Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History by Ken Liu, Tananarive Due, Victor LaValle, Nnedi Okorafor, Sofia Samatar, Sabrina Vourvoulias, Thoraiya Dyer Page B

Amber, and to think, it began with so much promise. My mother got me a job driving Amber around town in February and by summer I expected to be collecting numbers slips for him, and then Amber Hawkins fell in love with Joyce Little and became something like a lovesick pit bull puppy. Joyce’s brother Josephus got the money-making position I had my eye on and I was stuck being yelled at from the backseat as I swerved about the road. Amber was a killer, as was everybody I worked with. I tried to forget that, but sometimes it made me nervous, especially when I drove.
    I figured Joyce would turn Amber into something akin to a decent human being once they were married. Most married people I knew became boring soon as they put on the ring; they lost some of their humor and spontaneity, but I had to admit they grew a little more humanity.
    September 15, 1918: that was supposed to be the day. He booked the Civic Center for the wedding – displacing a couple that had reserved the place months before, but it was Amber Hawkins, nothing anyone could do. He ordered up nearly a hundred pastries. So many tulips arrived on the eve of the wedding that I joked a hillside in Holland suffered a sudden baldness. Hundreds of people swarmed the Civic Center that Sunday. Everything was to begin at noon. Those of us who worked for Mr. Washington, and even people who worked for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Jackson, put aside our differences to show up for Amber. Joyce’s family sat in the front. Mostly, I remember her cute little sister and the short socks resting against her tan skin. Her tall skinny father sat stoically holding the little girl’s hand. Joyce’s jellyrolled mother wiped at her wet eyes every few minutes.
    And then nothing.
    No word from Joyce up on through the wedding day. Amber made us get all dolled up and festive-like for his big humiliation.
    Josephus was the best man. He stood near the altar wearing a twisted guilty smile as he swayed back and forth fingering a big, ugly purple flower pinned to his lapel. He was an arrogant fucking shitstain, but I hated seeing him squirm.
    At about five in the evening it was clear all was lost, Amber’s father ambled to the front where Amber and Joyce should have been standing. His movements were sheepish and slow. For the first time, the ruthless killer looked as frail and as wispy as the old man he was. There were rumors that his lifestyle – the women and the whores he kept around town – had left him so syphilitic that his once sharp mind had rotted and his body was beginning to twist and fail too. I didn’t believe or engage in the talk. He’d been nothing but good to me.
    Thank you for coming, people of Cross River, Elder Mr. Hawkins said to the wedding crowd. You have been more than generous to my family and all connected with us. I’m sorry, but there will be no celebration today. Again, I thank you for spending your time with us. We all slowly dispersed that night and the next day Amber was back to work, mumbling the day’s numbers from the backseat. Never mentioned Joyce or showed any signs of sorrow or pain. I knew the sadness was there though. Had to be.
    Amber waited a month. He waited three. Then he had Joyce’s whole family killed.
    A single bullet to each of their foreheads and their bodies dumped in the Cross River. It was deep in December, near Christmas, and thin white sheets of ice skimmed along the river’s face.
    Three days after their disappearance, the family came bubbling to the surface, just as Amber wanted. The cold-hearted bastard didn’t spare even the 10-year-old girl. Amber’s own best man paid the ultimate price for his sister’s desertion.
    With Josephus dead, I expected a promotion, but he gave that to Doc Travis Griffin’s son. I let it pass without complaint; at least Amber hadn’t tasked me with taking the lives of four innocent people. Frank and Tommy did the hit, I heard, and when I saw them I watched their muddy boots and thanked the Lord I