It does not.
Sadly, my time here must be cut short. I walk to the trash can and toss my cup, focused on necessary progress. Progress that started with the expiration of Newman Smith, who’d served a purpose, a barrier between myself and Agent Jazz when she wasn’t yet ready to see me in herself. A man easily disposed of when the time was right, a child molester who I knew Agent Jazz would judge unworthy, which she did. She simply wasn’t ready to pass ultimate judgment, the eternal judgment, which was expected. Progress takes time.
She’s obviously comfortable with judgment but still resists delivering proper punishment. That’s coming for her the way she came to me tonight. Agent Jazz had chosen Dave. The book had chosen Ava. These were not random choices, and it’s time she comes full circle. It’s time she opens her eyes and sees me the way she used to see me.
I walk a few blocks to my BMW and climb inside, making the short drive to South Austin, where Richard Williams is presently staying in a rundown trailer park. I owe him payment for Newman’s murder, and tonight, I’ve planned a little bonus for him that he’s not expecting. Because he’s a stupid embezzler. The trailers are broken down and spread apart and, as I have twice in the past, I drive to a wooded area just past his particular trailer, where I leave the money in our drop spot of a gutted tree. Tonight, his extra prize is an expensive bottle of whiskey.
Once I’m parked behind one of the neighboring trailers, one with a view of Richard’s front door, and a for rent sign in the window, I step out of my car and head to my trunk, where the tools for my judgment await me. I tuck my hair under a skintight cap and apply a layer of wax over my eyebrows and lashes to prevent shedding. My shirt is removed, my chest and arms bare of any hair. My wife says she likes me like this. Why would I deny her what she likes? My gloves are rolled into place. I pull a scrub shirt over my head and scrub pants over my pants. Booties go on my feet. Next, I remove a throwaway phone from my trunk and dial his number.
“Who is this?” he demands, but he knows. Of course he knows. He’s expecting me and the money I’ll gladly sacrifice to terminate him and the problems he represents.
“The task is complete,” I state. “I left you an extra gift for a job well done.”
“The gift will be the day you pay me to kill that other Jazz. The girl.”
My lips thin with his sinful words, words that solidify why he must be ended. “You’ll have to settle for what I left for you now.” I hang up and remove the SIM card and pour bottled water over it before tossing it in a trash bag in my truck.
In all of sixty seconds, Richard bursts from his door and heads out on foot to retrieve his prize. Once he’s out of sight, I quietly cross the terrain and enter his trailer through the back entry that he never locks. I move to the spare bedroom, where I wait, a crack in the door allowing me a full view of the tiny living room and kitchen. Richard returns quickly, and it’s not long before he’s sitting at his kitchen table with the cash and his gun on the table, downing the whiskey I’ve left him. He didn’t even notice the bottle was open. The sedative I’ve included inside is fast-acting, and he’s knocked out in minutes.
I exit the bedroom and remove the superglue from my pocket, squeezing the substance onto the gun as well as his hand before I press the steel into his palm. Once it’s solidly attached to his skin, I rest both on the table. I set the bottle of glue next to the stack of money. I want this to look as if he did it himself, like the money just wasn’t enough to make him happy. Once the setup is in place, I stick a couple of acid tablets, which I bought down at the border, under his tongue, pills laced with a little something extra. That something extra is well known on the streets and won’t look suspicious. It’s killed others, as it will kill Richard tonight. It also cost me a pretty penny, but money is of no consequence. I’ve been blessed with the financial freedom to allow my judgments. Finally, I set a handful of pills on the table, the same sedative that I put in the bottle. Pills that don’t mix well with acid.
If I’ve done my job well, and I have, the police will think he was trying to get the courage to kill himself with the gun, then resorted to an overdose instead. They’ll believe anything about a cop killer. They want him dead. Even more so if they find out he used this very gun to kill Detective Roberts. If they ever find Detective Roberts. That creek Richard left him in isn’t exactly a family-friendly location.
My cell phone rings, and considering the late hour, my lips purse, but I grab it from my pocket. It’s my wife. Of course, it’s my wife. I answer quickly. “Hi, honey.”
“How is the proposal coming?”
The proposal is a big project I’ve already locked down for my company, but she doesn’t know this. She believes I’m slaving over a PowerPoint presentation at this very moment. Richard starts to convulse. Beautiful. He’s dying. “Almost done,” I say, “I’m about to head out. You think you might have time to read it in the morning?”
Irritatingly, Richard begins jerking about, making some guttural noises. I move out of the range of the gun. I wouldn’t want to get shot by a moron in his last moments of life. “Of course,” my wife says. “You know I will. I know how important this contract is to you.” She hesitates. “What’s that noise?”
“Janitor,” I say quickly. “Fool is singing. Kool and the Gang, I think.” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “I do believe he thinks he’s good. He’s not.”
She laughs. “Obviously. Hurry home.”
“Leaving here in about half an hour. Do you need anything?”
“It’s midnight, baby. You just need to come home.”
“Right. Holy hell. I didn’t realize it was so late. Love you. I’m hurrying out of here.” I hang up and slide my phone back into my pocket. Richard goes still. I check his pulse. There isn’t one, but there’s plenty of disgusting foam hanging out of his mouth. This was messier than I prefer but necessary to cover my tracks and clear a path for my real judgment and punishment.
About done here, I grab Richard’s phone and dial 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
With his phone far from my face, I whisper, “Help. Riverside—Trailer—Park.” I don’t give them the exact address and then drop the phone on the ground and leave.
I return to my car and drive away, but I park on a side street in a neighborhood just outside of the trailer park and wait for the EMS vehicles. It takes them ten minutes to arrive. My job here is done. The only thing left to do is find a spot to pull over where I won’t be seen, bag my cover-up clothes for Goodwill, and get rid of my incidental trash.
Richard Williams is dead. The man who killed Agent Jazz’s father is dead. Now, she can let that one go and focus on her future. My gifts to Agent Jazz are never-ending.