Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [37]
He might be disgusting by Martin’s standards, but he wasn’t a bad guy.
But it was the lack of hair atop Alan Clayton’s head that truly sealed his decision. As Martin visualized the attack, he also visualized the result of the blow, and on a bald-headed man, this vision was not pretty. Had Alan Clayton been blessed with a full head of hair, Martin’s imagination might have been able to ignore the deep gash and spurting blood that would surely result from the head wound that he intended to deliver. But with a skull shaved perfectly bald, the result of the blow would have been impossible to ignore. Though he doubted that he would permanently harm or kill Alan Clayton, the exposed damage that would be left behind was too much for Martin to contemplate.
With a violent solution cast aside, Martin began pondering other possibilities and accepting the notion that he might soon be found. Only once before had he been discovered by a client, and that incident had occurred long before Martin had turned professional.
In many ways, the event had propelled him forward on his career path.
Martin had been nineteen years old at the time. He had been on his own for about four months, living with Jim in a two-bedroom apartment in Vernon, Connecticut. Working part-time at the Dunkin’ Donuts on Talcottville Road, he had had almost no disposable income and was often forced to eat elbow macaroni and Campbell’s soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Jim was attending the University of Connecticut, and his parents were paying his tuition. But other than the check that they sent to the college twice a year, Jim was also supporting himself. And with a full class schedule, he was under even worse financial constraints than Martin. Between the two of them, they could barely afford rent and electricity and had spent their first winter together without heat except on the coldest of nights.
Things became desperate in January when Dunkin’ Donuts began cutting back on Martin’s hours as business slowed following the holidays. Working less than twenty hours a week, he had been looking for other employment when the alternator on his 1978 Chevy Malibu failed, Jim came up short with his share of the rent, and their toilet became hopelessly clogged. Though he managed to repair his car and cover Jim’s rent that month (an act of kindness that Jim had never forgotten), he was left with absolutely no money for groceries, including the Liquid Plumbr that he would need in order to clear the pipes in his toilet. With no other options, Martin turned in the only direction he could.
His parents.
Martin’s mother had remarried when he was seven years old, and so the stepfather that he would grow to hate more and more through the years was the only father that Martin had ever truly known. Martin remembered his biological father as a brave and strong man who had failed to act as such when thrown out of his house by a wife who had fallen in love with another man. He had left with his proverbial tail between his legs, and Martin was left with a stepfather whom he despised.
By the time he was a junior in high school, his stepfather (aided by his mother’s compliance) had managed to convey the message that upon graduation, Martin would be moving out, releasing his parents from any financial responsibility. Avoiding words, his parents had initiated their plan with a series of gifts designed to convey this message for them: a microwave oven for his sixteenth birthday, a set of towels at Christmas of the same year, and a vacuum cleaner and set of dishes on his eighteenth birthday. All of these gifts sent a clear message to Martin: You will need these things because you will be leaving us soon.
Despite his solid academic background, “college” was a word never mentioned in Martin’s home, and somehow he had managed to escape high school without a guidance counselor ever discussing the prospect with him. Perhaps Mr. Malloy had called Martin’s parents early on and received word about their unspectacular vision of Martin