“Auction number?”
“Well, it’s really called an item number. On the right side of the screen.”
Hazel opened her laptop and maneuvered to eBay. And then she saw. The listing was gone. She had a message in her in-box that the auction had been removed by the administrator for a violation of eBay’s service agreement.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Hazel said, and she hung up.
***
When Sherman Kingsborough saw that the auction had been delisted, he was caught between waves of relief and anger.
Like so many people of unchecked wealth, Sherman was a broken soul. He had spent his teen years in a drunken haze, his father—or really, his father’s lawyers—always there to bail him out when he got into trouble, which was often. When the old man died, Sherman thought for a moment that perhaps he should grow up, assume a responsible position in society. But he had no frame of reference for doing so. In fact, it was just the opposite. With no parental or authoritative oversight, and with unlimited funds, Sherman could indulge his most perverse desires. He struggled against it at first, but it was no use; he gave in and let his id take over.
He argued with himself, made promises that each time—whether it was carnal relations with a fourteen-year-old Thai prostitute or bribing nature-preserve wardens to hunt Bengal tigers—would be the last. He would lead a better life, put his money to more constructive use, practice tai chi, eat well, and go to church. But as time passed, his internal exhortations grew more hollow. He had waded so often into the waters of depravity that he’d lost the ability to disgust himself.
Cold-blooded murder, though, was new and frightening ground. And while that excited Sherman, it also gave him pause. Perhaps, he thought, this is one step too far, even for me.
On the other hand, this Jared Stone was going to die, and Sherman could help him financially, so really, it was nothing more than an agreement between gentlemen. It wasn’t as if Sherman were going to walk down the street and murder a vagrant just for the fun of it. No, this was reasonable, this was right.
His anger, as was inevitable, won out over his relief. He had been mentally preparing to kill another human being—psyching himself up, as it were—and now he was being denied that pleasure. Not pleasure, he thought, opportunity.
Posting the auction and then removing it—in his current state of mind it didn’t matter to Sherman that it was eBay and not the user that had taken the listing down—was just wrong. I should sue the bastard, Sherman thought. Or I should find this SOB and kill him anyway.
Sherman blinked. Once. Twice.
Find him and kill him anyway. He paused to let the idea sink in.
Find him and kill him anyway.
Huh.
***
When news of Jared’s auction being delisted reached Sister Benedict, she didn’t have time for even one “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” before she was on the phone to the Cardinal’s office.
“This is the office of Cardinal Trippe, archbishop of the Northwest Province of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. May God bless the Pope and the United States of America. This is Father Todd, may I help you?”
“Yes, Father Todd. This is Sister Benedict Joan from the Sisters of the Perpetual Adoration. I need to speak to Cardinal Hippie—I mean Trippe—Cardinal Trippe. I need to speak to him right away.” The Sister was so upset at her gaffe that she bit her knuckle hard enough to draw blood.
If Father Todd noticed, he didn’t let on. “I’ll see if he’s available, Sister,” he answered flatly.
The Sister waited an interminable amount of time as she listened to the hold music—first “Amazing Grace,” then “Ave Maria,” then “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It was an alphabetical tour of inspiring Christian hymns, and each new song made her want to scream. The Sister reminded herself that patience is a virtue, though at the moment she could not understand why.
“So, Sister, how goes our little project,” the Cardinal offered as greeting when he finally came to the phone.
“It’s not, Your Eminence. This is why I’m calling.”
“Continue,” he said.
The Sister relayed the news about the auction being removed. “We have to do something.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand,” the Cardinal answered. “This man is no longer trying to sell his life? Wasn’t that what we found objectionable?”
“I thought,” Sister Benedict answered stiffly, “we found it objectionable that this man was going to die when we could preserve his life.”
“Sister,” the Cardinal said, a note of conciliatory kindness in his voice, “people die every minute of every day. If it is written in God’s plan that this man should be called home to our Heavenly Father, then who are we to interfere? Let it go.”