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Killer Personality by Wanda C. Keesey
I'm not a pretty-boy or a tough guy. I'm so plain I'm homely, one eyebrow, big nose, big bug eyes set too close together, small mouth and big ears. I was put together on a day when God was mad at the world.
I don't own a comb or a mirror, 'sides I always wear a baseball hat. I walk stooped over like I've got terminal diarrhea. In general I'm the kind of guy that people try not to see. When I was a kid that drove me nuts. I hated the world, but now––now being ignored is prefect. Perfect for my line of work. I kill for money.
I don't just kill anyone. It's always been my number one rule that the target has to need killing. You know, like a child molester or a woman beater, a racist bigot, some really deserving scum ball.
I found my career right out of high school. I wanted to go into accounting, but didn't have the money for business school. My dad did whatever work he could, but his drinking got in the way and we were lucky to have a roof over our heads. Mom had packed up and left before I was a year old. Good old Dad was always telling me that I should look in a mirror if I wanted to see the reason she left. I guess it was the same with potential employers. One look and I was shown the door. The only job I could get was a bus boy at one of those fast food places. I was the lowest of the low. The manager was a kid two years older than me and he thought his shit didn't stink.
Eldridge, that was his name. Eldridge Cunningham was a tall, skinny, pimple faced prick. He'd track in mud then yell at me for not mopping; throw a handful of fries on the hot plate and let them burn then yell at the cooks. He pinched the girls, patted their ass or grabbed a tit. This boy was long over due at the morgue. So one night after a really trying day, I took care of him. The cops never figured me for it and I got a lot of pleasure from offing the ass hole. A killer for hire is born.
I don't advertise, I don't do no mob work, I'm expensive and I don't get caught. I ain't never been tied in with any of the jobs I've done. That makes me a success.
And that brings me to the here and now.
I always go with my first instincts when it came to taking jobs. I turned down a bunch. I don't do wayward husbands unless they're wife beaters. I don't do revenge and I don't solve the romance triangle by chopping off the extra corner, and I don't do charity. So when this broad left a message I almost didn't call back.
"A friend told me you do private consultations and you're good at what you do. I have a problem. I'm being blackmailed." Her voice was quiet and she talked fast. I thought maybe she wanted to get it all out before she changed her mind. And maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea, but a better one would've been for me to erase the message.
My next mistake was calling Midge Henderson back.
"Ms. Henderson, this is Eldridge Collins, you called my answering service." I took the prick's name cause he deserved credit for giving me my start.
"Thank you for calling back, Mr. Collins. I wasn't sure you would." Her voice was still quiet but not as rushed as her message.
"In all honesty, I almost didn't, but…well I am an advisor and I want to advise you to go to the police. They are unusually good at handling blackmailers. Thank you for calling, Ms. Henderson. Good luck." I started to put the cell phone down.
"Wait!" Her voice wasn't quiet anymore. I put the phone back against my ear. "Mr. Collins, please hear me out."
"I don't handle blackmail, Ms. Henderson. I can give you a name…."
"I have a name, yours."
She stopped talking. I could hear her breathing. I lit a cigar and pulled the arid smoke deep into my lungs.
"A woman, my supervisor, is threatening to frame me for stealing drugs. That's what she wants me to do, steal drugs, but if I do as she asks, she said she would cover for me, otherwise she's going to see to it that I'm implicated."
"Really, Miss, the police would set up a sting and you and the rest of the world would be free of another drug dealer." I knocked the ash from my cigar into a crystal dish and sat back in my recliner.
"Please, Mr. Collins, that's not all. I have a daughter. She's ten and lives with her father…."
"Is she in danger?" I'm thinking there might be something to this case after all.
"Wha…no, I don't think so. But I am, I'm in danger of losing her. I lost custody and all rights to see my daughter when I was arrested for dealing to support my habit. My ex, her father, has been generous and after I straightened out and got a job, he started letting me see Sally. He doesn't have to. But if anything about this comes out I'd lose Sally all over again."
"If you went to the police…."
"Don't you see I can't go to the police? Jim, my ex thinks I'm a hospital aide…but I'm working as a nurse…."
"How did you get a job as a nurse? With your record…."
"I lied. I'm using my maiden name, the name on my license. I took the chance that they wouldn't check too far into my past. I've been at City General for over six years and I have a good reputation.
"Mr. Collins, I'm a good nurse, I've been clean for nearly seven years and I'm trying to be a good mother. Please help me."
