The Business of Disappearing

“Seth? You’re up.”

The words hung in the air, waiting for a response.

The door had just swung open in acknowledgement of Jamison’s knock. A man, thinly framed and sweaty was on the other side of it. He had his hoodie on – hood up. He said nothing.

Jamison let the words sit – only now realizing that the client hadn’t the breath to respond even if he had known what to say.

A moment passed while Jamison expected a follow up – it did not come. He stood firm, waiting for the client to catch his breath. It was not uncommon for them to take a minute. The client finally conceded:

“Sorry, what?”

A ridiculous question, mainly because Jamison knew the client damn well knew what this was all about.

“You’re up.” Jamison came back, uttered with the same tone and business-like drawl as it had been before: Simple and absolute. “You are Seth, correct?”

This time the client was slightly more alert to the words.

“Oh. Okay, alright. Yes. That’s me.” He said, almost whispering. “What next?”

Answering this question was half of Jamison’s job. The other part was the driving. He much preferred the driving. Though, over the years, he found the best way to explain the process was to put it all out there at once. It was easiest to barrel through and not let the client interrupt.

“Well,” Jamison spoke with the clinical efficiency of a doctor who had to break bad news, “you’re going to gather one bag. Just one. While you do that, I’m going to take a look around. I’ll see what we need to clean, if anything. I’ll make a note of everything we might have to add or get rid of here. I’ll send that to my boys who will do the rest.”

He paused briefly to make sure the message was sinking in. The client nodded just slightly enough to confirm.

“Then you and I will come back out here and down these back stairs to the bottom of the apartment building. A van is there. You will get in the back and stay quiet.”

The client remained silent, his head simply bowing. Jamison preferred this quiet shock. It let him get through his speech much faster.

“Then we will drive. It will be a long journey. There are some snacks back there, but eventually, we’ll get far enough away that we can stop at a diner or something. Ultimately you will end up in Nebraska – out in the woods, in a cabin. Alright?”

Customarily, Jamison let the words sit, just as he had when the client had opened the door to him. He waited for a response, though sure to take a few moments, as the words Jamison said needed their time to sink in. This would be the last respite Jamison would give the client. The work would begin upon acceptance.

“Oh…okay.” The words came back a little more haunted than Jamison had been used to. But it began nonetheless.

“Go on now.” Jamison commanded.

The client reluctantly recoiled back into the foyer of his own home and looked about for a bag. Jamison began to take in the scene.

The apartment was neat, orderly, and very spacious. Two medium length couches stocked a marble walled living space – both paying homage to the ridiculous flat screen TV to the left of the doorway. Large windows framed the wall opposite the entry. Specialized blackout curtains mostly did their jobs, but there was a thin column of light from the city that crept in. Jamison quickly walked across and squeezed the curtains till nothing could be seen in or out.

He moved his way through the rest of the apartment – the bedroom, the bathrooms, and the like; each spacious and grand. Each holding nothing of note. He finally pulled to the side of the man, who seemed to be finishing up his task.

 “You ready?” The bluntness of the question seemed to catch the client off guard.

“I think so.”

“Come on then.”

Jamison led the way with the client herded behind him, mimicking an upgraded pace that Jamison had taken. As they weaved through the spectacular apartment, Jamison pretended not to notice the man taking it in – It would be the last time he saw it, or anything like it. They reached the front door again – Jamison swung it open.

“Is there anything you guys need to do here?” The man plead more than asked. “You know, to the place?”

“Don’t think so. Looks good now. We’ll have someone double check though. Come on.” Jamison grabbed the nostalgic man by the shoulder and pulled him gently out the door. “There’s nothing for you to worry about here anymore.”

As Jamison stated earlier, they moved through the hall past the ornate elevators and to the stairway at the end. There was less of a chance they would be seen going down the stairs – especially from this high up.

Both men sighed heavily as they began the move down the floors. Presumably for very different reasons. For the client, this was the beginning of the end of his old life. For Jamison, it was simply a lot of stairs. The only noise was the echo of their steps as the two went down, step by step, floor by floor.

By the time they reached the bottom, both men had broken such a sweat that the normally harsh entrance into the bitterness of the city night was more relief than imposition. True to his word, Jamison had a van parked right by the sidewalk. It was pale white and had little to no markings on it. It was more professional looking than a typically run-down creep van, but not by much. He wasted no time in moving towards it, the client in tow. He pulled the latch– the door obliged and slid back.

