“I think so.”
He slipped the gun back beneath his jacket and said, “Why isn’t it surprising that I’m a hitman? I’m curious that other people saw it in me when I never saw it in myself.”
“It’s funny but I don’t see it either now. You know, when it was some abstract idea it seemed to make sense.” Her eyes looked elsewhere, like the gun was still on the table between them. “This is real though, not some fantasy of what JJ might be doing. I can’t see it in you now, someone who kills people without even thinking about it, following orders; it’s not who you are.” She looked upset, and JJ already regretted that he’d told her; he didn’t want her to think badly of him.
“That’s just the trouble though—that’s not who I am. See, I don’t take orders as such, and I do think about it, and I do wonder how I—”
“How did you get into it?” she asked, preempting him, her mind on a rush.
“In a roundabout way I was recruited, that’s all I can say. And yes, initially I was drawn by the excitement, the intrigue.” He laughed. “Maybe I still am, I don’t know. I have a nasty feeling I’d miss it.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and then, “I have a good life, I have a nice place in Geneva, plenty of money, plenty of free time. I’m okay, you know, and I’m sure a lot of people who graduated with us have had a raw deal.”
“What’s the but?” He looked at her puzzled, and Jools smiled back at him. “You know, ‘I have a great life, great house, dedum, de-dum, dedum, but...’ So what’s the but?”
He smiled too now and said, “Ah, that but.” He thought about it, something he’d thought about plenty of times but had never put into words before. “Well, I don’t know. Just that, sometimes I feel I’ve fucked up I suppose, big time. Fucked up in a way that’s ... I don’t know ...”
“But you’re still young,” she said emphatically. “You could retire, change careers, do something that lets you live the way you want to.” She wanted him to do it, he could tell, one meeting in nearly ten years and she was desperate for him to give up, like he’d just admitted to a heroin habit or something like that.
He shook his head and said, “Trust me. That’s not an option.”
He’d seen a couple of people who’d taken that route of cutting themselves off completely from the past, had even killed one, but it was a sham existence anyway, a constant pretense that a history like that could just be folded away like a board game and forgotten about.
He smiled again, dismissively, and said, “You’ve caught me at a low point, Jools, that’s all. I just need to find some balance, you know, to find some way of living a full life as well as doing this.”
She smiled too and added, “Isn’t that what we’re all doing?” She patted her stomach to drive the point home.
He nodded agreement but thinking of her, of where her life was heading, lost in a future that seemed unavailable to him, he said, “That’s a good point though, kids, stuff like that. Falling in love.” He laughed, almost defensively, in response to the idea. “I really don’t know if I could cope with falling in love.”
“You haven’t been in love since ...” She didn’t say the name, knowing that JJ didn’t need her to, a sensitivity on her part even to the distant past.
“No, I don’t think I have, which means I haven’t I suppose. I’ve had relationships, happy ones too, but the thought of being in love with someone, being that close ... It’s scary, especially now.” He felt like he was rambling, incoherent, his thoughts tumbling over the last day and a half, but it was obviously making some sense.
Jools suddenly looked concerned and said, “Are you in some kind of trouble? I mean, are you in danger?”
“No,” he said quickly, making it implicit in his tone that the question was preposterous. “No, Jools, seriously. I don’t have many chances to talk about these things, that’s all it is, like I shouldn’t really be talking to you, so it’s just spilling out and not making sense. Really, I’m embarrassed to be going on about it, especially when there are so many other things we could be talking about.” He did feel bad for burdening her, yet at the same time he’d wanted to tell her much more: that he was lonely, that he felt like indistinct bits of him were dying, that nothing was clear anymore. It was enough though, what he’d told her was enough, like a gasp of pure oxygen, burning the tissue of his lungs.
“I don’t mind,” she said, apparently reassured, taking it in her stride. “I’m glad you told me.” And as an afterthought, “I suppose I have to keep it all very hush-hush?”
“I’d prefer it if you did. Tell them about my venture capital company.”