“Think of yourselves as members of a small, short-term secret society. You do not know and will never know the identities of your fellow members or your host. This fact denies a drifting inquisition from the contestants. If that is not agreeable, I recommend you withdraw. Frankly, if one or more of you does, those remaining will silently applaud your decision as it will improve their odds of winning.” While saying this, he brought his hands together several times in a soundless clap.

  “If you elect to withdraw, walk out the front door. The driver who brought you will be there with your blackout mask. Put it on and he’ll drive you home.”

  The host waited. No one moved. Amy glanced at the provocatively dressed woman. Other than a slight jiggle accompanying the movement of her head, she remained still, as did the others.

  “You were each selected because you are aggressive, confident, and adventurous enough to accept the mystery of this evening. Each of you has someone in your life you’d like to see dead.” His eyebrows went up with the words: see dead. “Not enough to perform the murder yourself, which would be foolish. You have motive but lack the training requisite for success. Your attitude toward the person might be, I’d never attend their funeral, but I would smile while reading their obituary.

  “To avoid competing answers, each of tonight’s questions will be asked of only one of you. This will provide time for the rest of us to eat while listening. Later, after we’ve finished dining, we’ll move on to a final topic for group discussion. In that segment, we’ll allow disagreement and opposing views. I trust you all left your political correctness at home. We’re all strangers and will still be when we leave, so you are encouraged to let it all hang out. I want candor. Mixing in some levity, bold assertions, controversy, and a little off-color prose is always fun.

  “There is only one server. I instructed her to take the efficiency of putting the meals on our plates. Eat what you wish. You are to remain silent whenever the server is in the room.”

  He rang a small bell. Less than a minute later, a thin woman, wearing an un-feathered black mask of the same style Amy wore, came through the swinging door carrying the first two plates of meals. After delivering the meals brought in on her third trip, the host motioned to her. She stopped next to his chair, her stance a bit slouched, her arms crossed below her modest bosom. Her blouse was buttoned to her neck, the way it might be if she had just come from teaching a Sunday school class. He leaned toward her. “I’ll ring when we’re ready for the dessert.” She nodded, without expression, and walked through the adjoining door she had used to carry in the plates, likely into the kitchen.

  “All right, time is passing, so let’s get started. Contestant number four, did Russia meddle in our national elections in 2016?”

  “Yes.”

  The moderator took a bite of duck and chewed, swallowed, and drank from his wine glass. “Your answer falls way short of candid, and was certainly not entertaining.”

  “But I only—”

  The moderator held up his hand. “Let’s move on. Contestant number five,” he pointed, “same question.”

  “Absolutely, they did. Rhetorically, you know what disgusts me every bit as much? Our government appears to have done nothing in response. Instead, as always, our supposed leaders have played politics. Each party blamed the other. Along with that comes the crying about the other candidate should’ve won, blah, blah, blah. As if the crybaby possessed some divine knowledge that without the claimed meddling the other candidate would have won. There’s no way for anyone to know this with certainty. Absent the supposed meddling, it’s possible the same candidate would have won, we’ll never know. The focus and energy of our government should be on shoring up the election process so no one can electronically interfere in future elections. So, in the final analysis, politics again trumps governance.”

  The moderator smiled. “I take it there was a lower case-t on your word ‘trumps?’ ”

  A light chuckle rose from the table before contestant five added, “Certainly, of course.”

  “Contestant number 2, your question is to comment on the provocative dress of the modern woman. Is the way many women dress today, contrasted to ladies’ dress codes of, let’s say, the 1950s, an advance with respect to sexual freedom or a giant step backward toward godless behavior?”

  The woman dressed provocatively, cleared her throat. “Most definitely toward enhanced sexual freedom.” She stood, stepped back from her chair, and slowly turned in a full circle before leaning forward to display her abundance.

  I was right, no bra.

  “We’ve got two male contestants at the table. Tell me, boys, given your choice of taking me home or one of the other two women in this room,” she pointed at the other woman, then at Amy, “which of us would you choose?” She smiled and sat back down.

  “Well, I requested candor, the avoidance of political correctness, and encouraged a bold, entertaining flair. Regardless of whether or not we agree with your viewpoint, you have certainly captured the criteria.”

  Most of the contestants smiled and nodded their agreement, but not the third woman. She lowered her eyes and shook her head. The provocatively dressed lady retorted with an upper-body shimmy that elicited a laugh from everyone but the older woman.

  After several more questions and answers, the moderator turned toward Amy.

  “Contestant number three, tagging on somewhat to the earlier question and answer about the sexual liberation of women, I’d like you to comment on this: “Over recent decades, despite contrarian blips, we’ve seen patterns of fewer and shorter marriages. Does this suggest marriage is losing favor as an institution?”

  Determined not to look hesitant, Amy immediately began her answer. “I doubt any other conclusion is credible. Over the last fifty plus years, more women have gone to college. For many, this delayed their marriage, but not their hormonal enthusiasm. During those same decades, more young women became sexually engaged without first becoming matrimonially engaged.” She paused.

  The host grinned and motioned for her to continue.

