The Start of My Career
“So, you killed the burglar.”
“Yes.”
“To prove you were not to be trifled with.”
“That’s an oversimplification, but yes.”
“And Tom praised you.”
I hesitated over the answer to Lac’s question. What Tom did in response to the event wasn’t exactly praise. He’d been away on a job, somewhere up in Canada and was on his way back when I called his cell phone. The number he’d given me was only for emergencies and I never used it except for that night. I called, and Tom answered immediately.
“What’s wrong?” He asked with no preamble.
“I shot a burglar. He’s dead. I haven’t called the police yet.”
“In the house or outside?”
“Inside. He’s in the living room in front of the television.”
“Did he have a weapon?”
“Yes, a switchblade. I confronted him, and he jumped at me. The knife is still in his hand.”
“Good. Don’t touch him. Call the police and tell them the exact truth. Don’t draw any conclusions. Let them do that. Unload your gun and give it to them with the cylinder out. They’ll appreciate seeing you have discipline. I’m on my way. I was just checking into a hotel in New York when you called. I’ll be home before they manage to haul the body away.”
“OK.”
“Marvin…I’m glad you’re alright. I’ll see you as soon as I can. Don’t worry, we’ll get this squared-away.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you too, son.” He said and hung up.
I did as I was told. I called the police. When they arrived, I handed over my birthday gun with the cylinder out. I also told the exact truth about what happened. The detective didn’t mind the four shots I’d fired into the junkie’s chest, but he didn’t like the head shot I fired last. He gave me a lot of shit for it; asked me why I executed the ‘poor man.’ He was still haranguing me when Tom showed up.
Tom greeted the detective and handed over an ID card from his wallet. The detective took one look at the card and his whole demeanor changed. “I’m sorry, Mister Collins, I didn’t realize who you were. We’ll get this wrapped up so you can get some rest after your trip. It’s nice to have you back in the city, sir.”
I was surprised at the detective’s attitude toward Tom. I’d been with my father before when he interacted with other adults. He always commanded respect, but the fealty the detective showed was something new. I didn’t think too much about it because I was glad to have the cop off my ass.
Tom’s presence accelerated the entire process. The police and the medical examiner wrapped up the scene quickly. The meat wagon came to collect the corpse. They loaded the dead man into the back and all the flashing lights departed immediately behind it. Tom waved pleasantly from the front porch as the last of them drove down the street.
I was seated on the couch. I had my hands in my lap and my eyes on the blood stain on the hardwood floor. The head shot I fired after the man fell had left a bullet hole in the wood. The cops found the slug in the basement and collected it as evidence.
Tom let himself back into the house through the screen door and frowned deeply as he searched his pockets for a cigarette. He quickly grew frustrated when he couldn’t find his pack and lighter. I hurried to where he’d flung his suit jacket over the back of the easy chair. I got the paraphernalia of his habit from the inside pocket and brought it to him.
Tom thanked me but the thanks didn’t erase the frown from his face. “How about some coffee?” He asked once he had a cigarette burning.
I ran to the kitchen and got the all-glass siphon brewer ready. I put it on the stove over a low flame and put the sugar bowl on the table with a cup and saucer. Tom never took cream, only a little sugar. I also added a clean ashtray next to the other things.
Tom alternately frowned and chain-smoked until the coffee was ready. I set it out and busied myself with cleaning up the brewer. “LEAVE THAT!” He bellowed.
I almost dropped the brewer in surprise when Tom shouted. He never raised his voice. I set the coffee maker in the sink and turned to see what had upset him. I thought sure that I’d done something wrong, something unforgivable. I waited to see what it was.
Tom stubbed his current cigarette out in the rapidly filling tray and stirred sugar into his coffee. He took a sip and hummed over the flavor. “You make the best coffee. I missed it when I was away. No matter where I am, no one else’s coffee measures up to yours.”
He looked up and read the fear on my face. He apologized for it. “I didn’t mean to yell. What happened tonight changes things between us. We have to figure out where we go from here.” He gestured to the opposite chair at the table. “Please, sit down, son. We need to talk.”
