The Black Book, Dansy

“Would you like to tell us what really happened? And what you were doing with all that money we found on you.” The office said, placing the tape recorder in the middle of the table. I stared at that table for a while, cold and shining. The officer’s mug sat there, the words NYPD printed on the side; his aging coffee gone cold. “This is it” he says, “this is the moment to tell your story.” I smirked and replied, “A story...that’s a funny thing to call it considering the circumstances. Some might call it more of a tragedy. But you know, before a tragedy occurs, before the mistake that will end your life is made, there is a moment of hope. This moment is but a breath of time in length—that is all the time life ever gives you to choose—and, win or lose, you will live with all the weight of the decision. So maybe it should be called hope; some people call it sin.

It happened in the fall, which is a beautiful season here, though not in Southern California where I’m from. We don’t get fall out there, we get breeze. I was taking a walk through the park. You know the one, with the little house by the lake, as I normally do after a night like the one I had; wondering where my life was headed, or really just trying to think of anything except that thing which has brought me here, that...sin. But it was there and I knew it; always there in the back of my mind like a warning light in a car; that thought: murder. Those kinds of thoughts are long ones. They take time and require meditation, but once the first step is well thought out and every base has been covered, it really just begins to build itself now doesn't it? Oh...I suppose maybe you wouldn’t know too much about that. I guess you can figure it wasn’t premeditated, like the others, because before you can have that..sin, you first have to find opportunity. And of all the things to occur on that day, I never once expected opportunity, but then there it was! So how could it ever be premeditated when life, or fate if you believe in it, just arrives and greets you with such certainty?

He was sitting on the bench, cold and lonely, but somehow attentive, as if he were searching for someone. And he must have been because the moment he saw me he shouted in joy, “Dansy!” Now, as you know that name does not belong to me, so you could imagine my shock when he rushed over to embrace me. I still remember his touch, small and fragile, skin wrinkled and spotted from almost a century in the sun. I tried to tell him, I promise I did, but he wouldn’t hear it. He rushed me over to the bench and proceeded to tell me all about how frightened he was for me, for...Dansy, and I was about to leave when he suddenly mentioned the money. Now, I’m not a greedy person, officer, but I am also not a foolish one. If you live long enough in this world as a minority you find quite quickly that the picket fence was not promised to you and yours. So as I’m sure you could imagine, when he pulled out the money and the words $20,000 came from his lips, why...I couldn’t very well bring myself to move an inch. As I listened I’d found that I…“Dansy”, had been in some sort of trouble and needed the money to get away and assume a new life somewhere far, where I could not be traced. What amazing fortune it was! As I was just thinking, in relation to my thoughts of murder, about the need to get far away and become someone new! You see now! You see why it was more than fate! It was an opportunity. This moment was made for me. The old man wasted no time passing the money over to me, and no sooner than the split second it took me to decide to run off, did he suddenly clench the money back toward himself! I looked at his face and on it he had a slight sense of horror and realization, as if he had been dreaming and had been awakened by reality; I suppose the reality that I was not the person he thought I was. You should have seen the fear on his face. “You’re not Dansy!” he shouted, “Who are you?! Who are you?! What have you done to Dansy?! Did you kill Dansy?!” Shouting and shouting! I was frightened, if you could imagine someone such as myself, being in that sort of state. You see, I, for reasons you and I both know, did not want anyone to hear. Suddenly, carried away by the spirit of the moment, my hands were around his throat, and with every bit of strength I had I squeezed until the fear in him stopped. I just wanted him to Stop! Stop! Stop!” I screamed as I slammed my hands down on the table in the interrogation room. The officer didn’t flinch, he just stared at me. I resumed, “Soon, he did stop...and then he’d lay there...and he‘d stay there...and he would never shout again.” My breathing digressed from labored to steady as I continued, “I reached for the bag of money of money, naturally. And all I could think of was my need to get away! And of murder! Everywhere, always, just...murder! I dashed away, as quickly as I could, clutching the bag. When I felt far enough to safety, I stopped to breathe. Is it wrong to say I felt alive, as if I was truly living and not simply existing? Maybe you’d want to know that, for your report. Murder is exhilarating, especially when it is as spontaneous as this one was. I decided in that moment to look into the bag, at the opportunity I had been given to be free, and that was when I found the little black book...

Not long after, I planned my escape. I needed a new identity and passport to travel safely to another country, and a friend I did time with had a brother who could help with that sort of thing, so I went to see him, and well, I suppose you know the rest of the story. I suppose you all tracked me there and brought me here, and now you know how I got the money. It’s a relief really, to be caught after all these years. Murder is thrilling, as I’ve said before, but the wait to be caught, that is where the anxiety is. But alas you have caught me!” The officer glanced at the one way mirror to the left of him, rubbing the back of his neck as if amazed, then the officer began, “I think you should have your lawyer present to explain-“ I cut him off, “I do not see the point of a lawyer, the facts are all here.” “Well, is there anything else you’d like to add?” He asked. “Only that I can’t tell you why I committed most of the murders. I’ve only given details on the old man, but really the others were no more premeditated than his was. I thrive quite well on opportunities, you see. I would not have even killed him if it hadn't been for the money. I knew you all were hot on my tracks, narrowing your suspects down for the other murders. I read about it in the papers. So getting out of town was my only way free. So really, I had to do it. It was for survival really. Ah! There is your reason, survival. Has history not proven that murder is always permissable if it is committed in the act of survival? Wars, genocides, all under the guise of survival.”

The officer looked at me, almost in amazement and shock. “Does my lack of remorse disturb you?” I asked. “...I am shocked, I will say.” the officer replied. “Did the...well...” he stumbled, “Did the what?!” I spouted, quite annoyed by his lack of lust for my confession. “Did the officer who arrested you not tell you why we brought you in?” I thought for a moment, but could not remember the exact charges he mentioned. “Of course he did! And I know why I’m here! I have confessed! Is there more you want from me?!” He appeared to compose himself then, and with what one might call a grin, he replied, “No, I suppose not. And to clarify, you have waived your right to have a lawyer present?” For this I expressed my agreement. “Well, then this is the most unusual of cases. For many reasons, the most alarming being that you were brought in for attempting to purchase a false identity, which is illegal. The police raided that place, not to find you, but because we had been monitoring the activity there, and we were finally able to make an arrest. But a confession for multiple murders...well, we simply were not aware you were linked to any. I think we have all we need now.” He said as he stopped the recorder. He called in another officer to take me into holding. Before leaving the room, the officer stopped us, “Wait, I am wondering one thing though, you mentioned a small black book earlier, one you found on the old man, I’m curious to know what was in it.” And with feelings of both irony and defeat I replied, “Well, I think I’ve told you enough stories for today.”