  “Society’s acceptance of non-heterosexual alliances, the growth of one-parent families, and the easing of the legal restraints to obtaining a divorce have all influenced the accelerating rate of divorce. Whether or not this is a temporary phenomenon, or the road that leads to the total future destruction of marriage, is not yet determined.”

  Several of the contestants began to comment, but the moderator shut it down. “Uh, uh. I’m pleased you are all stimulated by the conversation. Isn’t it refreshing to hear viewpoints spoken through the honesty of anonymity, rather than through the gauze necessitated by being known? This freedom of expression was a large part of my deciding to require the masks. I appreciate your respecting my restriction on comments after each answer. This restriction will not apply to the discussion segment, which we begin now.

  “There is only one topic for open discussion. Outside of socially accepted due process, can the behavior of a person be judged sufficiently egregious to justify murder should a given individual conclude due process cannot or has not worked?

  “The floor belongs to Contestant one who will get the discussion started. But, first, to give you all time to think on the topic, we’ll pause to let the server bring in our cherries jubilee.” He rang the hand bell.

  When the server finished, the door was again shut.

  “Remember, no interruptions, please. We want to fully hear the comments offered by each contestant. If someone gets too long winded, I’ll deal with it.” The moderator opened his hand and gestured toward the first person.

  Contestant one took a drink of water. “Okay. The topic is simple and certainly apropos to the reason for our gathering. Due process, that is a proper conviction in a court of law, is the established standard for taking a life in civilized society. Having said that, the question proffered solicits comments with respect to whether or not some deserve to die without all the falderal of due process. The dicey part is who decides which of us deserves to die, which offenses justify it, and, absent the blessing of government, who carries it out.”

  Yeah. Who the hell gets to decide that stuff?

  “Well said, contestant one. Okay, let’s thrash it out.”

  Rapid-fire comments rose from the contestants:

  “Certainly, at times of self-defense or to protect someone else under attack.”

  “That’s a namby-pamby comment,” declared another of the contestants. “That point clearly falls within our societal standard, so it falls outside the real question we’ve been asked.”

  “Which is?”

  “When can you flat out kill someone and judge your action as the thing that needed doing. And, ideally, have your act seen by others, at large, as regrettable yet appropriate given the circumstances.”

  “We step on a roach without a moment of reflection.” This was the prim and proper woman’s first comment. The broach pinned above her heart moved when she shook her head to emphasize her words, and she wasn’t finished.

  “I spray my roses to kill thousands of aphids, which is a mass murder of living organisms. We euthanize family pets that have lost quality of life. These killings are undertaken without an attack on our conscience. The stickiness comes from the fact we are humans. We see the rules about murder among us differently than when we destroy the lives of other living things. But should these rules be different? Speaking for myself, I see the fear of being caught and sent to prison, or sentenced to death by the state, as the deterrent, not social or religious prohibitions.”

  That was the last thing I expected her to say.

  The others at the table seemed stunned. Amy spooned some more of her cherries jubilee.

  The moderator took back the lead. “That comment brings us to the core of our gathering. Each of you is hoping to win either $50,000 or the murder of someone you desire to have turned into worm food. So, here we are,” he glanced at his watch, “at the crux of the matter and it’s eleven-fifteen. Forty-five minutes remain. I’d like us to spend that time responding to one last question which I’ll ask in a moment. But, first, let me share with you some realities about the subject of my life’s work—murder.

  “Murder is often a reaction or response to betrayed love or inflamed hate. Murder can be triggered by seemingly minor events, like the desire to eliminate a terrible neighbor. Other times, it arises from the emotional trifecta of anger, jealousy, and passion upon finding one’s lover in bed with another. Other motivations can include: the ambition of moving up in the order of succession for a promotion at work, or the receipt of the bigger slice of the spoils from a deceased person’s will. All these things and more can solicit the response of murder. You notice, I’ve not commented on murders by thugs in the commission of violent crimes such as robbery, drug or human trafficking. None of you are thugs, so those murders aren’t relevant to tonight’s objective.

  “The winner of this contest will be chosen based solely on your performance tonight. For those of you desiring the murder, rather than the cash, I won’t favor or disfavor your reason for wanting your target dead.

  “In some instances, there is a sophomoric after-the-murder attempt to cover up the deed. To make it appear a robbery gone awry, or to give the scene the look of an accidental death rather than a homicide. Other foolhardy efforts can include wiping up the blood or getting rid of the murder weapon, or the corpse itself. Often, these too-late efforts include trying to craft an after-the-event alibi. In murder, as in all things in life, thinking after acting is a formula for failure. Adequate thought and preparation must precede the deed.

  “The out-of-control emotional spontaneity that drives these do-it-yourself murders doesn’t allow for careful premeditation. Hence, murder often becomes as simplistic as, well, to quote Forrest Gump, ‘Stupid is as stupid does.’

  “For the police, solving these murders can be child’s play, the actual arrest delayed only by the time needed to gather the all-too-obvious evidence. Nowadays, in cities with populations over one million, about forty percent of all murders go permanently unsolved. In contrast, fifty years ago, eighty-nine percent of all murders were solved. … Yes, that’s correct, despite all the supposed advances in crime-scene forensics, the rate of solving murders is dropping like a rock, and, concurrently, the prospects for getting away with it are soaring.

