Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

by JB Lynn

  “Mmmm . . . fresh meat!”

  I swear I saw him lick his lips. “What are you waiting for? Feed me!”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “When you say please, I’ll feed you.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  I dangled the bag above the terrarium. Not only did I think I was conversing with a lizard, but now I was trying to teach him manners. That probably made it official that I’d lost my mind.

  “Please, feed me the fucking crickets!” he bellowed.

  “No need to be snippy about it.” I hastily untied the plastic sack, making sure the insects couldn’t jump out and touch me. Pushing aside the glass lid of the enclosure, I dropped the entire bag of bugs inside.

  “Food! Glorious food!”

  Totally grossed out, I turned away as the gecko feasted, resuming my search for Dino. I rummaged through Katie’s toy chest. I didn’t find the dinosaur, but I did find six Dora the Explorers.

  “Wha’ are you doin’?”

  I made the mistake of turning back to look at him. He was chewing on a cricket’s leg like it was a toothpick. “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Ignoring the reprimand, he said haughtily, “Whatever it is you’re searching for, I can help you find it.”

  “Katie’s dinosaur.”

  “I’d guess it’s in the washing machine or dryer. She vomited on it a couple of days ago. I haven’t seen the shabby thing since. Which reminds me, where is the child?”

  “In the hospital. There was a car accident. Theresa’s dead. Dirk’s dead. Katie’s hurt.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  I didn’t dare look at him for fear that he, too, would shed a tear for Katie. I lay down on my niece’s pink big-girl bed and rested my cheek on her princess pillow. I was so tired. I closed my eyes for a minute.

  “Is she going to be all right?” There was no trace of arrogance in the lizard’s tone, only concern.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re going to be responsible for my care?”

  Hearing doubt in his snotty voice, I threw the pillow at him. It bounced off the glass harmlessly and slid to the floor.

  “No need to get violent, Maggie.”

  I squinted at him. “How do you know my name?”

  He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe how slow I was. “Katie calls you Aunt Maggie.” In a falsetto that sounded surprisingly like my niece, he parroted, “ ‘Aunt Maggie coming to tea pahty!’ ‘Aunt Maggie reads Where the Wild Things to Dino!’ ”

  “All right. So what’s your name, smart ass?” I couldn’t believe I was asking a lizard what his name was and actually expecting an answer.

  Standing on his back legs, using his tail for balance, he drew himself up to his full height (all two-and-a-half inches of it) and declared pompously, “I am Godzilla!”

  I swallowed a chuckle. It wasn’t really his fault he had such a ridiculous name, and you know how little guys get when they think they’re being laughed at. “Nice to meet you, Godzilla.”

  “But you may call me God.”

  “God?”

  “Of course. Godzilla sounds pretentious.”

  “And God doesn’t?”

  “You prefer Maggie over Margaret, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Well I prefer God over Godzilla.”

  “God it is then.”

  “Are you going to live here?”

  Startled, I shook my head. “The thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

  “Then you must take me to your home.”

  “I must?”

  “Well you can’t leave me here all alone. Katie would expect you to provide me with fresh food and water and companionship.”

  I frowned, knowing that he was right. I was really getting tired of doing what I imagined others would expect of me.

  “Do you live alone?”

  I nodded.

  “By alone, I mean do you have any pets? Any predator that might try to eat me, like a dog, or a cat, or a bird?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good. It’s decided then.”

  “It is?”

  “It is.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You may.”

  “Do you talk to people, humans I mean, on a regular basis?”

  “You’re my first. Not for a lack of trying though. What about you? Do you talk to many non-human species?”

  “Nope. Then again, I’m not really talking to you.”

  “You’re not?” He flicked his tail.

  “No, this is just some sort of side effect from the accident. It’s my mind trying to make sense of a terrible situation. You’re not real.”

  “I beg your pardon, but I most certainly am real.”

  “No, no, no. I know that you, the pet gecko, are real. I just mean this whole, us-having-a-conversation thing, is a figment of my imagination.”

  “I am NOT a gecko!” he shouted, snapping his tail like a bullwhip.

  “You’re not?”

  “Do I look like a gecko?”

  I squinted at him.

  “Oh sure, one lizard gets on TV, and you automatically assume we’re all just like him.”

  “You do look alike.”

  He bobbed his head, and his beard turned from tan to black. “You did NOT just say that.”

  Raising my hands defensively, I stepped back.

  “You ignorant—”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I am an anole. A brown anole.” He puffed out the little orange goatee-like thing beneath his chin to make his point. “I am NOT a gecko!”

  “Okay, okay! Whatever you are, I’m going to bring you home with me. Katie would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.”

  Chapter Four

  I WENT TO VISIT Katie straight from the funeral. The idea of going back to the B&B with my aunts and all the well-meaning (but ultimately draining) friends and neighbors who had come to pay their respects was just too much for me to handle. That and the fact that I was still itching to strangle Dirk’s ditzy sister, Raelene. I guess it was lucky none of his other family members had bothered to attend, or else I might have snapped.

