Hit Man Blues

[The lights are glitzy and glowing on a downtown Dallas night as a sharp dressed man steps out of a black BMW on an obscure side street. As those on Main street revel and roar he strides purposefully to an unknown destination. He's out of sync with the nightlife with his razor sharp focus. Perhaps no one else alive at that moment has such a clear sense of direction in his life. Then it snaps.]

"You're an idiot! They're using you!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"They're just using you. They put the blood on your hands and you take the risks."

"I don't have time for this. Not fucking now!"

"You're a fool! Wasting your time for theirs."

"Jesus! Be quiet! I can't be having this now!"

"Why even do this?"

"Why the fuck not? Get out of my head!"

Opportunity in life never comes when it's convenient. In fact, it's just the opposite: when it hits you, it hits you. Like it did me walking on the city sidewalk on the way to a contract. The whole of my existence struck me as absurd. Clear as day I saw myself. I wasn't being clever. I hadn't been clever. I was a chump to do someone else's dirty work, soiling my soul. How humiliating. A $12,000 suit can't cover that. No amount of paper can.

"Turn around, walk away! It's not worth it."

"Of course it's fucking worth it. What the hell else am I going to do?"

"No idea but this is what this is: total and utter bullshit."

"Don't give me that. People kill for money every day. No one thinks twice about someone dying from a lack of funds. I'm just being more direct."

"They're fools too! Want to join them? You always say you're smarter than they."

"I am, dammit! I am!"

But was I? I'd suddenly lost the ability to lie to myself right at the worst fucking time. Every life reaches that point. How you react to it determines which side wins out: smart or stupid. My precious vanity of believing I was Smarter was in mortal danger. I really was just another working stiff after all: paid more because I was used more. They're using you, man, just like the coal miner getting black lung. You're no fucking different.

I had to hide, step into a side alley away from prying eyes. Of all the fucking times to come to this realization! I'm on the hook for this. This is a BIG contract. Run away from this and they will find you. They'll send hit men after me for leaving them so critically vulnerable. Goddam. Why couldn't this have hit me between contracts instead of at my most crucial one yet?

Think you're not a killer? Think again.

I crouched behind a dumpster. I had no desire to move. Ever. I was tugged equally in two different directions. It's about what You want, man. But I want my fine clothes and Maserati and uptown townhouse. Most of all I want out of the fucking rat race. You want to be one of them Blue Bell fuckers? Letting assholes determine your life?

The same old rage came over me when I read about workers who'd spent their entire working lives at Blue Bell ice cream only to have the rug ripped out from under them when listeria was found and they had to shut down all three plants. They'd done nothing wrong. Been honest workers. And what do they get? THE SHAFT! Happens all time where people are thrown out in the street regardless of their own efforts. Fucking animals.

"That's not going to be me. I'm going to shoot this guy and walk away as I see fit. I'm stuck in this jungle and if I'm going to die I'm going to die on my own fucking terms. There's no fucking reason not to."

"Because you don't want to."

"That's it? That's all you got? Since when does what I fucking want mean a FUCKING GODDAM THING in this world? You want me to do what I want then fucking fund me. What do you say to that?"

Silence.

"That's what I fucking thought."

Still, much to my annoyance, I could not escape my hidden crouch. A thousand arguments to execute the contract and only one to walk away: what I wanted.

"What the fuck else am I going to do? This isn't some freaking movie. I'm supposed to become a cab driver or something? That's no life. Don't I deserve to live too? What's in it for me? Homelessness?"

More silence.

"Jesus, give me a freaking answer! I can't see! I can't see!"

There was no getting around it: I didn't want to do this hit  - or any hits - ever again. Just the thought of freedom infected me like a wildfire, feeding my desire to live. But must I sacrifice my life to the thorns of the world? What to do? What to do?

I already got the only answer I was going to get.

