Suicide Author Pt. 1
Working Title
A quick look around the room spells apathy to me. I’ve only done this a few dozen times so far, but there is a clear pattern emerging among my clients: dirty clothes, dirty dishes, moldy tableware etc…. Beneath a small pile of dirty drawers (I’m surprised to see that the dirty clothes piles are actually separated by type), I see a small orange plunger inside and flush with a plastic container. Of course I cannot make out the markings from my chair, but I know they’re small numbers and tick marks that indicate various ccs of whatever one might want to put inside of the container. About a foot away I see a metal teaspoon poorly hidden beneath a dirty tee-shirt. Again, it’s too far away for me to see details, but I would bet my left nut that there is a small black mark on the underside of it. I’ve seen this a few times before. It’s not uncommon. I spot an ashtray with about a half-dozen cigarette butts put out in it. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume it’s ok to smoke in here.” I said to the poor, sunken-eyed bastard sitting before me. “Yeah, yeah. That’s cool, man.” he mumbles.
“Good.” The cigarette had been hanging from my mouth since I entered this place. They all smoke inside. They never want to risk the possibility of encountering another person – not unless it’s absolutely necessary. So, they stay inside to smoke. And they stay inside to eat. And they stay inside to relax. Sunlight rarely reaches these mother fuckers. That’s probably for the better. It’s no fun seeing someone like this out and about and nodding off in front of your local 7-11. Well, for most people that sight should bother them. But for me, it’s a lead. For me, I see future business opportunities. Sure, my clientele are as diverse as they come: insurance agents, fast food workers, family men, family women, junkies, etc…. Still, my consumer base is made up of a lot of one type of person. “You gonna be able to do this?” I ask the young man sitting across from me.
“Yeah. Yeah.” he says.
“Alright, give me three family members and/or friends that have inspired you throughout the years: people you respect and will miss. After that, give me three family members and/or friends that you are estranged from: people you might hold in contempt.” I instruct him.
“What?” he asks.
I respond with “ Tell me three people you like and three people you don’t like, Jason”
“It’s Jacob.”
“Yeah, of course. Give me three people you like and three people you don’t like, Jacob.”
I’m only a few dozen clientes in, but with this type of work, it’s not difficult to establish a method early. The first four or so were an experience to say the least. But the first four junkies taught me more than they all knew in their collective lifetimes: their short collective lifetimes. Gotta check about relationships. Gotta check about alone time. Find what they are most proud of, and then you find what they are the most insecure about.Those two are always the same. With guys like Jason, that part’s easy. Still, it doesn’t hurt to poke around and ask some questions. It doesn’t hurt to add some precision to the craft. “What games you been playing?” I ask him as I gesture towards the console below his tv.. The television was on the homescreen of his system. It’s probably more used for movies and tv, but I spot some open game boxes lying around the system. “You’ve been playing some fighting games lately?” I ask him.
“Uh, yeah. My friend came over not too long ago and we spent a while fighting each other. If you want to play a match, we can,” he explained in a more animated manner than before. Bingo. Loneliness was this man’s burden. I suppose it’s the burden of most of them; however, the change in his demeanor tells me everything I need to know. I can now proceed.
“No, not right now, but if we have time after the session, I might can squeeze a match or two in.” I lie.An eager nod comes from him, and I can now tell that he’s ready to tell me more about what I want to hear. “Good,” I say as I finally light my cigarette.
The young man tells me about how his older sister is his hero, and how his best friend’s fiance keeps the two of them apart, and how his former basketball coach taught him discipline – and how that coach was ventilated by the police after a hostage situation in the gymnasium after a junior varsity championship game. Goddamn. I haven’t heard that one before. No big deal. I scribble little details of his tellings in my notebook and just nod in cadence to the young man’s ramblings. Most things are of no use. Most of ‘em say similar things. This guy was the best worker at his job, and he was underappreciated as an employee. He should have been in charge with his skill set and experience, but he refused to play the ass kissing game. His parents never understood his passions and never respected his short lived rap career. The world was out to get him. Yeah, the world was out to get him . Here soon, I’m not gonna have to meet with these clients if they all tell me stories like this. Still, the basketball coach thing is interesting. I won’t be able to use it in the note, but it’s still interesting. Silver linings. You gotta find the silver linings when you do what I do. Goddamn these people are depressing.
Twenty minutes is all I can handle of this guy. And it’s all that I need. My hands slam the little black notebook I had been scribbling in shut as I stand and say, “That should be enough. I’ll get it typed up and printed for you by Wednesday. As I mentioned earlier, I would recommend you write it out by hand and possibly add some teardrops to it, but that’s up to you. I personally believe that it adds sincerity to the piece, but printed copies seem to get the job done well enough.”
“You sure you don’t need to hear more?” he says.
