‘They gave me a pretty hard time on the flight back,’ Billy told the man whom he had simply named ‘the Voice’ on the phone when he called in to report. It was a deep voice with crisp consonants: not quite a foreign accent; more like the voice of someone who strived for perfection in everything he did, even when he spoke. It was also the voice of authority: the voice of someone accustomed to giving orders, perhaps not in a military sense, but definitely the voice of someone who was used to being in control.
Actually, Billy had originally been brought into all this by a high-ranking army officer—a three-star general, Anthony Morton—who was the only one with whom he had met face to face. Morton had been in charge of his Special Forces unit and was the one responsible for peeling him out, so it was with some surprise and distrust that Billy had first met with him. However, Morton had led him to believe that everything had been done for a reason, and in that first meeting told him that now he was to reap the benefits of that reason, if and when he played ball.
He didn’t buy into all of it, but play ball he would. First, he was happy to learn he wasn’t really a solid fuck-up in their eyes and therefore someone who had no place in the Special Forces unit; and second, he was happy to learn he had qualities and skills they needed and that his training had not been in vain. In fact, when he thought about it now, he realized he had done better than those in his unit who were thought to be superior. Were they living like he was living? Most of them were probably in some mosquito-infested swamp right at this moment, waiting to perform an assassination. Afterward, they’d be lucky to have a cold beer.
‘What do you mean by gave you a hard time, Billy? Who gave you a hard time?’
‘I was pulled off the security line and searched and then questioned by one of those profilers. I nearly missed my flight.’
The Voice was deadly quiet.
‘What did you do to attract attention, Billy?’
‘I didn’t do anything. Well, there was this woman who was bothering me and I told her to get the fuck away.’
‘You’re in an airport, the security is intense, everyone is on the lookout for aberrant behavior and you tell some woman to get the fuck away?’
Billy was silent.
‘This troubles me, Billy. Your strength has to be your self-control, your tight hold on your emotions. You know that is how we avoid mistakes. Why are you forgetting your training? I don’t like this.’
‘I’m working too hard,’ Billy moaned in his own defense. ‘You pulled a second event on me when I had barely completed the first.’
There was a long moment of silence that made Billy’s heart thump.
‘You’re useful to us solely because you don’t crack under pressure, Billy. You never work too hard. It’s impossible for one of our operatives to work too hard,’ the Voice finally said.
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s not going to happen again,’ Billy said, rushing to retreat. ‘You’ve been satisfied with everything up to now, haven’t you?’
‘Billy, it’s always, “What have you done for me today?” You know that.’
He held his breath. Was he finished? Was this it? ‘I know. You’re absolutely right,’ he decided to say. Agree, kowtow, bend…remember the wisdom…a branch that doesn’t bend, cracks. Go with the flow.
‘All right. This particular assignment requires very little traveling, otherwise I would think twice about sending you through the airports at the moment. I’m sure your picture is on the radar screen at every terminal. After this, you can have that vacation you’ve been clamoring to have. We’ll arrange it.’
He didn’t like the sound of that, but he wasn’t going to say anything right now except, ‘Thanks.’
Then he listened to instructions. The Voice wasn’t exaggerating about very little traveling. He only had to drive up to Palm Beach. That’s great for another reason, he thought. While he was there, he would buy himself an Italian suit and get some expensive shoes on Worth Avenue. Afterward, he would get his hair styled and get a manicure at his favorite salon here. Maybe he would go to a tanning salon, too. Got to prepare for that holiday, he told himself.
Billy had his own ideas about what his vacation would be. There was this Singles Only cruise departing from Fort Lauderdale and going through the Panama Canal before ending up in Costa Rica. He fantasized about a floating orgy, and he liked to imagine himself walking into the cruise liner’s nightclub that first night out of port wearing his sharp new suit, his Rolex and his diamond pinky ring in the gold setting, and strutting up to the bar. All female eyes would be on him. He’d order a martini as coolly as James Bond in one of those early movies, and look as if he owned the world.
This new job would put him over the top financially. The money burned in his pocket. It was time to spend it on himself, be extravagant again. Despite the tone the Voice had taken with him and the underlying threat he sensed in his words, Billy was suddenly elated. The job sounded simple, a piece of cake. The only disappointing thing was again, in fact for the third time in a row, the mark was a man. How he loved what he did to the women.
An hour later he received a special delivery packet with the information he needed. He was both surprised and amused by the modus operandi, but the Voice knew what he had in his arsenal and what his abilities included. He went to the closet and gathered up his equipment and then he went down to his car in the basement garage. One of the other tenants, a forty-five-year-old widow, Dorothy Wilson, a woman he knew was a bank executive, was just parking her car after returning from work. She had the space next to his. That was why he knew who she was.
She paused when she got out of her car and smiled at him. ‘How are you?’ she asked, as if they knew each other well.
Of course he knew to avoid any relationships in his building. There was no way he could explain or cover up what he did safely enough. They were all too close and there would always be questions like ‘Why do you travel so much?’ And then all those inevitable inquiries about his family, where he was from, etc. He had no patience for any of that, nor was there any reason to take any risks.
‘Good,’ he said quickly, but not so quickly as to give her the impression he wanted to get away from her. He would be extra careful now, especially after this last conversation with the Voice. Even a minor error could send him on his way to oblivion.
‘Going deep-sea diving some place interesting?’ she asked, seeing his equipment.
