Bob Smith stepped off the train at Beacon at 11.17.
He was the only one getting off at that station. Not a lot of people
traveled on Thanksgiving Day.
He smiled at me and stopped walking. Stood to attention
and saluted as the train pulled away. His features hadn't changed that
much since I'd last seen him. His hair was close-cropped, and had a dark
color about it that might have come from a bottle. He was standing
ramrod straight, but that still didn't make him as tall as me.
I didn't salute back. That would have given him power
over me, and as far as I was concerned, Major Bob Smith stopped having
power over me the day I left the Army.
He walked towards me, the smile still on his face.
'Good to see you again, soldier,' he said, putting his
hand out. I shook it.
'It's been a long time.' I don't know if he was
expecting me to return the compliment, but if he was, then he was
disappointed for the second time in thirty seconds.
Smith looked around him. The parking lot was deserted.
That was the only reason I'd agreed to meet him from the train.
'Not much around here, out in the Boonies,' he said, the
smile slipping.
'I don't live this side of the river,' I said and
started walking back along the platform.
'I know.'
He walked by my side as we walked to the car in the
parking lot. The sole set of wheels. On a normal Thursday, the lot would
have been full with commuter cars.
'I hear there's a ferry brings you over from Newburgh
now,' he said, making small talk.
'Free parking on the Newburgh side, a dollar to cross
each way.'
We reached my Buick, and old, second-hand Le Sabre.
'I thought you would have been in a Town Car at least,'
he said, slipping into the passenger seat.
'It's my wife's,' I lied. It was cold. Snow had fallen,
covering the Hudson Valley in a shallow blanket. 'It must be important
for you to call on Thanksgiving. Doesn't your wife mind you coming out
to see an old buddy on the holiday?'
'It's important.' He ignored my question.
'You are still married, Bob?' Nothing like being blunt.
He looked at me, and I could still see the hardness in
his eyes, like he would mesmerize you with them so you couldn't see the
hand moving up with the knife, just before you died.
'Was. She hiked out on me a few years back. She's living
with some loser in Arizona.' He smiled again, at a memory only he could
see and wasn't willing to share. If I was right about Bob Smith, his
wife would be learning to hold her breath under water with rocks tied to
her feet, but I kept that to myself.
We drove on I-84 over the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge. It had
been ploughed and the road was easy. Snow covered the banks of the
Hudson and the houses over in Balmville to our right.
'How you liking it up here, Tony?'
I looked at him, looked for the hidden meaning in his
question. 'I like it just fine, Bob. Clean air, great schools. What's
there not to like?'
'Ah! The kids. I forgot about the little ones. How old
are they now?'
He knew fine well how old the girls were. 'Ten and six.'
'A great age. You must feel very proud, Tony.'
'I am.'
'It's amazing just how quickly they grow up. It won't be
long before they're going to college.' He smiled again, but there was
still the hardness there. I thought it was a permanent feature now,
something he couldn't shake off. Maybe he was alone now because women
were put off by that. You could only try and melt an iceberg for so
long.
We took the exit for Route 52. 'Are we going to your
place?' he asked me.
I had to laugh at that. 'I'm afraid not, Bob. My wife's
putting the finishing touches to our Thanksgiving dinner, and as much as
I'd like to invite you to dine with us, I'm afraid that'll have to be
for some other day.'
'That'll be a no, then.' He'd caught the sarcastic tone,
so there was no need to be blunt again.
He didn't seem put out by it. 'I don't have all that
much time anyway. I'm having some dinner with a friend down in the
City.'
Yeah, sure you are, I thought, but didn't press him on
it. We drove for another five minutes until we came to a small diner
that I knew about but didn't go to at all. I'd heard bad reports about
it, about the quality of the food and the owner who didn't keep the
place clean. A sign outside told us he was serving Thanksgiving dinner
later, and was thankful that it wouldn't be to me.
We went in, the heat feeling good after the short walk
across the freezing cold parking lot.
'Two coffees,' I told the waitress. Nobody else was
there. Not even the owner. A radio played country music in the
background. The waitress scuttled away, maybe relieved that she didn't
have to run about after us, or maybe disappointed that she wasn't going
to get a big tip for serving two lousy coffees.
I looked across the booth at him. He'd loosened the
scarf around his neck but kept his coat on. I did too. We weren't going
to be long.
