I was putting on my narrow black tie, and my jet black coat. I was wearing a white business shirt, and black pants. I had on black thin socks, and black leather shoes. I pulled my waist band out in the small of my back and put a derringer in the divot. Then I called my friend Rakesh and went out to his pink fairlane ford, and went for a ride looking for Max Sawicky. The party has ordered us to shoot Max. It was a job like any other job. The pay was lousy, but we were progressive professionals.
I was eating a Big Mac, and Rakesh was riding me about being a slob. I had ketchup on my white shirt. He thought Max would see the ketchup and think we was going to shoot him, and it would be messy. And you had to have the right attitude about shooting a counter revolutionary.
Rakesh was saying he couldn’t believe I was a high school drop out.
"Man how you gonna get a job doing that?"
I said I’m doing ok. The party takes care of me.
Rakesh says, "I might want to get out. I want to have something to fall back on. You know computer programming, or something."
I said, there is always some counter revolutionary to shoot.
But I wasn’t thinking about business, I was thinking about Frances. She was an attractive babe. Not so movie actress attractive, but sort of like Uma Thurman, in Henry and me. The party boss had a pad where she was staying. I went over on orders to keep her happy. They knew I wouldn’t try anything, I had spent time doing criticism, self criticism. I seen what they did to Doug Henwood. Couldn’t make up his mind. They used a screwdriver to turn a few screws, and I didn’t want anybody to do that to me. So I was just going over to keep Frances happy.
I remembered going over, and her crib had this azure pool next to it. She was wearing a thong bikini, and this guy was lurking on the concrete apron. He was buzzing about her like a fly. She knew me from the bar where I got my orders from the boss. She introduces me to "Louis". A party name. One of those functionaries. One of those functionaries. He was an airy functionary. He was wearing green shorts, and tee shirt that read "red". The word red was in red. I thought that is really literal you moron. She was tired of him buzzing around so I walked over and punched him in the temple, and picked him up over my head and threw him in the pool. He came floating up to the surface like William Holden in that crazy Gloria Swanson movie, or some such dame. A little blood was floating out of his nose in a beautiful contrast to the blue of the pool. I wish I had a camera.
I was watching Frances walk away, and her feet pointed out. Kinda funny looking at women walking along. Takes the edge off looks don’t you think. When she looked at me her eyes dilated. I couldn’t tell though if that was the right signal. I mean maybe she thought I was a killer. Maybe she wasn’t clued in on political understanding I had. I had been reading Frederic Jameson. I had been reading a lot of stuff. It made my headaches go away.
Rakesh said to me, "I can’t believe you are a high school drop out."
The wind was whipping our hair. The top was down. I smiled, and there was a sesame seed in my teeth. Rakesh just about barfed.
"I hope you have cleaned up some before we shoot Max. Jesus, you embarrass me."
We had a deal with the security and just walked in with our guns tucked away. Max was in one of those mammouth rooms think tanks have. There was a whole bunch of clerks, and analysts strutting around like a bunch of overfed cats. So Rakesh shoots off his gun to get their attention. They are running around like a bunch of rodents. I think gerbils or something like a jumping rat. I asked one panic stricken guy where Max was, and he lead me right over to Max. Max was sitting there smoking a cigarette. Shit. Hate the smell of them.
"All right Max, get up and come over here."
Max was moist. You know how it makes me sick that he was moist. It is ok to be kinda crazy knowing we was going to shoot him. But there is something about a moist intellectual. Goddamn. Makes me puke. He deserves to be shot.
So I says "Come along punk." And the son of bitches pulls a gun and shoots me in the chest. Shit. I hadn’t concentrated and shot a manager sitting in front of a picture of his wife and kids. He was smiling like a fool. Rakesh has ducked, and Max threw himself over some partition walls, and they was blazing away while I was looking at the ceiling.
I think it is the end. Regards, Doyle Saylor