Gratis et Amore

I laughed like a hyena, slowly becoming unaware of the mania taking over my brain.

In a few minutes they will shoot me in this dense forest somewhere in the South Pacific.

I always had a death wish, which is why I became an intelligence agent of this government bureau that went after international drug lords.

I’ve been meaning to get caught if only because it would translate to death—slow and torturous it may be—but death all the same.

They took the sack off my head.

I came face to face with my nemesis, the largest drug dealer in the West Coast of the United States.

Then he did an improbable thing.

Instead of slitting my throat with his knife, he cut the hemp ropes that bound my wrists and ankles.

“Why do you want to die?”

I was flummoxed.

How did he know?

“Why do you want to die?”

The question was asked firmer this time.

“You’re way too good to be caught by my men; you let them catch you because you knew you would die.”

”That’s none of your business. Just get it over with. You got me, why do you ask such stupid questions?”

He pulled a gun from a holster that rested on his left side.

He pulled me against him, the back of my skull kissing his face.

He aimed the gun at my forehead, where the bullet was sure to go through my skull to his.

It scared the hell out of me.

“Wait,” I exclaimed.

“Why do you want to die,” I asked.

“If you don’t tell me your reason, I won’t. What does it matter anyway? We’ve been chasing death long enough.”

“I was kidnapped and held prisoner for two years and used as a sex slave. After I was rescued both my parents died in a freak accident. Their car exploded because of faulty wiring. I couldn’t bring myself to come in contact with other people after that.”

“The socialists, they pillaged our village. My mother and sister were raped and tortured and killed before my eyes. I was nine at that time.”

We both said: “You had it worse.”

“I’ll put you on a plane to California tomorrow. Find another job. I think I’ll update my resume too,” the drug lord said.

I said: “I hope I never cross paths with you again. It would be more gratitude than I can handle.”

“Same, same.”

The Kill

“You’re not a prize, this was not a game. I was not in it for the kill.” This was what I wanted to hear from him after the phone call from Ari. But his lips were forming different words.

“I’m sorry,” he hung his head. “I knew who you were from the beginning. It was my intention to make you fall in love so I can win a bet.”

He couldn’t look me in the eye. And I couldn’t stop shaking.

I stared at my mobile phone, willing it to disappear, willing to erase my earlier conversation with my best friend Ari. I laughed but sobs were coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t tell him to get out. This was half his home after all.

I flushed at my own arrogance for believing I beat society at its own game.

I was foolish, I know that now, to believe someone wouldn’t recognize my face, which even devoid of make -up still closely resembled the glamour shots on the cover of every magazine imaginable. Why wouldn’t I be a media darling? I’m thirty-something, not bad looking, with a personality that could charm birds off the trees and the first trillionaire in the history of mankind.

It was a curse, making that fortune. From the moment the news hit media, my life wasn’t the same anymore. Not even my trillions could turn back time and restore my anonymity. I hated it.

I knew Joseph, the guy who bet on my heart, through a friend of a friend. He feigned ignorance of my identity through the whole affair and now I just wish the earth would split and swallow him.

I heard of them—social climbers—and held them as much in contempt as any one of their prey. I arranged my world so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. Maybe it was just that Joseph’s group was more cunning than the average pack. I don’t actually know. I don’t want an investigation, although I know that would be inevitable during the divorce proceedings. It was a good thing I still had enough sense to make him sign a prenup.

“So, who’s gonna leave, you or me?” I asked him after my sobs have subsided.

“I’ll pack,” he said to the floor meekly.

“Before you go,” I held him by the shoulders. When he was the right distance, I let go of a left hook, which made sharp contact with his jaw. He flinched.

“For being an uncouth lout,” I said. “And thank your lucky stars that’s all you’ll get from me.”

I walked out of our bedroom. I called my secretary and asked to be booked at the Shangri-la while I gathered my wits.