Fuentes was sitting outside a women’s clothing store, examining his phone. I took up a vantage point behind him to the left, so he couldn’t see me. He was wearing a Suns sweatshirt and blue jeans and a clean pair of expensive looking sneakers. I didn’t see a coat. Tattoos were clearly visible on the left side of his neck. His build was small, wiry. I walked past him, he was intent on his phone and didn’t look up. There was a one-day old stubble on his face, his nose was broken and what was left of it was squashed flat and bent to the right. His eyes were close set and dark. Not a pleasant looking person, at all. I carried on to a jewelry store and pretended to look at the display in the window. I could see his reflection in the glass. What should I do about him? I had no idea.
I walked on until I was out of his sight. I requested the list of his victims, they were all Hispanic from the Phoenix area. I re-checked his address, which was Chicago. I guess he’d fled town. The last murder was just five months ago. Ricky Gomes, twenty-two, Phoenix address. My heart jumped a beat, he was standing next to me, looking at the rings.
“Hey Manny, look at that one!” it was the girl he was with. She was beaming at a big diamond. I glanced at her briefly, Fuentes noticed and smiled at me. She was cute, petite, with enormous, brown eyes. Short black hair, she also wore blue jeans, her top was covered with a red leather jacket, it looked new. I nodded and moved away, telling myself to calm down, he had no idea that I knew who he was and what he’d done. I had to look again, mistake, he noticed, this time no smile, just a ‘who the fuck are you looking at, stare’. I walked away, not looking back. Jeez! I’m a moron.
There’s a Starbucks in the mall, I headed there and ordered a tall coffee and sank into a comfortable sofa facing out into the mall. What had just happened? I asked myself. Why was I so scared? What on earth did I expect to do? I hadn’t thought through any of this prior to embarking on this foray into the secrets of the populous. I breathed deeply and made no effort to check out the other patrons. It felt better that way. I needed to think and really wanted to have someone to talk to.
Eventually I asked Sally by thought. “What can I do about Fuentes?”
Sally’s image appeared on the heads-up display. She was wearing black, cotton pants and a light blue top, cut across the shoulders. She looked sophisticated and totally stunning. The sins of the shower were forgotten. “Well let’s see. You could just ignore him and let him live out his life in Chicago. He’ll probably get caught someday, anyway. You could confront him and say that you know who he is and what he’s done, but that might elicit an unpleasant response which might not be conducive to your health.” She was smiling. I’m sure if anybody had noticed my expression, sitting there alone, they would have thought I’d farted and felt good about it. My computer was becoming very cheeky. I growled silently to show my indignation. “You could terminate him. Well technically, I would do that, but on your orders.” The smile was now a grin, almost a laugh.
“What! What did you say?”
“Get rid of the dude, it’s really simply.” She said.
“How?”
“Well I could slice him up real bad, but that’s messy.” Now my eyes had widened to their fullest extent and I nearly coughed up my coffee. “Or, I could induce a heart attack. He’s a bit young, but no-one will care, he’s not a pleasant fellow, is he?” She had placed her hands on her hips and was grinning from ear to ear.
I was speechless for a moment, my brain all knotted up. I glanced around the coffee shop. Had anyone heard us plotting murder? No one paid me the slightest attention. I swallowed hard, holy crap, this was difficult to get used to.
“How?” I queried, placing my coffee on the table before I spilt it.
“What, slice him up?”
“No! the heart attack thing.” She was having fun with me.
“Well, pretty easy actually. I just fire a burst of atoms at him. They penetrate his chest cavity, leaving no trace of course, and form into a clip that attaches to his aorta. That cuts off his blood supply and you can guess the rest.” Again she grinned as if killing this guys was like going for a bike ride. “The clip dissolves after a while, no trace.”
I’m dumbfounded again. “Have you done this before?”
“Nope! This would be the first. I’ve been longing to try it though.” She looked like a schoolgirl at that moment.
“It doesn’t seem to bother you?”
“Why should it? He’s a nasty person. Right up there in your bad category. Anyway, it would be your decision. I just do what you say.” Ah! the military answer, I was just carrying out my orders. There was a pregnant pause as I tried to figure out what the hell was happening here. Was I some pawn in a game? It was all crazy, I’m not killing anyone, murderer or not. We have a justice system in the US. This is not the way civilized people acted.
“It’s not going to happen, Sally, no way.”
Her face frowned, a stark look of disappointment came over her. Then a smile crept along her mouth. “How about we send an anonymous email to Ricky Gomes’ brother?”
“Who?”
“The last guy Fuentes killed, Gomes. His brother wants to find Fuentes. I’m sure you can guess why? We send him an email with Fuentes address in Chicago.”
“And let him kill Fuentes?”
“Yep. Your hands would be clean. Neat huh?”
“It’s the same thing, Sally. I’d still be the conduit to Fuentes death. No!”
“Oh, you’re no fun!”
I was wrestling with this discussion. “I’m having a problem here young lady,” I said to Sally. “I don’t see myself as a vigilante. However bad our justice system is, we do at least have a system. If Gomes’ brother knows that Fuentes killed Ricky, why doesn’t he go to the police?”
“Come on, Dave, you know why. Thick as thieves. Snitches. Those people don’t do that. They take care of their own business.
I guess she was right. “So what are the police doing about the Gomes murder?” I asked.
“Nothing. They know who did it, but they can’t prove it in court. The witnesses won’t testify. They know Fuentes has moved to Chicago. They’ve informed the local police force where he lives and they’re happy to see him gone. One more bad guy off their patch. You have a system in the US but I’m not sure you can say it works. Do you know how many crimes go unpunished? About eighty-two percent.”
I picked up my coffee and finished what was left. I’d lived in America for thirty years and I’d never suffered any violence. Was I just lucky? The media was alive with disasters, murders and all the horrible things that happen to other people. I followed it and frowned about it and criticized every mistake by the authorities, but I didn’t do anything about it. I mean, what could I do? But now I could do something and I was shying away.