‘Not really. Just helping a friend train for a vacation,’ he replied, flashing his best smile and getting into his car. She waved and then started for the elevator. He had already said more than he wanted to.
In this world today, he thought, everyone just has to know everyone else’s business. Look at all those dumb talk shows on which people reveal their innermost secrets and intimacies. What the hell ever happened to self-respect? And being embarrassed?
He backed out and drove off, changing his train of thought as easily as someone changing a channel on a television. What amazed him—continually amazed him, he should say—was how predictable most people were, how regimented their lives were. It made what he did so much easier, so he wasn’t complaining. He just wondered if he was that way, too. Of course, most people did the same things in the morning, but aside from that, we all went our own ways. It was just a matter of discovering the patterns, and there was nothing difficult about discovering exactly that when people were so loyal to their own ritualistic behavior.
According to Billy’s instructions, just about when the sun descended, Ted Brookhaven would be taking his nightly swim in his pool. He had read the resume before destroying it all. Brookhaven was a fifty-one-year-old widower who was somewhat estranged from his two children. There was no reason given for that. Maybe they blamed him for their mother’s death. He started to fantasize about that. It gave him a rationalization. Ted Brookhaven had driven his wife to suicide or something, the bastard. She was a sweet but fragile woman and he destroyed her. By the time Billy turned on to the Flagler Bridge, he hated the guy’s guts.
He really didn’t need a rationalization, but he liked the way it made him feel and the spurt of energy and purpose it provided. It reminded him of the way his weapons instructor had gotten him to focus on a target. ‘Think of someone you really hate. Envision his face and put that face on the target. Concentrate on that, Billy boy.’
That was exactly what he did. He put the weapons instructor’s face on the target. Billy boy.
They all liked to call him Billy boy for some reason, but that was at least better than Billy Bob or silly Billy.
The bottom line was, the advice worked. He was a crack shot with any pistol, any rifle, even a bow and arrow, and as he had proven many times, a dart gun. It was all a matter of focusing, having that ability to isolate and concentrate. Sometimes, he went into it so deeply, he wasn’t even aware he had done it. When it was over, it was as if it had all been a dream, a bubble that had popped. That used to worry him, especially after he had seen that movie about the men who had been brainwashed.
I better not have been brainwashed, he thought, or someone’s going to be sorry.
Man, was he full of anger today. He had no complaints though. It was perfect for what he had to do.
Because it was still early, he went shopping first, just as he had planned. The owner of the boutique promised to put a rush on his suit when he told him he was buying it for a cruise he had booked the following week. The guy was so gay, he practically fluttered, Billy thought, but he didn’t blame him for being attracted to him. After all, he cut some figure in that full-length mirror.
He usually disregarded any compliments from a salesman or lady, but he could see the sincerity in their faces. They really thought he looked outstanding. And the receptionist, a woman clearly in her mid-sixties, but still quite well put together, gazed at him with a look that he interpreted to say, ‘How I wish I was young again and could win the interest of such a handsome man.’
He snapped his credit card on the counter and watched her ring up the sale. He couldn’t resist telling her that she had a beautiful smile. Why not make her day? he thought, feeling exceptionally generous. He had so much. He could give a little, be charitable. She, as well as the gay owner, would surely go to sleep tonight fantasizing about him. It was good to know you were in someone else’s erotic dreams. It brought a smile to his face. Beaming, he stepped out of the men’s boutique and headed for his car. The sun was sinking rapidly now. Time to go to work.
He drove to the address, checked out the grounds and security and then parked far enough away. He waited for the shadows to grow and deepen and then he followed his instructions to slip into the rear of the house, a Spanish-style home that would look like a palace in any other location, but here in Palm Beach would be considered a modest abode.
Once inside the property, he stripped down to his bathing suit and strapped on his small tank. Then he slithered through the darkness, avoiding the reach of the landscaping lights, and slipped into the fairly long pool to wait under the water. He became a little concerned when a good fifteen minutes had gone by with no sign of his mark, but finally he heard the splash and saw him dive in, his eyes closed, and then sail to the surface to do his laps.
He waited, letting him do two full laps. That would give him a sense of contentment, keep him off guard, Billy thought, and then he shot up with a shark’s determination and clamped on Ted Brookhaven’s ankles, pulling him down under. The surprised man swung his arms about in a panic. He probably does think it’s a shark, Billy thought and laughed to himself as the man struggled to keep from drowning.
It didn’t last long. His arms and legs just stopped like they had been switched off. He dangled under the water. Billy released his grip and slipped through the water to the other side. He pulled himself up and out of the pool and gazed back at the house. There was someone else there. He could hear whomever it was moving about in the kitchen and then he heard some Latin music.
He’d have to tell the Voice about this. The instructions had clearly said that Ted Brookhaven would be alone at home. That’s not my fuck-up, he thought, eager to put them on the defensive.
He hurried back over the path he had come, took off his suit, wiped himself dry with his towel, packed up his equipment and returned to his car. It was a quiet enough side street. He had gotten in and out without anyone seeing him. He was confident of that.
On his way home, he stopped to get gas and called the Voice. He told him everything, especially about the other person in the house.
‘Just go home, Billy boy,’ the Voice said, ‘and think about your holiday.’
‘Fuck you,’ he said, but not until after he had ended the call. He didn’t like the way the Voice had dismissed him and he especially didn’t like the reference to Billy boy.
Damn him, he thought as he continued on, I was in such a good mood.