“Nah, this will be enough.” I say through a weak smile. “Just don’t go and do the deed before I get it to you. I’m paid no matter what, but I want you to get your money’s worth. And about that…”
“Oh yeah, the cash. Here you go.” Jacob (Jason?) hands me a crisp, new hundred dollar bill as those words exit his mouth.
“Much obliged.” I say as I grab the cash. I continue” The finished product will be sitting in your mailbox by noon on Wednesday. It’s been a pleasure.” I hold out my hand and the young man gives it a weak squeeze and shake signaling that this part of the job is finished. Thank fucking God. This apartment smells like shit.
A hundred dollars isn’t too bad for a job as easy as this. There was too much time spent with the first few people I talked to, but I nipped that in the bud quickly. Sure, some people take a little more poking and prodding regardless of how good I get, but for the most part, I can be in and out of the interview section in under thirty minutes. Another thirty minutes will be spent writing the sob story of the poor bastard. The job’s just under two hours after I add another forty minutes for the revision: for the note to be believable, it’s important to not overdo the writings; The friends and family usually have a general idea of the victim’s grammatical and literary aptitudes. Well, they might not know how well the befallen could string a sentence together, but they become suspicious if the note looks too polished. I dealt with that issue a couple times already. Rookie mistakes. In any case, the thing has to be believable. If it’s not, it arouses too much attention. There were a few like this during my first dozen or so. Family and friends raising their eyebrows at their son’s/daughter’s/cousin’s/uncle’s funeral. Their eyes spoke louder than the words on the note being read: “That doesn’t sound like Chase, or Mary, or Todd, or Spencer…” is what those eyes say. That’s why I interview now. I can’t have any encroachments on this market. Although, I doubt that anyone would guess that their loved ones would outsource something like this. Still, there definitely is a market for it. And I’m learning that market real fuckin’ fast. I have a good thing going. I have a lucrative thing going. The money will keep coming in consistently so long as the notes don’t arouse too much attention. Just under two hours for some easy money.
I go straight for the boots before my door even closes. Fuckin’ boots. I learned early on that fancy shoes and even sneakers don’t cut it in my line of business. I couldn’t have learned this from anyone else because as far as I know, I’m the only one in my line of business. Regardless, boots are a must. Can’t run fast enough in fancy shoes. Can’t protect the feet against glass and used syringes in running shoes. It’s those little things that you don’t think of: the little nuances that make a job more difficult than it has to be. A healthy inbetween is boots – just like what an honest, working man would wear. But I’m not an honest working man, am I? I’m not entirely sure they exist. Not without a good pair of boots, at least.
There’s a nice, pungent foot odor that rides in tandem to working boots. That’s fine. After nights like this, it’s best to not get too comfortable too quickly. I hate to admit it, but there are some emotions that go into this stuff. No matter how unflattering my line of work is, I still deserve some of those. In any case, I’m unable to immediately relax due to the stench. It’s best I prepare a meal and make small annotations about tonight’s interview on my whiteboard.
Addict (case #’s 1,2,3,4,5,6,8,10,13,14,15,16,18,19)
Lonely (All)
Unearned Arrogance/Moral Superiority (case #’s 1,3,4,5,6,7,10,13,14,15,19)
Family Issues (case #’s 3,4,6,12,13,19)
Work Issues (case #’s 3,4,5,6,9,10,11,12,13,16,19)
These words appear over almost transparent versions of similar notes. Five parameters is enough. To begin with, this board was full of gratuitous nonsense. Eventually, it was a no-brainer to break it down into these five categories, though. At the end of the day, people ain’t so different: the businessmen, the junkies, the insurance agents, the fast food workers, the family men, the family women. They all begin to bleed together after a while. Whatever. Patterns are good. The better I get at the process, the quicker I make money. The quicker I make money, the more money I make. The more money I make, the quicker I can buy more stuff I don’t care about.
I took on six different clients this past week alone. I collect one hundred bucks after the interview, and the final two hundred in the client’s mailbox when I finally deliver the note. I could probably start collecting everything up front. I might not be the guy who can console you, but I’m good with my deadlines and always deliver on my promises. And I’m starting to get a bit of a reputation. I maintain my anonymity to the best of my abilities; nevertheless, words always travel around. Someone whispers about this or that, and they see the work, and they see the results.And then they talk. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. What young entrepreneur doesn’t want more business? And if people want to throw it my way, I’m much obliged to take it from them. Still, this isn’t the most flattering thing to be known for, so it’s important to put some people in between the leads and me – at least until I can confirm that the client is one percent on what he or she is asking for. That’s arguably the trickiest part of the process. The gravity of the situation has to be intense. I have to see true hopelessness. It’s a cynical outlook, but I cannot have a repeat of Jessica. That stain might never wash out. Hell, I’m praying that it remains a stain. There’s no use in worrying about stuff like right now. I’m meeting Jack at the diner tomorrow morning to discuss this influx in clientele. I’m not one to turn down business, but six in a week is a little overwhelming. Additionally, it might be possible to inflate my fees a bit. A guy’s gotta eat, after all.