Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman

by JB Lynn

  Not only had I killed a man, but now the guy who was claiming credit for the job I’d done was telling me he had photographic evidence of my crime. I hadn’t thought it possible, but my life had suddenly gotten even worse. I shook my head. “How?”

  “I was following him. Getting ready to make my move. I like to do that, follow people, get to know their routines.”

  “That’s you who was here at the hospital that day.”

  “Of course.” He showed me another picture.“Pretty good shots, don’t you think?”

  I studied the picture fascinated by the snapshot of Cifelli’s anger and my fear. “What do you want?”

  He shrugged. “A hundred grand.”

  “You’re already getting that from Delveccio.”

  “I want another.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I know. I know. That’s why I’m going to be generous and offer you a payment plan. You can pay me ten grand a month for the next twelve months . . . that’ll get me what you owe me plus a little interest.”

  “I don’t—-”

  “If you don’t accept my more-than-generous offer,” he interrupted harshly, turning off his phone and stowing it in his pocket, “the photographs will go to the police . . . and I’m not talking about that redheaded freak. And you will go away for a very long time.”

  I had no doubt that he’d carry through on his threat. “Okay.”

  “You’ve got seventy-two hours to get my first payment to me.” He reached out to run a finger down Katie’s cheek.

  From across the bed I slapped his hand away. Grabbing my wrist he twisted it brutally. A white-hot pain zipped up my arm. I cried out.

  With a fierce tug he pulled me toward him so that I half-hung over the bed. “Listen you little bitch, I don’t know why the hell you thought it would be okay for you to horn in on my job, but if you don’t pay up, I’m going to make your life a living hell. It’s not a coincidence I’m here today. It’s all part of a plan. My plan. I’ll go after every member of your family. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded. The searing pain was making it hard to breathe. To think.

  “Glad we understand one another.” He released my wrist and I almost fell on top of Katie. “Let’s meet here again in, say, seventy-two hours. And don’t forget to bring the cash.”

  Struggling to regain my balance, I watched as he slipped out of the room, flashing me a smug smile.

  Weak-kneed, I collapsed on the bed beside Katie. If I could have cried, I would have sobbed hysterically. Instead, rubbing my throbbing wrist, I struggled for breath like a hooked fish knowing death was imminent.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “YOU SAID I had seventy-two hours!” I screamed when I saw her body lying in front of my apartment door. Throwing my car into park, I raced toward her, my heart in my throat.

  She was lying at an odd angle, her body splayed on the ground, her head almost perpendicular against the doorframe.

  “Aunt Leslie?”

  I dropped to my knees beside her. I couldn’t see any bullet holes or knife wounds. Maybe Gary had snapped her neck. Oh god, this was all my fault. “I’m so sorry,” I told my dearly departed aunt.

  “Do you know her?”

  I let out a scream that could have shattered an elephant’s eardrum, scrambling away on all fours from the unidentified male that had snuck up behind me.

  He laughed at me.

  I turned to look up at him.

  That was when Aunt Leslie sat straight up.

  I screamed again.

  My dead aunt had come back to life!

  She let out a shriek of her own, albeit not as impressive as mine, but still fairly decent.

  It’s a wonder the neighbors didn’t call the police, what with the two of us screaming our heads off. Maybe that’s because the cops were already there. At least one was.

  Bent over double, tears streaming down his reddened face, Paul, in uniform, leaned against the door jamb for support as he laughed his ass off at us.

  “What the hell is going on? What are you doing here?” I turned my attention to Aunt Leslie, who had stopped screaming and was looking around as though she was trying to figure out where she was. “And why were you playing dead on my doorstep? I almost had a heart attack. No, a stroke! No, an aneurysm!”

  “Get melodramatic much?” I heard Godzilla drawl from inside my apartment.

  Getting to my feet, I planted my hands on my hips. “An explanation from both of you is required. It’s not an optional exercise, so get talking!”

  Paul had the good sense to go first. Straightening up, and adopting a more serious expression, he pointed to Leslie. “When I got here, your door was open and she was sitting beside it.” He stepped closer so that he could whisper in my ear. “I’m pretty sure she’s stoned.”

  I was pretty sure that Aunt Leslie had been stoned for a good portion of her adult life, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell that to a law enforcement officer. Instead I deflected the attention off my chemically-altered aunt and back onto the man who could haul her ass off to jail. “I know why my aunt is here.” That actually wasn’t a lie. The reason was clasped in her hand. No doubt the glass-enclosed four-leaf-clover necklace was meant for me. “What are you doing here? And what the hell were you doing inside my place?”

  Paul backed up a step and held out his hands defensively. “The door was open.”

  “So you decided it was okay to just waltz right in?”

  “I didn’t want them to die.”

  “What?”

  “The flowers I brought you. The door was open so I figured I’d put them inside.”

  “And you just left her out here? Lying on the ground like a goddamn corpse?”

  He blinked. “She wasn’t lying down when I went inside. She was sitting up and humming.” He reached for my hand. “Come see what I brought you.”

  “Help me get Aunt Leslie inside first.”

