Stories: All-New Tales - By Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio Page 0,36

enterprise. I knew what he thought that was going to be. I also knew it wasn’t going to happen.

There was an empty chair on the other side of his table. I sat down on it.

He ignored me for a couple minutes, peering in a vaguely benign way at the skeletal branches of the tall trees that stand all around the park’s central grassy area: at them, or perhaps at all the buildings around the square revealed by the season’s dearth of leaves. Being able to see these monoliths makes the park seem both bigger and yet more intimate, stripped.

Defenseless.

“Hello, Kane,” he said, finally.

I’d never actually seen him before—not in the flesh at least, only in pictures—so I have no idea how he’d managed to make me straightaway. I guess it’s his job to know things about people.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I said.

He glanced at me finally, then away again, seemingly to watch a young couple perched at a table twenty yards up the path. They were bundled up in thick coats and scarves and necking with cautious optimism. After a few minutes they separated, tentatively smiling, still with their arms around each other’s shoulders, and turned to look at the lights strung in the trees, to listen to the sound of cars honking, to savour being where they were. A recent liaison, the legacy of an office party, perhaps, destined to be a source of embarrassed silences in the office by Valentine’s Day. Either that, or pregnancy and marriage and all the silences after that.

“I knew it could happen,” the man said, taking the lid off his coffee and peering inside, as if gauging how long he had left. “I’m not surprised it’s you sitting there.”

“Why’s that?”

“Accepting a job for this evening? That’s cold. Takes a certain kind of person. Who else they going to call?”

“That supposed to be a compliment? You think if you butter me up then I won’t do it?”

The man looked calmly at me through the steam of what smelt like a gingerbread latte.

“Oh, you’ll do it. I have no doubt of that.”

I didn’t like his tone, and I felt the thing start to uncurl inside me. If you’ve ever tried to give up smoking, you’ll have felt something like it—the sudden, lurid desire to lay waste to the world and everything in it, starting right here, right now, and with the person physically closest to you.

I don’t know what this thing is. It doesn’t have a name. I just know it’s there, and I feel it when it wakes. It has always been a very light sleeper.

“No, really,” I said. “Just because I live in a big house these days, and I got a wife and a child, you think I can’t do what I do?”

“You’ve still got it. You’ll always have it.”

“Fucking right I will.”

“And that’s something to be proud of?” He shook his head. “Shame of it is, you were a good kid.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“No. Some people come out of the womb broken. You can nurture all you want, sooner or later they’re going to pass the damage on. With you, it could have been different. That makes it worse, somehow.”

“I am who I chose to be.”

“Really? Everyone in the neighbourhood knows the kind of person your father was.”

My hands twitched, involuntarily.

“He had no faith in anything,” the man said. “He was a hater. And a hurter. I remember watching him when he was young, knowing how he’d grow up. Either dead inside, or affectionate in inappropriate ways. Maybe both. Am I right?”

“If you’d like this to play out in a civilised fashion,” I said, my voice tight, “you want to drop this line of discussion.”

“Forgive me. But you’ve come here to kill me, Kane. That’s pretty personal too, wouldn’t you say?”

I knew I should get on with it. But I was also aware that this was the biggest job of my career, and when it was done, it would be over.

I was also simply curious. “What the fuck makes you think you’re better than me?” I said. “What you do isn’t so different.”

“You really think so?”

“You put yourself in a position of power, made it so you get to choose who gets what. Who prospers, who gets nothing. And then you point the finger and lives get fucked up forever. Same as me.”

“I don’t see it that way.” He looked into his cup again. The habit was beginning to get on my nerves.

“Yeah, drink up,” I said. “Time’s running out.”

“One question.”

“How’d I find