by JB Lynn
To be honest, I was miffed to be counted among the company of the others. I was punctual (despite what Aunt Leslie might say), accurate, and efficient. I just “lacked empathy” for the idiots sucking up valuable space on Earth who called in their accident reports day in and day out.
“I was thinking about the rough ride thing. Maybe you just need new shock absorbers in your car,” Armani said as I ended my last call of the day.
I glanced from her to the clock on the far wall. In two minutes I would be free of this place. Free from the worrying glances Armani kept shooting in my direction. Free from Harry and his pepperoni breath. Free from the morons who couldn’t spell the name of the street they lived on, but had still managed to somehow pass a written driver’s test.
“Maggie?”
“Yeah. I’ll have a mechanic check out the car.”
“Ice, ice, baby.” It was a none-too-subtle reminder that she’d ignored one of her own visions and been run over by an out-of-control Zamboni, resulting in a bum leg and hand that she tended to milk for all they were worth. “On the other hand, that dream about a disco ball may mean you have something to celebrate soon, so don’t go around feeling sorry for yourself.” Settling her hip on the edge of my desk so that she could take the weight off her bad leg, Armani picked up my newest addiction and sniffed it suspiciously.
“They’re Life Savers. Candy. Mints.” I’d started chomping on them whenever I felt anxious because they reminded me of Patrick, the only calm and stabilizing influence in my life. Yes, I know it’s pathetic that a hitman is the best person I know, but it’s the truth.
“Have you made a decision, Maggie?”
I didn’t even bother to swivel my chair around to face Harry, who’d crept up behind me. Instead I rolled my eyes at Armani. To her credit, she didn’t react at all.
“I have.”
“And?” He sounded . . . hopeful.
“The answer is still no.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure you understand the seriousness of this issue, Maggie.” Now he sounded . . . put out . . . pissed off . . . offended.
I spun my chair around, looked the lecherous louse in the eye, and said loudly enough for half my coworkers to hear, “No, Harry. I won’t go to dinner with you to save my job.”
A dozen heads swiveled in our directions. A cacophony of gasps, chuckling, and throat clearing filled the office.
His mouth working, but no sounds coming out, Harry turned a most unflattering shade of purple.
I smiled my satisfaction. I’d killed people. He didn’t intimidate me.
“Time to go.” Armani slid off my desk, grabbed my arm, and hauled my ass straight out of there.
“I don’t think a mechanic is going to be able to fix this,” she muttered as we bulldozed a path through our gossipy coworkers.
She was right. I was in for a rough ride.
MY DAY DIDN’T get any better while I was at the hospital for my daily after-work visit with Katie. Her condition remained unchanged, which meant her small, still body was tucked into the hospital bed, just like every other visit. I smoothed my hand down her cheek. The bruises she’d sustained in the accident had faded, but her skull was still encapsulated in a cast. It was a terrible look for a three-year-old. “Aunt Maggie’s here, Katie.”
Pulling the visitor’s chair up to her bedside, I took her limp hand in mine and began our nightly ritual. “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.”
Some days she responded to my silly song, her fingers twitching against mine. Some days she didn’t move at all. This was one of the latter.
The doctors had told me not to read too much into her reaction or lack of reaction, but each time she failed to respond, I panicked anew that I’d lost her forever.
After an hour of singing and telling her how God was doing in his lizard world, it was time for me to go.
I got to my feet tiredly and shuffled out of the room.
Vinnie the Muscled Meathead was waiting for me. “Boss wants to talk to you.”
I glanced toward the room where Tony/Anthony Delveccio’s grandson lay in a bed just like Katie’s.
“He said to get yourself a chocolate pudding. His treat.”
“Big spender.”
Vinnie grabbed my arm, squeezing tightly. “Don’t you go disrespecting the boss!”