  Together we lifted, cajoled, and dragged my aunt all the way to my couch. I was shocked that once we got her lying down on the furniture that Paul took off her shoes, covered her with throw, and tucked a pillow under her head. Aunt Leslie beamed up at him, obviously enjoying the special treatment.

  Once he’d gotten her settled, he led me into the kitchen.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” I muttered grudgingly.

  “You’re not the only one with a family of characters, Maggie. You’ll have to meet my mom. She alternates between being a miserable dry drunk and a two-bottle-a-day drinker. I’ve had lots of experience tucking in.”

  “So you’re not going to take her to jail?”

  He laughed. “Jail is for people who do bad things, not someone who indulges in some weed now and then. Besides, from what your other aunt said, your family’s been going through a lot lately.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Which is why I brought you some flowers.”

  “Don’t trust him!” God shouted from his terrarium in the bedroom.

  “I thought they’d cheer you up. Do you like them?” Paul waved at the pitcher of lilies he’d put on my kitchen table.

  I hated them. “They’re beautiful.”

  Lilies remind me of funerals.

  And they stink.

  Which is probably while they’re so popular at funerals—one stink covering up another.

  Anyway, I hate them. “They’re perfect!”

  “The florist told me they symbolize a beautiful lady.”

  The man was a charmer, I had to give him that, even though he’d put the smelly flowers in my own chipped pitcher.

  “Maybe I should have asked him which ones work with a sweet woman.”

  Now don’t go thinking he was some silver-tongued Romeo, as I did for a split second.

  It didn’t take me long to realize he was referring to the fact that I was still covered with powdered sugar, jelly, chocolate frosting, sugar glaze, sprinkles, cream filling, vanilla
icing, and strawberry frosting from my donut binge.

  Thankfully, Aunt Leslie picked that precise moment to call out, “I’ve got the munchies!”

  That allowed me to kick Paul out using the excuse that I had to take care of her. I walked him to the door, thanking him profusely for the flowers I hated.

  “We should go to dinner again.”

  “Why?” I asked. Chances were good I was either going to be dead or in jail in another seventy-two hours. I wasn’t in the mood for making long-term commitments I wasn’t going to be able to keep.

  Instead of answering me, he kissed me. As usual his kiss was hot, hard, and demanding . . . and as usual it set me on fire.

  “Oh, get a room,” God snarked from his enclosure around the corner.

  I ignored him.

  It occurred to me that even prisoners on death row were entitled to a last meal. Why shouldn’t I have mine?

  “Tomorrow night?” He asked when he finally came up for air.

  I nodded, too breathless to speak.

  With a victorious grin, he walked away.

  “You didn’t really fall for that act of his, did you?” God asked.

  A quick glance told me that Aunt Leslie had either passed out or fallen asleep. Walking into my bedroom, I pulled the door shut behind me before flopping down on the bed beside God’s cage. He seemed more agitated than usual, scurrying from one end to the other.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m not okay. That hooligan broke in here.”

  “By hooligan I assume you mean Paul?”

  “Yes! He broke in and ransacked the place!”

  “Or,” I suggested mildly. “He came in after Aunt Leslie had unlocked the door and put the flowers in water.”

  “That stench is horrible.” The little guy covered his snout for emphasis.

  “I noticed.”

  “So throw them out.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “As you well know you little eavesdropping monster, I’ve got a date with him tomorrow.”

  “With a hooligan!”

  “Or with a guy who brought me flowers, helped me take care of my aunt, and wants to take me out for a third time.”

  “He was looking for something. I could hear him banging around. Opening and closing things.”

  “A vase. For the flowers. He couldn’t find one since I don’t own one.”

  “Who doesn’t own a vase?”

  “Me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I broke it.”

  “How?”

  “It was Alice’s fault.”

  “Who’s Alice?”

  “My best friend. You’d like her. She’s normal.”

  “Normal?” He said the two syllables as though he couldn’t even imagine the concept in relation to me.

  “The closest thing to normal I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “But she made you break a vase?”

  Okay, confession time. Remember when this whole thing started, and I sort of painted myself as a nonviolent person? Well most of the time I’m not, but if you threaten someone . . . “I broke it over Alice’s ex-boyfriend’s head.”

  “Oh.” Apparently the lizard wasn’t quite sure how to react to this revelation.

  “Trust me, he deserved it. Dumb jerk breaks down my door and tries to drag my best friend out by her hair . . . what else was I supposed to do?”

  “I’m sure you did the right thing,” he soothed. “Speaking of dumb jerks . . .”

  I jumped up from the bed. “I need a shower.” And I needed a break from his constant criticism of Paul.

  The pounding of the water offered only a brief respite from God’s diatribe.

  “I don’t trust him,” he said as soon I’d finished de-stickying myself.

  As he ranted, I made a mental note that I was putting on my last clean pair of underwear and would have to buy some more for the next day.

  “He’s a little too sneaky. A little too smooth. Are you listening to me?”

