Page 29 of Assassin Anonymous

“You want to bet on that?” the Pale Horse asks.

His eyes go just the slightest bit wider. Spine gets a tiny bit straighter. Whatever he suspected a few moments ago has dissipated. He remembers what I’m capable of. He knows I could have a bullet pumped into his heart and be well away before anyone shows up to stop me or save him.

I turn and disappear into the crowd before he has a chance to overthink it.

Astrid peeks around a food stall, the laser pointer already in her pocket. I grab her hand and we make our way toward the blaring sunlight outside the food hall.

“That was fun,” she says, an edge of excitement to her voice.

There’s something about the reaction that doesn’t sit well with me, but I don’t want to waste time unpacking it.

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Pink and blue neon signs light up the Geylang neighborhood. It’s just north of the central business district, but it could be an entirely different country. Gone are the skyscrapers and tourists, replaced by shophouses and sex workers. There are a lot of eyes on me. I’m the only white face I’ve seen since I got off the train, still standing out like a cat in a dog park.

I cut away from the crowds on Geylang Road, onto the lorongs—the side streets where the hustle recedes a bit. There’s the occasional brothel, where women sit on folding chairs or stand by the sidewalk in small clusters, wearing sheer, skimpy outfits, smoking cigarettes. When I catch their eye they give me a subtle wave, but when I keep walking they don’t call after me.

Singapore is in a strange sort of gray zone with sex work. Prostitution isn’t illegal, but public solicitation and running a brothel is. Mostly the authorities tolerate it. Plus in this neighborhood you can walk past a handful of brothels, turn a corner, and find a row of small Buddhist temples. So you have to navigate the area with caution, and in the face of silent spiritual judgment.

But if you want to find the little crime that exists in Singapore, this is where you do it. It’s tucked into the shadows, but I know where to look. Astrid protested, a little high on the success of her assignment with Ravi, but this thing I have to do on my own.

It’s insane that I’m even still here. The Agency will have mobilized a small army. But they’ll dump their resources into the airport, train stations, and bus terminals. They expect me to run, not wander. That buys me a little time.

Unless they’ve accessed the local surveillance network, which I’m sure they most likely have. Even here, there are bulbous CCTV cameras everywhere, hanging from streetlights and nestled into corners. I know to duck my head away from them so they can’t get a full scan of my face, but there are too many to account for.

Working for the Agency comes with perks. Fingerprints, facial recognition, family and employment history—all of that is wiped from existence. If someone goes looking for it, they might see a faint shimmer, but that’s it. That’s been great up to now, but the Agency flipped off the switch, which means they can turn it back on. They may have started when I first messaged Ravi, but no one was waiting for me at the airport, so that’s a good sign.

Ravi.

His offer to come in from the cold is tickling my ear.

That’s why what I’m doing right now is necessary. Take a step forward, get a little further from the fork in the road I came upon a year ago. Lucky for me, even though the Russian took my notebook, the information it held is still etched across the inside of my chest.

It suddenly sinks in, how alone I am right now. How I could very well be strolling down a quiet street to a death sentence. I pull out my phone and dial Kenji. He picks up on the first ring.

“You’re okay,” he says, almost surprised, which only hurts my feelings a little.

“How is everyone?”

“Safe. And you?”

“Found my old boss. He doesn’t know anything about the current acquisition. But he did offer me my old job back.”

“How did that make you feel?” Kenji asks.

I pause long enough that I don’t need to answer.

“It’s okay that you considered it,” he says. “This is not a perfect process. You’re not perfect. What do I keep saying? Let go…”

He gives me the space to finish. “…And let god.”

Not that we believe in god. Not after the things we’ve done. One of the core tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous is surrendering yourself to a higher power—whatever you determine that higher power to be. For us, though, we thought of ourselves as gods. Because we did what gods did. Dealt in death, decided who lived. To let go and let god is Assassins Anonymous–speak for: You are not a god, you are a human being, and what you did, you did to other human beings.

This is exactly the moment where I need to chew on that, even if it’s getting stuck in my teeth.

“In other news,” I tell Kenji, “I’m about to make my first amends.”

“Mark, you’re not ready to move into the ninth step,” he says. “First, we’re supposed to sit down and review the list, and you and I decide who’s best to make a direct amends to.”

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