The exit man, p.23
The Exit Man, page 23
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, just one thing, Eli… Eli, you still there?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“We seem to be short a couple of helium tanks.”
You picked a fine time to start paying attention, Carl. Keep it up and you’ll be out of a job.
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about that. I’m on it.”
I laid my cell phone on the center console and accelerated to catch up to Zoe. I wasn’t fully convinced she was driving to my place as she had said, so I thought it wise to stay close. All it takes is one affair and/or unapproved assisted suicide to erode the trust in an otherwise healthy relationship. I hated that we were turning into that couple.
But Zoe didn’t try to lose me or make any questionable turns. She went straight to my condo complex, where we parked in adjacent spaces and didn’t say a word to one another until I had closed the door to unit 106.
“What were you doing there, Eli?” Zoe asked. “Why were you following me?”
“Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to start this conversation with me explaining my actions,” I replied. “But I appreciate you asking.” Admittedly, sarcasm probably wasn’t the best way to begin.
“No, seriously,” said Zoe, shaking her head and almost smiling. “What were you doing? There?”
“Okay, I’ll go first, but then it’s all you. I wasn’t following you… or hadn’t planned to, anyway. I wanted to swing by your place on my lunch break to talk to you about something. Then I saw you in your car at the light at Gossamer St. and was curious about where you were going.”
“So instead of just calling me and telling me where you were and asking me what I was up to, you decided to follow me?”
“That’s right. I thought I’d just wait until you arrived at a store or a bank or something and then surprise you. But when I saw you pull into Sal’s, I decided to sit back and observe.”
“And what did you think I was up to? That I was a closet alcoholic? That I was meeting another man, cheating on you?”
“I entertained each of those theories, but neither really made sense or stuck. Of course, when I saw you come out of the bar with that guy, the latter started to seem a lot more plausible. But I had, er, I have another theory.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“First of all, drop the tone. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Yes, you did, you fucking followed me!”
“Are you kidding me? Like you wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if you had been in my place. You’re just frazzled because I accidentally caught you doing something you didn’t want me to know about.”
“And what’s that? What did you ‘catch’ me doing, Eli? You think I’d cheat on you with a guy like that? You don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, I know you’ve been ordering helium tanks online.”
Zoe, who had inhaled in preparation for her next retort even before I had finished my sentence, looked away and exhaled without a word. A few seconds after deflating, she turned back to face me.
“So you’re spying on my Internet activity, too?” she said in an oddly calm tone.
“No. You left your email open on my computer a couple of weeks ago, and when I went to close the browser window, I noticed a message from Party Down Express in your inbox.”
“And you opened it?”
“Yes, I did. I thought it very odd you’d be doing business with a direct competitor of my family’s business. I felt compelled to check it out.”
“And why didn’t you ask me about it then?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to figure things out on my own, avoid the confrontation in case I was way off base.”
“Well, we’re having a confrontation now, Eli.”
“True, but I no longer think I’m off base.”
“You don’t, huh? Think you’ve ‘solved the case’?”
“Look, I wasn’t hoping to catch you doing something wrong or bad. I was hoping there was some logical explanation to all this, something that you’d emerge from clean.”
Zoe chuckled.
“What the hell’s so funny?” I asked.
“You. You’re talking as if you know what’s going on, but you still don’t. You couldn’t.” “Zoe, I’m not clueless.”
“Okay. Then tell me exactly what it is I’m involved in.”
“I never said I was 100% certain, but, I, um, it would seem–”
“Since you’re afraid to tell me straight out what you think I’ve been up to, how about I tell you what I think you think I’ve been up to?”
“I’m not afraid, I’m just–”
“You think I’m assisting suicides in secret,” said Zoe with a smirk. “Isn’t that right?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Let me ask you, did the man you saw me leave Sal’s with look like he was dying?”
“No, he didn’t. That’s why I was a little confused. But then when I saw you come out of his house the first time and get your–”
“I know what you saw and what you assumed, Eli. And I even understand why you’d make such an assumption. But you’ve got it wrong.”
“Good – I want to have it wrong.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Well, you’re not fucking or euthanizing men behind my back. I look at that as favorable news.”
“That’s true, I’m neither fucking nor euthanizing men behind your back.”
“Okay then, so let’s have it. What are you doing?”
“I’m executing them.”
Executing them.
Plural.
The way she said it was like genocide.
Executing. Them.
I’d better call Carl again and tell him I might not make it in after all.
Zoe appeared even more stunned than I was, as if hearing herself say what she’d been up to out loud made it real for the first time.
“Still glad to have been wrong about me?” she asked. Her eyes screamed “Take that!” along with a touch of “Holy shit what have I done?”
“What do you mean, ‘executing’?” I asked, still in disbelief that such a conversation was happening.
Zoe sat down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Small convulsions ensued and I braced myself for a big cry. Instead came laughter.
“Zoe, what the hell is going on?”
She looked up at me and started laughing even harder.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” I asked. “Are you fucking with me?”
