Part 4 (1/2)
I stared at him for a long moment.
”Did you just say you're here to cut yourself a slice of b.i.t.c.h?”
He nodded.
”Was that, like, a planned comment? Did you actually come in here with the intention of speaking those exact words?”
”What's wrong with them?”
”What does that even mean?”
”It means that you're a b.i.t.c.h, and I'm here to cut a slice of you.”
”No, no, no, no, no, that doesn't work at all. Trust me on this. Have you really said that to other human beings? What was their reaction?”
”I haven't said it to anybody else.”
”Good. Don't. What do you usually say in this situation?”
The a.s.sa.s.sin looked a bit sheepish. ”Actually, you're my first hit.”
”Seriously?”
”Yeah.”
”Oh, well, that explains it. I know that you were trying to sound all cold-blooded and stuff, but the only reaction you're going to get is 'Oh, c.r.a.p, I'm gonna be murdered by a doofus.' What's your name?”
”Victor.”
”Hi, Victor.” I extended my hand politely. He didn't shake it. I figured I probably should have seen that bit of rudeness coming and placed my hand back on my lap. ”Listen, you need a catch phrase that doesn't make you sound like a street punk. Something sinister but cla.s.sy. Because I'll be honest with you, right now I should be so scared that I can barely keep my urine on the inside, and I'm just not feeling it.”
”I bet you'd feel it if I stuck this knife in you.”
”I'm sure I would. But if you're an a.s.sa.s.sin, you need to be memorable. You need to be stylish. I mean, any common hooligan can run somebody over with a car, but you, you're the kind of guy who gets up close and personal with a knife. It's all about the presentation. You need to leave a lasting impression.”
Victor nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he were considering my advice. Then he scowled as if suddenly realizing that he'd become the kind of a.s.sa.s.sin who listened to helpful hints from people he was supposed to kill. ”No, I don't. You'll be dead!”
”Yeah, but this isn't about me. It's about you. I might be dead either way, but how would you feel if I died thinking that your hit man persona was sub-par?”
Victor shrugged. ”I get paid either way.”
”Is it just about the money, though?”
”Sure.”
”Do you really believe that?”
”I kill for money. That's what an a.s.sa.s.sin does. When I slit your throat, I won't feel a thing.”
I wasn't happy that the conversation had turned to slit throats, and I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in my seat. ”How many people have you killed?”
”I told you, you're my first.”
”You haven't killed anybody? Not even for recreation?”
He shook his head.
”What about animals?”
”No animals.”
”Have you ever flushed a goldfish?”
”Look, I don't need to have dozens of corpses stacked in my closet to deal with somebody like you. I can kill you. It's not a problem.”
”I'm not trying to be a pain here,” I insisted. ”I'm just wondering how you got the gig of terminating me without any previous murder credits.”
”I sorta fell into the job. You know how it goes.”
”You padded your resume, didn't you?”
”That's none of your concern.”
”You did! You lied about your experience! What are you going to do if your boss finds out?”
”I didn't lie about anything.”
I shook my head and made a tsk-tsk sound. ”Lying by omission is still a lie.”
”You know what? I've had way more than enough of you.” Victor pointed the knife at my throat. ”Got anything else to say before I gut you?”
”That's not where the knife should be pointed if you're planning to gut me.”
”Don't tell me how to do my job.”
”I'm just saying. Not many guts in my neck.”
”Sure there are.”
”Do you even know what a gut is?”
”That's it. You're dead, Mayhem.”
”My name's not Mayhem.”
He blinked. ”What?”
”Are you looking for Andrew Mayhem? He lives next door. Shorter guy, gla.s.ses...”
”You said you were Andrew Mayhem.”