  “Uh huh,” I replied absentmindedly. In truth I was trying to figure out what to do about Aunt Leslie. Obviously the easiest thing would be to let her sleep it off on my couch. I knew the responsible thing to do was to call one of my other aunts to tell them where she was. Therein lay my problem. I hadn’t spoken with Aunt Loretta since she’d fled the table in the middle of my date with Paul, and I hadn’t yet told Aunt Susan that I’d failed to talk any sense into her wayward sister.

  I had to do something, though, because I needed to find Patrick to tell him that Gary the Gun was blackmailing me.

  “He’s dangerous, Maggie. You should stay away from him,” God said.

  “Patrick?”

  “Patrick? Have I been talking about Patrick all this time?”

  “Because I really don’t think he’ll hurt me. He’s had plenty of opportunities and hasn’t yet.” There was a ringing character endorsement.

  “Not Patrick, you nincompoop!” The lizard’s shout seemed to echo off the bedroom walls.

  I wondered if the neighbors could hear him chirping.

  “I’m talking about Paul!”

  “Okay, you’ve had your say. You think Paul is bad news. Message received. Now will you please shut the hell up so that I can figure out what to do about Aunt Leslie.”

  “Let her sleep.”

  “I have to go out.”

  “Where?’

  “To find Patrick. I have to kill Gary the Gun.”

  “Your father wouldn’t help with the money?” The lizard sounded genuinely surprised by this.

  “I told you he wouldn’t.”

  “Is that why you’re in such a rotten mood?”

  “Maybe I’m just in a mood because you won’t stop bugging me.”

  Crossing his little legs over his chest, he tapped his foot, indicating he didn’t believe that. “What happened?”

  My cell phone buzzed at that moment, saving me both from telling him about Gary the Gun’s blackmail threat, and from having to make a decision about what to do regarding my slumbering aunt. “Hey Aunt Susan, I was just about to call you.”

  “I’m sure you were, Margaret.” Obviously she didn’t. “I heard about your . . . interaction with Loretta.”

  “Is it about Katie?” God asked.

  Shaking my head, I raised a finger to my lips to silence him. “Sorry about that, Aunt Susan.”

  She spoke with quiet resignation. “One can only win so many battles.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I knew I didn’t want her to elaborate. “Aunt Leslie’s at my place.”

  “That’s nice, dear.”

  “She’s passed out.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I have to go out, so I was just going to let her sleep it off.”

  Another long silence.

  “Unless there’s something you want to suggest?”

  “Leave her there. Let her sleep. Live your life.”

  I thought I detected a note of resentment in her flat tone.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you going with us to visit your mother for her birthday?”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to be around.” That was the honest truth. I might be dead. Or incarcerated.

  “Well, think about it.” She sounded inordinately pleased, probably because I hadn’t refused outright. Just the possibility that I’d even consider going was a high point in my aunt’s life. “Have fun tonight!”

  She hung up.

  “What happened that’s got your disposition so dour?” God asked.

  “This is all your fault,” I told him. It felt good to say that, to blame someone else for the galactic fuck-up that had become my life.

  “What’s my fault?”

  “If only you’d been a better lookout.”

  He drew himself up to his full height. Which is really not such an impressive feat when you’re only inches tall. “I was an excellent lookout. You’re the
one who took your sweet time pulling the trigger.”

  “There was someone else there.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, as though a thought occurred to him. “The branch that broke. The reason you looked away from Alfonso Cifelli.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Gary the Gun.”

  “Your competition? That explains how he was able to tell the mob boss that the job was done.”

  I nodded. “It also explains how he threatened me with blackmail today.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “He’s got pictures of me and Cifelli.”

  “Pictures?”

  “You know, for a guy who thinks he’s so smart, you’re pretty slow on the uptake.”

  I left him to chew on that, changed clothes, and went in search of Patrick.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I DIDN’T HAVE A phone number for my murder mentor and he wasn’t at his man cave behind the boutique. I had no idea how to find him.

  It did occur to me that I could call the police and ask for him by name, but I figured that would be in direct violation of his Don’t Get Caught rule. For all I knew, all calls placed to a Police switchboard would be recorded and maybe traced.

  Eventually I decided to see if Delveccio was at the hospital. I reasoned that his employer must have a way of getting in touch with him. Since I was going to ask Delveccio favor, I made a point of wearing my black dress and heels. I figured flashing my killer gams wouldn’t hurt my chances of gaining his cooperation. I made a tottering beeline for the cafeteria.

  Sure enough, my favorite mobster, excuse me, “alleged” mobster was there, deep in conversation with a pretty brunette. I decided that interrupting him wasn’t the best of ideas considering I was going to impose on him for his help, so instead I got myself a chocolate pudding. Okay . . . I got two.

  I’d finished one before the woman got up and walked away. As soon as she was gone, Delveccio waved me over, his pinky ring glittering like a disco ball in the drab cafeteria. His gaze narrowed appreciatively as he surveyed my sticks.

  “My daughter, Antoinette. She was asking if I knew what happened to her good-for-nothing-mother-fucking-scumbag husband.”

  And I thought the conversations I had with my family members were loaded with landmines.