Yanking free, I glared at him. “Don’t you go putting your hands on me.” I’d killed Delveccio’s son-in-law. I’d murdered a professional hitman. I was considering taking out Harry. I had no problem adding this steroid-fueled animal to my to-do list, but if I was going to do that, it wouldn’t be prudent to get into a public tiff with him, so I turned on my heel and marched toward the land of chocolate pudding.
I’d eaten two bowls’ worth by the time Delveccio showed up. Vinnie was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s the meathead?” I asked as Tony/Anthony slid into the seat opposite me.
“Guy gets on my nerves.”
“Mine too.”
“So about that job I was telling you about . . .”
“The one I’m not sure I’m going to take.”
He fiddled with his giant diamond pinky ring. “How ’bout I tell you about it, you give it some consideration, and then you make a decision.”
I nodded even though I was fairly certain I was out of the killing game for good.
“So you have a general idea of who Jose Garcia is?”
“He runs the second largest drug-dealing gang in the state.”
“Who runs the biggest?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Delveccio frowned. “What’s it matter?”
“I’ve got no desire to help the biggest dealer in the state knock off his main competitor.”
“Some might consider that a public service. If two operations merge into one, there’d be less drive-by shootings. Less . . . oh what’s the word for it? One of those Schwarzenegger movies . . .”
“Collateral Damage.”
“That’s it!” Delveccio clapped my shoulder as though I’d just solved the mystery of life itself. “You know the damndest things. That’s why I like you.”
The only reason I knew what crappy movie he was talking about was that God had insisted on watching it two nights before. “I’m all for public good, but I’m not going to help a drug lord grow his empire.”
“Cuz you’ve got standards.”
I’d recently killed two men, my most meaningful conversations took place with a lizard, and I’d agreed to wear a cotton candy–colored tutu for a wedding, but yeah, somewhere in the warped recesses of my soul, I still had standards. “Yes, Mr. Delveccio. I’m afraid I do.”
“Good girl! Good girl!” He pummeled my shoulder.
I had no idea why he seemed so pleased that I’d refused the job, but I was relieved. I had no desire to kill Jose Garcia. Especially since I’d once called him Uncle Jose . . . albeit for a very short time.
“It’s not his competition footing the bill for this hit. It’s the father of one of his victims.”
I fought hard to keep hope alive that I could get out of this particular job. I really didn’t want to kill Uncle Jose. “Victim?”
“Some rich kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and made the mistake of telling the cops what he’d seen. Garcia had him whacked as he was leaving the police station. A message to cops and anyone else paying attention that no one was going to get away with testifying against him. Rich boy’s daddy brought all kinds of pressure on the D.A.’s office, but they couldn’t make anything stick. So the man’s given up on the law and is looking for a different kind of justice. Which is where you come in.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” It was a feeble attempt to buy some time to think up an excuse to get me out of this situation without pissing off the mob boss sitting across from me. The chance to earn more cash for Katie’s care was a powerful incentive to take the j
ob, but knowing that the news of Garcia’s death would make Aunt Loretta cry made the idea hard to stomach. (She cried every time the New Jersey Devils or New Jersey Nets lost a game . . . she was loyal like that . . . to losers . . .)
“He wants it done at a very specific time and place.”
“Why?”
“He wants Garcia’s family to suffer as much as his has. The hit’s gotta take place in two weeks.”
“Where?” I found myself asking.
“He wants it done publicly. Either at the rehearsal dinner for his daughter’s wedding or at the wedding itself.”
“I hate weddings.”
THANKFULLY GOD AND Doomsday were the only ones in my place when I got home and they both greeted me cheerfully.
Well, in reality, God groused, “Turn on the TV. It’s almost time for Wheel of Fortune.” The lizard is obsessed with the game show despite the fact he royally sucks at it.
Doomsday smothered me with doggie kisses before whining, “Gotta! Gotta! Gotta!”
Switching on the set for the lizard, I slipped the leash on the Doberman and walked outside. “We’ve got to hurry. I’ve got somewhere else to be.”
