Two streams of smoke hurried from his nose, combining into one gray mass. He exhaled the remnant through pursed lips. Three fingers moved as one to tap the embers into a coffee cup which served as a makeshift ashtray.
Roger Ivel sat across the desk. His eyes followed the motion of the cigarette as it made its round trip between lips and coffee cup. His hands alternated between rubbing his thighs and tapping out nervous rhythms on the wooden armrest. Every few seconds, he shifted his weight as though the new position would make him comfortable. The man sitting in Roger’s chair seemed to derive more pleasure than he should making the executive squirm. He held in another puff, leaned his head back, and blew it straight up. The room stunk of tobacco. A tickle rose in Roger’s throat, followed by the hacking cough which betrayed the decay in his lungs.
“If you don’t mind, we’re not allowed to smoke in here. Local law, you know.” Roger cracked the knuckles on his right hand.
The man turned his gaze towards Roger, but only for a moment. Another stream of gray smoke took its brief journey before dissipating into the air.
“Beautiful office you have here,” the man said. “I never really took the time to admire it before.” His head swiveled towards the window. “And the view. Amazing. Who do you have to kill to get a view like that?”
Roger chewed off a piece of dried skin from his lower lip and spit it out. His hips shifted again. He wanted to speak, but he knew better than to let the words out now. When the time came, he would mount his defense like he had before. He knew what to say. It would just have to wait for the right moment.
The man took his legs off the desk and leaned forward. He picked up a picture frame, admiring the photo for a moment, before twisting it for Roger to see.
“The little missus,” the man said.
Roger nodded. The man turned the picture back towards himself. A slender tongue moistened a thumb.
“She’s got a little something on her neck,” the man said, rubbing his thumb in a circle on the glass.
Roger reached out to grab the frame. “Please don’t do that.”
The man pulled the picture out of range of Roger’s hands. The look on his face told Roger to sit down. He did but not before letting out another weak protest. The man ignored the request and dug in even harder.
“Maybe, if I had a napkin and some cleaner. Ahh. This’ll do.” The man picked a discarded tissue out of the trash can, spit on the picture, and rubbed some more. “Nope. This isn’t working either.”
“Please,” Roger said. His words were tired, pitiful.
“I’m just trying to help. I mean, she’s got this nasty, brown clump right here that makes her look, well, kind of repulsive, don’t you think? What is that? Cancer? Ugh. What a horrible way to go. A homely woman with a disgusting, cancerous blob on her neck. Is that why you never took her anywhere? Embarrassed to be seen with her?” He let out a soft snort. “Can’t say that I blame you.”
“Don’t talk about her like that. I loved her.”
“Hmm.” A grunt this time. “I didn’t take you as the sentimental type. You always seemed more like the love ’em and leave ’em type.” He stared more closely at the picture. “What is it you saw in her? Besides daddy’s money, of course. How many times did she bail out the studio? Three? Four? Her daddy didn’t like you, did he? But she kept writing the checks. I guess the real question is, what did she see in you? Especially when you take everything into consideration.”
Roger leaned over and ripped the frame from the man. His cheeks quivered under their own weight. “She loved me too.”
The man stuck his lips out and shrugged. “She must have. I mean, to put up with the other women and girls. And the boys. She had to have known about them. Hell, everybody did. It’s not like it’s some well-guarded Hollywood secret. Damn it, Roger. You even made a movie about it. What was the name?” He looked off to his left as if the answer was over there. “Shoot. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” He paused again. “Help me out, Roger. It’s the one where the Wall Street guy runs a prostitution ring using runaways as sex slaves. The good guy wins, of course. A classic, feel-good flick. Puts a bullet between the rapist’s eyes but not before doling out a little poetic justice. I cheered so loudly when I saw it in the theater. Even louder the next night. My date really enjoyed it too.” He shrugged. “I assume anyway. It’s not like I got the chance to ask her. Of course, the movie did have a lot of sex scenes. The director did an amazing job of making the rapes appear realistic. Rumor has it, they might not have been faked. But, you know Hollywood rumors. I also heard you made it a point to be on set each time they shot the rapes. Made them film the scenes over and over until they got it just right. You even had a cameo. From the back, so no one would recognize you, if I remember correctly.” He tapped his mouth with his finger. “What was that movie called? I should know. It won the Oscar for best cinematography. The next day, the Post ran that scathing article criticizing the Academy for not giving it best original screenplay too. Ahead of its times, they called it.” He scrunched his lips. “Agh. Never mind. It’ll come to me later.”
Another fit came on Roger. The convulsions doubled him over, and he held onto the armrest as his body heaved and fought to expel the rot. When he sat up, his eyes were red and bulged out as if invisible hands had wrapped around his throat and squeezed until the life began to drain.
“You alright there, Roger? Need a glass of water?”
Roger held up his hand and waited for the last coughs to subside. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and spit a yellow-brown glob onto it. With his free hand, he wiped away the beads of sweat which had accumulated on his forehead.
“You might want to see a doctor for that cough,” the man said. “Seems like it’s getting worse.” His eyes narrowed. “Probably don’t have much time left, by the sound of it.” The look of pleasure reappeared.
Roger glanced towards the door.
“Got plans tonight?” the man said as he watched Roger’s eyes dart back and forth. “A secret rendezvous? Another soon-to-be star waiting for a chance at fame and fortune?”
Roger sniffed but remained quiet.
