Watch Them Die

“Are you really doing okay, Hannah? I mean, are you settled wherever you are? Do you have friends and a decent place to live?”

“I’m all right,” Hannah replied. “I have friends, too, only none of them know me the way you do, Ann. None of them know.”

After she’d hung up, Hannah realized that Ann no longer really knew her either. She’d stood near the phone station in the crowded, noisy mall, and she’d felt so alone.

At the same time, she couldn’t let anybody get too close. And she was always looking over her shoulder, always wary of the police.

She couldn’t admit that to Tish. There would be too much to explain, too much at risk.

“Excuse me?”

Hannah put aside the DVDs, then turned to smile at the tall young man on the other side of the counter. “Where’s Gandhi?” he asked.

“He’s dead,” Hannah quipped. Then she quickly shook her head. “Sorry. Actually that’s in Ben Kingsley’s section. I’ll show you.”

Hannah tracked down the tape for the customer. He thanked her, then went off searching for a second movie. On the shelf above Ben Kingsley’s section were Diane Keaton movies. But Hannah didn’t see Looking for Mr. Goodbar among them. She went back to her register and looked up the movie on the computer. It was supposed to be in the store—just where she’d been looking. The video had last been checked out five months ago.

Someone must have lifted the video from the store. Perhaps they had needed to study the original for a while—in order to get everything right for the reenactment. But was it just an act?

She rang up Gandhi for the young man, probably a college student. He was also renting an adult movie called Good Will Humping, with a chesty blond bimbo by a blackboard on the cover. Nice combination, Gandhi and porn, Hannah thought as she rang up the sale.

The tall young man looked her up and down, then gave her a playful smile. Hannah pretended not to notice. She remained polite, professional, and distant. Yet, throughout the transaction, she wondered if he could have been the man in that video last night. After all, it could have been anyone.

Her very next customer was Ned Reemar, a slightly strange man of forty who came in the store every day. He always wore the same clothes: a brown shirt with a Snoopy emblem sewn over the pocket, jeans, and sneakers. He had ugly haircuts, but he wasn’t a bad-looking man. In fact, Scott once admitted he’d sleep with Ned if someone gave him a makeover. Now he regretted making the statement, and Hannah still teased him about it. Ned always talked their ears off, mostly about the technical aspects of every film ever made. That wasn’t so bad. What was unsettling was Ned’s way of picking up personal information about each one of the employees. “Is Hannah married?” he’d asked Scott months ago. “Is Scott gay? Does he have a boyfriend?” he’d asked Hannah.

“I think Nutty Ned wants to be your main man,” Hannah had later told Scott. “Maybe he’ll get a makeover— just for you.”

“Not even with a blindfold and a case of Stoli’s would I let him touch me,” Scott had replied.

Hannah had always thought Ned was a bit peculiar, but harmless. Yet as she waited on him now, and he complained about the sound on their DVD version of A Clockwork Orange, Hannah studied him with a sudden wariness.

For the rest of the day, she regarded practically every male customer with the same apprehension: the strangers, the regulars, the ones she knew and liked, and the few who were jerks. With each man, she couldn’t help wondering if there was something more behind the simplest smile, the off-hand polite comment, or even a blank stare. Any one of those men could have been the killer in that video.

Any one of them.

“Do you know what the movie is tonight?”

The man sitting next to Hannah in film class was ruggedly handsome in a Gary Cooper kind of way. He had wavy blond hair, and blue eyes that matched his pale denim shirt. Hannah guessed he was in his mid-thirties. He’d just joined the class a couple of weeks ago. She’d noticed him looking at her several times during the last two sessions. Tonight he’d sat down next to her.

Ordinarily, she might have been flattered. But not tonight.

Slouched in his chair-desk, he grinned sheepishly at her. “Hope it’s something good,” he said. “I’m really bushed. I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep.”

Hannah gave him a cool smile. “It’s All Fall Down, with Warren Beatty and Eva Marie Saint. I’ve seen it before. It’s very good.”

He planted his elbow on the desk panel. His sleeves were rolled up. Hannah noticed his muscular arms, covered with blond hair. “By the way, my name’s Ben,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“Hannah.” She quickly shook his hand. Then she opened her spiral notebook and tried to look interested in it.

“If I start snoring during the movie, promise you’ll give me a nudge.”

She didn’t look up from her notebook. “If you’re so tired, maybe you should have sat in the back, where no one would notice you sleeping.”

“But I wanted to sit next to you.”

Hannah glanced up at him.

He smiled. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way of introducing myself to you for a couple of weeks now.”

“Well, that’s very flattering,” Hannah replied. Then she went back to her notebook. “Thanks anyway.”

“Ouch,” he whispered. “Shot through the heart.”

Hannah looked at him again. “Pardon?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

The instructor stepped up to the front of the room. “Tonight we’ll be checking out an overlooked classic from John Frankenheimer,” he announced.

Hannah tried to concentrate on what he was saying. But all the while, she felt this Ben character in the next chair looking at her. She finally turned to glare at him, but he was staring at their instructor. He actually seemed interested in the lecture.

“Frankenheimer assembled a terrific cast here,” the instructor was saying. Perched on the edge of his desk, he was the embodiment of a relaxed, confident authority figure. “They’re all at the top of their form: Beatty, Eva Marie Saint, Angela Lansbury, Karl Malden….”

His name was Paul Gulletti. He had a swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and receding black hair. He was a nice dresser, too: expensive sweaters, silk shirts, Italian footwear.

In addition to teaching a film class at the community college, Paul reviewed movies for a popular Seattle weekly newspaper. He also rented at Emerald City Video. Hannah used to think he was kind of a cocky, womanizing creep. His wife was on his account at the video store, but that didn’t stop Paul Gulletti from coming on to Hannah, her coworker Britt, and even Tish.

Hannah had been immune to his charm—until he asked her about her mini-reviews. She typed the critiques on index cards, then posted them alongside her Employee Picks for the month. Paul liked Hannah’s writing style— and her taste in movies.

“Ever think about reviewing films for a newspaper?” he asked one afternoon in the store. “The money isn’t bad….”

Paul said he received 130 dollars for every review. But he wouldn’t be reviewing movies much longer. He was preparing to direct his own independent film—as soon as the financing came through. They’d need someone to replace him at the newspaper. He said there was even more money if her reviews got syndicated in other newspapers. Was she interested?

Hannah imagined cutting back on her hours at the store and spending more time with Guy. She figured she could write under a pseudonym to keep her name out of the papers. And she loved creating those mini-reviews. It suddenly seemed possible that she could make a semi-decent dollar with her writing. Womanizing sleazeball or not, Paul Gulletti was offering her a wonderful opportunity.