My next mistake, listening. I guess I'm too soft for my own good, cause I agreed to a meet. I don't know why. It didn't sound like a job for a hit man, but then if you think about it and I did, killing this supervisor would be the cleanest way out for my potential client. And for all intent and purposes the supervisor's a drug dealer.
I did a background check on Midge Henderson. She was right, she had an excellent reputation and no one knew that she had a "past" or a daughter. I arrived in the park early and she was already there.
Of course I didn't know it was her at first. But it didn't take long to figure out that she was waiting for someone. She was attractive, a little on the short and chunky side maybe, but attractive none the less. As I got closer I could see the strain in her face. She was nervous and kept rubbing her nose.
"Ms. Henderson?" She saw me coming, but had apparently dismissed me, looking instead at the joggers and dog walkers.
"Who are you?" Like I said I'm not what people expect.
"Eldridge Collins." I waited. She rubbed her nose again, hard.
"You're Eldridge Collins? But I thought…." She sounded angry that I could dare to be the person she was to meet.
"What? That I would be big, strong and good looking? That's what the heroes look like. I'm not a hero. Changing your mind about going to the police?" I could use the money, but I still wasn't sure about this job.
"No, no. I'm sorry, you're right. You're not what I expected, but then not many people are what they appear to be. Sit down. We can feed the squirrels while we talk." She had a bag of peanuts next to her on the bench.
"Are the peanuts fresh?"
"What? Yes, they're fresh. Why?"
"Because I like peanuts. The hell with the squirrels." I picked up the bag and dug out a handful of nuts before replacing it on the bench between us. "Just what is it you want me to do?"
"You're a consultant. I want your advice."
"I've already told…."
"BUT I don't want you to tell me to go to the police. I want to know what you can do. YOU." She scrubbed at her nose with a tattered tissue.
"Like you said, I'm a consultant. I've done what I do. Now it's you're turn."
"You're a lying bag of shit. I know what you do. A friend, the same one who gave me your name, told me that you took care of a problem he told you about. A man who was beating his wife and kids. The man was killed by a hit and run driver a week after he talked to you. I believe you advised him to go to the police too, at first anyway. But you did accept his money."
I remembered the case. I remember every case, every death I was responsible for. It's my second rule that I never forget the lives I take. Word of mouth was how I got clients, so I couldn't fault the source, but it did confirm that she wanted me to kill her problem.
"Do you know what I charge?"
"He told me ten thousand. I've been saving for a house. I have the money. Tell me what you need to know and how you want to be paid."
"I haven't said I would take the case."
"How can I convince you this is the only way? Going to the police would open a can of worms––no not worms, snakes and they'd be striking at me. If I'm not thrown into jail for fraud, I would surely lose my job, my daughter, and the respect that I've worked so hard to earn. Seven years of my life would be lost––no, that's not right. My entire life as I know it would be lost. I would have to move and start over again and this time without my daughter. There's no other way––unless you're going to tell me to do as this bitch says. That I should steal the drugs and supply her with a profitable sideline."
I didn't answer. I was thinking of telling her to do exactly that. Then the police would get involved and I wouldn't. I cracked another peanut, shook out the nuts and tossed the empty shells on the ground, causing the squirrels to scramble for a non-existing treasure.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Collins. How much do I owe you for all of your advice?" She stood pulling her loose top down over her ample hips. After swiping her hand across her nose she started to open her purse.
"Calm down, Ms. Henderson. Sit." She did. I shelled two more peanuts, ate them and brushed the dust from my hands. "My fee will be fifteen thousand. Never mind objecting, that's my price. No paper trail, send the cash to post office box 1132 in the city. I need to know everything you can tell me about the target."
Henderson had it all written out. Alicia Kockerin, worked at City General as the Head of Nurses. She was administration and worked a seven AM to six PM schedule. She lived alone somewhere south of the hospital, somewhere close. She often walked to work.
Big mistake, I took the job.
Ms. Henderson and I parted company at two thirty. She stayed, still luring innocent squirrels with peanuts and I went to find a bar. I needed a drink.
***
One week of surveillance and I was ready. Kockerin could have spotted me easy. I was the stooped homeless man who seemed to be everywhere, but no one notices the homeless.
I waited in a smelly alley next to a commercial trash bin, surrounded by scattered rotting food. A fitting place for a murder. A bad place to die.
I put my gloves on and took the knife out of its sheath. I love the balance of a well made knife.
The target always wore walking shoes and made almost no sound so I would have to nab her when she started to pass by. She was on schedule.
