The Hit Woman's Assassination Handbook

by Jane Brooke

  Touches on Arvans face, pushes a strand of greased hair from it, control him, set the hook a little deeper.

  Do something. Okay I will.

  “What would I do with out you Arvan?”

  Arvan, deer in the head lights and all in love and such is irate with what Sue done to her. He feels her breath on his nose, making him dizzy.

  “Betty, ya listen. Don’t knowed why Sue done what she done. But like I said, afore. Ya jest wait a coupla days. When me and Billy get back from Corpus Christie, things gonna be different here.”

  Touches her face, tabac stained teeth, Mandal doesn’t mind. Switch back.

  Poor Arvan. Poor fucked up Arvan.

  “Lotta folks gonna get what they got commin’, specially Sue. Ya understand?”

  Blue eyes, seeing his sincerity sewn on his face, eyes, no matter, same girl who just learned her best friend now lives in a dumpster.

  Fuck it, let’s put Arvan there too, Maybe Sue, fuck it, stack I’m up, like cord wood. Last one sucking up oxygen gets out alive.

  “Oh Arvan, your so...so wonderful. I feel....I feel...so.”

  Sniffle, sniffle, her good eye droops as does her chin.

  His greased finger, under her dainty quivering chin, he lifts it level.

  “What Betty. What da ya feel?”

  Gulp, sniffle, so scared, fucked up battle wounds on her face.

  Why would anyone want to hurt such an innocent child?

  Let get into Arvans head like a garbage disposal gobbling up his brain.

  “I...I feel so safe, with you, Arvan. I’m not scared when you’re here. I...I...I think I need you...so much...I know I’m not much, bu...but I ain’t nothin’ much...”

  Tear, or two, sniffle, sniffle, sniffle, boo hoo, boo hoo hoo.

  “Betty, yer a lot...Ya ain’t nothin’...Beat up some...But yer still real pretty...I thin...I love ya.”

  She swoons.

  Southern Belle eyelashes lowered, back of the hand to her forehead, she feigns dizziness, groans in real time, not imaginary pain.

  But that’s not the grift. Something new needs to be done.

  “Betty, darlin’ ya okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Arvan, It’s just.”

  Where did I put those fucking white gloves?

  Pentium 4, gobbling up data, numbers, equations, digits, Arvans fucking digits.

  “I just think...Well, maybe a hot bath...Some rest...I don’t feel that good...Would you mind terribly if I...I...took a bath right now...was along day, be alone, fer a bit?”

  FER? Nice touch.

  Arvan slaps his forehead.

  “A course.”

  His eyes click, peek past her, at the wall. She sees it, already knows it’s part of the plan. It’s time to set the hook in so deep he’ll never get it out.

  Watching his eyes jerking off at the wall behind her, she thinks.

  So much for true love.

  She knows exactly what he is looking at behind her on the wall.

  “A course Betty. A hot tub, some rest, da ya still feel like ya did afore...ya knowed...California...ya...me?”

  “Well...I guess...I need my car fixed...ya could show yer love that way, Arvaaaan.”

  “Okay Betty.”

  Eye ticks at the wall, back, more circle jerks of the eyes, back at his love queen.

  “Promise ya, Betty, fast as I can, tagether, you, me, okay, Arvan will take care of ya, forever, ya take that bath now, okay?”

  Tears, wiped away. She takes both of his hands, leans in, brushes lips on his cheek. She smells mouth tobacco, backs off, whispers. “We’ll see, Arvan, okay...I’m going to take my bath right this very minute, okay darlin’?”

  Darlin?

  With his eyes glued to her exposed tiny tummy, hip bones jutting against her hip huggers, she knows exactly what she will do next; it’s time to get jiggy.

  Arvan stands, seems real interested in her gettin’ that bath, moves to the door, turns, say’s. “Don ferget about that bath...You and me...Right Betty”?

  Broken smile, nods of love, grin returns, bulge in the Levi’s, grin, another smile, door closes, she flops on the bed, groans, pain coming from every angle. She moans, sighs and closes her eyes, her cunt feeling like it has a drill bit drilled into it.

  Betty, like the Frankenstein monster reverts instantly to Mandal. Angel comes to mind. Darling sitting in the corner, afraid of Arvan, never even made a peep.