Zoe fought through the laughter to speak.
“No, no… it’s not a joke… and I’m not laughing… at you. It’s just… everything that has happened, that’s been happening…” she paused and the laughter ceased. “It’s just so FUCKING HILARIOUS.”
Zoe put her face back in her hands. This time she cried.
She was unraveling. We’re talking King George III or William Blake kind of crazy. I’d seen it before in my life. It was hard to say whether I attracted women with loose bolts or if I was the one holding the wrench.
I wasn’t about to let the descending madness impede my interrogation.
“What happened back at that house, Zoe? What have you gotten yourself into?”
Zoe regained her composure and looked up.
“I guess you could say I’ve taken the whole exit thing to the next level.”
“You care to elaborate?”
“I didn’t think the hood should be reserved only for those who are begging to die. There are others not dying but who deserve death.”
“And who are these others? Who was that man you met at Sal’s?”
“It doesn’t matter who he was. What matters is what he had done.”
“Okay, what did he do?
“The same thing Keith did to me.”
“What? That guy… raped you?”
“No, not me.”
“Who then?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“How can that be irrelevant?”
Zoe gritted her teeth and balled each of her hands into a fist.
“It’s irrelevant because it doesn’t matter who he raped. What matters is that he raped.”
“But whom? Someone you know?”
“You’re missing the point! That guy – and the others – are the fucking scum of the earth, so I’m wiping them from it.”
“Holy shit, Zoe. How many of ‘them’ have you, um, gotten rid of?”
“That guy you saw me with today, he was the third.”
Between teaching Liszt and administering suicides, where DO you find the time?
“Three? You’ve killed three men?”
“Four if you count Keith. And I’m not done yet.”
Jack the Ripper had his prostitutes. John Wayne Gacy had his teenage boys. Zoe had her sex offenders.
My girlfriend. The vigilante serial killer.
I made a mental note to further postpone introducing her to my mother.
“I don’t understan… I mean, how do you… where do you–”
“I’m happy to answer all of your fragments, Eli, but first I need you to calm down.”
When an un-medicated bipolar assassin tells you to calm down, it’s best to obey. Never mind that she keeps a toothbrush in your bathroom and underwear in one of your drawers.
I took several deep breaths before asking Zoe to enlighten me.
“First off, how do you select your victims?”
“I prefer to call them ‘targets’ – ‘victim’ is too sympathetic for these fuckers.”
“Fair enough. So, how do you choose them?”
“There’s a whole list of them on the Oregon Sex Offender Inquiry System – available online to the public. All you have to do is type in “Blackport,” or another nearby city, and then some additional information like age range, weight range, et cetera. If your search is too general, like if you only type in a city name, the system will tell you your query returned too many results and will ask you to narrow your search. Me, I’ve been searching for 21 to 50 year-old males who weigh less than 180 pounds, as I don’t want to kill some senile old man who doesn’t really even know what he’s doing, nor do I want to come up against some giant monster of a guy.”
“So you do these searches and up pop a bunch of names and addresses?”
“Yup, and much, much more. Each entry also includes a color photo of the bastard, what he’s been convicted of, who his typical victims are, his modus operandi, and what conditions and restrictions apply to him. For example, the guy you saw me with today, he is – or was – 34, weighed 165, has served time for first-degree rape and also was convicted of two other counts of attempted sexual abuse. He prefers adolescent females and young boys, and gains access to his victims by establishing a false sense of trust and authority. Oh, and among his conditions and restrictions, he is prohibited from frequenting any place where minors regularly congregate as well as bars or taverns. And he must attend sex offender treatment on a weekly basis. I guess he’s going to miss his next appointment.”
“You said he couldn’t enter any bars or taverns, but you guys went to Sal’s.”
“Places like Sal’s don’t exactly have bouncers or bartenders who check for that kind of shit.”
“Goddamn,” I said, shaking my head. “That website really serves these guys up on a platter to pissed off or paranoid citizens.”
“What, you feel sorry for them?”
“No, no, I’m just saying. I’m glad they don’t have a system like that for euthanasia purveyors.”
“Well, the site very clearly states that its purpose is to provide users with information only to protect themselves or a child who may be at risk – NOT to punish the offender. It says that you’ll go to jail for using the system to discriminate against, harass or injure a registered sex offender. But I’ve killed three of them with no consequences thus far, so I guess the disclaimer doesn’t really have teeth.”
“Knock on wood. I mean, not a lot of time has passed since you started committing these cr… I mean, since you started taking action. The cops could very well be just a clue or two away from catching on.”
“Ha! Like I’m worried about the Blackport police. They never found anything tying me to Keith’s death, and I wasn’t even trying to conceal anything when I took him out. With these other raping motherfuckers, I have a system, a set of precautions to keep me invisible throughout the hunt. And, of course, I have the helium, which, as you well know, doesn’t leave any gaping wounds or traceable bullets behind. The cops are lost puppies.”
