Story: Villain

My name is Villain, but not like a ‘villain’ — the L’s are silent, and it’s pronounced ‘Van.’

Although I am a sociopath, and am in jail for murder, it’s not what everyone thinks, it was a misunderstanding.

‘That’s what you said last time, Van,’ they said to me. 

But this time, it’s the truth. I was trying to help someone.

She came to me one day when I was in the supermarket. Said she needed my help, that her hairdresser recommended me — you know hairdressers, they’re like free counsellors, without the confidentiality.

She always talked to me like I was a tradesman, like she had a job for me to do, like a shopping list. I think she thought she knew who I was, but she had no idea. She’d only heard about people like me, seen us on tv, we were characters in books. I wasn’t who she’d expected. She didn’t know that six of her six hundred facebook friends were just like me.

She had a problem she wanted me to fix, no matter what I had to do. Said she’d had enough, and wanted me to handle it. She’d pay me of course, told me her amount and I doubled it. She said she’d expected me to triple it. I decreased the list of things I would do by a third, same price. Touché!

Her issue had started years ago, her mother’s neighbour. He was attracted to her, making unwanted advances. She told her mother, who said she was lying. Since then, whenever she visited her mother, he’d come over.

So I started visiting with her, pretending to be her boyfriend. I made the most of it, she didn’t like it.

While I was there I’d watch him, study him. When I wasn’t there I’d watch him, study him. When he wasn’t there I’d watch him, study him.

I spent so much time working that my wife nagged me and wanted to know why I was always late.

I put on my husband persona and apologised. Then I cooked dinner and washed up while she watched tv. I don’t hate her, I don’t feel anything. She’s just an address. She’s an alibi, a label that makes me look normal. I know I’m not. Doesn’t bother me though.

I’m good at what I do, and people know that, and that’s why I have a waiting list of clients. I am in high demand.

This guy was easy, he was an idiot, and I could see why she needed my help.

He didn’t stay long once he knew she had a boyfriend, and I completely ignored him when he tried to engage me in conversation.

I decided to take his life apart, piece by piece. I started around the edges, and watched as pieces fell off, then now and then I’d rip a chunk off and leave him hanging on the edge.

He was a school teacher, so my job was already half done. A slip of the pen, an insertion of an incriminating file on his computer, a photoshopped photo on his facebook page. Small things at first that looked bad and had people questioning — not enough to get him fired.

Next came the finances. Some countries are so good at providing us with whatever we need. Credit card fraud with the right equipment can be done from the comfort of your arm chair. Voila! A little here, a little there, and a few damning packages addressed to him at the school…well, you can fill in the rest.

Let me see — career, finances…oh yes, personal relationships. This one was interesting. It turned out this guy had three wives in three different towns. I was impressed. ‘Mr boring primary school teacher’ wasn’t so boring after all.

The first wife was dim. When I say dim, I mean church dim, not intelligence dim. You know, brainwashed from birth that the husband is the man of the house and whatever he says goes. She went right up that blind alley. He could have run a drug cartel from their front lounge room and she wouldn’t have seen it.

Wife number two was a local politician. Too busy to see what he was doing. I think she truly loved him, but it got lost under all her activities. But then again, I have no idea what love is, besides being a chemical reaction.

Wife number three was a paranoid schizophrenic. He had her scheduled whenever he needed her out of the way. No one believed her. Her family was very wealthy and they really liked Mr boring primary school teacher. I think the truth is they were glad someone was willing to marry her and take her off their hands. He really is very convincing with them. I’ve watched him at their place when I worked as a waiter at one of their parties. I think he’s just like me.

So, this is where things got complicated. This woman paid me to ‘deal’ with him, which would have been simple, and I was enjoying myself. It was an easy job. But then he recognised me.

Half way through the evening he just came out and said he had seen me at this woman’s place and asked if I was following him. I denied it and said it was a second job so I could save up to ask her to marry me. He asked if I wanted to earn some money. 

He asked if I was being paid to follow him. I said no. She had asked me to get rid of him. There was nothing said about following him. He said, hypothetically, if I was being paid, how much would I want to stop following him. I said, hypothetically, that he would have a lot to lose if he were found out. I looked at the huge house by the sea and the expensive cars. 

Now, at this point, I didn’t mention the politician, or the dim wit. They were for later.

He agreed that he would have a lot to lose, and asked me again if I wanted to earn some money. He knew by now that I was following him but that I wouldn’t admit it. I said I was listening.

‘My wife is an only child,’ he sat on a stone wall overlooking the ocean. I stood with an empty tray that he had just taken the last glass of wine off. 

‘All this will be hers.’

Her father laughed loudly from the other side of the pool, a cigar in one hand, a scotch in the other.

‘Not for a while,’ I said smiling. 

‘Well, that’s where you would come in.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong idea,’ I said. ‘I’d better get back to work.’

‘I doubt that would matter. We can cut the charade, I know who you are, and I know why you’re here.’

I took his empty glass. He was pale, his pupils dilated. It wouldn’t take much.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Will there be anything else?’

He stared at me, tried to read me. It’s impossible. He gave up.

‘No, thank you.’

A woman watched from the patio. I passed her on my way to the kitchen. I bumped the doorway and dropped the tray. 

She watched as I fumbled, then leant in to help. Easy. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually so clumsy.”

Apologetic. It’s always a good way in.

“It’s usually me.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

She blushed. She had a raw beauty. Like a deer in the headlights before it’s shot. Trusting, vulnerable. Easy prey.

“Oh, it is. They think I’m mad,” she picked up a large piece of glass and stared at it. “Well, I am mad…sometimes.”

I took the glass from her hand. Not yet, I thought. My skin tingled.

“Everyone’s mad,” I smiled, and we stood.

“Thank you,” she smiled, a tear in her eye.

‘Are you all right?’ Healthy, fit. Her father would be harder to deal with.

I moved into the kitchen, looked away, listened.

‘I’m ok. I was just picking up a glass that…’

He sighed.

‘You taking your meds?’

‘It wasn’t her, it was me, I’m sorry, I’ll pay whatever it costs.’ Penitent. Bait.

‘Oh, no, it’s ok, you’re a guest.’

He smiled — broad and white, his eyes healthy like the sun. I would have preferred a yellow tinge.

‘I’m not a guest, sir.’

His smile faltered, he scanned my clothes.

‘You look familiar.’

He squinted. No recall. Looked away. 

No one remembers me. Hair colour, contacts, facial hair, glasses, limps, sticks, and stoops. It’s not that hard. Distractions are easy, and people are stupid.

‘Make sure you pay for it.’

Her fists balled, her face turned red. Interesting.

*

It only took a week. She walked every day on the beach. My rental property near the dunes was an oasis she stepped into with only the slightest tilt of the Earth from me. Fragile, confused, angry — the perfect tool.

She killed her father. 

I’d had to tell her what he’d done. She needed to know. Three years ago he’d hired someone to kill her mother. 

Her reaction was beautiful. My whole body tingled. I followed her from a distance. 

Unfortunately, the boring teacher was there. He ran to stop her. His hands around her neck. I told him to stop, that he’d go to jail, to let me do it right. He stood back and I stabbed him with an ice dagger I’d put in the freezer the week before. By the time the police came it had melted.

Sirens. 

She held the Earth and it tilted her way. I slid straight over the edge.

She’s brilliant. Not a shred of paranoia in her. Although, I don’t think she minds if people think there is.

So, why am I here? Because, although the law says she’s not a credible witness, the woman who hired me is. Her cousin, and niece of the woman I killed three years ago.

It pays to be thorough.

Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.