. “Sam, do you know the truth?”
“Do you trust Barry?” She sounded impatient.
“I did. I really did. Too much, apparently.” My shoulders sagged a bit. I gently waved the essay. “But not anymore after reading this. Maybe you should.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Now, either you get into my car quietly, or I shoot you if you try to run.”
That went without saying, but it was polite of her to warn me. “If you try to shoot me, uh, I'll have to read this letter. Aloud. And if you don't, I'll make sure—” Then I bolted.
Her gun went off. I leapt through an open window, trying to tuck and roll but smacking on linoleum anyway. My shoulder and back ached, but I ran down the hallway, knowing Sam was close behind.
And knowing Sam was close behind, I started to read. “ ‘Charlie is a rat and a weasel! Charlie is a rat and a weasel! Charlie is’—!”
Gunshots cut me off. I ducked into an open doorway and dashed through a warehouse area. Long, thick aisles were packed to the ceiling with large wooden crates. It was my lucky day. Large wooden crates made for perfect shielding from gunfire.
Sam’s footsteps entered the warehouse. I shouted, “ ‘Charlie is a rat and a weasel!’ It’s that sentence twenty times, to pad up the word count! And a bribe at the end, Sam! How’s that for vigilante justice?”
Her response was another shot, which launched up a puff of concrete dust near my foot. I veered around the end of an aisle and ran to an open door. I felt very grateful I made use of that moderately priced treadmill my wife got on sale a few years back.
Sam was rash. Smart, certainly, but rash. Now that I’d led her on this chase and looped us around, I’d be the first to reach my car.
And since she’d parked behind me, I’d be the first to reach hers, too. I whipped out the pocketknife on my keychain, opened the blade, and plunged it into Sam’s rear tire. I then stowed the blade, switched to the key, jumped into my car and stomped on the gas.
I saw Sam in my side mirror, just missing the chance to slash my own tires. She put her knife away and pulled out her phone. I knew exactly which Manager would be on the other line.
My foot teetered over the gas petal, itching for a high-speed chase, but I knew it wasn’t a running game at this point. Once Barry found out, he’d call everybody in the service that I’d broke one of his rules and they’d all be after me. Catching another vigilante in the act of breaking Barry’s rules earned more than a typical Christmas bonus.
I could’ve gone home and protected my family, but there was no way that wouldn’t get ugly. It’d turn into a standoff, and then either a shootout, jail, or a chair just like Charlie’s. If I was in and out of my house quick enough, I’d be able to get Grace and Emma in the car and out of town before anyone else showed up, but then it’d still be a chase, and I was all on my own.
I wrung the steering wheel. There was really only one option left, and that was to sort this out with Barry face-to-face. All I did was read an essay. I could strike some sort of non-disclosure deal, that I wouldn’t tell anyone what kind of scumbag, money-leeching business he was running. It was worth a try.
I stepped out of my Prius into the tattered parking lot of the drug store next to Barry's. I pulled my jacket close to my body as I shuffled across the parking lot. The wind had picked up from earlier today.
I hurried along and zigzagged in case anyone had me in their sights. I reached the front door soon enough to be safely in the lion’s den.
Barry was still at the front desk, though starting to wrap up for the day. It must’ve been closer to seven. Skies as cloudy as Bevelton’s make it easy to lose track of time.
“Barry,” I said, letting go of my jacket when I realized how tightly I’d been clinging to it.
“Nate, hello,” Barry said, wiping his hands and looking me up and down. “Did you leave your pictures in the car or something?”
Pictures… oh. “No, uh, I’m saving Charlie for next week. Couldn’t catch him today.”
“Ah, well. If you’re hurting this month without a paycheck, let me know, I’ll see what I can do.” He stood up from his chair and started walking to his office, empty coffee mug in hand.
Weird. It was as if nothing had changed. “Hey, Barry?”
Barry turned around, resting a hand on the wall. “Yeah?”
Someone came in through the front door. I whipped around, expecting Sam, but instead seeing Big Jim. Big Jim was as big around the shoulders as Barry was around the waist. He was a quiet fellow, and fairly harmless. More of an honest type like myself, though we’d never had much to chat about.
I breathed out in relief, turning around back to Barry. He gave me a puzzled look. “Something the matter, Nate?”
I glanced down at the gun in Barry’s side holster. He would’ve reached for it long before now, if he knew. But he didn’t, so he must’ve not known.
I felt a slithery chill up my spine. Sam hadn’t called Barry. Of course she wouldn’t; she’d rather claim me for herself than offer me up for grabs to all the vigilantes.
And when I heard Big Jim slip a gun out of his pocket, I realized who Sam had called.
