Charade

Vic

If it weren't for that unfortunate picture frame, I may never have known he was there.

He was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and so very thin. Not sick-thin, but close. His pale face was riddled with piercings – snakebites, two in the left eyebrow, a fleshy in his ear, and a ring in his nose. His hair was streaked with blue and electricity, sticking up everywhere like an echidna. He wore black skinny jeans, a grey Amsterdam shirt, and a red and black plaid over-shirt. He was just a kid. A scrawny, curious, misplaced kid. So what the hell was he doing here?

"Who are you?" I barked, watching his eyes glue to the barrel of my gun.

"I... I..." He stumbled, hands raised.

He flicked up his eyes to meet mine. He gulped down his fear and his hands returned to his sides.

"I want to know who you are." He said, trying to sound brave with that quiver in his voice.

Scowling, I reached forward and grabbed the boy by the collar, yanking him forward. I pressed the gun into his rib cage, knowing the pressure would leave a mark. The kid made a high, terrified squeak.

"I won't ask you again," I growled in his ear. "Tell me your name."

I pressed the gun harder, clenched my fist tighter, and shook him like a rag doll.

"Last chance, kid, or I will shoot you right here and let you bleed to death on my carpet."

"B-Benjamin!" He cried.

"And what is your last name, Benjamin?"

"F-Forrester," He quivered.

"And what is your business here?"

"I-I'm a squatter. I live in places that aren't mine. Borrow them. Leave before the owners come back."

"And what made you think I wouldn't catch you?"

"You're supposed to be on holiday. It's supposed to be empty."

"Holiday?" I echoed, confused. "What made you think I'd be on holiday?"

"Please," Benjamin pleaded, looking me in the eye. "Just let me go."

"Answer the question – what made you think I'd be on holiday?"

Benjamin tried to shove me off him, but he was so skinny and weak. I shoved him into the back of the closet, pinning him to the wall.

"Tell me!" I shouted.

"Let me go," Benjamin said, "or I'll tell everyone what you are."

I paused, unsure of what he meant by that.

"And what am I?" I asked, grip remaining firm.

Benji gulped and looked me dead in the eye, so serious and fearless I was taken aback.

"A conman. You scam people – pretend to be people. Policemen and business owners and tourists. You take their money and then you run, don't you?"

I froze as my blood ran cold. How? How could he possibly know?

"I found your floor safe, out in the living room near the coffee table. All your fake IDs and costumes and money. Your journal. I found that, too."

"How long have you been here?" I asked, voice quiet and shocked.

"Not long. Half an hour at the most. I tripped over something and kicked up the rug. That's when I saw the floorboards looked weird under there. It didn't take me long to figure it out."

"And what do you plan to do with the information you've acquired?"

Benjamin smiled, and I didn't know why.

"I don't know. Run with it, I guess." He said.

"And what if I just shoot you right here and now? Then what? You can't go running then, can you?"

"You won't shoot me."

"And why not?"

"I don't know," Benjamin said, "I just know you won't."

"How?!"

"I get gut feelings. I sense stuff. I don't know – I can't explain it."

I pressed the gun even harder into his torso, a hard look on my face, but Benjamin didn't budge. In fact, aside from the slight wince on his face from the pain, he didn't look concerned at all. I tried to think of something to scare him, but anything less of actually shooting him would just make him laugh. Sighing in defeat, I released him. We both stepped out of the dark closet and I sat down on the foot of my bed, gun in hand.

"So what do you want? A cut of the profits?"

Benjamin stepped out of the closet and stood confidently, no trace of fear left in him. After all, I had the gun, but he had the power. How had he known I wouldn't shoot?

"A deal," he said simply.

I tensed up, angry at myself for letting up so easily. I couldn't even imagine how much I'd have to pay him to make him shut up, and that would be less money going towards saving Lily. I should've just shot him like I said I would.

"What kind of deal?" I asked between gritted teeth.

"I promise I won't tell a single soul about you, if you teach me how to be a conman."

I frowned.

"Pardon?"

"I want you to teach me how to do what you do – pull scams and stuff. Please?"

"You... you're not serious."

"Yeah, I am. I wanna know everything you do, or I'll spill to the first cop I find."

I stared at the kid blankly, both hating and admiring his audacity. He was a gutsy little bastard, I'll give him that, but teaching him? There was no time. I had to focus all my energy on saving my daughter. I didn't have time to screw around trying to teach the little shit to lie.

"No." I said simply, rising off the bed.

I strolled right past him and went to the kitchen, where I flicked on the kettle.

"No?" Benjamin asked, following me out.

"That's what I said. No."

I pulled out the block of cheese from the fridge and rather large knife from the drawer and began slicing it for a sandwich. Benjamin stood behind me, silent for a moment before he retorted with:

"But – what I said – I'll turn you in."

I flung around, knife in hand.

"Listen to me, Benjamin. I could slit you from ear to ear right now if I wanted to. I could shoot you in the head, too. But I won't because I don't want that kind of blood on my hands or on my carpet. So I'm giving you the option. Shut up or die. That's it. I don't care how clever you think you are or how fast you think you can run, I have connections everywhere, and if you so much as say my name outside of this apartment, I will have someone track you down and gut you like a fish. Understand?"

Benjamin paused, weighing his options, then nodded.

"Good. Now go."

I waved the knife towards to front door and went back to slicing the cheese for my sandwich. Benjamin stood frozen for a few moments, unsure of himself, before I heard him turn and head for the front door.

"Oh, and Benjamin?" I called.

"What?" He asked.

"You're a floor off. You wanted apartment 406, not 306. Make sure to read the door numbers next time."

Benjamin considered this for a moment. When I heard the door shut behind him, I knew he understood.

©  A.G. Travers 2015