Page 38 of I Am the Messenger

"You working tomorrow?" He checks the roster and answers his own question. "Night shift." He ponders his coffee and resolves the issue. "Get it back to me by midday tomorrow. Not a minute later. I'll put a check on it in the afternoon. It needs a service."

"Yes, sir."

"Now let me drink my coffee in peace."

I leave.

I walk past Audrey, who's still going at it with the new bloke. I say goodbye, but again she doesn't hear. She won't be at cards tonight, and neither will I. This will annoy Marv no end, but I'm sure he'll survive. He'll get his sister to fill in for Audrey and his old man for me. His fifteen-year-old sister's a good kid but cops an awful lot for having a brother like Marv. He makes her life a living hell in many different ways. For example, all her teachers hate her because Marv was such a smart arse in school. They all think she's hopeless when she's actually quite intelligent.

Either which way, I've got more on tonight than cards. I attempt to eat but fail. I pull the Ace of Diamonds and the gun out and stare at them on the kitchen table.

The hours trickle past.

When the phone rings I feel afraid for a moment but then know it's Marv, without a doubt. I pick up.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you, Ed?"

"At home."

"Why? Ritchie and me are sitting here bored shitless. And where's Audrey? Is she with you?"

"No."

"Well, where is she?"

"With some guy from work."

"Why?" He's like a kid, I swear it. Always asking why for no reason. If she's not there, she's not there. Marv doesn't understand there's nothing that can be done about it.

"Marv," I say, "I've got a lot on tonight. I can't make it."

"What have you got on?"

Should I tell him or not? I wonder. I go for yes, saying, "All right, Marv, I'll tell you why I can't make it...."

"Well, go on."

"Okay," I say. "I have to kill someone, all right? Is that all right with you?"

"Look"--he's getting frustrated now--"don't shit me, Ed. I'm in no mood for your litany of crap." Litany? Since when does Marv have a vocabulary? "Just get over here. Get over here or I won't let you in on the Annual Sledge Game this year. I was talking to some of the fellas about it today." The Annual Sledge Game is a preposterous game of soccer played at the Grounds before Christmas. It's played barefoot by idiots like Marv, who's conned me into playing the last few years. And every year I nearly break my neck.

"Well, count me out this year," I tell him. "I'm not coming over." I hang up. As expected, the phone rings again, but I lift it and put it straight back down. I almost laugh at the thought of Marv swearing at the other end in disgust. Right about now he's turning to yell, "Okay, Marissa! Get out here for a game of cards!"

It doesn't take me long to focus on the job at hand. This is the only night I can carry out my plan. One night with the cab. One night with my mark. One night with the gun.

Sooner than I hope, it's close to midnight.

I kiss the Doorman on the cheek and walk out. I don't look back because I'm determined to walk through the door again later tonight. The gun is in my right jacket pocket. The card is in my left, with a flask of doped vodka. I put a lot of sleeping tablets in it. It better work.

The difference tonight is that I don't go down to Edgar Street. Instead, I stay closer to Main Street and wait there. At closing time, one man isn't going home.

It's late when all the drunks drop out from the pubs. My bloke can't be missed because of the sheer size of him. He yells goodbye to his mates, not knowing it's for the last time. I turn my cab around so I'm facing the same way he's walking. He looms closer in my side mirror and goes past. When he's further down the road, I start up and drive toward him. The sweat I feel is normal now, and I know I'm going to do it. I'm inside the moment. There's no getting out.

I pull up beside him and call out quietly.

"You need a lift, mate?"