The Hit Woman's Assassination Handbook

by Jane Brooke

  After some time, little basket filled with stuff, she moves to the store register, stands behind a small man, black clipped mustache, wearing a beautiful black suit. Growing a smidgen curious, not a lot a men wearing such refinery in her neck of the woods, she peeks over his head, at Kate.

  Kate is shaking her head back and forth, looking at a photograph, verbally telling the focused little man that she cannot help him.

  Four inches taller than the olive skinned man, she goes to tip-toes, peering at the photograph he has laid out on the counter.

  “You’re sure. You’ve never seen this girl before. Might be driving an old Cadillac.” He asks, a hundred dollar bill lying next to the pic.

  Kate stares long at the photo pic, hard at Bobby Ugo. She is sure the sinister little guy has nothing but bad intentions for the tortured gal who was at Berks just a few days ago.

  She lies, don’t need money that bad. The man nods, sweeps the pic away, turns, looks at Sue, from head to toe.

  Their eyes lock.

  Bobby sees something in her eye’s, turns and walks out the door.

  “EUREKA” pings, in Sues mind.

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. She thinks.

  Sure, she’s seen the cunt, and she just happens to know exactly where the conniving bitch is.

  Remaining silent, she layers out the supplies as Kate stares directly into her eyes for some time and, then seriously whispers. “Don’t do it Sue. That man is nothin’ but bad trouble.”

  All innocent and such, Sue raises her eye brows, and now a virgin, a girl knowing that perhaps her dreams have been answered, she smiles and says. “Don’t knowed what yer talkin’ about Kate. How much do I owe ya?”

  Sue turns, sees a couple of black cars, the small man lingering near a giant, and a couple of other huge men, all smoking, wearing leather jackets.

  Paying her tab, she banks the change in her Levi’s, scoops the supplies into the saddle bags, thanks Kate. She moves to the door, turns back from Kate’s voice.

  “Be smart Sue. You got it, darlin’?”

  Again, raised eyebrows, shrugged shoulders, in her demeanor the words ‘what ever’ can you mean Kate?

  Kates slakes her head back and forth, sighs. Sue smiles, opens the door and walks through it.

  A Psychic, Bobby Ugo is not. A psycho yes indeed.

  Leaning against his Lincoln, Dim hiding the moon from his shoulders, his ferret eyes watch as Sue exits.

  Many shared looks as Sue moves to her bike, slap’s the shoulder bags on the Harley, turns and looks at Bobby Ugo direct like, into his black eyes. Kate internally groans as she watches the psychotic soap opera UN folding before her eyes. Another customer comes before her eyes, she smiles, and says.

  “Dozen eggs, that’s two-ninety five.”

  The blond’s destiny is out of her hands, though she tried.

  A nod, a smile, she walks over to Bobby Ugo, feels shivers in her spine as she peeks at the giant, nothing but numb death in his eyes as he munches a candy bar.

  “Mister, I might knowed that girl ya lookin’ fer. Any thing in it fer me, if I help ya?”

  A few snippets of conversation pass.

  “Of course here are three Fins, why don’t you push those into your jeans, and let’s talk.”

  Sue, no hesitation, just wants the blood sucking cunt gone, smiles and takes the three Benjamins, smiles big, stuff’s them in her pocket.

  The little man is gentlemen as he opens the door, smiles as she crawls into the back seat of the Lincoln Town Car.

  Once inside, Giant sitting shotgun, gawking through the front window, the nice little dressed man in the back seat, he takes her hand. They chat back and forth. He seems a friendly man, though his eyes look like that bunch of ferrets she done seen on The National Geographic Channel.

  She kinda hems and haws him. He smiles, squeezes her hands and, then whispers. “Now, tell me everything dear, you know about my runaway daughter.

  Sue smiles, loves her new friend.

  Unfortunately, she forgets the oldest adage in the good book of life.

  With new friends like this, who needs any fucking enemie’s.

  Organize

  ONE STEP forward, one step back, on to the porch, back pressed against the wall, realizing that she must think things through. Scanning, like a grocery checker, checking out human bar codes, she is upset.