As she passed, I stepped behind her and slipped my arm around her neck, pulling her back and off balance. "This is from Midge," I whispered as I drew the sharp knife across her neck, feeling it grind against bone.
She didn't have time to fight, but her sharp fingernails dug into the sleeve of my jacket.
The police picked me up the next day.
I did as my lawyer instructed and kept quiet, but I listened to the cop and assistant DA.
There wasn't much evidence, but it was poison.
They said the killer waited in the alley eating peanuts till the victim appeared; there was a stack of empty peanut shells and the nearly empty paper bag. I was wondering if they would check my breath for peanuts. I was feeling pretty smug until I remembered where I was.
"We lifted your prints from the bag. They match the prints on your application to carry a weapon. We found the clothes you wore in your hamper. They're covered with blood and a broken fingernail was caught in the sleeve, they match Ms. Kockerin's body." The inspector was watching me with steely grey eyes, as cold as ice.
No, that was me. I was as cold as ice.
"We've got you. You might as well tell us the rest and save the tax payers the cost of a trial."
My lawyer leaned over and whispered, "It'll go better for you if you confess." So much for having someone in my corner.
"Do you have an offer?" He asked the assistant DA. I didn't say anything, but I wanted to add my bastard lawyer to my list of dead cases.
"Murder two, twenty-five years, he has to serve fifteen, and he elocute."
"Let me talk to my client and we'll get back to you."
Everyone packed up their papers, shook hands, and patted each other on the back as they headed for the door. They had put another street crime to rest.
I stayed where I was. Fred, attorney-at-law, Simms stayed with me.
"James," that's my birth name, James Calhane, "you should take this deal. They've got you dead to rights."
"What can you get me if I tell them who hired me to do the nurse?"
Fred had been packing up his own papers, but stopped. "You were hired?"
"Yes."
"By who?"
"Another nurse."
"Why?"
"Why what? Why did I take the job? Or why did she want Kockerin done?"
"Why…both, I guess."
"I took the job because it's what I do. And she told me that she wanted her boss dead because she was extorting her to steal drugs and she couldn't go to the police because she's a druggie and falsified her application. She'd lose her kid."
"What's her name?"
"Midge Henderson."
"They'll want details about when and where she contacted you. How she paid you and how much." Attorney Simms sat on the edge of his chair and leaned closer. I could smell Listerine and nicotine on his breath.
"Tell me something, James. If you're a professional, why would you leave the peanut bag at the scene, and keep the clothes?"
"I guess I'm getting sloppy at least about the clothes. But I didn't think they would be able to connect me with the death, so why would anyone want to check my hamper? As to the bag, I didn't leave it there. That bitch, Henderson had it when we met. I ate some peanuts, touched the bag and made a deal." I'd been had.
"How much?"
"Fifteen thou. She sent it to a post office box. And before you ask, I threw the wrappings away and put the money in my safe deposit box. No, there isn't any trace of it and if it's found no trace of where it came from.
"She did a number on me, didn't she? I mean she set me up like a turkey at Thanksgiving.
"Well, lawyer, what do you think? Do I confess and tell the cops about my kill-for-hire business? Or do I just confess and take the deal that's on the table?"
"I think I'm not charging you enough." Fred stood and paced across the room a couple of times, then stopped. "I'm going to see what I can find out about this woman. Don't say anything to the cops just yet. I'll ask them to give us another day. If they don't…."
"Yeah, 'if they don't––what?"
"Then I'll tell them that we're taking the deal, and I'll still check this dame out."
"All right, Fred." I stood and held out my hand. He ignored it and closed his briefcase before going out the door.
***
That was three days ago. I go before the judge today and tell him why I would want to kill a perfectly good nurse. No, I'm not going to mention that I was hired.
Fred found out that Ms. Henderson is indeed and always has been a Miss, no marriage, no kids, no drug problem and no rehab, no large withdrawals, and no phone calls to my work number. She was just what she seemed, a good and respected nurse, with ambitions of becoming Head of Nurses. Her chances look good.
I'd been screwed and screwed real good. But what a let down, I mean when you're screwed by an attractive woman, shouldn't it be more satisfying?
THE END Wanda C. Keesey © 2007 |
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Wanda C. Keesey Wanda Keesey lives in small town USA with her husband and cats.
Located near the Pennsylvania capital of Harrisburg. Since retiring she is
concentrating on her Civil War era novels, but still finds time to flesh out a
short story now and then. She started writing late in life and this is only her
second published work. Her short story Peanuts was published on
MysteryFiction.com and can now be viewed on Wanda's website (