Page 62 of Assassin Anonymous

Because Smiley is here, too. He’s sauntering up and down the car with his empty Hennessy bottle, swinging it without care or fear of striking someone.

The train pulls out of 23rd Street and he sways out of time with the jostling of the car, talking to people who don’t want to talk to him. His dark hair is greasy and unkempt. He looks more lit than usual.

And he zeroes in on Astrid.

He steps in front of her and she stirs a little, but I can’t see how she reacts because he’s between us.

Just a few stops to go. Astrid is a big girl. She can handle herself.

We can ignore him.

Four seconds in, hold for four, out for four, and…

Nope.

I get up and push between them. He has to move a little to make room for me, and he looks more shocked than angry. Then he smiles when he recognizes me. “You back for more?”

Ignore.

Just stand here. That’s it. That’s all I have to do.

A gentle and peaceful deterrent.

“I was talking to her,” he says.

Astrid looks up at me like, What are you doing?

Ignore. Ignore.

“You deaf?”

“Mark, c’mon…” Astrid says.

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

Four seconds in…

He shoves me. I’ve set my feet so I don’t move, but it interrupts my breathing.

Just like I wanted him to.

To give me an excuse.

He says, “Sit down or I’m going to see red, motherfucker.”

My hand lashes out before my brain can react. I grab him by the roots of his hair and yank his head back, exposing his throat. I want to sink my teeth into it. I want to tear a chunk of it out and spit it back into his face.

“You know how you can tell someone can’t fight?” the Pale Horse asks. “When they say they see red. Like you’re going to lose control and turn into some kind of animal. That’s not how it works. The really dangerous people are the ones who can stay calm and collected under the most intense pressure imaginable.”

I yank harder, causing him to arch his back.

“Mark!” Astrid says.

“Don’t come at me with that tough-guy bullshit,” the Pale Horse says. “You never know who you’re picking a fight with.”

I turn him around and smash his face into the subway door. He goes down, blubbering. I pick up his arm and set myself, ready to break it. I know how to do it so it’ll never heal right. So he’ll always have a little reminder, when it’s humid or when he moves it the wrong way, that little ache will keep him away from thinking he’s a man—

Astrid yanks me off him.

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