  Plan set, she moves to her pup, bends, groans from pain, cradles her in her arms, moves to the door, sets her on the front porch, whispers. “You don’t want to see this, girl.”

  “Yip, yip.”

  Angel pools into a circle, off the door, lowers her snout, closes her eyes, curls into a ball and stays put.

  Next door, a screen door creaks, a door lightly bangs, shuffle, shuffle, a chair moves. She smiles, moans, time for act two.

  Whatever.

  She’s embed the harpoon in his lying heart, Arvans heart, knowing he will never be able to get away after she drains the blood from his brain.

  Crawls off the bed, sways, back and forth, sees sparks in her brain and crinkles her forehead.

  That hurts.

  She moves, that hurts, unsnaps hip huggers. That hurts, all in a good way.

  Down they go, off her bare feet, “Ouch”.

  Off goes the T-shirt, more “Ouches”, naked, white, she stands before the wall mirror almost looking like the young girl that fled a Private girls school in Montreal life time ago.

  Face bloodied, eyes black and blue, swelling, purple blotches on her left breast, blue green on her skinny ribs, mound, blue welt too

  Perfect.

  Fingers tracing along her NEW scars, stitches holding everything together, she smiles.

  “Ouch.”

  Her eyes glimmer, she likes the new her, work in progress, as she hears a chair budge, next door door.

  She reminds herself it’s time for the show to begin

  Something, alluring, pouting, a face, a vessel of demurring passion, seductive, comes from deep space, completely engulfing her as the wall mirror reflects it. She closes her eyes, parted lips, breathing increasing, tiny tummy expanding, an actress swallowing herself up, becoming some one else, again.

  Eyes open, different, flames, coal, ice, all of it; the transformation is in place.

  Her legs part, tiny feet plant into the floor, she is so reed like, tummy ricocheting off her back bone, muscled legs leading up to her shaved cunt, drip, drip, drip, something draining down her thighs.

  Fingers wet, move to her parted, bruised, purring lips, a B actress trying to move to an upgrade.

  Her pink tongue is so seductive. She is a female Cobra, a taste of blood, saliva, a MOAN, a moved chair behind her from the other room. Her entire white body shudders from the taste of her own sex, an audible gasp from the other room.

  Breathing, heavier, deeper, tummy undulating, lips part, she begins to drool, saliva slipping down her chin onto her bruised breasts.

  Finger’s, plying along her cunt, inside, outside, head thrown back, moans, eyes open, she sits on the side of the bed legs spread wide, showing the voyeur in the other room her pink paradise.

  She inches back, her butt on the bed, lays her head on the pillow, spreads her white thighs, cunt of roses, blue bruised, exposed to the wall mirror. Groans, hers, something is making rhythmic sounds from behind the wall next door.

  Hand reaches back, below the pillow, next to the 44, she is prepared. Tummy swelling, hitting her spine, she with draws a foot long black latex dildo, thick, like her wrist, moans, arches her spine, places it between her lips, in her mouth. She groans as it disappears down her throat, a moan from behind the wall.

  Fingers to her cli
t, she masturbates, for some time, hips bucking, face contorting and sweat beading on her skin, dildo slipping in and down her throat.

  Latex out of her throat, her mouth, lower, lower, pressed to the wet opening of her cunt, clutched with both hands, she slams it deep inside.

  Moans, weeps, cries, the wall behind her shaking, hips thrown to the ceiling, in, out, savage, deeper, moans, head whipping back and forth, muscles cording, body twisting. Her body convulses, she ORGASMS. Into it now, she does not stop, screams, she continues, amazing stuff.

  INSIDE THE room next doors, Arvans, standing on a stool, Levi’s bunched down along his skinny white legs, whacking off, eyes like lug bolts, leering, barely able to believe what he is seeing.

  Her legs are flayed, open, that black thing she keeps ramming in her cunt.

  He didn’t knowed girls could do stuff like that. He’s stunned.

  Whack, whack, whack, he slams his dick with his fist, watches as her body seems to twist in half, her hands drenched, wet, sweat spilling down her white, stretching skin.

  Her face contorts, his eyes shock out, he sees the dildo sluice out of her cunt. Liquids spurt out of her, drenching her thin, long legs. He gasps, as she lowers it, raises her butt, whack, whack, whack, she drives the black thing into her ass, goes rigid, moans, every sinew in her body elongated, her moaning, driving him mad, insane.