The fact that Tom bothered to call me ‘son’ was reassuring, but I still worried about what he had to say. I perched on the chair like I was seated on a spring, ready to jump and run if our conversation turned sour. He opened our talk with a question.
“Are you alright? I mean, I see you’re not physically hurt, but how do you feel?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you really? You seem on edge. Are you worried about the dead man, or if he has friends, or anything like that?”
“No, sir.”
Tom drank some more of his coffee. He had a sip, then a gulp, then he drained his cup. He filled it again from the carafe and stirred another spoon of sugar in. “Something is wrong. I can see it on your face. Are you worried about the police? They won’t bother you. We’ll have to go to the stationhouse tomorrow so you can give a statement, but that should be the end of the matter. Are you worried they’ll try to put you in jail?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re allowed to speak. You don’t have to stick to just yes and no. This isn’t an interrogation. I’m just trying to understand how you’re doing. You seem off, scared or upset or something. Is it me? Are you worried about what I think of what you did?”
“YES!” I shouted in relief that Tom had finally figured out what I was afraid of.
“I see.” He said in his plodding, methodical manner. “Alright. Let me start by saying, you did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. I gave you the gun because I was worried about this very thing. You followed your training. That man is dead, and you are alive, and that’s what matters. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The reason I said this changes things is because you don’t seem rattled by what happened; not at all. You’ve taken a life, and you don’t seem to care. Do you care?”
“No, should I?”
Tom shrugged his huge shoulders. “I never did, but I’ve been told I’m not normal. This thing that happened, this life you took, and the calm way you handled the situation, it means you’re like me. Do you think you could do what I do for a living? Could you learn to take the lives of bad people? Could you do it over and over again and still sleep at night? The work I do is necessary. It pays very well, and it is very satisfying. When they give you the file on the mark, and you see what some of these bastards have done, it makes you look forward to ending them. At least, that’s what it does for me. It’s not a bad life, Marvin.”
I started to nod, but Tom held his big hand up to stop me. “It’s not all rose petals. Doing this work is a lifetime commitment. You can’t quit and get another job. You might be killed while you’re doing it. It’s also hard to have a family. You can’t tell anyone what you do for a living. Some of the other guys have tried to have wives and kids, but it usually doesn’t work. I don’t know what you want out of life, son. I don’t know if you know. Do you want a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs? I guess we never really talked about these things.”
I had a secret I needed to admit to Tom, something I’d been hiding because I didn’t know how he’d react. The secret seemed like it might make the conversation easier. “I think I’m gay.”
Tom nodded slowly. He poured the rest of the coffee from the carafe into his cup and didn’t bother to add sugar. He drank it down and lit another cigarette. “That makes things easier. Gay men don’t usually have the same attachments that straight men do. I would certainly understand if you were, gay that is. The way you lived, before we met, I could see it being difficult to look at any woman with affection after the way the woman treated you.”
I was relieved, but not entirely certain Tom meant what he said. “Is it really OK?”
“It’s fine, son. Whatever you are is fine with me. If you want to do the work I do, that’s fine. If you don’t, that’s fine as well. If you prefer the company of men, that’s fine. I always did. Men are simple creatures. They can be as friendly and as loyal as dogs. You can have fun with men. You can always be yourself with them. The biggest thing I miss about the Corps is the camaraderie. I wouldn’t know about the sexual end of things, but I’m sure you can figure that out. You have to be careful now-a-days with the AIDs going around, but I expect you could figure that out as well.
“What do you think? Would you like to come to work with the old man? You don’t have to decide right now. You’ve been through a lot tonight. We can talk more in the morning. I guess I just wanted to get everything out there, on the table so to speak. You’re a smart kid. You’re a lot smarter than I ever was. I figure you can make up your own mind. Either way is fine with me. I’ll still love you no matter what.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
We talked a little more after the serious subjects were finished. Tom told me about his trip to Canada. He even told me about the mark he ended. In the wee hours of the morning, he finally yawned. “Time for bed. Let’s talk more tomorrow. If you decide you want to work with me, we should start your training right away. There’s a lot to learn and the sooner you start, the better you’ll be when you join the firm.”
Tom talked like I still had a decision to make. He talked like there was some uncertainty over whether I’d follow in his footsteps or not. I already knew what I was going to do. I was going to be a contract killer, just like my father and my hero.