  “Murder doesn’t have to be buffoonish. Murder can be crafted with the same kind of precision and attention to detail found in Super Bowl game plans. When careful planning is undertaken, and, particularly, when the victim is unknown to the assailant … solved murders are rare.

  “Okay. We have about twenty minutes to discuss the final topic, after which it will be time for us to adjourn. When that time comes, you’ll leave in the same order in which you arrived. After the first contestant to have arrived, leaves, we’ll wait five minutes, then the contestant who arrived second will leave. This process will be followed until you have all left. As you leave, on a small table to the right of the front door you will see an open bowl containing several black marbles. Next to the bowl are five small white boxes, each one has a black number on its front—one through five—your contestant numbers. Should you wish to withdraw from this competition, simply place one of the black marbles in the box that displays your contestant number. If you elect to stay in the competition, do not put a marble in the box. In either case, put your numbered box through the hole in the locked metal container on the same table. The metal slot is just large enough to accept your box. Then, still wearing your mask, walk out the door. The driver who brought you will be watching for you. He will escort you to the black limo you came in, hand you your blackout mask, and drive you home.

  “Thank you for coming. I trust you enjoyed your duck dinner and found this a fascinating evening. I thank you all for not having discussed tonight’s event with anyone else. Still, I must insist all of you sustain that confidentiality for two more weeks. That should be sufficient time for the winner to receive the money, or for me to fulfill my promise of murder.”

  Amy sipped her wine and looked around the table. The other four contestants remained quiet, mostly looking down into the smeared, watery remnants of their cherries jubilee. Someone with head lowered, spoke, Amy was unable to determine which contestant.

  “When will we know if we have won and how will we find out?”

  “Ah, yes. That’s why we’re all here, for results. I will choose the winner in three days. The losers will not be contacted. The fewer contacts we have from this point forward the better. The winner choosing the money will simply find $50,000 in cash in the glovebox of their automobile, or where they first found my letter of invitation. For one of you that means cold cash in your refrigerator.”

  Amy swallowed.

  Christ. He means me.

  “Should the winner elect the option for murder, you’ll know you won upon learning the target you designated has been put down.

  “I repeat, none of you discussed with anyone that you were invited to tonight’s gathering. Thank you. I applaud your integrity. Still, I realize no one can keep a secret indefinitely. Therefore, the gag rule will expire two weeks from tonight. Contestant Number One, please affirm your agreement to speak of nothing about this to anyone for two weeks.”

  “Yes.”

  “Contestant Number Two, do you affirm?”

  “Yes.”

  The moderator continued through the fifth guest, extracting promises from each.

  “Thank you all for being so cooperative. I know the winner among you thanks the rest of you for understanding. Now, our last topic for discussion: Does the prospect of a successful murder, the likelihood of not being caught, diminish, perhaps even fully remove, your inhibitions with respect to using murder to obtain your revenge or achieve the objective?

  “Comments, please.”

  Chapter Five

  Early the next evening, a middle-aged driver of what appeared to be a DC taxicab drove out of the nation’s capital, his windshield wipers busy tossing the heavy rain. An off-duty sign was in the driver’s window. He crossed the Francis Scott Key Bridge into Arlington, Virginia and drove on for another twenty minutes.

  He passed an old-time movie house on the main drag, turned right at the next corner, then right again, and parked on the residential street behind the theater. The neighborhood had an aroma of burning meat—barbecue. He pulled the magnetic sign with a black circle behind the letter T in the word taxi off the outside of the driver’s door, and tossed it face down on the front passenger seat.

  He tugged a wool cap low on his head, tightened a knit scarf around his neck and tucked its loose ends inside the top of his pea coat. The raised collar blended with the bottom of his cap. The wind yanked free a few strands of his longish gray hair. He limped slightly, his pant legs whipping as he briskly walked toward the corner. As he neared the main street he escaped the sweet smell of the barbecue and detected the aroma of coffee.

  He rounded the corner onto the main street sidewalk, shortened his stride and exaggerated his limp. He began using the cane he previously carried in his left hand. He moved along steadily until he arrived at a single screen movie house. He approached the small ticket booth standing as an island near the sidewalk.

  Tonight’s offerings were two classic films: Double Indemnity, starring Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck, along with The Fallen Sparrow, starring John Garfield and Maureen O’Hara.

  When the cashier looked up, the ticket buyer rubbed the back of his fingers down his week-old beard. The black shoe polish on one of his front teeth made the other front tooth look lonely. He worked his gums a time or two, smiled, and bought one ticket for cash. When the cashier reached out with his change, he paused to twist a large ring on his fourth finger. He kept his eyes on the cashier. She looked at his ring and then at the black face of his large watch.

  Inside the theater, he hung the rosewood crook handle of his cane over his forearm, walked slowly past the concession stand, and through the red velvet like curtain hanging across the far aisle. Halfway down, he took a seat to his right near the wall and propped the walking stick straight up between his legs. His last movement settled his hands across the horizontal handle of the cane the way a resting cowboy might set his hands atop a saddle horn.