When the Rules Don’t Apply

“Next time, kid, don’t invoke my name like you did with that deadbeat’s house you burned. I don’t like that. Get my drift?” he said drawing hard on his cigar and then blowing the smoke in Faye’s direction. His eyes studied the cigar’s tip. “But I got to admire you. You got balls.” He took another puff on the cigar. “You know, kid, occasionally, I got extra work for someone with balls and guts like I think you got. Sometimes the work is delicate and needs finesse, if you know what I mean.” He gave look. Faye had no idea what he meant, but he didn’t think it wise to let Dwyer know this, so he kept quiet, just nodded his head in agreement. “It’s getting rid of someone who’s a bother. Get my drift?” Faye still wasn’t sure, but he figured Dwyer would get to his point soon, so he nodded again. “We call it ‘fixing someone,’” Dwyer said by way of further explanation. “You mean killing someone?” Faye asked finally realizing Dwyer’s meaning. “We don’t say it quite that way, but I think you got it.” Faye sat back. “I did that when I was in Special Forces. Done a couple of hits. Big Russian guys.” That, of course, was a lie, Faye thought. I never spent a day in the Special Forces. In fact, the only guy I had ever killed in the way Dwyer meant was Judson. In Vietnam, I killed some NVA, but that was high adrenaline action when I felt I was invincible, and it was a patriotic thing anyway. War was a license to kill, and I enjoyed it. Apparently, what Dwyer was asking me to do was kill someone like I had Judson, and I had no trouble with that if the price was right. Faye leaned closer to Dwyer and said softly, “Who do you want me to whack?” Instantly Dwyer’s eyes hardened, and he pounded his fist on the end table, sending the table and the whiskey bottle rocking. “Are you stupid, kid?” Dwyer said spiting the words, his voice mounting to the level of hysteria. “This ain’t no game, and it ain’t no movie. We don’t use them words. You’re in the real world. You’re with guys now who know how each other thinks. The words we use are ordinary but important. I say someone’s in the way, you got to know what it means. You get my goddamn drift?” Dwyer’s body had tensed, his eyes bulged, and the veins in his temple and neck stood out as he stared intently at Faye, his mouth twitching. The guy’s crazy, Faye thought as he prepared to defend himself. He had been warned by one of his friends, Lenny Dowling, about Dwyer’s schizophrenia. Apparently when Dwyer was off his medication he was uncontrollable and apt to do anything, including killing objects of his rage for no rational reason. Dowling also told him that Dwyer was known to keep a Russian automatic in the drawer of the end table, so Faye kept his eye pealed for any move in that direction. But then, as suddenly as it began, Dwyer’s rage waned. “Hey, kid, I was only kidding. We’re friends, right? I just wanted to make a point.” His voice was much calmer now. “The job pays five thousand. Interested?"