Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

by JB Lynn

  “Oh.” He looked genuinely disappointed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well if you change your mind, you can always call me. You do still have my number, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “So you’ll call?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re giving me the brush-off?”

  Because I was. “I’ve got a lot going on, Paul. I just don’t have the time for a relationship right now. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Who’s talking about a relationship? I’m just talking about having some fun together.” He winked at me. “We have had some fun together, haven’t we?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his blatant flirtation, even as I waited for him to leave. Despite the fact I didn’t trust him, and I worried about his temper, I couldn’t deny that he was sexy as hell and we had shared some pretty hot kisses and groping.

  Part of me wished I had the time or the disposition to take him up on his offer of “fun.” The other part of me remembered that both Patrick and God didn’t like him. The only person who did was Aunt Loretta, and she’s not exactly the best judge when it comes to the characters of the men she meets.

  As I locked the door of the apartment, I heard the engine of his car roar away. When I turned around, he was gone from sight.

  I scanned the area, but didn’t see my MIA lizard or dog.

  “God?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

  Pacing the length of the parking lot, I was relieved I didn’t spot his smooshed brown corpse anywhere. I peered beneath all the parked cars, but couldn’t find him.

  How far could the little guy have gotten?

  I tried to think like him, but then realized that he had probably tried to think like a dog. All that thinking gave me a headache.

  Spotting a squirrel, I called out, “Hey! Have you seen a big, black, airheaded dog running around loose?”

  The squirrel fixed his beady little eyes on me, wrinkled his nose with distaste, twitched his tail, and bounded off.

  I set off in the direction Doomsday had disappeared. A block later I saw a pair of feral cats Dumpster diving behind a diner. “Excuse me?”

  The stopped and eyed me with disdain.

  “Have you seen a big, black dog? Her name is Doomsday.”

  Arching its back, one hissed at me. The other yowled.

  I couldn’t understand what either was saying. So much for being the clone of Doctor-freakin’-Dolittle.

  Discouraged, I trudged on.

  I’d lost my dog.

  I’d lost my lizard.

  And if I didn’t kill Jose Garcia, I was going to lose my niece.

  Trying to brush away tears that blurred my vision, I staggered, catching myself against a “Children at Play” sign. Resting my forehead against the pole, I closed my eyes and let out a hiccupping sob.

  A car pulled to a stop beside me.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed they’d just move along and not ask me why I was holding on to a street sign for dear life.

  “Mags?”

  I opened one eye and looked at the car, an unfamiliar blue sedan.

  “Whatchya doing?” the driver asked, peering through the lowered passenger window.

  I opened my other eye so that I could focus properly on the redhead behind the wheel. “Are you following me?”

  Patrick tilted his head. “I prefer to call it tailing. Do you want a ride?” Without waiting for an answer, he leaned over and pushed the passenger door open for me.

  “Why were you tailing me?”

  “I’m pretty sure the sign can stand all by itself. Get in.”

  Unable to come up with a smart-ass answer, I got in the car. It smelled like stale cigar smoke.

  “Seat belt,” Patrick prompted.

  I put the seat belt on and he drove away.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Delveccio said you took the job. I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t since it’s so dangerous. Then I see Kowalski leaving your place, and now you’re walking around talking to yourself.”

  There was no anger or judgment in his tone, only curiosity and concern. Somehow that made me feel worse.

  “I lost my dog, I lost my lizard, and I’m going to lose my niece.”

  He slid a sidelong glance in my direction as if to ascertain whether I’d lost my mind too. “Was that an answer to what I asked, or just some random rant?”

  “I had to take the job. Katie’s aunt is suing me for custody.”

  “Marlene?” he asked, referring to my runaway sister.

  “No, not Marlene. Who knows whether Marlene is even alive?”

  “I do. She is, though now she’s going by the name Jewel. I keep trying to talk to you about her, but you won’t let me.” A note of exasperation threaded through his tone.

  “She’s not the point.” I really couldn’t deal with talking about Marlene with everything else that was going on. “Dirk the Jerk’s sister, Abilene Plude, is.”

  “Plude?” Something sharpened Patrick’s tone, but I was mid-rant.

  “She didn’t even come for her brother’s funeral, and, I might add, has never laid eyes on Katie, but now she wants her.” I sank into my seat.

  “So you took the Garcia job because . . . ?”

  “I need to hire an attorney.”

  “Oh.”

  “Unless you want to kill her for me?” I suggested hopefully. “It would be kind of obvious if I did it myself, but you could. What do you say?”

  He didn’t say anything, just concentrated on driving.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, turning away and looking out the window. “I knew that’s what you’d say. Those damn criteria about a victim deserving it . . .”

  After a few minutes of riding in silence he asked, “So . . . you and Kowalski?”

  “There is no me and Kowalski. My Aunt Loretta would like there to be and I’m guessing he would like there to be since he showed up at my door, but there’s definitely no Kowalski and me.” Saying it aloud helped me to know I’d made the right decision.

