Hit Man

songs were for drinking and feeling really rotten about it.
    “ ’Nother damn day,” said a voice at Keller’s elbow.
    He knew who it was without turning. He supposed he might have recognized the voice, but he didn’t think that was it. No, it was more a recognition of the inevitability of it all. Of course it would be Yarnell, making conversation with him in this bar where no one made conversation with anyone. Who else could it be?
    “ ’Nother damn day,” Keller agreed.
    “Don’t believe I’ve seen you around.”
    “I’m just passing through.”
    “Well, you got the right idea,” Yarnell said. “Name’s Bart.”
    In for a pound, in for a ton. “Dale,” Keller said.
    “Good to know you, Dale.”
    “Same here, Bart.”
    The bartender loomed before them. “Hey, Hobie,” he said. “The usual?”
    Yarnell nodded. “And another of those for Dale here.” The bartender poured Yarnell’s usual, which turned out to be bourbon with water back, and uncapped another beer for Keller. Somebody broke down and fed the jukebox a quarter and played “There Stands the Glass.”
    Yarnell said, “You hear what he called me?”
    “I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “Called me Hobie,” Yarnell said. “Everybody does. You’ll be doing the same, won’t be able to help yourself.”
    “The world is a terrible place,” Keller said.
    “By God, you got that right,” Yarnell said. “No one ever said it better. You a married man, Dale?”
    “Not at the moment.”
    “ ‘Not at the moment.’ I swear I’d give a lot if I could say the same.”
    “Troubles?”
    “Married to one woman and in love with another one. I guess you could call that trouble.”
    “I guess you could.”
    “Sweetest, gentlest, darlingest, lovingest creature God ever made,” Yarnell said. “When she whispers ‘Bart’ it don’t matter if the whole rest of the world shouts ‘Hobie.’ ”
    “This isn’t your wife you’re talking about,” Keller guessed.
    “God, no! My wife’s a round-heeled, mean-spirited, hard-hearted tramp. I hate my damn wife. I love my girlfriend.” They were silent for a moment, and so was the whole room. Then someone played “The Last Word in Lonesome Is Me.”
    “They don’t write songs like that anymore,” Yarnell said.
    The hell they didn’t. “I’m sure I’m not the first person to suggest this,” Keller said, “but have you thought about—”
    “Leaving June,” Yarnell said. “Running off with Edith. Getting a divorce.”
    “Something like that.”
    “Never an hour that I don’t think about it, Dale. Night and goddam day I think about it. I think about it and I drink about it, but the one thing I can’t do is do it.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “There is a man,” Yarnell said, “who is a father and a best friend to me all rolled into one. Finest man I ever met in my life, and the only wrong thing he ever did in his life was have a daughter, and the biggest mistake I ever made was marrying her. And if there’s one thing that man believes in it’s the sanctity of marriage. Why, he thinks divorce is the dirtiest word in the language.”
    So Yarnell couldn’t even let on to his father-in-law that his marriage was hell on earth, let alone take steps to end it. He had to keep his affair with Edith very much Back Street. The only person he could talk to was Edith, and she was out of town for the next week or so, which left him dying of loneliness and ready to pour out his heart to the first stranger he could find. For which he apologized, but—
    “Hey, that’s all right, Bart,” Keller said. “A man can’t keep it all locked up inside.”
    “Calling me Bart, I appreciate that. I truly do. Even Lyman calls me Hobie and he’s the best friend any man ever had. Hell, he can’t help it. Everybody calls me Hobie sooner or later.”
    “Well,” Keller said. “I’ll hold out as long as I can.”
    Alone, Keller reviewed his options.
    He could kill Lyman Crowder. He’d be keeping it simple, carrying out the mission as it had been given to him. And it would solve everybody’s problems. June and Hobie could get the divorce they both so desperately wanted.
    On the downside, they’d both be losing the man each regarded as the greatest thing since microwave popcorn.
    He could toss a coin and take out either June or her husband, thus serving as a sort of divorce court of last resort. If it came up heads, June could spend the rest of her life cheating on a ghost. If it was tails,