The Fate Merchant

Chapter 24

     Two hundred thousand, Roy thought. Greedy bastard. But Roy couldn’t fault him for wanting that much. He knew about greed. He’d succumbed to it in the past. Greed had led him here, and greed was going to save him.

     Frank’s answer had surprised him. He’d expected a tirade, threats, verbal abuse -- a big fat “No” with a “Fuck you” chaser. He guessed the heart attack had knocked the fight out of him. Or maybe it had given him some perspective: life is short; focus on what’s important. And what was important to Frank Sullivan? Two hundred thousand glorious dollars.

     Too bad he’d never get it.

     He didn’t really want to kill Frank. The act didn’t excite him. As a kid, he’d never felt the urge to set fire to the family cat or lure one of his classmates into the woods behind his school. Killing was complicated. It was messy. It ruined your carpeting. But what was to stop Frank from asking for another two hundred thousand down the line? People who allowed themselves to be blackmailed deserved to lose every penny.  

     So how would he kill him? It sure as hell wasn’t going to be with an axe like in that picture Frank denied having anything to do with. The stunt had been weird and strangely coincidental, given that he was actually planning to kill him, but he had to award him points for creativity. He then deducted points for being a fuckhead who should’ve minded his own business.

     An axe. Jesus. There would be blood everywhere. He shuddered at the thought of that warm, coppery, syrupy shit coating his walls, his clothes, his hands. Strangulation would be better. Or suffocation. Poison was a decent alternative, now that he’d bought himself some time, but he’d need to do some research and find the right one. He reached the elevator next to the nurses station and pressed the call button. What he needed was a poison that mimicked a heart attack.

     The elevator doors opened, and he stopped short. Davia leaned against the back wall of the elevator, right leg crossed over the left, hands in the pockets of her jeans.

     “How did it go?” she asked.

     “Great.” The elevator doors clanged shut, and he pushed the button for the ground floor. “He wants two-hundred thousand.”

     “Hmm.”

     “What does ‘Hmm’ mean?”

     “I would’ve gone higher.”

     “Oh yeah?”

     “Absolutely. At least five-hundred.”

     “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

     She kissed him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

     Of course she wouldn’t. He knew this with the same deep-seated certainty that he knew his skin wouldn’t suddenly leap off his body, steal his car, and return with something obscene tattooed across its butt. That sort of thing just didn’t happen. He trusted her. Fully. Completely. It was weird, he realized that, but whenever he tried to figure out why he trusted her, his mind wandered, and he’d find himself thinking that he should’ve ordered salad instead of fries with lunch, and he really needed to pay his gas bill, and maybe pick up some more hair product. Don’t worry about this woman, his gut told him.

     So he didn’t.

     “Know anything about poison?” he asked.

     “Not really my field.”

     Roy shifted his position and something crunched under his shoe. “Is that sand?”