Hannibal Rising

“For me it is a job. I have no feelings one way or the other. I kill and I am paid and that is all there is.”

“God,” Samantha said.

“How can you believe after all that has happened?” the young man asked her. “Be mature. There is no Dieu, no God. It is a fiction told children so they will not be scared of the dark.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I have been called that before. I take it as a compliment. I would rather see life for what it is than live as another of the sheep.”

“You have a low opinion of your fellow man.”

“It could not be lower,” the young assassin said.

“What happened to make you this way? Surely there must be a shred of decency somewhere deep inside of you?”

“You are a silly woman.”

Tom said, “How much are you and your sister being paid?”

“I told you not to talk.”

“Hear me out on this. It will be worth your while.” Tom leaned toward him. “Whatever you’re being paid to kill us, I’ll pay you double not to. Hell, I’ll pay you triple.”

“Where would you get the money? It is my understanding you have very little of your own.”

“When I win the inheritance—”

The young man cut him off with a short bark of annoyance. “What of your sister and your other brother? What if they win?”

“That’s simple,” Tom said. “You and your sister will watch over them for me while I hunt for the chest. What do you say?”

“I say you are a pig.”

Tom colored and balled his fists but he had the presence of mind not to do anything.

“How could you, Tom?” Sam asked.

“Go to hell.”

The undergrowth cracked and snapped and Theodore Pickleman appeared. He was holding his valise and muttering to himself.

Fargo went to shout a warning but Samantha beat him to it.

“Theodore! Run! This is one of the killers!”

The lawyer stopped and looked up as if in alarm. He stared at them and then at the young assassin and then he did the last thing Fargo expected: he smiled. “I see you have matters well in hand, Jacques.”

“Oui,” the young man said.

“You are proving to be worth every dollar.”

“What the hell?” Tom Clyborn blurted.

“You always were the slow one,” Pickleman said. He walked around them and stood next to Jacques. “It is turning out better than I dared hope.”

“Ou est ma soeur?”

“Eh? Your sister? Julienne is taking care of the other one.” Pickleman placed the valise on the ground and beamed at Samantha and Tom. “My French is rusty but I get by.”

Samantha’s eyes were as wide as walnuts. “Not you.”

“Yes, me,” the lawyer said. “From the very beginning. I must admit it has been exhilarating.”

“What do you hope to gain?”

Pickleman sighed. “Weren’t any of you paying attention when I read the terms of the will? If none of you find the chest, then none of you inherit. All of your father’s money and vast holdings are to be administered to benefit the poor and the needy.”

“I remember that, yes. What about it?”

Pickleman rocked on his heels and chuckled in glee. “Who do you think does the administering?”

“Oh God,” Sam said.

Tom was looking from her to the attorney and back again. “Oh God what? What is this all about?”

Pickleman answered him. “What it has always been about. Money. Millions and millions of dollars. Millions I will get to do with as I see fit.”

Tom couldn’t hide his bewilderment. “What are you talking about? If we don’t get the money it’s supposed to go to the poor.”

“Try and follow me on this,” the lawyer said with the air of an elder to a ten-year-old. “In the event that none of his children found the chest, your father appointed me executor of his estate in perpetuity. Yes, he stipulates in the will that the money is to go to the poor but I get to decide who exactly they are. You see, your father didn’t care about that aspect. He never really expected it to come to that, I imagine.”

“Wait,” Tom said. “You’re saying that you take over everything ?”

“Congratulations. You’re finally getting it.”

“That can’t be. There must be laws against it.”

“Honestly, Thomas. How you manage to get dressed without help is beyond me? Certainly, there are laws. But I’m a lawyer. I wrote up the will for your father. Every clause, every word, in such a way that after I’ve disposed of all of you, your father’s estate and bank accounts become mine to do with as I please.”

“It won’t work. Someone will catch on.”

“Who? The sheriff? The marshal? What cause would they have to suspect me? I assure you that the will is entirely and thoroughly legal. Not that your father read every word. He trusted me, and he could never be bothered to read a document all the way through. So I managed to slip in a few clauses he wasn’t aware of.” Pickleman laughed.

“But it has to go to charity,” Tom persisted.

“Oh, and some of it will. To charities I set up under the table, as it were. Your mansion will become a charitable asset, and as such, mine to live in while I administer the estate.” Pickleman rubbed his hands together. “Yes, sir. If I draw it out, I figure it will take a good forty to fifty years to do the administering.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Now, now. Keep a civil tongue or I’ll have Jacques, here, cut it out. He would, you know. He’ll do anything I ask of him. Isn’t that right, Jacques?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

Fargo had listened to enough. “There are a few things I’m cloudy on yet,” he admitted.

“Such as?” Pickleman said.

“Why did Jacques and his sister jump me that night on the Yancy?”

“Why else? I knew Sam had sent for you and I didn’t want to run the risk of you finding the chest before I disposed of the heirs. I could have had them killed before this, I suppose, but the hunt was a perfect pretext. I’ll say that Tom was to blame, that in his greed and his rage he murdered the others.”

“Damn you,” Tom snarled, and coiled to throw himself at the attorney.

“Don’t,” Sam said, restraining him. “You’ll be dead before you take a step.”

Fargo wasn’t done. “Then if you hired these two, who hired Cletus Brun and Anders?”

“I hired Brun,” Tom said. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Actually,” Pickleman said, “if you’ll recall, I was the one who recommended Brun to you. All the time he was working for me. I hired him and Anders, both.”

“What?” Samantha and Tom said at the same time.

They weren’t the only ones taken aback by the news. Jacques stiffened and said, “Did I just hear right? You hired my sister and me andyou hired those two clods?”

“As insurance, you might say,” Pickleman said. “In case you and your sister failed.”

“We never fail.”

“So I was told but I couldn’t take the risk. I hired you and I hired them but I never told either of you about the other.” Pickleman thought that was humorous. “It never occurred to me that you and your sister might catch on to them and kill them, thinking they worked for one of the Clyborns.”

Sam said, “I was wrong about your assassin being a monster. You’re the monster here, Theodore. You