I was familiar with such delusional thoughts. The powerful sense of invincibility you experience once you go so far over the law you can no longer see it. Once you feel it can no longer see you.
Zoe was a chip off the old block. If she hadn’t already made several mistakes in her newest line of work, she soon would, even if she didn’t believe it. I only hoped she, like me, had some Mr. Magoo in her.
“Tell me more about how you stay ‘invisible,’” I said. “Walk me through one of your hunts, from target selection to target elimination.”
“Not right now, Eli. I’m exhausted. I need to rest a little and then get back to my place for a lesson at three.” She lay down on the sofa and curled into the fetal position.
“I don’t care,” I said. “This conversation doesn’t just end at, ‘Yeah, I kill rapists but I’m careful.’ You’ll have plenty of time to rest tonight. Right now you’re going to tell me everything.”
I wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about – the fact that my girlfriend was murdering dangerous men, or that she thought it appropriate to take a nap in the middle of confessing it.
“Fine,” Zoe whined while sitting back up and clutching a throw pillow, her knees tucked into her chest. “But I’m too tired to run through everything all at once. Just ask me whatever you need to know and I’ll answer you… at least until I pass out.”
I took a moment to organize the mess of questions in my head.
“Okay, so I get how you use the online system to find these guys, but how do you decide whom to go after, and how do you contact them without leaving some sort of trail?”
“Some of the guys listed have, like, just one attempted sexual abuse charge against them and nothing else. I leave them alone. For now. I look for the sons of bitches with ‘Rape 1’ and ‘Rape 2’ listed among their crimes. ‘Rape 3’ will get you shortlisted, but won’t boost you to the top. I also look for anybody with sexual abuse charges and whose victims are children. Those lovely men fit right in with the hardcore rapists. I haven’t seen anybody with multiple rape charges yet – they’re all probably still incarcerated. Lucky for them.”
“What if two guys have pretty much identical charges – say a ‘Rape 1’ and a sexual abuse with similar victim types – do you just do eeny meeny miney moe?”
“I look at their photo and decide which one looks more despicable. Then I choose the other one. It’s the guy who looks less dangerous and demented you really have to watch out for. Like that guy today. He looked like he worked at Best Buy, right? Anyway, it doesn’t matter – all the guys who ‘come in second’, I’ll get them, too.”
“And how do you approach these men?”
“Well, naturally I don’t want to leave any phone or email trails, so I just go to their home. I know it sounds dangerous, but not really, not the way I do it. I knock on their door or ring their bell, and when they open the door, I act confused for a second and then politely apologize for having the wrong house and for disturbing them.’ But all the while I’m apologizing, I’m twirling my hair in my fingers and batting my eyelashes, looking like a silly little woman who’s lost but who likes what she sees.”
“Are you nuts? These guys could really hurt you.”
“No. Most have recently gotten out of prison or have strict probationary restrictions, and while they are horny, they aren’t about to do something stupid and get sent back to the slammer. Yes, they light up at my subtle flirtation, but they don’t dare try to drag me inside.”
“Maybe not YET. Jesus Zoe, some of these guys are truly sick. They can’t control themselves.”
“I’m not saying I don’t bring protection. All the while I’m twirling and batting and flirting, I’ve got one hand in my pocket holding a small canister of mace. Just in case. Also, in my purse I carry a Swiss Army knife with one of the blades already out.”
“I don’t like this.”
“My approach doesn’t need your approval. It works.”
I wasn’t prepared to argue. Yet.
“What comes after the ‘Oops, I’m sorry’ and the flirting?”
“These guys invariably try to be helpful. ‘Who are you looking for, darling?’ or ‘What’s the house number? Maybe I can get you where you’re going.’ I make up a name, tell them I must have written the address down wrong, say how stupid I feel. Anything to keep the conversation going. I tell them how nice they are being about it all, how I, myself, hate it when somebody I don’t know comes to my door. And of course I keep sticking my chest and ass out. They say ‘No bother at all’ or ‘Don’t worry about it’ and start to get excited that I haven’t walked away yet. I initiate more small talk, then start to get bold with something like, ‘Well, I do feel dumb for getting the house wrong, but I’m kind of glad I did.’ These guys aren’t used to a pretty girl giving them any such attention. They get all nervous and awkward, so I help them out with, ‘I hope you don’t think me too forward, but would you maybe want to meet up for a drink sometime?’ I try to look past the drooling at this point. After they nod their head or manage to eke out a ‘Yes’, I say, ‘How about tomorrow?’ and tell them where to meet me.”
“Sal’s.”
“That was just today. I’ve used another dive bar and a dingy restaurant, too. Got to switch it up. I don’t want to become too familiar with the staff at any of these places.”
“Good thinking,” I said, then wondered why I was commending an element of my girlfriend’s murder strategy.
“So anyway, I tell these guys I don’t like to give out my name or phone number, how I think it’s more exciting to just meet up. You should see their expression. They’re each putty in my hands at this point. What they don’t know is they’re already dead.”