“Where?”
“Wedding dress shopping.”
“Marry?”
“My friend Alice is getting married. We’re going to pick out her dress.” I didn’t bother to explain to my four-legged friend that Alice was knocked up and was in a huge rush to get hitched before she started to show. This meant that wedding preparations were in overdrive.
“If you go fast I’ll give you an extra biscuit.” It was shameless bribery, but the mutt was taking her sweet time sniffing every inch of the curb.
Properly incentivized, the dog did her business in record time. Her response gave me a new perspective on the idiotic “motivational” contests Harry ran at Insuring the Future. Basically he was appealing to our base animal instincts. Yet another reason to dislike the man.
I was pondering that very thought as I rushed into The Big Day dress shop. I’ve been there too many times to count. My Aunt Loretta got married every couple of years, plus I’d been the maid of honor at my sister Theresa’s wedding. I know the place well and I despise everything about it. The combination of the endless sea of white, the crinkle of crinoline, and the rose-scented potpourri made me want to hurl. But nothing compared to my unbridled hatred of the staff, who manage to come across as equal parts pandering ass-kissers and know-it-all snobs performing holy work.
Alice was already there, pawing through the racks like a miner searching for a nugget of gold.
“Find anything yet?” I asked.
“You’re late.”
Overly sensitive about time ever since Aunt Leslie had pointed out my habitual tardiness, I glanced over at the clock hanging over the wall of veils. “Am not. I’m three minutes early.”
Ignoring me, Alice pulled a sequined and feathered gown from the rack and held it up against her. “What do you think?”
“It’s very Lady Gaga meets Liberace.”
“Gee, thanks.” Pouting, she shoved the dress back in its place.
“You asked.”
“I’m sorry I did.”
“I see you in something more refined,” one of the male ass-kissing snobs offered from behind me.
I cringed. He’d probably spotted Alice’s desperation and smelled an easy sale.
Alice smiled widely. “Zeke?”
I threw up in my mouth and had to swallow my burning bile. Not Zeke. It couldn’t be Zeke.
“Alli? Oh my God, is it really you?”
As my best friend and my childhood nemesis threw themselves at each other in an embrace worthy of a cheesy 1970s love story, I decided Armani was right. I was in for RUF RIDE.
While they made googly eyes at one another, I decided that he’d changed since the last time I’d seen him, and for the better. He’d always been a good-looking kid, but now he was a handsome man, what with his bright blue eyes, cleft chin, and a head full of wavy, chestnut hair that almost reached his shoulders.
Once they’d finished hugging and exclaiming how wonderful it was to see each other, Zeke turned his attention to me. He held out his arms, flashed that megawatt smile of his, and exclaimed, “It’s my lucky day to run into both of you.”
I held out my hand, not so much because I wanted to shake his, but because I didn’t want him to hug me. “Hi, Zeke.”
Ignoring the proffered handshake, he engulfed me in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, Maggie.”
I didn’t share the sentiment, so I kept my mouth shut.
SOMETIMES I FEEL cursed. I’ve felt this way for most of my life. Can you blame me? My mom has spent half of my life locked up in a mental ward, my dad is rotting in prison, my sister Darlene was murdered when we were kids, my sister Marlene . . . well, I don’t want to talk about her, and my big sister Theresa was killed a couple of months ago in the car accident that left me with the unenviable ability to be berated by a lizard and questioned by a Doberman. Not to mention that my niece is in a coma, my aunts drive me bat-shit, and I’ve inadvertently managed to become a hired killer.
Can you blame me for thinking that I’m the object of the Fates’ ultimate practical joke?
But I wasn’t thinking about any of that when I strolled into Insuring the Future. No, I was trying to decide which I hate more: weddings or Zeke Roble. They were pretty similar in my book, all show and pretense, and saccharine sweetness that put my teeth on edge.