He pulled the trigger, piercing my arm with a sharp pang. Over the next ten seconds, I had the irresistible urge to lie down and rest, though the way down to the ground wasn’t as smooth and gentle as I’d hoped.
I awoke in the basement of the club: a wide unfinished room, lined with brick and plumbing and lit with a few incandescent bulbs. I was not pleased to wake up in this room, less pleased to be taped to a chair in this room, and even less pleased to see Barry, Sam, and Big Jim crowded around me.
However, probably the least pleasing thing of all was seeing a tube stuck in my arm. I groaned. “C’mon, guys.”
Barry stuck his hands in his pockets as he sat in a swivel chair. “You broke one of my rules, Nate. Plain and simple.”
I tried to force myself to wake up. Barry’s rules. They’re moral, as Sam would say, but Sam and Big Jim didn’t know. “Barry’s been taking money for jobs,” I said before Barry had a chance to shoot me. “I don’t think my job Charlie even murdered anybody.”
I froze, watching Sam and Big Jim, waiting for them to turn to Barry and ask if it was true. However, they only stared back at me. I looked at Barry in the middle, giving me a disappointed look but a hint of a smug grin as well. I felt a pit in my stomach. “They already knew.”
“Because they could keep their mouths shut.” Barry folded his arms and sighed. “You were ready to blab about it first thing. Can you blame Sam for doing what she did?”
I watched as the life was slowly drained out my arm and into a bag near the floor, thinking of how to cut the tape, or swing the chair around and start fighting my way out, but until a good opportunity to escape came, I’d have to talk my way out of it. “I can blame Sam, actually. Since when were we accepting bribes over real injustices?”
“They’re still injustices,” Barry said, rubbing his hands. “Murder is murder.”
“Did Charlie actually murder anyone, Barry?” I squinted. “I’ll bet Investigations didn’t take a look. And if they did, they turned a blind eye to it.”
Barry twiddled his thumbs. “Nate, I’ve got bills to pay, here, and paychecks to hand out. A lot of people work for us, and of course there’s taxes—”
“We run a public service, here, Barry, not a private service.”
“Families to feed, Nate. Your family, my family, Sam’s, Jim’s, Ron’s, Carrie’s, Dusty’s. This is both a public service and a business.” Barry spread his hands, shrugging. “If people want to make donations, they’re free to do so.”
He kept using money as an excuse to dodge the issue. I leaned forward, straining against the tape. “Right, so we pick Charlie the rat over a real criminal because it pays more to kill Charlie? That’s not how this business is supposed to work, Barry. Are we a vigilante crew or mercenaries? Choose your answer carefully.”
Barry smirked. “Or what, Nate?”
“Just answer.”
Barry licked his lips. “We’re a public service and a business. What’s—”
“Again, Barry.”
“It’s always black or white with you, Nate! What’s to say we can’t be both?”
“This is government-funded, Barry! Why’s money an issue? You should have enough from them to pay for the whole operation.” I shook my head. “This should be a public service, period! What about families who can’t afford an application fee? Or even the families that can? Why does Charlie get priority over their jobs?”
Barry pressed his lips together. “Nate, I think we should calm down.”
I pushed back against the chair. I cleared my throat, my head getting lighter. “You make me sick.”
“No, that’s the blood loss, I think.”
Har har. My vision got fuzzier, like bits of static on a television screen. “So this is it, then,” I said, my throat dry. “I don’t get to say goodbye to my wife?”
Barry’s brow creased for a moment, then fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “Eh, sure. What’s your home number?”
But as Barry dialed the number, I watched Big Jim lift his stun gun and fire at Sam, then pushing her down so she wouldn’t have a chance to fire back. Barry whirled around, but was met with a gunshot as well. He staggered to the floor.
I gazed up at Big Jim, blinking. Perhaps I was hallucinating, but if so, those were some remarkably convincing imaginary gunshots.
Jim replaced the needle in my arm with gauze. “How you feeling?” he said, which I think was the first time I’d heard him speak in a few months.
“Like I’m not dying anymore,” I said, my head still woozy. “But like I’m halfway there.”
After taping the gauze to my arm, he ran to the storeroom in the corner and emerged with a water bottle. “Here,” he said, holding it up to my lips.
“Thanks.” I drank about half until it went down the wrong pipe and I sputtered and coughed. Jim took the bottle back and started peeling away the tape. “Sorry, this is gonna hurt.”
“It’s okay.” I’d take a few yanked-out hairs over death any day. “So why’d you do it?”
He shrugged, a powerful motion considering the size of his shoulders. “I agree with you. I kept an eye out for someone who does.”