  Seeing Billy exit out of the meth lab, looking none to happy and, then the rebuff to Sue is doing nothing for her racing mind. Seeing Sue race off on the bike, calms her a little. At least Sue is out of the picture, for the moment. The loss of her lighter plagues her.

  She can not stop berating herself for being so careless, so stupid.

  Staring off at Arvan, who is repairing her car, allows her some solace. Adept at grifting, stealing, lying, she realizes the smallest thing can turn the grift into sawdust; she hates loose strings on The Long Con.

  Yet the lighter, NO, anyone finding that was a long shot at best. Geeeze, no one is perfect.

  Still, Billy looked savage, very upset, so she is running a few scenarios through her head, deciding she can always use the PLEASE FUCK ME DEFENSE as a last defense

  “How the fuck should I know?” What fucking lighter? And “Let’s fuck big boy.”

  Always a proven last ditch winner, fail safe plan, for she knows men think with their dicks anyways.

  With Sue gone, set up Billy, jack up Arvan, figure out how to get Mava’s money, not a priority.

  If it happens, good; no problem, she has tons of, it.

  Get Jason, his work tucked away, edgy thing, sneak time, wee hours of the morning probably best for that. Scoot and fall off the mobs radar, live happily ever after. Weird plan, absurd, insane, she is a black- death-star revolving, sucking in whole universes with their power, including her own.

  If nothing else, she is feeling good.

  She is going to Out Crazy them by leagues for nothing was going to stop her, except perhaps a bullet.

  Billy, the mob, and other things, she just doesn’t want to come to reality about those nasty things, for the moment.

  It is now, SHOW TIME.

  She sees Arvan, wiping grease from his hands with a red rag, moving out of the garage towards the bar. He’s steps from the bar as she begins to stroll towards him.

  Into OZ now, where either the Yellow Brick Road will lead her to riches, safety, happiness or into the guts of a coffin lined in lead.

  “ARVAN, OH ARVAN DARLING.” She tweets.

  Arvan’s eyes light up seeing his Betty, hopefully, a future escapee, new doll wife slithering towards him, he is so happy.

  Even from a distance, he can feel her spell, as he gazes all wacky and such as his darling strolls towards him, each little tick of her tiny hips driving him more rabid by the moment.

  Once in front of him, she smiles. Sweet Betty, pond eyes, happy now as if shes been marooned on Mars and he just exited the POD, a heroic spaceman there to rescue her.

  “Hey Betty, almost done with that Caddy, a yers. Another hour, WE be set.”...

  “WE” again being the optimum word in that statement.

  Right words, right time, she leaps forward, squeals, little girl time, hugs him, feels nothing for him, knows a body, her body, just a taste, gets her to the the finish line, just that much sooner.

  He tries to get some with his hands.

  She giggles away and, then the deep grift starts. Lots a smiles, pouts, lots of words of wonder, white eye lashes like albino bat wings, soap opera stuff, she is a ZEN MASTER of the grift.

  Her, him, a new life, futures in the double wide, maybe Van Horn, Dallas, anywhere is fine with her, strong man, smart man, Arvan is in hysteria, internally.

  She’s worried about Billy; he’s been hitting on her.<
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  Scarred, worried, he’s so big, she hates the way he treats Arvan, remember darlin’, jealousy.

  ‘Promise me, not to tell anyone our plans, please. When will the Cadillac be done, can you do it real soon, my Honey bunny”, it goes something like that.

  Arvan, from behind his back, proud, shows off his 357 magnum in his belt.

  “Don’t worry yer pretty lil head, my Betty, Arvan has a plan.”

  She concentrates, whispers on how strong, brave he is.

  He assures her everything is set, a morning take off, jest ya don’t worry bout nothin’.

  She makes him do the Cross yer heart and hope to die thingy. Death, for her a real possibility if she fucks up, he does the croos yer heart thing. He swears up and down he ain’t gonna tell no one, gets a kiss on his chin whiskers for that promise.

  Parting is such sweet sorrow.

  “Remember Arvan my darling, she has to make nice around Billy, just a show, until they can skedaddle out.”

  A wayward tear falls down her cheek, right near the butterfly stitch, burning her cuts, reminding her to get her shit together. She turns, turns back, an air kiss, an ass waggle, turns as she walks, sneaks a peek and watches her new man walk into the bar.

