IT ONLY TAKES SEVEN inches of water to drown a man. Did you know that? Actually, you can do it with just a glass of water, long as you don’t mind using your fingers and thumb, and the palm of your hand. You have to hold him still, obviously. Keeping him still is the hard part.
That’s what I was doing when I saw her.
Killing a man is not the same in the civilian world. In the Marines, you know that you’re doing the right thing. Legally, you are. A commanding officer says you are. It’s part of a mission. Out in the cold, fuzzy world of suits and excuses, it’s all different.
The whole family of the Marines will tell you it’s the Right Thing To Do. They’ll back you up. And the law will, too. There are rules but on the field of combat there’s almost always a way around them. However you want to do it, whatever gets the result. Blades, rope, blunt instruments, water.
As long as you get the job done, accomplish the mission target and you’re golden. The family, the Corps, the Marines, and the whole military establishment are there for you. They’ve got your back.
More than that, they’ll give you a medal, which is what you get instead of a raise or a bonus. A medal, a commendation, and they’ll line up to buy you a drink in the officer’s mess. Never a hint, not even a thought that you did anything but the Right Thing.
Doesn’t matter who the target is or even how many. Doesn’t matter how you do it, either. Fast or slow. Sudden, humane and silent, or like a cat when it plays with a ladybug. First a wing. Then a leg. Then a claw through the middle, just to watch it wriggle.
Outside, back in Suit and Tie Land, back where the world is in bright colors. Flowers, children, pretty secretaries or whatever it is that all of those beautiful birds and butterflies do these days. Back in the breezy Technicolor of Normalton, it’s all different. You kill one greasy, corrupt politician, doesn’t matter who, or how, or why. There’s no medal waiting. They’ll come after you like you’re the most dangerous dog in the world.
I couldn’t let this fucker go, though. Not only because of the money. I don’t know if I would have done it for the money alone or not. Maybe. Probably. But I found out about him. What I knew about that little girl, that was enough.
Short, hunching, greedy little fucker with his always-red, doughy face and his beaky stare. His dancing days were done. As of now.
It was not elegant. Not a work of art by any stretch of the imagination. One hard shove from behind and he went down. Face first into his thick, red rug. In one move I rolled him up in that rug. Groggy, he looked up into my face.
He knew why I was there. And he knew I wasn’t fucking with him. I wasn’t out to hurt him or threaten him. I wasn’t there to bargain. I’d set a glass of water on the table, ready.
As soon as I rolled him, face up, looking straight in my eyes, I sat hard on his chest so he was fully exhaled. Grabbed his nose with my finger and thumb. You need good gloves for that. Preparation is everything in this line of work. His mouth opened as he gasped for breath and in went the water. All I needed to do then was to hold his nose and cover his mouth. Hold him and not leave a mark.
Wrapped inside the rug, he jerked and strained. His eyes bulged bloodshot wide. His heels banged on the wood floor. He struggled for a long time. Maybe twenty-five, thirty seconds. He was wrapped tight and I stayed sat on his chest. He shook violently.
His eyes rolled. Fast at first. Reaching all around the room for something, anything that could save him. Bless. Then his face reddened and his eye movements slowed.
After a while he stopped. I still had to wait. That was always the hard part. Knowing that it’s done, but also that someone could come. But you have to give it a couple of minutes. You’ve got to be certain.
I held the empty glass over his nose and mouth. It didn’t steam up. Then I rolled him back out of the rug. He made an awful choking gurgle. Had I moved too soon?
The glassful of water gushed out of his mouth. A grating rasp came out with it and the water made a pool on the rug. Next to his still, dull eyes.
With the gloves still on I squeezed his hand around the glass to get prints on it. It wouldn’t matter they were smudged. I got one solid thumbprint on for security. That was all that I needed. A story for investigators to find and follow.
The glass rolled across the floor and there it was. The stage was set. A one man play. No action, no dialogue. His position, the water, and the glass told the tale perfectly.
He took a glass of water and it went down the wrong way. Probably choking, he fell and smacked his forehead. Maybe lost consciousness for a moment. Choked on the water.
Peculiar? Hard to believe? Certainly. Nothing I could do about that. No suspicious circumstance, though. No evidence. There was nothing more for the autopsy to discover. No cause for an investigation.
Beary was not a man who would be mourned or too much missed. Satisfied, I got up to leave the mahogany paneled office.
There was darkness through the doorway. The door was open. It shouldn’t have been. I had not left the door open. When I got up and turned, there she was. Her steady eyes gleamed.