“Great,” I said, wincing as he ripped off some of the tape on my arm. “Well, what now?”
“I say we run,” Jim said. “Set up shop in another town far away.”
I nodded my head, imagining that scenario. “Yeah, okay. Set up shop.” I leaned forward. “We’ll read the essays and investigate ourselves. For free.”
He glanced at Barry’s unconscious body. “For free?”
“Yes,” I said, “and just like Barry said, you and I have families to feed. We’ll have to get real jobs on the side.”
Big Jim swept a pile of used tape aside, almost done freeing my right arm. “Five days a week instead of one a month? That’s too much to ask.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He raised his. “Sarcasm?”
I exhaled. “Sorry, hard to tell.” Once my upper body was free, I reached down and took another long swig of water, then helped Jim remove the tape. “Well, let’s get moving. Both out of here and out of our houses. Give me your cell number. We’ll meet up in Des Moines or something and go from there.”
“Sounds good.”
He helped me to my feet and he helped me up the stairs. Even though I had lost a good portion of my blood, I still felt a bit giddy. “A vigilante vigilante service, eh, Jim? Who’d have thought?”
Jim chuckled. “Beats me.”
Interesting idea and a nice way to play with the concept of Justice and in how many ways it can go horribly wrong when using a simple and pedestrian system.
The characters felt archetypal, which is something I expect in this kind of stories, and while it was short on surprises it still worked thanks to a pretty solid execution. Dry narration with a couple of sparks here and there give the MC a compelling voice.
There were some minor typos, for example "gas petal". For the rest I didn't spot anything problematic, so all in all a good entry.
The characters felt archetypal, which is something I expect in this kind of stories, and while it was short on surprises it still worked thanks to a pretty solid execution. Dry narration with a couple of sparks here and there give the MC a compelling voice.
There were some minor typos, for example "gas petal". For the rest I didn't spot anything problematic, so all in all a good entry.
Some decent action, blood, an interesting take on the bounty hunter schtick. Nothing particularly exciting about it, but written solidly.
The opening scene doesn't quite mesh with the tone of the rest of the piece, and paints him as being rather callous and bloodthirsty. Fridge logic falls apart a bit when you've got a system of corruption in place that depends on not turning around a piece of paper and being discovered. What if someone had simply dropped it and had to pick it up?
The opening scene doesn't quite mesh with the tone of the rest of the piece, and paints him as being rather callous and bloodthirsty. Fridge logic falls apart a bit when you've got a system of corruption in place that depends on not turning around a piece of paper and being discovered. What if someone had simply dropped it and had to pick it up?
I felt this was a bit weighted with gimmicks. The nonchalance about killing made for a wonderful hook, but as the story continued, I felt it quickly wore out its welcome. I kept thinking things like "shouldn't there be a bit more tension in killing people?" And "did he really not see this coming?"
I dunno. It's not bad, per se. But although it started strong, it seemed to clunk pretty hard at the end, through an accumulation of small dissonances?
Well, YMMV. I guess it's mostly tonal stuff and a bit of oddness about the backstory that kept me from really feeling immersed in this one. It's definitely not too shabby overall.
I dunno. It's not bad, per se. But although it started strong, it seemed to clunk pretty hard at the end, through an accumulation of small dissonances?
Well, YMMV. I guess it's mostly tonal stuff and a bit of oddness about the backstory that kept me from really feeling immersed in this one. It's definitely not too shabby overall.
I had to read this one because name, but fortunately it was on my slate as well.
Character voicing was a strong point, for example the sarcastic "kidding" line. I also felt like the action struck a good balance.
It's a very interesting premise, but it's also a heavy lift that strained my suspension of disbelief. Just how public/above board is this? The whole government funding/them not being in jail bit implies that it is, but Charlie's reaction says otherwise. I'm left confused. If it is some insane government program, they're going about it incredibly sloppily.
I also had a little of a quibble with Jim's change of heart, mostly that I don't recall any foreshadowing, so it seemed a little deus ex. On rereading, Sam has some nice foreshadowing, though.
Overall, the writing was skillful and there was some interesting conflict, but I was never quite sold on the premise. Also, needs more labs.
Character voicing was a strong point, for example the sarcastic "kidding" line. I also felt like the action struck a good balance.
It's a very interesting premise, but it's also a heavy lift that strained my suspension of disbelief. Just how public/above board is this? The whole government funding/them not being in jail bit implies that it is, but Charlie's reaction says otherwise. I'm left confused. If it is some insane government program, they're going about it incredibly sloppily.
I also had a little of a quibble with Jim's change of heart, mostly that I don't recall any foreshadowing, so it seemed a little deus ex. On rereading, Sam has some nice foreshadowing, though.