  “WOW.” She exhales in angst.

  Billy next, deal with that shit, placate him some how, monitor it all, real tight, including their astrology charts.

  Feeling her stomach growling, shes burning calories, brain power does that.

  No reserve, have to be strong, get food, take advantage of Sue’s absence, that’s a good thing and, at the same time gauge where Billy is. It’s complicated stuff. Yet, she’s getting off on it. She can’t help her self. She’s wired like that.

  Patting her self down, 44, there, that’s good. 38, knife in the boots, that’s good. Time to sneak around, no grand entrance as she moves to the back of the bar.

  At the back door she gazes off at the stable’s as warmth fills her heart, her eyes blaze as she whispers.

  “Soon Baby.”

  Back door open, she hears Jewel on the jukebox; no line dancing tonight for her. She enters, clomps into the bar, her work boots going clickety-clack as she does.

  HESITATING at the opening between the cafe/bar, Mava, Art in the kitchen, serious, caught in what looks like a dire conversation. Art nods, Mava turns her head, sees the girl she likes, smiles, a little wave. Mandal smiles, waves back.

  Mava returns too conversation with Art. Mandal wonders what can be so serious in their lives. She thinks she has an idea about that.

  Standing near the dark corner, where she watched Billy fuck with the man she loves, her temper flares.

  Control that.

  She does as she lingers looking around the bar.

  Gratefully, no Billy, she relaxes some.

  She’s sure he walked in, people always vanishing, reappearing again. Maybe Billy’s in the bathroom, wheres Arvan? He’s here somewhere.

  One step, she jerks, surprised, Arvan walking from the john, zipping up his jeans, shouts a greeting at her. He moves to the bar, grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels, pours a heavy shot, raises it to her, winks at her, she groans. He throws it back.

  “GEE, I’M SUCH A LUCKY GAL.” She almost blurts out, but does not.

  Tommy and Garth are at the pool table playing pool, handguns stuffed into their belts.

  “WHACK.”

  In the pocket the eight ball goes. Both men laugh.

  Arvan gives her alot of conspiratorial winks as she groans, winks back; a secrets lover’s code.

  They are sharing stuff, like a secret hand shake as he takes another shot, slaps his glass on the bar. Proud of his drinking prowness he grins, wipes gold liquid from his mouth that drips onto a tattoo of a Harley needled into his chest.

  She wants to scream, just sighs as she peeks at the big men playing pool.

  Stomach growls, shes starving to death, from lack of Jason and of food.

  Finding a table off in the corner, she sits, pulls out a cigarette, pats her pocket, groans, finds a match and lights her smoke just as Billy walks out of the bathroom.

  He moves behind the bar, grabs a beer. Mandal sees he looks totally on edge, none to happy, hasn’t seen her yet, she exhales a plume of smoke. Temporary barkeep, he looks at Arvan with disgust.

  For the first time in his life, Arvans eyes do not budge.

  Mava peeks around the corner, sees her boys, peeks her way, smiles; back in the kitchen she goes.

  Arvan wheels spinning in his head, he thinks a his Ma’s money, Betty, a dead Billy and wonders.

  What if?

  Every one seems to have three things on their minds, Betty, money and homicide.

  Hard eyes, back to Billy, Arvan slaps his short glass on the bar, says with confidence and attitude.

  “Jack.”

  Billy, seething, leers at Arvan, about to throttle him if for no other reason then the puke forgot to say please. He’s about to wrap his fist around his scrawny neck, when he sees his Betty sittin’ like the angel she ain’t.

  Right thar, smiling at him from one of the tables is the exact reason he is in such a fouled up mood.

  Then, from the front door, the wrong man, at the wrong time enters, he being, Ronnie Gee. Along side of him are two very big, edgy looking characters, long coats, looking like a pair of old west highway men.

  Back and forth, Billy’s cold eyes dart around. First at Betty who he has some serious issues with and, then to Ronnie Gee, his crew, who he simply has some unfinished bidness to finish up with.

  This is Billy turf, no worries fill his mind

  Mandal of course is scanning everything.