  Whack, whack, whack. He masturbates.

  In and out, her ass, her grinding butt against her own slashes, almost there, peep show for Arvan,her entire body goes haywire, undulates, shakes, as she slashes the Dildo in, completely, arches her back and screams.

  Arvan, eyes exploding, orgasms, ejaculates, losses his balance on the chair, falls backwards, crashes into a table and chairs, holding his dick for dear life in his hands, as the furniture splinters around him.

  He stands, looks all around, ah shucks himself. He frantically throws up his jeans, buttons the brass buttons.

  Frantic, way out of his league, turns, runs to the door, out, dashes towards the garages with one plan stacked into his overworked brain.

  Get that Betty’s car fixed, so they can run away, cause he can’t wait to see more a that shit, which he thought was illegal in most States.

  BACK AT Seduction Central, she’s grinning, hurting everywhere from her beat down, brain clear now and so aware. She is naked, sore, sex adrenaline wearing off, covered in sweat, cum, breathing rheumatic, perfect time for a cigarette and, then, shower time next.

  Cigarette, between her lips, Zippo lights it, she inhales, exhales, even that hurts.

  With Arvan solidly on board Team Mandal, she thinks of Billy. That will be easy, maybe, as she glances at Jason Cox’s manuscript on the bed besides her. She wants more of that.

  So many things left o do. One thing at a time.

  Scratch, scratch, on the door.

  “Angel.” She whispers.

  Struggling, bare feet on the floor, she groans for every thing hurts, a lot. Hands on the knees, up, a groan, to the door, she opens it. Angel scampers inside, vibrating, so glad to get in alive from the monsters outside.

  Mandal, flops on the bed, winces, groans, Angel, a hop on her belly. “Ouch girl.” She moans as a pink tongues kisses her all over her wiped out face.

  Ignoring her pain, liking it, she ruffles up her Gonzo puppy.

  “Okay, okay girl. You stay here, I’m going to take a hot shower.”

  “Yelp, yelp, yelp.”

  She stands, Angel doing circles on the bed. She places her on the pillow, 44 under the cotton, smoothes her out, whispers. “Stay girl.”

  Turning, she peers into the mirror at her naked body, shakes her head, whispers. “You are really something, aren’t you?”

  Peering at Angel, she whispers. “What a ya think, girl. We’re going to make it?”

  Panting, “Yelp, yelp, yelp.”

  Mandal smiles.

  “Okay, I guess that’s a yes.”

  Turning to the shower, devoid of all shame, she moves to the tub, moans in physical pain. She lights up the hot water, proving that old adage to be true.

  That yes indeed, Blonde’s, do have more fun.

  Solar Ville

  OUTSIDE of Jeddah, Solar Ville is the hottest spot on Earth.

  Billy stares through his mirrored sunglasses, boots on the bike bar, slung low to the road, boiling asphalt on the highway under his wheels.

  World of long haul trucking and Indy Cattle Haulers is a tough gig, gypsies, notorious for big engines, big egos, blistering across the Texas desert.

  Cattle Haulers, when the wind is right, throw off the stink and can be smelled for miles down the road. The smell can make a hard man gag. Rugged folks, no nonsense, the earth shakes when they pass.

  Just the kind a High Ballers Billy needs, distribution pacts, Arkansas, Oklahoma to the long border of the Lone Star State. That’s Billy turf for his meth empire.

  Down the highway, Billy smells I’m first, thermals undulating off the tar, over a hill, see’s I’m now. Billy guns the Hog, red bandanna off his neck, slaps it along his nose, says. “PHEW.”

  Tie rod arms, front chrome head light, Blink, Blink, Blink, more fuel, wind whipping him on, bike guttural, engine sound running pure, thanks to Arvan.

  Getting close, kilo of smack tucked under his dick, along side the Peterbilt, driver, Big ID, outta Dallas, chaw in his mug, grinning, hand reaches out the window.

  Billy hands him the cellophane, nods, more fury, engines growling, out comes a hand, thick, yellow envelope. Billy swipes it, veers a little left, driver, switch blade, digs in the cellophane, white powder on the knife tip, snorts, howls, perfect crank rush for growling across a Texas desert.