Overall, the writing was skillful and there was some interesting conflict, but I was never quite sold on the premise. Also, needs more labs.
Genre: Friendly neighborhood assassins GONE WILD!
Thoughts: I liked this a lot! The premise is unrealistic but it's presented with enough unobtrusive dark humor that I can roll with it. The beginning in particular was gold. I also liked how our hero presented himself as a morally relatable character amid a situation that would otherwise be hard for us to relate to.
Overall, the story felt remarkably complete, though I thought the ending could have been tighter. The final conversation overstays its welcome, and the circumstances leading up to it feel a bit convenient... but I'll give it a lot of credit for building up a tense situation that had my stomach in knots, wondering what was going to happen.
Tier: Top Contender
Thoughts: I liked this a lot! The premise is unrealistic but it's presented with enough unobtrusive dark humor that I can roll with it. The beginning in particular was gold. I also liked how our hero presented himself as a morally relatable character amid a situation that would otherwise be hard for us to relate to.
Overall, the story felt remarkably complete, though I thought the ending could have been tighter. The final conversation overstays its welcome, and the circumstances leading up to it feel a bit convenient... but I'll give it a lot of credit for building up a tense situation that had my stomach in knots, wondering what was going to happen.
Tier: Top Contender
This was another entry with generally solid storytelling and a premise that stretched my suspension of disbelief hard; others have covered that above, but really, a corrupt system that is government-funded and solicits public kill requests -- and therefore has a well-known methodology -- just can't survive a system that is as simple to break as the victim reading their letter out loud in an effort to negotiate with their vigilante killer. The plot also felt a little paint-by-numbers to me, but at least it nudged past Difference Engine on the grounds of wrapping to a satisfying ending rather than breaking my suspension of disbelief right at the end.
I think it might be possible to tighten this up without taking a wrecking ball to your premise: have Nate in on the con from the beginning, like Jim was. Maybe the government funding wasn't enough -- when is it ever? -- and they started bumping requests with "donations" to the top of the queue. Nate was willing to look the other way because at the end of the day they were still killing bad guys. But this is a straight-up mob hit, it wouldn't even slightly qualify for government funding, it's being done completely off the books and Nate got assigned to it explicitly because Barry suspects Nate is growing a conscience. That also explains Sam's presence. If you do this, it might also benefit you to introduce Jim earlier so you can talk out the morality angle and foreshadow your ending a little bit.
I think this needs a fair amount of editing to hit its plausibility stride, but at the same time, you've definitely got some interesting things going on with this. If you keep working on it, it'll be interesting to see where it ends up.
Tier: Almost There
I think it might be possible to tighten this up without taking a wrecking ball to your premise: have Nate in on the con from the beginning, like Jim was. Maybe the government funding wasn't enough -- when is it ever? -- and they started bumping requests with "donations" to the top of the queue. Nate was willing to look the other way because at the end of the day they were still killing bad guys. But this is a straight-up mob hit, it wouldn't even slightly qualify for government funding, it's being done completely off the books and Nate got assigned to it explicitly because Barry suspects Nate is growing a conscience. That also explains Sam's presence. If you do this, it might also benefit you to introduce Jim earlier so you can talk out the morality angle and foreshadow your ending a little bit.
I think this needs a fair amount of editing to hit its plausibility stride, but at the same time, you've definitely got some interesting things going on with this. If you keep working on it, it'll be interesting to see where it ends up.
Tier: Almost There
Rats
I felt like this was trying a little too hard on the first paragraph – especially considering the first scene is entirely unnecessary to the plot.
Otherwise, I can only echo the other commenters: The structure works pretty well, though it's standard fare for a thriller, but the plot falls down in believability. Least of all, why would the state do such a strange thing? And why would it give an organisation in charge of execution so little oversight that a conspiracy like this could emerge?
It's also not very easy to care for Nate. How honourable can he really be, playing at this game that prevents him from knowing what any of his victims have done to deserve such a punishment?
I felt like this was trying a little too hard on the first paragraph – especially considering the first scene is entirely unnecessary to the plot.
Otherwise, I can only echo the other commenters: The structure works pretty well, though it's standard fare for a thriller, but the plot falls down in believability. Least of all, why would the state do such a strange thing? And why would it give an organisation in charge of execution so little oversight that a conspiracy like this could emerge?
It's also not very easy to care for Nate. How honourable can he really be, playing at this game that prevents him from knowing what any of his victims have done to deserve such a punishment?
I’m glad those of you who enjoyed it, enjoyed it, and for those that didn’t, thanks for reading on anyway and leaving feedback, I really appreciate it :)