I first met Silas Merrick in the summer of 1855, when he was still living in New York City. He was tall and thin, with ashen hair and dark eyes. His clothes were well-worn and dusty, and he smelled like gunpowder and sweat. He had been an army scout for General Zachary Taylor during the Mexican War and was now in town on leave from his regiment. He'd come to see me because he needed a job and had heard that I was looking for men to work as guards. He told me that he was a former soldier who had taken up bounty hunting as a means of supplementing his income, and that he could do most any kind of job, no matter how dangerous or unpleasant.
Since then, working under my employ, Silas Merrick had killed no less than five men. Professional, natural talent, excellent marksman. I gave him his orders and he followed them without hesitation, caring for nothing but money. He was also a terrible drunkard, but this did not bother me much.
In 1858 one of his bounties fought back—Merrick took a knife to the face, which nearly cost him an eye. The man then proceeded to rob a bank and fled into the wilderness. Merrick tracked him down, shot him dead, and came to me to collect the reward. That was the last time I saw Merrick, bleeding and bandaged, walking through the door of my office with a sack full of gold coins.
He hadn't changed much thorough the years—biggest difference was the jagged scar now marring his cheek. He came by my office unannounced, looking for work.
"Ah, Mr. Merrick," I greeted him. "I see your face has healed well."
"You look good yourself, Garrett. How's business?"
"Business is fine. I have several assignments that need doing, and you can be one of them if you're willing. But first let me give you something to drink. Would you like a whiskey? I have some good Kentucky bourbon here, just in from New Orleans."
"Yeah, I'll take two glasses," he said. "And a cigar, too."
The liquor was strong and fiery; the cigars were excellent. When we had both finished our drinks and lit up, Merrick got right to the point. "So what kind of job do you want done?" he asked.
"I'll ask you a question first, Mr. Merrick. Is there anything you wouldn't do for money? Anything too dirty or immoral? Any personal scruples, ethical hang-ups, religious beliefs, any prejudices against, well, anything really? No matter how repugnant, are you willing to sin to get paid?"
He was silent awhile. He took a puff on his cigar.
Then he said, "No, Garrett. There ain't nothing I won't do for the money. It don't make no difference to me who it's for, as long as they pay. If I have to kill an innocent child, well..."
"This job is not about killing, Mr. Merrick," I informed him. "May I count on your services?"
"How much's the reward?"
I told him. He stared at me silently for a while, then nodded. "That's a lot of money, Garrett," he said.
"It is," I nodded.
"What exactly does this job entail? What are we talking about? Wh—"
"Not too fast, Mr. Merrick," I interrupted his inquiries. "For this sum of money, are you willing to do anything I tell you?"
"Anything," he replied without hesitation, greed glinting in his eyes.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Good," I said. "You're hired. Come here. Closer."
He did, coming around the desk and standing before me now with only a foot between us. Up close he seemed even taller and more gangly than from afar. His clothes and his hair smelled like gunpowder and dust. His hands were strong and calloused, but clean. And when he looked straight at me (his eyes were a dark brown with flecks of gold in them. They reminded me of how coal burns), there was no fear, no doubt or trepidation—only the naked lust for money. I reached out, put my hand on his cheek. It felt like dried leather. "Get on your knees, Mr. Merrick," I ordered, tracing the shape of his scar with my thumb.
His narrow lips twitched in something of a snigger—then he scowled, realising what he's gotten himself into, "You want me to... Damn you, Garrett," he hissed, indignant, "I ain't a whore."
"That's exactly what you are," I said. "You will suck my cock and you will get paid for it. Do you want to get paid?"