  Getting no usual big ole grin from Billy, tells her something is wrong; very wrong.

  His glance has none a that I love ya Betty stars in it.

  Good cop, Bad cop.

  She was in her mind going to have to play both parts. Why the fuck not.

  The arrival of the scum, especially that guy Ronnie Gee, suddenly makes her not feel so hungry. In fact she can cut the tension in the air, if she decides to whip her knife out of her boot, with it.

  Billy; first things, first.

  He ain’t bright, but he is primal, no fool when his brain is workin’ right.

  He sees Betty frowning, ego kicks in, suspects she ain’t happy cause he ain’t sharing the lovin’ with her no more. His dick tells him to give her the benefit of the doubt. His mind tells him something else.

  Watching him, leering at her, lie, lie, lie, comes into her head. What is new about that.

  Maybe she was playing catch with the kids from the Blind School and “CLANG,” her lighter just flew out of her pocket?

  She knows when a man wants to fuck her they will believe anything and that’s a good thing.

  Rape, murder, her murder, is of course an entirely different thing.

  Bracing her self for the silliness, maybe the pain about to fall on her face, she exhales a cloud of smoke, breaths. Billy hops the bar, veers away from her direction with a small satchel in his mitts. He moves towards a not so grinning Ronnie Gee, front teeth missing and his crew and stands before them.

  Watching and like the change of seasons, she feels winter freeze her bones.

  For now, Ronnie Gee, toothless, face swollen, stitches everywhere is leering at her and she knows instantly why. He’s holding her responsible for his beating.

  “Oh Shit.” She whispers as she turns her gaze away as Billy hovers over him.

  Arvan at the bar, drinking himself stupid, turns, smiles at her, wipes away some drool, casually looks off at Billy and Ronnie Gee. This is Their World; he’s half way home to drunk with his Betty dreams intact, no worries.

  Billy, no mirth, stands before Ronnie Gee, who looks s
traight up, reptile eyes, no fear, no teeth, no nothing and Mandal sees it. In her mind, the little violent man wants nothing in those hard eyes, but sweet and violent revenge.

  No hesitation, Ronnie Gee grins, pulls a military 45 from his waist, rips it under Billy’s chin.

  Time ticks.

  His amigos pull sawed off shotguns from beneath their wild west coats just as Garth, Tommy get wise to what is happening.

  Tick, tick, tick,

  Arvan is standing at the bar and oblivious to everything except drinking; thoughts of his Betty who now is rising from her chair.

  The two bikers finally get it, turn, pistols rising, Garth, Tommy at the pool table begin to move.

  Ronnie Gee sees, nods at his crew.

  Twelve gauge, sawed off, BUCK, ERUPT, fames, flume of fire, smoke, lead pellets rip across the room blasting gaping holes in Garth and Tommy chests, throwing them ten feet back, crashing into tables; they sprawl to the ground.

  Dead already, boots vibrating along the sawdust and blood, very dead, indeed. Ronnie’s men sweep their shotguns everywhere around the bar, calm, very hard, professional men.

  Arvan jerks, falls off the bar stool, hits his head on the bar counter top, “YIPS” and falls on his butt onto the saw dust floor as Betty stands further, about to make it for the door.

  Billy goes to move and, then thinks it wise To No as Ronnie Gee shoves the 357 magnum barrel tip deeper into his throat.

  “YA move, asshole. Yer dead.”

  Suddenly, Mava, followed by Art appear from the space separating bar and cafe. She gasps, peruses the situation and nod’s at Art to settle as Ronnie Gee yells at his crew.

  “BURT, WATCH THE OLD BITCH, ART TOO.”

  Big Burt moves near to the bar, throwing down on Mava, Art with the sawed off, the chef hands hidden behind his back.

  Ronnie Gee calms and watches as Arvan stands, gawking, supporting himself against the bar, rubbing the hurt off his head.

  “Jake, watch that puke.” He nods at Arvan, gets a nod.

  The big man moves near the pool tables, aiming the twelve-gauge at Arvan.

  Over at her table, Mandal standing, groans, decides it’s the perfect moment to make her exit stage left. She is hoping that some how she has suddenly become transparent.