He turned away from me. Looked out at the snow covering
the deserted parking lot of a music store across the road. 'I hear
you're a Pastor now,' he said, before turning back to me.
'You hear right.'
'Are you going to try and turn me into a Bible basher?'
'Do you want to be turned into a Bible basher, Bob?'
'Never had any time for religion. My father was into
it big time, and I got the weight of his belt across my ass every time
he started
spouting off about me being a sinner. At ten years
old. He had people come over to our house once a week. Bible study
group they called themselves, and they didn't mind a drink or two,
just to keep my father company they said. Bunch of fuckin' losers.
Nobody else would have had them in their house.'
'I minister at a Church, Bob, and I don't go into
anybody's house uninvited. They're always pleased to see me.'
'Oh yeah? Well, I wasn't pleased to see them.'
'What do you do yourself these days?'
There was a look of anger on his face, and I could tell
from experience that the anger would be coursing through his body like
poison right now, so that anybody who was stupid enough to annoy him
would feel the full force of that anger. It was good to have on a
battlefield, but Bob Smith didn't work on a battlefield today. Hadn't
for a long time.
'That's why I'm here, Tony; to sell you something.'
'We have double-glazing, siding on the house, and I
don't need a new car just yet. So, if that's all, we'll have our coffees
and I'll be off home.'
'Don't be a fuckin' wiseass.'
As if that was her cue, the waitress came over with two
cups and a pot of steaming coffee. Poured two and left. Then she
disappeared into the back again and once more, we had the whole diner to
ourselves.
Smith poured milk into his and added sugar. I just added
milk. I didn't need the sugar rush just yet.
'So what are you trying to sell me, Bob?' I stirred the
milk round before taking a sip. It was freshly brewed. Tasted good. All
the time I kept looking at him, watching him stir his own coffee,
looking at the dark brown liquid as if the answer lay in there
somewhere.
'A new life.' He finally looked up at me, and took a
slow drink of his brew.
I laughed. 'Bob, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm the
Pastor, remember? I should be telling you how to get a new life.' I
drank some more of my coffee and slid along the vinyl seat of the booth
and stood up.
'Sit down, Sergeant.' The simple command was delivered
with a voice that didn't need to be raised. I thought about how I would
take him down there and then if he decided to stand up and make an issue
of it. I couldn't help running a picture through my mind, of my hand
connecting with the bottom of his nose and pushing hard so that the
cartilage would be torn beyond repair.
I put that thought away as quickly as it had come into
my head. Smith was probably thinking the same about me, but he was older
and smaller, which didn't mean anything in the real world when you were
trained as well as he was, but I knew for a fact that I could take him.
I sat down anyway.
'I have an offer for you that you can't refuse,
soldier,' he said, in the same tone of voice that he might use if he was
offering to let a stranger read his newspaper on the train.
'Well, let's hear it then, Bob. My wife's a good cook
and I don't want to miss my dinner.'
'Not here.'
'Where then?'
'Let's just drive around some, then I'll tell you my
offer and you can let me know what you think.'
I nodded. We drank our coffee and I left some money for
the waitress with a good tip included. It would be the best one she'd
get that day, I was willing to bet.
No more snow was expected, which was a bonus. We walked
across the parking lot in silence, as if Bob Smith was running his pitch
through his mind one final time, knowing he would only have one chance
at getting this right.
The Buick was cold inside but it soon heated up as we
drove past Algonquin Park, a place I often took the girls in summer, so
we could bat a ball around and walk the dog. It was things like that
that gave me peace inside. The simple things in life.
'When you called me this morning, it sounded really
urgent, like you had been told you've got cancer or something, and you
wanted to come and see me one last time.'
'This is urgent, Tony. Offers like I have won't come
knocking on your door every day.'
'It's not some pyramid selling thing is it?'
'Of course it's fucking not.' He made a face, as if
disgusted that I would even think he would be so stupid to try and sell
me something so ridiculous.
'Give me a clue then. Time's running out for you, my
friend, and I don't want you to miss your train back to the big city.'
He looked at me to see if I was being a smartass. 'Not
in the car.'
I didn't say another word until we were on South Plank
Road. 'I know somewhere that's quiet and secluded where we can talk
without fear of being overheard.' I was about to add that there was
nobody else in the car to overhear us, but I could tell that this thing
he had to say to me was really getting to him.