Alice and I had been best friends since forever. Through the years, only one person had ever come between us, not any of our respective loser boyfriends, or insane family members, just Zeke. The boy, now man, had always had the uncanny ability to make me look bad, just like he had at the wedding dress shop. That’s why I hated him. I had to keep him from worming his way back into Alice’s life. I didn’t mind sharing her with Lamont, but there was no way I was surrendering my best friend to my nemesis without a fight.
I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn’t see the empty box until I got to my desk. I eyed the paper carton suspiciously.
“It’s for you.” Harry appeared at my side. He must have come from downwind because I hadn’t smelled his pepperoni approach. “I’m sorry, Maggie, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
I wondered for a moment if my boss, soon-to-be-ex-boss, and Zeke were related. At that moment I hated them equally. “You’re firing me?”
Harry shrugged. “Sorry, but I did warn you.”
“You’re firing me because I won’t go out on a date with you?”
Harry shook his head. “I know you’re upset, Maggie, but we’ve talked about this. I’ve pointed out your shortcomings in all of your reviews. You’ve signed off on all the reports.”
I looked from Harry to the box on my desk and back to Harry. He smiled smugly.
Holy hell, he’d documented my “shortcomings” over all this time, while I had never said word one to human resources about his lecherous ways. Now I needed to keep this job as my cover. The little shit had outfoxed me and he knew it.
I glanced at my desk wondering what I could use to kill him. I’m a pretty resourceful murderer. After all I used a leg of lamb to off the last guy I slaughtered.
I could smash Harry over the head with the Insuring the Future mug I’d received for my perfect attendance last year. Once he was crumpled at my feet, I could break the mug and use a shard to slice open his jugular.
“I’ve arranged for you to receive a month’s severance,” Harry said. “Assuming you leave quietly.”
It seemed as though Mr. Pepperoni Breath had thought of everything. He had to know how badly I need my paycheck with Katie in the hospital. Outmaneuvered again, I snatched up my framed picture of Katie and me at the pumpkin patch last year and my bag of Life Savers. There was nothing else in the desk or in that place that mattered to me.
Harry looked at me expectantly. I wondered if my begging to keep my job was part of his evil plan. I woul
dn’t give that particular satisfaction.
He leaned over and said, “You’re not really fired.”
“What?”
“I just wanted you to know what it could feel like if it did happen,” he said with a smug grin. “I don’t want to fire you, Maggie. I like you.”
I stared at him. “So this was . . .”
“A dress rehearsal for what could happen if your attitude doesn’t improve. But don’t worry, your job is safe . . . for now.”
My fingers twitched, wanting to grab the mug and clobber him with it. Instead I turned on my heel and stalked away, trying to regain a semblance of control over my temper.
I almost bowled over Armani on my way.
“I have to talk to you, Chiquita,” she said, once she’d regained her balance. Grabbing my arm, she dragged me outside toward the picnic tables. “I’ve got to tell you something important about your Scrabble tiles.”
I wanted to tell her that I didn’t have time for her psychic act today, but since I’d just been fired, but not really fired, I decided I was entitled to a long break. “What?”
“I may have been wrong about you being in for a RUF RIDE.”
“I doubt that,” I said, thinking about the arrival of Zeke and the evil plan of Harry.
“But look!” Using her good hand she pulled seven Scrabble tiles from her pocket and tossed them onto the table like she was playing craps. Which was appropriate considering my life was crap. “It doesn’t just spell out RUF RIDE, they also say, U R FIRED. See?”
“You’re right.”
“So you see it too?”
“No, I mean, you’re right. Harry just threatened to fire me. This time he used props.”
Armani collapsed onto a picnic bench. “Oh my God. Do you know what this means?”
“It means that in the near future I’m going to have to find a new job or apply for unemployment.”
“No.”
“No?”
“It means that I was right. My predictions are right. I’ve been doubting my gift, but now . . . but now . . . I’ve got to call my mother and tell her.”
