Read Online First Person Peculiar by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online Page B

that, said the voice.
    “I can’t,” repeated Brozgold.
    “Sure you can,” I said, taking a couple of steps toward him.
    “It won’t do you any good,” he said, on the verge of tears now. “Everything about you, every last detail, has been classified. You won’t be able to follow up on anything I know.”
    “Maybe we won’t have to,” I said. “How many people did I kill?”
    “I can’t.”
    I reached over to the little writing desk and brought my hand down. It split in two.
    “How many?” I repeated, glaring at him.
    “Seventeen!” he screamed, tears running down his face.
    “Seventeen?” I repeated wonderingly.
    “That we know about.”
    Even I was surprised that I had managed to amass so many. “Who were they? Men? Women?” He didn’t answer, so I took another step toward him and added menacingly, “Doctors?”
    “No!” he said quickly. “Not doctors. Never doctors!”
    “Then who?”
    “Whoever they paid you to kill!” he finally blurted out.
    “I was a hit man?”
    He nodded.
    “I must really have enjoyed my work to kill seventeen people,” I said thoughtfully. “How did they finally catch me?”
    “Your girlfriend turned state’s evidence. She knew you had been hired to kill Carlo Castinerra—”
    “The politician?”
    “Yes. So the police staked him out and nailed you. You blundered right into their trap.”
    I shook my head sadly. “That’s what I get for trusting people. And this ,” I added, bringing the edge of my hand down on his neck and producing a snapping noise, “is what you get.”
    That was unethical, said my little voice. You promised not to hurt him if he told you what you wanted to know.
    “We trusted someone once, and look where it got us,” I replied, going around and wiping various surfaces. “What about that hooker? Had someone put out a contract on her?”
    I don’t remember, said the voice. It just felt right.
    “And how did killing Dr. Brozgold feel?” I asked.
    Good, said the voice after some consideration. It felt good. I enjoyed it.
    “So did I,” I admitted.
    Then are we going back in business?
    “No,” I said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned as an accountant, it’s that everything has a pattern to it. Fall into the same old pattern and we’ll wind up right back at the Institute.”
    Then what will we do? asked the voice.
    “Oh, we’ll go right on killing people,” I assured it. “I must confess that it’s addictive. But I make more than enough money to take care of my needs, and I don’t suppose you have any use for money.”
    None, said the voice.
    “So now we’ll just kill whoever we want in any way that pleases us,” I said. “They’ve made William Jordan a stickler for details, so I think we’ll be a lot harder to catch when I was you.” I busied myself wiping the dresser as best I could.
    “Of course,” I added, crossing over to the desk and going to work on it, “I suppose we could start with Carlo Castinerra, just for old time’s sake.”
    I’d like that, said the voice, trying to control its excitement.
    “I thought you might,” I said dryly. “And it will tidy up the last loose end from our previous life. I hate loose ends. I suppose it’s my accountant’s mind.”
    So that’s where things stand now.
    I’ve spent the last two days in the office, catching up on my work. At nights I’ve cased Castinerra’s house. I know where all the doors and windows are, how to get to the slidewalk from the kitchen entrance, what time the servants leave, what time the lights go out.
    So this Friday, at 5:00 PM on the dot, I’m going to leave the office and go out to dinner at a posh French restaurant that guarantees there are no soya products anywhere on the premises. After that I’ll slide over to what’s left of the theater district and catch the old Sondheim classic they’ve unearthed after all these years. Then it’s off to an elegant nearby bar for a cocktail or two.
    And then, with a little help