'You know, for a salesman, Bob, you're not very good at
keeping my attention. I'm already thinking of going to Ethan Allen for
my next sofa, so if you've got something better to offer, you'd better
make it quick.'
I slowed the car down. There was no traffic behind or
coming towards us. I turned the car into Cronomer Hill Park and drove
the car carefully along the track as it went deeper into the woods. The
snow was undisturbed here so we knew that nobody else was in the small
parking lot up at the top of the hill.
I took it easy with the Buick, not wanting to skid off
the road and be stuck with Smith tearing at my ear hole. So we sat in
silence as I took the first curve. The big car slipped sideways a bit
but I kept the power on, not wanting to stop and not get going again.
After a fifteen minute journey that normally would take
three, the road leveled off and we could see the small parking lot where
people would leave their cars and go off to play in the park, or go
hiking around the woods that surrounded the park.
Then the tower came into view.
'This private enough for you?' I asked him.
'This will do fine, Tony.' With that he opened the door
and let the cold in. I switched the engine off and walked up to him. He
was staring up at the lookout tower, a tall, wooden structure with a
viewing platform at the top.
'You've never seen a view like this before, Bob,' I
said, making for the first set of steps.
'We don't have to go up there,' Smith said, but I
ignored him. He'd have to come up with me if he wanted to sell me his
product.
He decided to follow me, and we went up each level until
we reached the top. It looked high but was only fifty feet or so. It
afforded us a view of the Hudson, Bannerman Island sitting just off the
East bank in the distance.
'It's more cold up here, Bob, so I reckon you have five
minutes before I leave.' I looked at my watch.
'This is the deal, Tony: I'm going to give you the best
business proposition you'll ever get in your life.'
'So you're not going to try and sell me car insurance.'
'The way you drive? I would be out of business in a
week.' He took a deep breath and blew out his breath, the hot air
smoking in the cold afternoon. I hadn't brought a hat with me and the
heat was escaping my body at a steady rate. In a few minutes, I would be
shivering with the cold, and I needed to keep a steady hand.
'So tell me, Bob.'
He looked at me then, then launched into what was
obviously a well-rehearsed speech.
'I'm branching out on my own now, Tony, starting up a
new business.'
'What sort of business?'
He held up a hand. 'Let me get through my pitch and all
will be explained.' He took another deep breath. 'I work as a security
guard in an office block in Manhattan. I get passed by a thousand times
a day and not one person has a good word to say. No respect. Know what
I'm saying? When we were serving in Desert Storm, people had respect for
me. Not just for my rank, but the way I led them into battle. People
looked up to me, Tony, but now I'm just a piece of dirt on their shoe.
'So I decided I would change all that. I'm going back to
what I did best. What we did best.'
'You're a hitman,' I said.
He laughed. 'Fuck, no. I've always said the killing
never leaves you. That includes you, Tony. I'm a businessman. It's a
personal security business but some fuck's getting in my way. I need
some people taken out. Made to look like an accident.'
'And you want me to do this?'
'You were good at it, Tony. You were one of the best
soldiers I ever served with. You made killing look easy. You can do it
again, no problem. I can't be connected with this. That's why I need
somebody else to do it for me. I chose you. It's one job and good money.
When it's over, you'll never see me again.'
The guy's head was in the clouds. 'I'm a Pastor now,
Bob. I talk to people about how they can have peace in their lives. I
left the Army behind a long time ago.'
'This is different from the Army. This is private work
with very little rules; you get the job done, you get paid. Simple as
that.'
'I'm sorry but I'm not interested. I think it's time we
were making a move to get your train.'
'The killing never leaves you, Tony. They trained you to
take lives without even batting an eye, ingrained it into you. It hasn't
left me, and it hasn't left you. I need you to do this for me.'
'I can't. I left that all behind a long time ago. I
found peace, Bob, and now I help others to find peace. I can't do what
you're asking.' I felt a surge of anger, but then it faded just as
quickly as it came.
He took a deep breath and made a face, as if he was in
Sears, undecided between a rear-projection TV and a plasma screen.
'Let me get this straight; I come to you with the best
offer you'll ever get in your life, and you throw it in my fuckin'
face.'
