The Hitwoman's Juggling Act

by J. B. Lynn

  When the light changed, I pulled into the first available parking lot, that of a commercial printer. Patrick pulled alongside me and lowered the window of his car. I did the same.

  “You and your brother making up for lost time by going to the zoo?” the redhead asked.

  I shrugged, wondering and worrying whether he’d seen the human skull that Ian and I had been passing back and forth. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got to talk about the job.” Patrick got out of his car and walked over to my passenger door. When he tried to open it, he realized he was locked out.

  I hesitated a moment, considering whether I wanted to let him in my car. What I really wanted was to be left alone so I could just go to sleep.

  “Don’t be like this, Mags,” he cajoled, bending down to peer at me through the window.

  Grudgingly, I hit the button to allow him entry.

  He climbed in, his green gaze examining me closely. “Are you mad at me? I didn’t mean any harm by planting the tracker.”

  “And yet you’re following me in the middle of the night like a deranged stalker,” I snapped.

  He turned away and stared out the window.

  A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between us. Finally, he said, “I understand that you’re under a lot of stress right now.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” I muttered instead of telling him exactly what he could do with his understanding.

  “Delveccio is offering you a remedy for a good portion of that,” he reminded me. “Are you going to do the job or not?”

  “I don’t even know what the job is.”

  Patrick turned in his seat, looking at me sharply. “Then what the hell were you doing there?”

  “There are no lines at the zoo in the middle of the night,” I quipped.

  “Not there,” he said impatiently. “At Frank Griffith’s place.”

  I frowned, realizing that Griffith had to be the last name of Boy’s stepfather. “I was feeding the kid.”

  Patrick stared at me. “You were just there to feed the kid?”

  I nodded.

  He rubbed the space between his eyes, as though our conversation was giving him a massive headache.

  “Frank Griffith is the job?” I guessed.

  God piped up sarcastically from between my breasts, “Your deductive reasoning powers are truly something to behold.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened at the squeaking sound. Then he closed them, as though the lizard’s vocalization was just too much for him to bear. “Yes,” he said quietly. “We have to kidnap Frank Griffith.”

  “Is someone going to pay a ransom for him?” That might explain why Delveccio was promising such a substantial payout, but frankly, seeing where the man lived, I couldn’t imagine him having any friends or family in high places.

  Patrick’s eyes snapped open. “It’s not that kind of kidnapping.”

  I know a bit about assassination, but kidnapping is outside my wheelhouse, so I asked, “What kind of kidnapping is it?”

  “The kind where we grab him, deliver him, and walk away with a massive payday.” He popped a wintergreen Lifesaver into his mouth and chewed on it.

  “Deliver him to who?” I wanted to know.

  “Whom,” God corrected. “Deliver him to whom.”

  Patrick glanced at my squeaking chest and shook his head. “To Delveccio’s…specialist.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “What kind of specialist?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Someone skilled at extracting the information Delveccio needs from Griffith.”

  “What kind of information?”

  Patrick lifted a shoulder. “That’s above my pay grade.”

  I frowned. “By extracting, you mean torture?”

  He shrugged and looked away.

  I pushed back against my seat. “I can’t torture someone.”

  He looked back at me. “No one’s asking you to.”

  “I can’t condone torture.”

  Patrick arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

  “It’s a conscientious objection kind of thing,” I explained quickly.

  The redhead remained silent.

  God did not.

  “You can kill people, but your conscience won’t allow for torture,” the lizard mocked.

  “I can’t enable suffering,” I tried to explain to them both.

  Patrick shook his head. “You’re a soft heart, Mags.” Leaning across the car, he surprised me by kissing my cheek. “It’s one of the things I love about you,” he whispered in my ear.

  He pulled back a couple of inches so that he could look me in the eye. My heartbeat tripled and every cell in my body wanted to launch myself into his arms.

  I froze, hating the fact that he had this effect on me. How just his physical proximity could override my better judgment. Still, I did possess a smidgen of the instinct for self-protection.

  “Jack thinks your girlfriend is a problem,” I blurted out.

  Patrick blinked and leaned back. “What?”

  “He wanted me to talk to you about her, but I wouldn’t let him tell me why because I have enough problems of my own.” The words tumbled out one on top of the next.

  “Breathe, Mags.” Frown lines etched themselves between his eyes. “He didn’t tell you anything?”

  “He’s worried about you. I shut him down before he could tell me why,” I admitted.

  “I’ll talk to him about it.”

  “But don’t tell him I told you,” I pleaded. I really didn’t want to get on the reporter’s bad side, considering all of the shady stuff I was involved in.

  “I won’t,” Patrick assured me. “Sleep on the kidnapping thing,” he urged. “Frank Griffith doesn’t deserve your pity or protection. You saw the kind of shape that kid is in.”

  I nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

  Patrick gave me a small smile. “You’re always full of surprises, Mags.”

  “Life is full of surprises,” I replied bitterly.

  His smile faded. “It is, and you never know what’s going to hit you next.”

  I winced as he said that, because it felt prophetic.

  11

  “We’ve got a problem,” Darlene said.