  Instead of riding in the family limousine with the witches and Raelene, I drove my crappy Honda in the procession to the cemetery. That meant that the moment the graveside service was over, I was outta there.

  I was overdressed for a hospital visit in my best black dress and heels, but I was pretty sure no one would notice.

  My maternal grandmother, the witches’ mother, and the woman I think was responsible for creating the basket case that is my mother, used to shake her head sadly every time she saw me and say, “You are the most remarkably unremarkable girl I have ever known, Margaret.”

  She was an utterly lovely woman . . . not.

  Other kids had grandmothers who baked cookies and sang lullabies. Mine delivered insults every chance she got . . . may the poor dear rest in peace.

  Given the opportunity or an audience, she was always more than happy to elaborate on my shortcomings. “She’s not particularly tall, and her body isn’t especially attractive. She’s not all that smart, or pretty, or funny, or kind.”

  In short, I was an average-looking girl, of middling intelligence, with an unexceptional personality. The same could be said of me at thirty-two, except now you could add, “. . . who lives a boring life.”

  That was why I could be fairly certain that no one would miss me at the wake.

  I was so engrossed in my thoughts about how remarkably unremarkable I am, I almost missed the creepy guy lurking at the end of the hallway. I’m not sure I even saw him, but I definitely felt him.

  Out of nowhere, a chill skittered down my spine, and my legs turned rubbery.

  He was a small guy, my height, maybe a little shorter, not the slightest bit physically imposing. I examined his pinched face and receding hairline, tryi
ng to place where I might know him from. I drew a blank.

  But I knew I didn’t like him.

  My breath caught in my throat as his gaze met mine. I’d seen convicted murderers with teardrop tattoos dripping down their faces—symbols of multiple kills—when I’d visited my father in prison, but none of them seemed as scary as the man in the hallway. At least in the prison there were plexiglass and guards between the evil and me. Here there were no protective barriers.

  I swallowed hard.

  Realizing how frightened I was, his eyes narrowed and a slow, sly sneer stretched his lips, making him look like a deadly predator. He winked at me.

  My heart skipped a beat, and bile rose in my throat.

  And then he was gone, disappearing down another hall.

  Feeling shaky after the encounter, I leaned against the wall. After a moment, I got a little pissed at myself. Sure I’d had a rough few days, but was I really going to let myself turn into a spineless, quivering mess when I had Katie depending on me to keep it together?

  So I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, pushed off the wall, and marched (well, okay, tottered because of those damn heels) toward my niece’s room.

  I was so busy beating myself up for my momentary cowardice that I walked right into a man hurrying to enter the room beside Katie’s.

  “Uhhh!” I cried out eloquently as our bodies collided. I teetered precariously on my high heels. Unaccustomed to wearing anything other than sneakers, I thought for a moment I was going to topple over and end up splayed on my ass in the middle of the hallway.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he growled.

  “Sorry.” Regaining my balance, I looked up at him. Tall, dark hair, olive skin, a cleft chin, he was definitely handsome. Of course he was. I’d just done something klutzy and embarrassing. It made sense I’d do it in front of an attractive man.

  He glared at me. Something fluttered uneasily at the base of my spine, causing me to stand up a little straighter. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “You should be.”

  I blinked. How rude! “It was an accident.”

  “Get out of my way!”

  He shoved me, literally shoved me, backward into the wall. Pushing past, he rushed into the room.

  Startled by the physicality of his attack, I stood there for a long second, trying to catch my breath.

  I couldn’t, though, because I was so incredibly pissed off. All the injustices of the past few days welled up within me. It wasn’t fair that Theresa was gone. It wasn’t right that poor Katie was hurt. I loathed the drunk driver who had done this. I despised the doctors who spouted statistics and best-case scenarios. I hated the world. I hated life itself.

  In that moment I realized there was only one person I could take this overwhelming anger out on: the Jerk who couldn’t accept a simple apology and had the nerve to assault me.

  I, remarkably unremarkable Margaret May Lee, had had enough. I charged into the room, ready to give it to the stranger with both barrels.

  Looking back, I had to admit that it was probably a good thing I’d seen a brown anole lizard standing up and waving to me the night before. If I hadn’t, I’m not sure my mind could have made sense out of what I was seeing.

  The Jerk was pressing a pillow down over someone’s face, smothering them. A little someone, probably not much older than Katie, I guessed from the outline of the tiny body tucked beneath the hospital blanket.

  I am not a violent person. Okay, maybe I’m a tad bit overzealous when it comes to swatting flies or grinding creepy-crawlies under my heel, and sure Theresa and I used to whale on each other when we were kids, but I hadn’t struck another person in decades.

  Something snapped in me, maybe the tether of my internal monster, when I saw the Jerk suffocating that kid.

  I’m not much of a planner, but I somehow had the foresight to arm myself. Grabbing the plastic and metal visitor’s chair by the side of the bed, I launched my attack . . . as well as someone can do that in high heels.

  “Aaaaah!” I screamed the kind of full-throttle, gone native, sound that leaves your throat bleeding and triggers that primordial fight-or-flight instinct of anyone within earshot.

  He half-turned at the sound of my battle cry. Raising the chair overhead I smashed it, as hard as I could, into his face.