'I'm sure you'll find somebody to take up your offer,' I
said.
'Don't fuckin' patronize me. I trusted you.'
I spread out my hands. 'What do you want me to say?'
'"Yes" would have been nice.' Anger showed on
every crease on his face. I thought he was going to hit me then, but he
had something much worse up his sleeve.
'You have to understand, Bob, I'm a family man. I have
children to think about.'
'Ah yes, the lovely little girls. I hope they're getting
on well at Cornerstone Elementary. First grade and Fifth grade. They're
so pretty, Tony.'
I felt the anger rising up now. Smith talking about my
little girls set my blood on fire. 'How do you know where my girls go to
school? I haven't seen you for years.'
'Just call it my little insurance policy. Or two little
insurance policies, if you like.'
'What do you mean?' I knew exactly what he meant, but I
had to hear the words coming from his own mouth.
'You want me to spell it out? You do this job for me and
no harm will come to the kiddies. If not, well let me just say, the
ground is cold and damp this time of year. Makes it harder to dig.'
Then he smiled as the Jeep Cherokee rounded the corner
and drove up to the tower more sure-footedly than my Buick.
It stopped and two men got out. They both wore dark
clothing and woolen hats on their heads. Smith looked over the side, his
smile still in place. The men began to climb the tower, and a few
seconds later, they reached the platform beside us.
'You remember Ashford and Rodriguez?' Smith said.
I nodded. The two men looked at me. Smith smiled at
them. 'These men are here to make sure that you agree to my proposal,
Tony. Isn't that right, guys?' He looked at them, and opened up my
window of opportunity.
I was quick. I stepped closer to Smith and reached round
the back of his head with my left hand and grabbed his chin with my
right, and twisted quickly, his neck snapping like a twig. Before he
could fall to the wooden floor, I pushed him against the guard rail and
the two men reached down for his legs. In one swift movement, Bob Smith
was sailing down to the ground where he landed with a soft thump.
I looked at Ashford and Rodriguez. 'Thanks for the
heads-up, guys.'
They smiled at me. It was good to get the old team
together again.
'No problem, sir. We're just glad to see the back of
that fuck.' Rodriguez looked over the side of the tower to where Smith's
body lay still. 'As soon as he said he would kill my son, I knew that I
couldn't let him get away with it.'
'Me neither,' Ashford said. 'I've got two little boys
now, and I couldn't believe the fucker would threaten me. He said the
three of us were to do a job for him, and then it would be over. He
still had to recruit you, but like us, you would see sense.'
'And he thought you two guys would sort me out if I
didn't comply.' I couldn't believe Smith had been so stupid.
The two men faced me and saluted. I saluted back. 'Get
going. Don't worry about your tire tracks; plenty of people bring their
dogs here. Who knows about Thanksgiving, but they'll think somebody left
before I arrived.'
The two men left silently. I hadn't seen them since I
left the Army, and no doubt would never see them again. When they were
gone, I dialed 911.
Forty minutes later, the Town Police were wrapping
things up. The officer in charge knew me well, and told me he was sorry
about what happened. My explanation was plausible.
Bob Smith had called me, wanted to meet. I took him for
a coffee. He wanted to drive around. He was depressed about being alone
on Thanksgiving. We went to the tower, where I could show him the
beautiful scenery, all the things he would miss in life. I told him that
he would be fine.
'And he didn't seem suicidal to you, Pastor?' the cop
asked. He was a young guy, came to my Church regularly with his wife and
children. Nice family. He would have understood if I told him the truth.
He might have done the same thing in my shoes.
'Not at all. In fact, he seemed to have cheered right
up. I feel like I failed him.' I let my head hang a bit.
'Don't go blaming yourself.' He put a hand on my
shoulder. 'Those types, they're gonna jump no matter what you tell 'em.'
He put his notebook away. 'We'll be in touch.'
I nodded and looked at the coroner's assistants lifting
the body bag into the back of their van. I stood and watched as the
unused ambulance took off slowly down the hill, followed by the van.
'You were right, Bob,' I said to myself, 'the killing
never leaves you.'
Copyright 2007 by
Alan Peden
Alan was a
runner-up in one of author J.A. Konrath's writing competitions, and has
been published in Crime Scene Scotland, Powder Burn Flash and Flash Pan
Alley. He is working on a crime novel.