"This is insanity! This is nuts! I'm crouching down here behind a dumpster on a warm spring night listening to people on the streets laugh, leggy woman flashing their wares, parties going on. What's happening to me? Why am I even considering not doing this job? Those party assholes are corrupted up the ass just like I am."

OK, well, not everyone. Not...

Shit, man. I can't be like she. That's asking way too much. I so much want to be a part of that world, I do. It seems so far away. Untouchable. Like her. Shit. I make this hit and I'm fucking myself out of where I want to be. Goddam it, this sucks.

Just fucking do it and leave all this existential crap for the morning, OK?

Remember all the other times where you didn't do what you wanted? Remember how that could have changed your life, given you a way out? You got yourself into this mess.

Refused

"No! It's not me!"

Suit yourself. Keep on going where you're going and see where it gets you.

"Couldn't be any worse than where I already am: total fucking shit. I'm going to shoot this fucker and then maybe I'll consider this bullshit conversation. Sure, I need to change. But not fucking now! You want me dead?"

No answer.

"Well, fuck you, then. I sure as hell hope God likes dead bodies because that fucker's going to get a whole planet full of them! We're all stuck and fucked and all the lectures in the world won't pay my damn bills. Since I don't know what to do I'll just keep on doing what I've been doing and goddam God can sort it out later."

I got up, smoothing out the wrinkles. Back in the real world, smelling the restaurant flavors, giving myself to the moist evening air filling my lungs, hearing an unexpected song in my heart. Shit, why am I so high? Looking around at the sidewalk cafes, I could be anybody. Damn, what a thought! Can I just ride this feeling and get away with it? Can it possibly be life is that good?

I walked passed the building I was supposed to enter. I started to smile. Hey, I do feel smart! Motherfucker! I'll be damned.

"Turn around. These feelings aren't real! You're just kidding yourself. You know you're no better than a selfish dog. Best to be honest with yourself than be a fool before all the world!"

I'd heard that before. It's what kept me from doing what I'd wanted. It's what got me into this mess to begin with, isn't it? Only question now: is it too late?

I kept walking but I'd be lying if the tug to go back and execute the hit wasn't pulling at me hard, out of habit if nothing else. I was breaking off a part of myself I know. How smart was that, really? It was strange, though. Whatever path I was on, the other road that seemed the smarter. I was a fool to walk away from the hit. I was a fool to do it. Blind faith, I hate you.

Hard as it was, I knew I had to go all the way, forcing myself to play it down the line one hundred percent. "Don't waver! That's the bit that will trip you up." I left my car, everything. Got a bus ticket out of the city. My first time on a bus. Something told me not to follow my normal routines. A clean break. I have to admit, though, sitting on that foul beast it was hard to make the argument I was smart.

A million thoughts raged through my mind on that bus seat. I was permanently altering my life and for what? My imagination? It was shitty scenes like this that got me into the business. Dear God, I can't live the rest of my life riding buses. Frankly, I should be way more upset than what I am. Surely I will come to see this as a horribly stupid decision later when I sober up.

I felt smart anyway.

*****

The morning sunshine at the diner the next morning was glorious, like when I was a child. Good to spend some time in a rural place as a change of pace. Maybe doors I thought were shut weren't so shut after all. Can't believe I'm having these thoughts! Not that I didn't have many nagging woes bringing me down. Don't confuse hope of getting out with actually being out. Life is really, really fucking hard.

Bored, I asked if I could read the communal paper left on the counter. It was from Dallas which I thought was funny. Times here in Podunk are to slow to write about. But the headline was the real shocker.

"Dumb fucking luck!"

Turns out the job had been double booked. Also turns out it had been a set up all along! "Hit Man Arrested In Police Sting". I shuddered and nearly broke down. I've been walking deeper into a mine field all this time!

I staggered out. If they knew about the other guy they most likely knew about me. Personal integrity. This was the one fucking time in my life I showed any - and it saved my life by the skin of my teeth. Now I had proof. Now I had answers. But unless I keep acting this way, I'll never make it out of this mine field alive. Jesus!