KILLING SARAI(81)

He frees one hand and I give it to him.

Victor shoves the gun against Arthur Hamburg’s temple and releases his body. He gasps for air, making desperate choking sounds as he tries to regain control of his breathing. Then Victor pats him down, checking for weapons. When he’s satisfied there are none, Victor reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pair of rubber gloves and tosses them to me, indicating for me to put them on.

I do so quickly.

“Now here are how things are going to happen,” Victor says to Arthur Hamburg. “Unfortunately, you get to live. If it were my choice, I’d of killed you last night at the restaurant, or any other Friday night before that. But you get to live.”

What. Is. Going. On? I can’t wrap my mind around this unexpected turn of events.

“If you didn’t come here to kill me,” Arthur Hamburg says, his voice shaking with fear but laced with amusement, “then what the f*ck are you here for? Money? I’ve got plenty of money. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Victor shoves Arthur Hamburg onto the floor and keeps the gun trained on him. Sweat is pouring from the man’s face and neck, soaking his white dress shirt. Then Victor reaches inside his hidden suit jacket pocket and hands me a small yellow envelope.

“Open it,” he instructs.

As I’m doing that, Victor turns back to him.

“The death will be ruled as a suicide,” Victor says and I’m growing even more confused. “She left a note signed by her hand. All you have to do is wait one hour after we leave to call it in.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Arthur Hamburg snaps, despite a gun being pointed at him.

I can’t decide who to look at more, the sick man on the floor or the poor woman lying on the cot.

Suddenly she looks up at me with sad, weak, tormented eyes and a chill runs through my body.

“Victor we have to help her.” I start to move toward her.

“No,” Victor says. “Leave her be.”

“But—”

“Remove the contents of the envelope,” he interrupts.

I take out a folded piece of paper first, trying to grasp the feel of it through the tight rubber gloves sealed to my hands.

“Read it,” he says.

Carefully, I unfold it and look down into the pretty handwriting in a blue ink flourish. And as I begin to read the letter aloud, I start to feel queasy and my heart hurts.





My Dearest Husband,



I can’t do this with you anymore. I’ve shamed my family, our children, we’ve shamed ourselves, Arthur. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t love myself. I don’t love anyone because I can’t. I haven’t been able to feel a valid emotion in twelve years of the thirty I’ve been married to you for. I can’t live like this anymore. So many times I wanted to seek help, maybe get on medication. I don’t know, but after so long, after years of wanting to get help I started not to care.



I am so sorry that you had to see me this way. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t come to you for help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted it to end.



And that’s what I’m doing.

I’m ending it.



Goodbye, Arthur.



Sincerely,

Mary





The man can’t take his eyes off his wife. His flabby chin vibrates as he tries to hold in his tears. But I still don’t feel a shred of remorse for him. Not only because I’m still struggling to figure out why this has happened, but because I know he’s a sick man and doesn’t deserve remorse.

“Why are you here?” he asks, his husky voice shuddering.

Victor looks to me. “Give me the SD card,” he says.

I pull the tiny square card from the corner of the bottom of the envelope and place it into Victor’s free hand. He holds it up to Arthur Hamburg wedged between his thumb and index finger.

“All of the information on this card has already been transferred to my employer. The names on your extensive client list, the locations of your underground operations, the video evidence that your dear wife recorded that you knew nothing about. It’s all here.” He throws the SD card onto Arthur Hamburg’s chest. “If anyone comes looking for me or Izabel for the death of your wife and it’s not ruled a suicide, all of that information will be released to the FBI. We are to walk out of here unharmed and as welcomed as we were when we walked through your front doors. Is that understood?”

I’m shaking I’m so confused and nervous and unsure. Unsure of everything.

Arthur Hamburg nods, sweat still dripping from his chin and eyebrows.

The woman reaches out her hand, but then it drops back to her side. Two syringes lay empty near her legs. She’s heavily drugged. My eyes sweep the rest of her, seeing that the bends of her arms and around her ankles are painted by needle marks.

I can’t help it anymore, I rush over to her fully intent in helping her up. But Victor reaches out and grabs me by the arm, stopping me. He looks fiercely into my eyes, the gun still pointing at Arthur Hamburg.

“She is the target,” he says to me, pulling me closer to him. “Go into the room to the nightstand on the side of the bed where the window is. There is another gun in the drawer. Bring it to me.”