“Get in.” Jamison said. “No time to waste.” Jamison added the last part to emphasize that the time to look around was over. Thankfully, the man conceded with a small nod, and stepped in. He sat down in his car seat obediently and looked at Jamison for further instruction.

Jamison noted that this was the first time he really looked at the man. And, in the study of his face, began to discern in his face that he was younger than Jamison had pegged him to be - much younger. Maybe in his late teens. He shook it off.

“Alright. Get comfy. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.” Jamison said.

He shut the door and deftly moved to the driver’s side door. He opened it, got in, and quickly turned the key. The vehicle shuddered to life. He contorted his upper body to look back at Scott.

“You’ll find the papers on the floor there. Just tap me if something doesn’t look right.” Without waiting for a response. He turned his head back toward the road and began to shuttle off.

“Okay… Thank you, sir.” Was the response a few moments later.

Jamison was in the business of getting rid of people. More specifically, it was taking people who were in harm’s way – no matter who – out of harm’s way, so long as they had the money to cover it. This was done by getting someone “off the grid.” He and his team would take someone, give them a new name, a new social security number, and a new solitary life. It was essentially witness protection for those who wanted it, rather than needed it. If someone was in danger of being killed, abducted, tortured or arrested – Jamison was the man to speak to - if they were lucky enough to know how. Though by nature, those who knew how were not good people

Jamison had been in this business for years, transporting a little less than a thousand people out of harm’s way. Murderers, drug lords, gangsters, thieves, hitmen, etc. You name it: if they could pay, Jamison would take them. He asked only a few things of the person who called (it was always a call – only his number had been selectively given out in the circles of the uber wealthy). First, that they pay up front. Next, that they give their name, pickup address, and an honest account of why his services were required.

Such was the case of the man in the backseat. Another millionaire who had gotten in deep, deep trouble. Seth – the client – called just a few hours prior. Apparently, he had drunkenly stabbed a man to death in the back alley of a club. Though he did not say why, nor did Jamison care. The fact was that after the client had done this, he looked up to find a CCTV camera looking right at him.

Thus, he spent the next hours frantically searching for a way out – asking everyone he was close to. Such is usually the cycle; it must have been another crook or creep with something to hide that gave him Jamison’s number – and here they now sat. Jamison now in the middle of a workday, and the client in the middle of a life-altering move.

As Jamison drove through the night, he was thankful for the relatively smooth outing this had been. He thought of how the hard part of his job was not so hard this time. Occasionally, Jamison had met clients who were calmer – resigned to their new lives, or eager to move on. But Jamison did have to admit he was struck by this one. He could tell the usual exasperation had its hold on the man, but without the usual hysterics of one who’s used to having so much getting it taken away. As he thought more of it, there was also a working-class obedience in his initial interactions with the client.

“So, everything look good back there?” Jamison broke the long silence. It had been a few hours of midnight driving. By now, nobody was on the road.

“Oh. Yes.” Echoed to the front.

“Good. We’re just about halfway through Ohio. At this point it’s safe to say there’s probably nobody on to us.” Jamison said.

“Good.” Came back. Jamison admitted to himself that he wished to have gotten back a little more.

“So,” he began to prod “we’ll probably stop somewhere in Indiana if that works. Couple hours. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“You know – usually the fellas I pick up either won’t talk no matter what or won’t stop talking. You’re quiet, but not too quiet. You know?” As Jamison finished his sentence, he could hear an uncomfortable shift coming from the back seat. A muted voice replied:

“I don’t have anything to say I guess, but I can talk. If you want me to. I don’t know.”

“Your name’s Seth, right?” Jamison pressed, not fully sure as to why.

“Yes sir.”

“Why are you calling me sir? How old are you?” Jamison asked, reminded once again of the youth in the client’s face.

“19 – I’ll stop if you want. Just, I don’t know your name.” Seth was

“And you won’t.” Jamison spoke matter-of-factly. “But - I don’t mean to pry, but most people don’t need me…so young.”

“Oh.” Came the response, confirming that Jamison was prying indeed. Jamison retreated.

“Sorry, kid. Just, not used to…kids. And frankly you’re a little more obedient than most.” It was now Jamison’s turn to shift uncomfortably, especially as there was no response from the back. At least for a while. “How can you pay for this anyways?”

“Inheritance. From my parents.” Seth said back, with nothing else added. Thus, provoking another small silent period.

“So, why’d you do it?” Jamison trudged on. A moment passed. A small sniffle preceded the lines that came next.

“I…didn’t mean to.” Seth said, intrinsically knowing what Jamison meant.

“Ah.” Jamison said as he digested. “I guess often that is the way it goes. But it is what it is.”