  Billy waves, roars past, getting an air horn blast tattooed on his ass from the driver.

  SAME THING. Same bidness.

  Two other truckers, same at a truck stop, a delivery to a mechanic in Thermal Springs. Bidness is good, finishes up, dealing off the gram packs, seventy-five large in the backpack as he rips into Solar Ville.

  It’s a The Last Picture Show kinda place.

  Main Street, feed stores, Cinema, general store, tractor store, an Auto Zone selling parts, gears, brake pads, motors and such. Lots a cowboy hats, boots, big buckles, pearls buttons, denim, pick-ups, short brown folks, kids, wives, the Mexicans are takin’ over; nothin’ new about that.

  Rumbling in, he groans. Lots a shit kickers, Mex-cans, he calls them that. Billy, filthy jeans, Levi vest, bare chest, looks like one of those guys pretending to be BAD over there in Hollywood or a fucking Calvin Klein model. Except. He is the real fucking deal.

  Gil’s General store, kick stand down, Billy kills the engine, groaning, spits, upset, angry, feeling put upon, hating his Ma, to many errands to do, except the ones that slot stacks hundred dollar bills in his pack.

  Jason done need this. Jason done need that. Yer brother’s special, blah, blah, blah.

  Billy wishes his bro would get it over with and just fucking die.

  It’s a hard time fer Billy, keepin’ evertythin’ organized. Too much thinkin’ hurts his head. Lots a money comin’, maybe a new life, the kind he done seen on the television.

  He’s been zonin’ on Betty, wonderin’ what Dallas, maybe Houston would be like livin’ large with her sweet cunt, maybe a ranch, like the Ewing’s had he seen on TV. He knowed she’s special, first time he seen her. She talks different, smells different, looks different, she’s class in Billy’s eyes.

  His hillbilly heart’s been settin’ ta ways a love lately.

  Looking at Jason’s list, he knows patience is a good thing. Next stop the Auto Zone.

  After the big setup, lost between those long legs, probably after he murders his clan, he’s dreamin’ a nice times; nice times with Betty.

  “Okay, good.�
� He whispers.

  He steps to the store, opens the door, enters, doing one last errand for a Ma he would just as soon murder as love.

  Dejavu Berks

  LATE afternoon, Berks, several sixteen wheelers idle in the heat, six truckers standing around, passing crank, pushing cash, doing Billy’s bidness.

  Alarms sound, Ranger Keats pulls up, money, drugs disappear inside idling cabs. Keats exits his cruiser, slots his Stetson and moves to the drivers, hovers over them. They look ashamed.

  “Dicky, Ben, Earl. YA see another rig went down round Solar Ville? Ulin Eckard done bought it.”

  Shrugs, shoulders bowed, pushing dirt around with their boots, no eye contact, Keats continues.

  “Been drivin’ forty-eight hours outta Tampa.”

  Keats digs in his pocket, glycine bag, a white powder bag in his mitt.

  “Had some a this ta help him.”

  More shrugs, grumbles, small man, Dickey Roy, skinny, spent, ball cap, long hair, groans. “Man gotta make a livin’, Ranger. Ulin knowed that. DC folks makin’ it hard for long haul ta make a livin’. We got families, got ta eat.”

  Keats, irate, snorts, seethes. “Yeah...So did Ulin.”

  Unison looks to the dirt, Keats centers his Stetson, shakes his head, turns, turns back, drawls. “Ya men want ta do the right thing...gimme a shout.”

  Turns, walks back to his cruiser, slumps inside, adjust the AC, feeling the blood in his temples pounding. Plans, ideas, mostly revenge, and eradication of the vermin responsible, block, by building block of a hard plan simmering a brew in his head.

  “Soon, you fucks.” He whispers.

  He slams it in drive, moves forward, smokes his tires and drives down the highway.

  Falling

  UNABLE to help herself, nursing wounds, Angel at her feet, day spent reading Jason Cox’ novel, six pack, bucket of ice, bought from Mava, things seem fine.

  Lots a weeping and lots a awe, feeling balanced of course with Sues help.

  Curiosity grinding up her gears, Jason, Arvan, her Caddy, Billy, Bobby Ugo and Dim Dim.

  When are they coming?

  A gal needed her fingers, eye balls, important stuff that shit and even she knows that. Bizarre feelings, well, nothing new about that.