  Patrick nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

  Since I was unburdening myself, I told him the rest. “Doomsday and God ran away.”

  “God?”

  “Godzilla. The lizard. They both ran away.”

  “Together?”

  “No. Doomsday took off this morning. God disappeared sometime after that. He was pissed that I didn’t go find her right away.”

  Patrick gave me that suspicious, sidelong look again. I guess it did seem kind of crazy that my pet lizard was annoyed with me.

  “And why were you walking around talking to yourself?”

  I couldn’t very well tell him that I can talk to and understand some animals. He might have driven me straight to the loony bin and gotten me into the room adjoining my mom’s. So I said, “I was looking for them. Calling their names.”

  I wasn’t sure if he believed me. I decided to distract him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  My stomach fluttered. “Why?”

  “There’s someone you should see.”

  My throat closed, preventing me from speaking. I couldn’t believe he was ambushing me like this. I was in no shape to see Marlene. Finally, as he pulled to a stop in front of his place, I managed to say, “You can’t do this.”

  Turning off the car, he turned to face me. “Do what?”

  “Make me see her.”

  Worry creased his forehead. “You don’t want to see her?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not prepared.”

  “What kind of preparation do you need?”

  “I’m too . . . raw. I can’t . . . please . . .”

  I hadn’t realized I was trembling until he reached over and pulled me to him, cradling my head against his shoulder. He was warmer and more solid than the stupid signpost. With him holding me, I didn’t feel like I was
going to shatter into a billion bits.

  “Take it easy, Mags. Just take a breath.”

  I did. He smelled like soap and peppermint.

  “Now listen carefully to me. You think I’ve got your sister in my place?”

  I nodded.

  He leaned back, catching my chin so that I had to look into his reproachful gaze. “You should know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He was right. He might be a paid assassin, but he’d never treated me with anything with fairness and respect.

  Guiltily I looked away. “Then who?”

  “Come see.”

  He hopped out of the car. I followed slowly.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he called as he unlocked the door of the tiny apartment.

  “Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!” a breathy bimbo panted as she jumped up and knocked me over.

  Doomsday and I collapsed to the floor in Patrick’s entryway.

  “How?” I asked as she licked my face, practically drowning me.

  “She was nosing around outside of the falafel place.” Pulling the dog off me, he helped me to my feet. “I’m guessing the scent of the lamb was familiar after the other night.”

  “Meat! Meat!” Doomsday whined.

  “I was there for lunch,” Patrick continued, absentmindedly petting the Doberman. “I had to get back to work and it hasn’t gone too well the last couple of times I went to your place unannounced, so I brought her here.”

  Doomsday wagged her stump of a tail. “Cheese! Cheese!”

  “I take it you fed her?” I asked.

  “Cheese. It was the only thing in the fridge besides beer. I went by your place tonight to tell you about her, but I saw Kowalski’s car . . .”

  “And you decided to tail me.”

  “Actually I wanted to make sure he wasn’t following you. He looked pretty angry when he got back in his car.”

  I wasn’t surprised at that nugget of information. “Thanks.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Is that what we are?” I asked without thinking. “Friends?”

  An uncomfortable tension stretched between us as we both considered ramifications of the question. Sure I was attracted to him, but even with only one wife in the picture now, he wasn’t the guy for me. He was still a professional killer, no matter how caring and considerate he came across.

  Finally he said, “Among other things. Do you want to talk about the Garcia hit?”

  I nodded, grateful to be back on safer ground: killing a person for profit. “Where do you want to start?”

  THE PLAN, AT least in its rudimentary form, was to kill Jose at the rehearsal dinner he was throwing for his daughter. It would be quick and public, like it was supposed to be, but Patrick thought there would be less risk of getting caught since there would be fewer people in attendance and fewer photographers who might inadvertently snap my picture.

  Plus, scheduling-wise, it was a lot more convenient for me. Apparently Jose’s wife was the superstitious type, and her psychic told her holding the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding would bring bad luck. As a result, the Garcia rehearsal dinner was scheduled for the weekend before the nuptials. This meant I’d be obligation-free the weekend of Alice’s wedding.

  After we’d worked out the general details, Patrick drove me home, with Doomsday riding along, head hanging out the window, in the backseat. He dropped us off two blocks away from my apartment, leaving the dog and me to walk the rest of the way.

  As soon as Patrick left, I bent down, wrapped my arms around Doomsday’s neck, and hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry about this morning.”

  “Okay.” She licked my face, signaling her forgiveness.

  I wished people could forgive so easily.

  “I have to tell you something upsetting,” I said, straightening and heading for home. “Godzilla is missing.”

  The dog fell into step beside me, completely oblivious of the leash hanging from her collar. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. I think he may have gone looking for you.”

  “Am here I.”

  I took that to mean, Here I am. We walked the rest of the way in silence.

  As we approached the door of my apartment, a superior voice said, “It’s about time.”

  I spun around. “God?”