Jamison pressed for more details – at this point the coy nature of the client had moved Jamison to be more inquisitive.

“So, caught at a club huh? On camera? Party a little too hard with all that money?” The comment was a little more condescending than Jamison had intended.

“No sir.” Seth said, a little more together now. Though he did not know Jamison took the words as if they were an insult. He turned his head around to clearly view the client.

“No sir?” Jamison spat. “You telling me you lied to me on the phone?”

Immediately panicked at Jamison’s new tone, Seth defended himself:

“Oh, no. Just about the place. Please, Just that. I still need help – this isn’t anything wrong for you.”

Jamison felt the betrayal of trust as a threat to his own safety. He had to make sure this wasn’t the reality. His voice rose, “Listen boy you better tell me what’s real here and what’s not real quick or I will drop you off right here and call the police myself.” It was no longer a matter of interest for Jamison in the situation of Seth, but a matter of immediate need-to-know.

There was no latency in Seth’s response.

“Listen. I did. I mean I killed someone okay. That’s that. But it was in a church. I promise. Not a club. Everything I said is above board – I just. I panicked. Thought you might be a religious type. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scared and was thinking stupid.”

“The religious type?” was all Jamison managed to say back as he digested the information. He simmered on it silently – still driving, but stewing. Jamison spent 30 seconds or so saying nothing – he could tell that Seth was anxiously awaiting a decision from his driver.

“Anything else?” Jamison said with a sigh. “Cause I will find out, and remember, I will be the only one who knows where you are. So, is there anything else?”

“No sir.”

The response was so full of fear that Jamison knew it was the truth. He sighed another deep sigh and resolved to move past the revelation. In the end, it did not matter much for his job, but he did not like being lied to – especially when it comes to business. He did feel the need, and the right, to ask why.

“So. Why lie? Why call me? This is need to know now.”

“I…” Seth started, but then elected to regroup. He started again.

“I went to church – with my Aunt. First time in a while. A long while. I…. the pastor was someone I knew as a kid.” Again he paused and regrouped. “Someone they told me went away. I guess he came back, and I guess he noticed that I was there. That I was trying to find my faith again.” Seth stopped there, exasperated. He took a deep breath and resumed.  “He winked at me… and he… I…” The sniff was back.

The weight of Seth’s words hit Jamison with a weight he hadn’t encountered in all his life. He needed not to say anything else – though he did.

“I went back later, and I was so mad that I…” He did not need to say what they both knew. So he skipped the deed. “As I walked out – I saw the cameras on the building.”

Seth shut down after that. Jamison only heard a soft, somber sob coming from the back.

Jamison’s emotions backflipped into a state of deep depressive shock at the thought of this boy’s predicament. He genuinely did not know what to say. In all his years doing this job, he had never come across this kind of job. Someone who needs to be moved - made “missing,” though probably didn’t deserve to. If what he said was true, how could Jamison blame the kid? How could anyone? He must be telling the truth – there was no reason not to. It wracked Jamison’s brain.

“I’m sorry,” was all Jamison could mutter. “I’m so sorry.”

It was silent after that. Neither of them said a word for hours. When Jamison passed by a diner in rural Indiana, they stopped to eat. They sat in silence. Seth now only looked guiltily down at his food. Jamison eyed him and noticed the lost look in his face. He guessed that it was the same look that met him when Seth opened the door to let him in. Though, he did not note it then.

The truth was that Jamison always believed himself as a puzzle solver rather than an enabler. Most of the puzzles he solved depicted some angry, wrathful man in the end – but it was still the pieces going into shape that Jamison found comfort in. Jamison felt as though he was breaking an ornate glass sculpture now – complicit in the uprooting of a boy.

When he dropped Seth off at his new log cabin home in the woods of Nebraska, he went over the code of conduct with Seth. Seth was to do nothing with anyone - no strangers, no friends, nothing to do with anyone – at least for a year or so. He was to live a solitary life, for now at least. It was all he could do with the money he had left anyways.

Seth looked at his new home and said, “Thank you sir.” Jamison could tell he did not mean it this time.

“You’re welcome,” was all Jamison thought to say. As he climbed back into his van and started the engine, he looked at the motionless Seth, standing in front of his new home.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered.

Jamison was in the business of getting rid of people. Over his career he had transported a little less than a thousand people out of harm’s way. These were murderers, drug lords, gangsters, thieves, hitmen, and one boy Jamison felt to be entirely innocent. It was his last client. Though, like the others, his life was broken all the same.