  I’d already figured that when her name had shown up on my caller ID at the crack of dawn.

  “No,” I reprimanded DeeDee, who I was in the midst of walking despite the fact the sun had just peeked over the horizon. The dog continued to strain to reach a half-eaten apple someone had tossed at the edge of the hotel parking lot.

  “Yes,” Darlene retorted. “It’s a problem.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” I explained to my sister, tugging on the Doberman’s leash, trying to lead her back inside. “What’s the problem?”

  “A social worker is coming to check on Katie this morning.”

  I froze in my tracks. “How do you know?”

  “I have my ways.” She uttered the mysterious phrase in a tone that let me know she wouldn’t be expanding on it. “You’ve got to get over here.”

  “As fast as I can,” I promised.

  “Hurry, Maggie,” Darlene urged and then disconnected the call.

  “Come on. I have to get my car keys.” I yanked on DeeDee’s leash. “It’s an emergency.”

  The dog’s ears twitched, and she bounded toward the hotel entrance, dragging me behind her like a water skier trying not to fall over.

  “Emergency! Emergency!” she barked as we entered our room.

  “Inside barks,” Piss hissed.

  “Please state the nature of your emergency?” God intoned.

  “What the hell?” Armani muttered, rolling over in bed and covering her head with a pillow.

  “Katie,” I told them all.

  I grabbed my keys, unceremoniously dumped the lizard down my bra, and told Piss, “I need you.”

  “You got it, sugar,” she assured me.

  “We’ll be back,” I told Armani and B
enny.

  “Safe. Safe. Safe,” Benny urged.

  Armani’s response was to groan.

  The dog, cat, and I raced out to the car, while God protested, “I still don’t know the nature of the emergency. What happened to Katie?”

  “Nothing yet,” I said through gritted teeth as we all piled into the car. “But a social worker is on the way to Darlene’s house.”

  “The child is well-taken care of,” the lizard opined. “She’s housed, fed, and loved.”

  “Yeah, but legally, I’m the one who is supposed to be taking care of her,” I reminded him as I started the engine and we squealed out of the parking spot. “I’m the one who has custody of her, not Darlene. If the social worker decides to remove her from the home…”

  “You can always kill the social worker,” God said dryly. “You have no problem with that, only torture.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered.

  “Kill worker no social,” DeeDee protested.

  “And the dog is the one making the most sense in this conversation,” Piss sighed tiredly. “What is happening to us?”

  “Do we know the social worker?” God asked, scrambling up to perch on my shoulder.

  “I don’t know. Darlene didn’t say.”

  “Because that could complicate things…or simplify things,” the lizard mused.

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s either gonna be simple or complicated. That’s helpful to know,” I muttered.

  “You’re both acting like you’ve eaten a lemon dipped in salt. “Did you two have a fight?” Piss asked curiously.

  “No,” God and I responded simultaneously.

  “Then can you please tone down the sniping a little bit? I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since we moved into the hotel.”

  “None of us have,” I told her.

  “Have I,” DeeDee yipped.

  “Wonderful,” God drawled. “You’re the only one who’s been able to sleep.”

  Everyone fell silent.

  As I drove toward Darlene’s place, I sincerely considered calling her back and requesting that she brew me a pot of coffee since I was still tired from my late night adventures with Ian and Patrick.

  As we approached our old neighborhood, I said, “Piss can you try to eavesdrop on the social worker?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “I could do that,” God offered.

  “I’d rather you stayed with me.” As much of a pain he could be, I do tend to depend on his counsel during trying times.

  “About what me?” DeeDee panted.

  “You can guard Katie,” I told her as we pulled past the rubble of the B&B.

  “Dog guard!” she yipped excitedly.

  “Guard dog, you drooling dunce,” God corrected.

  I parked on the street in front of Darlene’s house. With a hand on her collar, I hustled DeeDee up to the front door, leaving Piss to wait outside to watch the social worker’s arrival.

  Before I could even ring the doorbell, the front door swung open and Darlene ushered me inside. As we crossed the threshold, God dove into my bra.

  Noting the action, Darlene closed her eyes and shook her head. “Let the dog go.”

  Bending over, I released the hound, who raced away in search of her charge.

  “Do you have any coffee?” I asked hopefully.

  Darlene nodded and led the way to her kitchen. “What are we going to tell the social worker?”

  I looked out Darlene’s kitchen window at the charred remains of the B&B. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to convince him or her that I’m living there with Katie.”

  “And I don’t think Katie’s going to be great at keeping the secret that she’s lived here for a while.” Darlene handed me a mug of steaming caffeine.

  “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I floated hopefully. “Maybe they saw the story about the B&B on the news and it’s just a standard wellness check.”

  “Nothing that concerns this family is ever standard,” Darlene murmured.

  “Look,” I said defensively, “we’re just doing what Theresa wanted. She knew you’d make a better mother than me. We’re honoring her wishes.”

  Darlene shook her head. “Is that what you think? That I’m a better mother?”

  “Well, duh. I mean, you are a mother, after all; I’m just an aunt.”

