identity?”
“People are still speculating about who shot JFK, too,” Sam Wright retorted.
I don’t like the Wrights very much—I can smell their disapproval of Tammi like heavy perfume in an elevator. But I do admire the way they’re always on the same side, backing each other up.
“Conspiracy buffs,” Roger said, dismissively.
“But you just said—”
“The highly evolved killer is the one who kills at
random
,” Roger said emphatically, veins swelling in the muscle of his voice like those in his flexed biceps. “It doesn’t matter who he kills, it’s just his way of making a statement. Look at the Zodiac,
another
killer they never caught. Do you think the newspapers would have published his letters if he hadn’t proven himself?”
“Proven himself?” I said.
Tammi gave me one of those looks she specializes in.
“Proven his expertise,” Roger said, not missing a beat. “Like providing your credentials. He killed
when
he wanted,
where
he wanted,
who
he wanted … and there was nothing the cops could ever do about it.”
“The papers published the Unabomber’s manifesto, too,” Mark Chilton said, toady that he is.
“And he got caught,” I rejoined, catching another look from Tammi.
“He would
never
have been caught,” Roger said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Not by all the law enforcement in America. It was his own family that turned him in.”
“So he wasn’t as highly evolved as the Zodiac?” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“That’s right!” Roger said, pointing his finger at me. I was glad I wasn’t standing closer. Once he had made a point with that same finger, jabbing it into my chest. It felt like a piece of rebar—I had the bruise for days. “The ultimate killer never leaves himself vulnerable to the weakness of others.”
“Morality isn’t weakness,” Sam Wright said, his voice as strong as his convictions.
“It’s a good thing the military doesn’t share your philosophy,” Roger delivered his knockout punch. “Or we’d all be having this conversation in German.”
7
“You don’t even try anymore,” Tammi said to me, later that night. She was wearing the black teddy she likes to pose in for her webcam.
“Try what?”
“Sex,” she said, almost spitting out the word.
“You’re joking,” I said, disgusted. With her and myself, both. “What’s the point of asking for something when you know the answer’s going to be ‘no’?”
“That’s your problem, Paul. Can you imagine
Roger’s
wife saying ‘no’ to him?”
“Not with him holding her green card,” I said, not so mildly.
“You’re disgusting,” Tammi said. She rolled over, her frozen back doing the rest of her talking for her.
8
That Monday, I called Roger’s house from work. His wife answered the phone. Her name is Kanya, something like that.
“Hello,” she said. Her voice was like a child’s.
“Good morning,” I said, speaking through the harmonizer that transformed my voice into an elderly man’s. “Is Mr. Kenworth at home?”
“Oh, yes, sure. I get him, okay?”
I hung up.
That night, Tammi asked me if I wanted to watch a movie with her. I was a little surprised. Usually, she spends the whole evening on the computer. I asked her, what did she want me to go out and rent? But she already had a DVD loaded.
It only took a minute before I realized what kind of movie it was.
“I don’t want to watch that stuff,” I said, getting off the couch.
“Oh, don’t be such a little wimp
all
the time,” Tammi snapped at me. “I thought, if we watched it together, maybe you’d get some ideas. Besides how to build bridges or whatever it is you do at work, I mean.”
“I’ve got plenty of ideas,” I said, defensively.
On the screen, a nurse was being raped by three men wearing stocking masks.
“She really wants it,” Tammi said, making a little grunting sound of judgment. “You’ll see. Watch how it ends.”
I couldn’t.
9
That Saturday,
“People are still speculating about who shot JFK, too,” Sam Wright retorted.
I don’t like the Wrights very much—I can smell their disapproval of Tammi like heavy perfume in an elevator. But I do admire the way they’re always on the same side, backing each other up.
“Conspiracy buffs,” Roger said, dismissively.
“But you just said—”
“The highly evolved killer is the one who kills at
random
,” Roger said emphatically, veins swelling in the muscle of his voice like those in his flexed biceps. “It doesn’t matter who he kills, it’s just his way of making a statement. Look at the Zodiac,
another
killer they never caught. Do you think the newspapers would have published his letters if he hadn’t proven himself?”
“Proven himself?” I said.
Tammi gave me one of those looks she specializes in.
“Proven his expertise,” Roger said, not missing a beat. “Like providing your credentials. He killed
when
he wanted,
where
he wanted,
who
he wanted … and there was nothing the cops could ever do about it.”
“The papers published the Unabomber’s manifesto, too,” Mark Chilton said, toady that he is.
“And he got caught,” I rejoined, catching another look from Tammi.
“He would
never
have been caught,” Roger said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Not by all the law enforcement in America. It was his own family that turned him in.”
“So he wasn’t as highly evolved as the Zodiac?” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“That’s right!” Roger said, pointing his finger at me. I was glad I wasn’t standing closer. Once he had made a point with that same finger, jabbing it into my chest. It felt like a piece of rebar—I had the bruise for days. “The ultimate killer never leaves himself vulnerable to the weakness of others.”
“Morality isn’t weakness,” Sam Wright said, his voice as strong as his convictions.
“It’s a good thing the military doesn’t share your philosophy,” Roger delivered his knockout punch. “Or we’d all be having this conversation in German.”
7
“You don’t even try anymore,” Tammi said to me, later that night. She was wearing the black teddy she likes to pose in for her webcam.
“Try what?”
“Sex,” she said, almost spitting out the word.
“You’re joking,” I said, disgusted. With her and myself, both. “What’s the point of asking for something when you know the answer’s going to be ‘no’?”
“That’s your problem, Paul. Can you imagine
Roger’s
wife saying ‘no’ to him?”
“Not with him holding her green card,” I said, not so mildly.
“You’re disgusting,” Tammi said. She rolled over, her frozen back doing the rest of her talking for her.
8
That Monday, I called Roger’s house from work. His wife answered the phone. Her name is Kanya, something like that.
“Hello,” she said. Her voice was like a child’s.
“Good morning,” I said, speaking through the harmonizer that transformed my voice into an elderly man’s. “Is Mr. Kenworth at home?”
“Oh, yes, sure. I get him, okay?”
I hung up.
That night, Tammi asked me if I wanted to watch a movie with her. I was a little surprised. Usually, she spends the whole evening on the computer. I asked her, what did she want me to go out and rent? But she already had a DVD loaded.
It only took a minute before I realized what kind of movie it was.
“I don’t want to watch that stuff,” I said, getting off the couch.
“Oh, don’t be such a little wimp
all
the time,” Tammi snapped at me. “I thought, if we watched it together, maybe you’d get some ideas. Besides how to build bridges or whatever it is you do at work, I mean.”
“I’ve got plenty of ideas,” I said, defensively.
On the screen, a nurse was being raped by three men wearing stocking masks.
“She really wants it,” Tammi said, making a little grunting sound of judgment. “You’ll see. Watch how it ends.”
I couldn’t.
9
That Saturday,
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