“You’re quite the philanthropist, aren’t you? Helping those hapless skiffs navigate the rough Hollywood waters. What percent actually make it big? I’d hazard a guess that it’s no more than one percent. The other ninety-nine go back home, head to Vegas, things like that. How do you keep them quiet? I’m, of course, referring to the ones that have the face for your trophy case but not for the big screen. I figured that sooner or later one of them would come forward and accuse you of something. Is it because no one will listen? On the other hand, I can’t say I have much sympathy for them. Most of them know what they’re getting into. They understand the price that comes with fame and fortune. I don’t hear them complaining.”
He rocked back in the chair. Roger shifted his weight to the other side.
“My apologies, Roger. I can see that I’ve made you uncomfortable. That certainly wasn’t my intention. Tell you what. We’ll change the subject. What should we talk about? Let’s see. Why don’t we talk about what happened this evening?”
Roger’s heart fell into his stomach. He knew it was coming and had prepared himself as best he could. Even so, when the moment arrived, his dinner nearly made a return journey.
“You’re looking a little pale. Even more so than normal. I hope it wasn’t something I said.” The man rummaged through the desk drawers. “Where do you keep the bottle?”
“Bottom drawer on the right. It’s beneath the brown folder.”
The man held the bottle to the light. “Stolichnaya. I guess it’ll have to do.”
He poured two fingers into a glass. Roger took the offer and downed it in a gulp. The man put the bottle to his lips. A stream of clear liquid sprayed out of his mouth.
“Ugh. Swill,” he said, wiping his lips. “I don’t understand your love affair with vodka. Give me a nice bourbon any day.”
Roger let out a long, soft puff of air. He wished the man would get to the point, but he knew it was all part of the game.
“This evening.” The man tapped the desk. “What are we going to do about this evening? Another drink?”
Roger nodded, watched as the vodka poured, and swallowed.
“I’ve got to admit, I’m a little disappointed.” The man clicked his tongue. “I’m pretty sure I gave you explicit orders.”
“And I followed them to the letter,” Roger said.
“You did?”
“Deputy Jones set up the meeting. The sheriff showed up as planned. My sources tell me that Pierre didn’t make it out of the alley. Neither did the guy he brought with him. I’m not sure what more I could have done.”
“What you could have done is had the deputy take out the sheriff like I told you to do. Instead, the officer on your payroll is, well, off the payroll now. Permanently. Just like your other employee. What did you say his name was?”
“Pierre,” Roger answered.
“Right. Pierre.”
“As to the sheriff being alive,” Roger said, “it’s nothing more than a glitch. An easily rectified error. It’s under control. I can assure you.”
“I’m not so sure it’s as easy as you think. Seeing as how you couldn’t keep the guy in jail long enough so your man could finish off the sheriff, I can only assume they’ve compared notes and come to an unsettling conclusion regarding you. Isn’t that why I asked you to take care of them? So they wouldn’t be able to work together? Between the two, they have enough information to get a pretty good idea of what you’ve been up to. If I were a betting man, I’d say they were on their way here now. Which makes you a loose end.”
Roger’s face turned red again. “I … I’m sure they have no idea. I mean, how could they? The sheriff’s an idiot and Marvin, he … he doesn’t know. I’m sure of it. He idolizes me. There’s no way he’d suspect I had anything to do with it.”
“You’re sure of it? Just like you assured me the mess would be taken care of this evening. It seems, Roger, that I’m having a bit of a hard time believing you. That I can’t really count on you anymore.”
“You can. Absolutely, you can.” Roger’s breath quickened.
“No, Roger. I can’t.” The man stood up. “And since I can’t, that means it’s time to void our contract.”
“You can’t do that,” Roger said. He shifted back into the chair. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”
“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that,” the man said, taking a couple steps towards Roger. “Our bargain was that you do exactly what I tell you to do, and I let you live.”
“I’ve always done exactly what you told me.” Roger’s eyes grew wider. “Whenever you’ve needed something taken care of, I found a way to do it.”
“Eh. Not always. And I rewarded you by looking the other way when your results were less than satisfactory. Gave you more time on this earth to satisfy your carnal desires.” He shuddered. “You disgust me, Roger. You disgust me.” He laughed at the irony. “If I could, I’d let this ‘easily rectified error’ slide, but this time, you failed me in a way I can’t overlook. You’ve got to admit, it was a pretty big screw up.”
He took another step closer. Roger pushed himself as far back into the chair as he could, cowering like a dog that knows a beating is headed its way.
“Please,” Roger said. “I’ll make it right.”
“A deal’s a deal.”
“Please. Give me a chance.”
“Come now, Roger. Take it like a man. I mean, you always knew it would end up like this, didn’t you?”
Roger put his fist to his mouth to cover the cough. Yellow and brown and red bits stained his hand. His body shook with each spasm of his lungs.
“There you go,” the man said. “Let it out. Let it all out.”
Roger’s face passed red and headed straight to purple. “Please,” he said, his words almost a whisper. “Give it to me. I can’t breathe.”
The man held out a vial. “You mean this? I can’t give it to you,” he said. “You failed me. That was our agreement. And I’m a man of my word.” The irony nearly choked him this time.
“Please … pl …”
The words stopped coming. The vein’s in Roger’s neck pounded as though they wanted to leave the skin which held them in. He grabbed onto the armrest as the muscles in his back contracted and arched into the air. His lungs continued to retch, but no sound came out. An expression of terror, of agony, flooded his face. Like the tears which flowed uncontrollably as if they wanted to flee the fire inside.
The man stood over Roger and watched with a mix of interest and pleasure. His hand returned the vial to his pocket.
“That’s right,” he said as he stroked the dying man’s hair. “Enjoy the pain while it lasts. It’s as good as it will ever be for you.”