Lac cleared his throat to remind me of his presence. I was surprised to see him in the kitchen with me, and my fifteen-year-old self, and Tom. I realized that I’d inadvertently included Lac in my memory. I hadn’t needed to take his hand to initiate the connection, because I had never fully severed it from before. I corrected my error and broke the connection between my implant and his. The memory faded and Lac and I were in the kitchen of my house. Sam sat on the floor and watched us like he was the Great Sphynx of Egypt.
I filled Sam’s water bowl and got the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. I poured a glass for myself and offered some to Lac. He accepted and drank deeply. “How do you do that? How do you project your memories to my implant? You’re not supposed to be able to do that. All the implants are private. They’re operated by AI specifically so no one can do what you just did.”
I wasn’t ready to explain why yet. There was much more story to tell. I gave Lac a piece of information and hoped he’d be willing to wait for the rest. “My consciousness and all my accumulated memories reside on the same computer system used by the AI. I call that version of myself the digital me. This me, the one you’re talking to, is the physical me.”
Lac had another sip from his glass and frowned like the lemonade had turned bitter. “That’s not exactly an answer, is it?”
“No, but I’m not ready to share that part yet. I need to tell the story in order. To answer your question, I’d have to jump way ahead.”
Lac finished his drink and put his glass in the sink. He leaned his back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest again. “I don’t think I like this story. I don’t know how much more I’m going to listen to. I see where it’s going. You’re going to work with your murderer father to murder people. You’ll try to justify it by saying that the people you killed were bad people, but that doesn’t make it right. Murder is always wrong.”
Every word Lac said pissed me off. The way he leaned into his words, I could tell that he intended to piss me off with his speech. He got what he wanted. His words were a direct challenge to my memories and the lessons my father taught. I rose to his challenge with some words of my own. “Murder is always wrong, is it? My God, you’re an arrogant fuck. It must be easy to stand here in your comfortable twenty-sixth century life and measure the past by the same yardstick you use for the present.
“Where the fuck do you think your comfortable life came from? Who do you think built the safe world you get to enjoy? Who do you think maintains it? I do, that’s who; me and all those who came before me. The past was full of men who did what had to be done, even when it was distasteful. Men who sacrificed their lives and their immortal souls to the good of all. What the fuck have you done to make the world a better place? Nothing besides whipping-up a few glass butt plugs. Fuck you and your arrogance, Lacas. Get the fuck out of my house and out of my life. Take your arrogance, and your holier than thou attitude, and shove them up that highway tunnel of an ass of yours.”
Lac didn’t move. He wore a scowl on his angry face. He also wore a question. “What do you mean, you maintain the world?”
I lost my temper. I was mad that Lac kept worrying at the one thing I wasn’t ready to tell him. I abandoned my restraint and exposed the secret I’d been trying to keep. “Did you know that there is no such thing as artificial intelligence? There isn’t; it’s a myth. The only intelligence that exists in this world is human intelligence. Man cannot recreate what God granted. To do so would be for man to create life from nothing. The creation of life is beyond us. It always has been, and it always will be.
“The intelligence which manages the Synthetic Reality system, and all the other interwoven systems, is mine. In the year 2007, my original life ended when I allowed myself to be downloaded into the machine. The entirety of the modern world rests on the foundation of my intelligence. Without me, everything goes dark. Without me, civilization ceases to exist. That’s why I get to live when everyone else has to die. I go on because I have a job to do. I’ve done it for over five hundred years. God willing, I’ll do it for at least another five hundred.
“I’m not self-important enough to think I’m immortal. Perhaps someday The System will no longer need me. Perhaps someone of greater intelligence will allow themselves to be downloaded into the machinery of the world and they can run things for a few millennia. Until then, the world is stuck with me, the kid born from junkies, the freak with the cigarette burns all over his body, the unrepentant murderer. How do you like that, you arrogant prick?”
Lac stared at me. He’d been doing it a lot that day. He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
I held my hand out to see if he would take it. He stepped off the counter and uncrossed his arms. We joined hands. I linked our implants and let Lac see The System I was a part of.
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