The Angel of Death doesn’t actually do her own killing. She hires hit men, mercenaries if you will, to do her dirty work. These are people who’ll trade a little bit of their souls for more time on this Earth. Today’s killer was chosen to take out Fredrick Simms II, an investment banker and all around jerk. Aged 45, Fredrick was on his second divorce and had screwed over more people than WorldCom and Enron combined. The Angel of Death admired his ruthlessness. But he had to go. It was just his time.
Three-time con Barry McReady was assigned the job of eliminating Fredrick. The Angel of Death laid out the plan: Barry would meet Fredrick (who was on a business trip to New Orleans) on the corner of Conti and Bourbon Streets in the French Quarter. Barry would approach Fredrick and ask for money. Then when Fredrick refused, Barry would shoot him in the stomach with a .22 snub-nosed revolver. Fredrick would bleed-out in front of total strangers and Barry would run away.
At least that is how it was supposed to happen.
But Barry had been in a loser his whole life. And on the night of his biggest job ever, he messed that up, too. The gun went off, sending Fredrick to the ground. But the gun-shot wound was too far to the right, making it, at best, superficial. Sure, Fredrick bled. But not enough to kill him. Barry looked down at the man he thought he killed and ran.
But Barry didn’t see the police car responding to the gunshot. The Ford Crown Victoria hit the running shooter and Barry’s head his the pavement. He was killed instantly.
Fredrick’s consciousness faded as he cheated death and slipped into a coma.
The Angel of Death doesn’t tolerate failure. And because of it, Barry paid with his life and soul. She looked down at Fredrick’s body on the ground. To make up for the screw up, Fredrick was rewarded with a second chance. The Angel of Death wiped Barry’s memory and slate clean.
Fredrick’s memory would come back in bits and pieces — but only the good parts. The dark side of Fredrick Simms died that night in the French Quarter. By the time he left Charity Hospital, Fredrick as a new man who had to fit back into his old world.
It wouldn’t go well.
“What’s wrong with him?” one of his partners asked.
“I don’t know. He seems, so, well you know, nice.”
“That gun shot wound took his edge. We can’t have that kind of cancer around here.”
The firm of Ruthless, Ruthless and Simms soon lost one of its founding partners. Within four months, Fredrick given a huge severance package and sent into a new life.
That night, surrounded by cardboard packing boxes, Fredrick looked where he could move. He wanted to start a new life in a new place. A place where he could start a new old life. Fredrick got on his laptop and booked a one-way flight to Mobile, Alabama.
He was going home.
Fredrick had graduated form the Mitchell College of Business at the University of Business in 1991. Talented enough to go Harvard, he did just that for grad school. He went on to earn his MBA and moved back home to make his fortune. He worked ungodly hours in a skyscraper overlooking the Mobile River shipyards. While on a weekend trip to Orange Beach, he met a young girl working in one of the souvenir shops. Her name was Stacy Duval and she whitest smile and tannest skin. After two weeks, they had gotten married and lived in Fredrick’s small bungalow near Fairhope. If passion gave off electricity, they could have lit downtown Mobile for 50 years.
But Fredrick’s dark side soon revealed itself. His ego was too big for one woman, even if she was perfect. Stacy left Fredrick and divorced him soon afterward. Fredrick left for New York. The rest is, as they say, misery.
Now a decade later, Fredrick would win her back. But proving you’re not a monster is easier said than done. He went back home in search of the first love of his life.
Stacy had remarried a year after her divorce from Fredrick to an Sergeant Stan Hughes, U.S. Army. They had a daughter named Julia after his first tour of duty in Afghanistan. But soon he was gone again. And again. And again. Three months into his third tour, the Angel of Death used the Taliban to take Stan from this world. Stacy was now a widow, divorcee and a single mom. She vowed on Stan’s casket that she would raise their daughter well.
She watched on that muggy July morning as his casket dropped down into the ground. And her heart went into the ground with it. “I’ll never love anyone again — well, other than Julia.” Stacy’s heart grew cold.
The Angel of Death watched all of this and for one of the first times ever, felt guilty. She would intervened once again.
Tourist traffic choked the idyllic streets of Fairhope. Summer was the busy season for Gulf Coast Tours and Clarence the driver cursed he tried to navigate his tour bus through the glut of cars. He felt pressure in his chest. He felt weird, almost odd. Sweat beaded his forehead and pain shot up his left arm. It was his time to go.
And the Angel of Death was handling this one personally.
The driverless bus creamed through the intersection, aiming right for Stacy and Julia in the crosswalk.
But before it could hit them, a man ran from the curb and pushed them out of the way onto the ground.
The bus creamed into a building, and tipped perilously. The man who pushed Stacy and Julia out of the way then got up and ran over to the bus to help rescue the passengers. He grabbed an extinguisher and put out a small fire. Other than Clarence the bus driver, there were no other fatalities. The Mobile Press-Register would profile the hero in Sunday’s paper. His name was Fredrick Simms. And he was just in the right place at the right time.
Stacy looked at her rescue with complete disbelief.
“Fredrick, is that you?”
She brushed sand and gravel out of her bloody knee. Tears welled in her eyes. She then started talking to herself.
“It can’t be Fredrick. He would have run the other way.”
Fredrick tenderly felt the burns on his hands. He looked at his ex-wife and the little girl with her. Tears started to swell in his eyes, too.
“Stacy? Stacy is that you?”
“You saved us.”
“You saved me.” Fredrick looked at her. “I have missed you.”
Stacy felt the pain from so many years ago stab at her heart. She started to back away.
“NO! No! I am a changed man. Promise!” Fredrick stopped and raised his shirt. A grotesque scar showed where the bullet had killed evil Fredrick.
Stacy looked at the red scar and said, “You need to get your hands looked at.”
Fredrick looked at them. They were bright red and burned. But he couldn’t feel any pain. His heart beat wildly.
“Nah. I’m alright. Can I buy your beautiful daughter an ice cream cone? It’s been a tough afternoon. Maybe even one for you?”
Julia looked at this man she once knew. Something was different about him. Something special. He now had a glow of goodness about him.
All three of them walked through the police and crowd to get ice cream. And into a new life together.
The Angel of Death smiled. It was the first time she had ever played matchmaker. It would also be the last. Yes, she would successfully come for Fredrick Simms again — just not for another 50 years.
Wow! Great story about second chances.