  “Aunt Susan’s ‘just’ an aunt, and she was a pretty good mother,” Darlene countered. “Hell of a lot better than Mom was and let’s not even talk about Dad. Biology doesn’t always imbue someone with parenting genes.”

  Unsure of how to respond, I sipped my coffee. I agreed that Aunt Susan had done a good job raising us, even though her methods had chafed at the time, but I was unaccustomed to hearing Darlene say anything negative about our mother. Not that she was wrong about that, either, but considering the woman had spent a good portion of her adult life in mental health facilities, I wasn’t inclined to judge her for not sewing on my Girl Scout patches.

  Not that I’d ever been a Girl Scout. I’d just spent a fair amount of my childhood fantasizing about the idea of delivering happiness in the form of overpriced boxes of cookies to the masses.

  Considering the amount of Thin Mints and Samoas I buy every year, I think the least the Girls could do is make me an honorary scout due to my unflagging monetary support.

  The doorbell rang, saving me from responding to Darlene, who was waiting to see if I was going to defend Mom.

  “Showtime,” God whispered from his hiding spot as Darlene went to answer the door.

  I gulped.

  12

  I was hoping that the social worker would remind me of Mary Poppins. Instead, there was something vaguely familiar about her; Maureen MacGuire reminded me of the witch from Hansel & Gretel.

  The black-clad woman, who Darlene directed into the kitchen, oozed hostility and had a predatory gleam in her eye that only became more intent when Katie and DeeDee hurried in.

  “Aunt Maggie!” My niece launched herself at me.

  I scooped her up in a big hug and kissed her cheek, uncomfortably aware that MacGuire was cataloging my every move.

  “Say hello to Ms. MacGuire,” I prompted.

  Instead of a polite greeting, Katie took one look at the woman’s face, let out a scream of terror, and ran from the room. My niece is a pretty good judge of character.

  DeeDee growled at the social worker for frightening her protectee.

  “Easy,” I warned the dog.

  “Katie will protect I,” the dog pledged, turning and racing out of the room.

  Thankfully, the lizard down my shirt didn’t launch into a grammar lesson.

  “Coffee?” Darlene offered MacGuire.

  “Black with three sugars.” She made the request like she was placing the order at a drive-thru instead of while sitting at someone’s kitchen table.

  If it bothered Darlene, she didn’t show it. She calmly poured a cup from the pot and rummaged in a cabinet for sugar.

  “Now, Ms. Lee,” MacGuire began, giving me a hard look. “Obviously, you’re not housing the minor child where your paperwork claims to.”

  Inadvertently, my gaze jumped in the direction of the burnt remains of the B&B. “No.”

  “And you’ve left her in the care of your sister.” She glanced up as Darlene placed the coffee and sugar in front of her, but didn’t murmur a word of thanks.

  “Yes,” I admitted slowly, and then added the lie, “it’s a stop-gap measure until I’ve managed to find permanent housing.”

  “And you’re looking for that?” MacGuire asked.

  I nodded automatically, considering it was a lie I’d managed to tell everyone else easily.

  “Well, that still leaves you in violation of your custody agreement,” MacGuire declared.

  “There are extenuating circumstances,” I argued. “Our home burned down. Katie’s safe. She’s cared for.”

  MacGuire scowled. “You’re not in the position to make that kind
of assessment.”

  “Well, then who is?” I asked hotly.

  Standing behind the social worker, Darlene gave me a slight headshake, warning me to not rise to the bait, but it was too late. MacGuire already had the advantage.

  An evil grin spread over the other woman’s face. “Me. I’m the one who will assess the child’s living arrangement.”

  “You can’t let her take Katie,” Darlene said the moment the evil woman had walked out of her house. She stalked back into the kitchen, me following at her heels, and threw the remains of the witch’s brew into the sink with undue vigor.

  “I won’t.”

  “How will you stop her?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I told her. “But I’ll figure it out.”

  My sister put her hands on her hips and gave me a hard look. “Like you’re figuring out where everyone can live?”

  I frowned at her. “I’m working on it.”

  “You don’t appear to be making much progress,” Darlene complained.

  “It isn’t like I’m trying to relocate a family of four into a place with a white picket fence,” I snapped.

  “Is that you, Margaret?” Aunt Leslie, Loretta’s twin, walked in, smelling like a sweet-scented skunk. “Are you girls fighting about where we’re going to live? I’m sure Maggie will find the perfect place.” Leaning toward me, she whispered, “With space for a grow room.”

  “You can’t have a grow room,” I snapped at her. “You can’t raise kids and weed in the same space.”

  Leslie looked hurt. “I wouldn’t let the girls get into it.”

  “The social worker is going to take Katie,” Darlene told Leslie.

  I glared at my sibling. Now the whole family would know about this latest problem, which meant it would only be a matter of time before Aunt Susan summoned me.

  “Really?” I asked Darlene. “That’s what you had to broadcast?”

  “Haven’t you learned yet that whenever this family keeps secrets, it tears us apart?” my sister countered.

  “No,” I snapped. “Secrets help us to function in our own uniquely dysfunctional way.”