  “Who else were you expecting?”

  “Missing not,” Doomsday panted excitedly. She scampered over to where the lizard was perched on the railing, but stopped abruptly, taking care not to crash into him. Lowering her head, she sniffed him. “Home everyone.”

  A painful lump rose in my throat as I watched him reach out with his tiny front foot to pat the tip of her nose.

  “It’s wet!” He wiped the dog snot onto the railing. “Disgusting.”

  “Inside, Doomsday,” I said, pushing the apartment door open.

  She bounded in.

  I squatted down to get a better look at God. “Where’d you go?”

  “How did you find her?” he countered.

  “I didn’t. Patrick did.”

  “And yet you were cavorting with Mr. ’Roid Rage.”

  “You saw Paul? Where were you?”

  “I notice you’re not denying the cavorting.”

  “I wasn’t cavorting with him. If you must know, he stopped by, uninvited, and suggested I take him as my date to the wedding.”

  “If you ask me, that would be a bad idea.”

  “But I didn’t ask you. My knees are starting to hurt from squatting like this.”

  “That’s from the cavorting.”

  “I didn’t cavort with him,” I snarled. I put out my hand, palm up. “Do you want a lift inside, or did you plan on staying out here the whole night insulting me?”

  Gingerly he stepped onto my palm. “Don’t forget, I have sensitive skin.”

  I carried him inside and let him climb from my hand onto the driftwood in his enclosure. “I turned him down on the wedding date thing.”

  “Wise move.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  It was difficult to tell which of us was more sarcastic. We glared at one another. It’s stupid to get into a staring contest with a lizard since they don’t have eyelids and can’t blink.

  I’d been doing a lot of stupid things, and was about to do a lot more.

  Chapter Ten

  “SO ABOUT THAT disco ball . . .” Armani said.

  We were at one of the picnic benches outside Insuring the Future. I was having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch; she was eating what looked like tuna salad with gummi worms.

  “Did you have another dream about it?”

  Instead of answering me, she stared over my shoulder.

  “Tell me it’s not Harry,” I said.

  “Nope. It’s your cute guy.”

  “He’s not my cute guy.”

  “He could be, if you’d unleash your inner Chiquita.”

  I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t the first time she’d suggested I let out the fun-loving gal she believed was stifled in the depths of my psyche. “Trust me, I’m not his type.”

  “Hey there, gorgeous,” Zeke called as he approached the table.

  Armani waved to him with her good hand.

  I turned to face him. “What’s up?”

  “I needed to run a couple of things past you for the shower.” He slid onto the bench beside me. “Hi, Armani. How are you?”

  “My day’s getting better getting the chance to look at you,” she practically cooed.

  Instead of being flustered by her outrageous flirtation, he smiled. “You’re good for my ego.”

  Pitching her voice lower, she said suggestively, “I’m good for a lot of things.”

  “I bet you are, but”—he sighed sadly—“I’m a man on a mission. No time for distractions, no matter how enjoyable they might be.”

  “What do you want with the Chiquita?”

  “I wanted to get her okay for the menu. He pulled a folded menu from a l
ocal catering hall out of his back pocket. “I figured Italian since it’s Alice’s favorite.” He put the menu down in front of me.

  Scanning the items he’d marked, I said, “Good choice.”

  “Great. Now what do you think about decorations?” He reached out and stole the half of my PB&J I hadn’t eaten from yet and took a big bite, eyes twinkling like he expected me to give him a hard time about it.

  I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I think they’re the stuff landfills are made of. We should skip the decorations.”

  Armani gasped. “You have to have decorations.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You spend a small fortune on them, they’re out for a couple of hours, and then you throw them away. They’re a waste of resources and money.”

  “But we’re going to have them,” Zeke said. “Because you know as well as I do that Alice is going to want them. So help a guy out and tell me how to do them.”

  “How should I know?”

  “You go to a lot of weddings.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “Everything’s a choice,” Zeke countered. “You choose to be the kind of person people can count on even when you’re doing something you despise.”

  I frowned at him. “Have you been drinking the same Kool-Aid as Aunt Susan?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” I took another bite of the half a sandwich he hadn’t taken.

  “What are the wedding colors?” Armani asked.

  I eyed her suspiciously, worried she was one of those women who spent her weekends curled up with a pint of ice cream, watching marathons of the wedding shows that litter television. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know? You’re the maid of honor. What color is your bridesmaid dress?”

  “Pink.”

  “Salmon,” Zeke corrected. “The dress is salmon.”

  Armani wrinkled her nose. “Uh-uh-gly.”

  Zeke nodded his agreement.

  “You should decorate the room in salmon,” Armani told him helpfully. “And since the color is ugly, you should use a lot white stuff. White tablecloths, maybe white candles or flowers, and you can get a lot of white things like wedding bells.”

  “All this for the knocked-up virgin bride,” I muttered.

  “Wedding bells?” he asked, ignoring me.

  “They’re these paper things you unfold and hang everywhere.”