  Stumbling backward, sending medical equipment crashing in all directions, he tried to escape, but I chased after him, fueled by all the anger and grief I’d kept bottled up for days.

  The chair glanced off his shoulder as I connected with a second blow.

  “Aaaaah!” I shrieked again. There were no words to express my rage, even the primitive yell didn’t do it justice. Hoisting the chair again, I swung at him.

  Ready this time, he deflected the blow. Ripping the chair from my grasp, he stared at me with an animalistic rage. “You are going to pay for that, you stupid bitch!”

  He lifted the chair, and I just knew he was going to split my skull open. I didn’t know karate, or jujitsu, or kung fu. I’d never even taken a basic self-defense class. I’d never had any specialized training of any sort. Except once. A very, very long time ago.

  With nothing to lose, I tried the long-ago learned evasion technique.

  I stopped.

  I dropped.

  I rolled.

  Stop. Drop. And roll. Fire safety 101. A lesson I’d learned in kindergarten.

  And I’ll be damned, but it works when a psycho-killer jerk is after you too.

  Especially when hospital security enters the room. It’s helpful to be on the floor so that they can leap over you and tackle said psycho-killer jerk.

  The little boy in the bed survived the attack, security hustled psycho-killer jerk away, and I was called a hero by the doctors, nurses, and the boy’s family for saving his life.

  It was that praise that led me to become a contract killer.

  Chapter Five

  I WAS SITTING AT Katie’s bedside singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” manipulating her lifeless fingers so that she’d mimic the pantomime of the song, when the man who would become my boss strolled in. I knew who he was instantly. Anyone who reads the newspaper or watches the local news would.

  Tony Delveccio.

  Or maybe he was Anthony.

  According to rumor, Ms. Delveccio, an Atlantic City showgirl, hadn’t been the brightest bulb on the marquee. She’d named her twin boys Tony and Anthony, never realizing that Tony is of course the shortened version of Anthony.

  Anyway, the Delveccio brothers, identical twins, allegedly ran the local crime syndicate. I stress allegedly because they’ve never actually been convicted of so much as a parking ticket despite the effort of cops, local D.A.s and federal prosecutors. A case based on eye witness testimony falls apart quickly when there’s always an identical twin with an airtight alibi waiting in the wings.

  Delveccio stood just inside the room with his leather loafers, a shirt unbuttoned halfway down his sternum (so not an attractive look for a guy pushing sixty) and a pinky ring with a diamond the size of an eyeball, staring at me.

  Like I wasn’t having a bad enough week.

  “You the broad who took a chair to Alfonso’s head?”

  I considered lying. After all, I certainly didn’t want a mobster after me, but then I realized the nurses had probably already told him I was in here. There was no point in lying about it. At least if I was going to get thwacked . . . or is it whacked? . . . I’d do so honestly.

  I tried to answer him, but my throat was closed tighter than the doors at Walmart before they open for shopping on Black Friday, so I just nodded.

  “I thought you’d be more . . .”

  “Remarkable?” I croaked.

  “Huh?”

  “You thought I’d be remarkable?”

  Shrugging, he switched his attention to Katie’s still face. “Poor kid. She’s your niece, right?”

  I panicked for a moment, wondering how the hell he knew that. Then I realized the flock of g
ossiping magpies at the nurse’s station had probably told him that, too. What worried me more was why the crime boss cared.

  I jumped to my feet, putting myself between Delveccio and Katie. “It wasn’t her fault I hit your goon.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. Turning his back on me, he moved toward the hall. A surge of hope rocketed through me. He was going to leave us alone.

  That fizzled the moment he closed the door of the room, isolating us. My stomach roiled nervously and acid rose in my throat, scorching flesh still tender from my earlier screaming. Wrapping my fingers around Katie’s IV pole, I prepared to use it to knock a gun from his grip.

  But when he turned back around, his hands were empty. I didn’t let go of the pole.

  “Alfonso ain’t my goon.”

  I breathed a little easier.

  “That little guy,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the boy’s room where I’d scuffled with the psycho-killer jerk, “he’s my grandson. Dominic.”

  “I’m sorry.” I loosened my grip on my weapon. I knew how much it sucked to have a relative in this awful place.

  “Everyone says you saved him. Brave thing.”

  “I really didn’t think it through.”

  “And yet you live to tell the tale without a scratch on ya. You’re either very good or very lucky.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes at the mention of the unfortunate “lucky” term. No need to piss off the nice mobster. “Glad I could help.”

  “That goon you tangled with? Alfonso? He’s my son-in-law.”

  “Oh.”

  “My daughter inherited my mother’s lack of sense.”

  “Uh huh.” I really didn’t know what he wanted me to say.

  “He’s Dominic’s father, the one who put him in that bed. Threw him down a flight of stairs.”

  “Bastard!”

  Delveccio smiled approvingly at that. “Family: You can’t live with ’em, ya can’t get away with killing them yourself.”

  Thinking of Dirk the Jerk and his idiot sister Raelene, I muttered with feeling, “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Which is what brings me here, Miss Lee.”