Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [50]
The man laughed gently. “I’m not sure I agree with that approach but I see your point. You say you work as a bouncer.”
“On and off.”
“I know someone who might be looking for a person with your skills and outlook,” the man said.
“Really? What kind of job is it?”
“It would be best if he described it to you. He has a small, privately held company that does contract work for the government. Very low-key, not on anyone’s radar screen.”
“What, like Blackwater, private security?”
“Similar. If you’re interested, I’ll pass along your name and contact information. No guarantees, of course, but it might be worth exploring. Nothing to lose, as they say.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Silva gave him his name and phone number before leaving the bar. Two days later he received a call. “My name is Dexter. A colleague of mine says you might be the sort of person we’re looking for.”
“Yeah, he said you might be calling.”
“I would like to meet with you.”
“Sure. Just tell me where and when.”
Silva met Dexter in a suite in the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill. He disliked the little man from their initial handshake, disliked his thick glasses and nasal voice and creviced bald head. He also disliked the little man’s careful choice of words, never anything concrete, just beating around the bush and talking in vagaries. After forty-five minutes, Silva asked him to get to the point about the job and whether he was being seriously considered for it.
“Have you ever killed a man?” was Dexter’s answer.
This sudden directness caught Silva off guard. He fumbled for an answer, which seemed to amuse Dexter. “It shouldn’t be hard to answer,” he said through his smile. “Either you did or you didn’t.”
“All right, I did.” Silva decided that he could make that admission without being specific, not incriminating himself with any particular crime.
“What were the circumstances?” Dexter asked.
“That’s my business,” Silva said.
“I appreciate discretion.”
“Yeah, well, it happened because I needed to right a wrong.”
“A noble motivation. Did you use a weapon?”
“Knife,” Silva said, realizing he was now revealing too much.
“And how did you feel after you’d righted this wrong?”
“I felt—I felt good. It was the right thing to do.”
“I’m sure it was. How would you feel about killing someone you don’t know?”
Silva held up his hands and said, “Whoa. What is this, some set-up?”
Dexter allowed the comment to pass. He said, “I’m talking about killing someone to right wrongs.”
“What, a hit? Hey, forget I was even here. I’m not into anything illegal.”
“Why do you assume it would be—illegal?”
“Because—”
“What if it were sanctioned by your own government?”
“Huh?”
“When the government decides to do something in the interest of national security, or because our way of life is being threatened, it’s hardly illegal. In fact, it’s for a common good, for the good of the citizens of this wonderful country.”
“Then that would make it all right I guess.”
“You would have killed the enemy when you were a marine, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Killed on behalf of your government.”
“Right.”
“Not all soldiers in the fight against tyranny and the destruction of our precious way of life wear uniforms, Mr. Silva. Some of our most patriotic citizens have been people exactly like you, men who treasure our democracy and who don’t hesitate to do what needs to be done to preserve it.”
“Sure, I agree with that,” said Silva. “But I thought I came up here to be interviewed for a job.”
“Oh, that is exactly what I’m doing, Mr. Silva. I happen to have a job opening for which you might be perfectly suited. I should add that it pays handsomely for very little work.”
Silva smiled for the first time that afternoon. “You’ve got my attention,” he said.
“Good.”
“What’s the name of your company?” Silva asked. “What’s your name? All I know is ‘Dexter.’”
“Best that it be left that way for the moment. I would like to meet with you again.”
“Sure. Anytime.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
He was, two days later.