Fat Assassins (The Fat Adventure Series)

by Fowler, Marita

  “How’s it going, Deputy?” I stammered, adjusting my headscarf.

  The only visible part of Ulyssa’s face was her giant you-go-girl smile.

  “Not too bad. Got a call about warring gangs in women’s lingerie, so I came down to check it out before the violence endangered innocent civilians. You know how crazy these turf wars can get.”

  “I think your shoplifting gangs are the next aisle over. They’re fighting over girdles and control underwear,” I said, nodding toward the next aisle.

  “Shoplifting gangs? I thought it was serious gang warfare.”

  “Don’t mock it,” I warned him. “I’ve heard stories about folks ending up up in body casts because they cut into another shoplifting gang’s profits.”

  They both stared at me with confused looks, so I continued my explanation, ”Girdles and control underwear are high dollar items worth about $25 a pair and they can carry more of them out without getting caught.” If I hadn’t already won Eric’s admiration with my Waffle House anger, my vast knowledge of girdle pricing would sure do it.

  “Ah.”

  “Um. Not that I wear girdles. Just had to do a lot of price checks on them when I worked here,” I said matter-of-factly, as my face started giving off a purplish, red glow.

  “Um-hmm. That’s good info about the girdle strategies. I guess I better get to fighting crime,” he replied, winking at me as he walked away. “Nice disguises, by the way! Going undercover at a bingo hall or something?” I ran over to the mirror and stared at my image. I looked like an elderly hoot owl with a black and pink rose covered scarf and large white rimmed sunglasses.

  Ulyssa stood behind me wearing a similar disguise. “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” she laughed.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me. You look like your mother before Mass!” We added our excellent disguises to our basket and joined the check out line at Mitsy’s register.

  “Hey! How ya been?” I asked.

  “Pretty good. Be glad you don’t work here anymore though. Your resignation speech stirred up a whole mess of trouble. Corporate sent in somebody to investigate Bobbie Ray. They’re not liking what they’re finding so far. Rumor has it they found out he’s been stealing oil filters.”

  “What? Oil filters? Don’t he make $90,000 a year? Why would he steal ten dollar oil filters?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s one of them Wynona Ryder situations where he did it for the thrill. I don’t know. But he’s in a heap of trouble. I’ll have to give you the juicy details later. That’ll be $26.43.” We handed her a hundred dollar bill to pay for our merchandise. “Sorry I can’t talk longer. They clamped down on us socializing with the ‘customers’. ”

  “No problem. We’ll see ya at karaoke this weekend at Buck’s!”

  We grabbed our bags and walked past Minnie who was in the middle of a screaming match between the warring shoplifting gangs. The two daughters were in a tug of war using one of the girdles. Deputy Hodde was trying to keep the shoplifting crews from brawling. I flashed him a big smile as he got smacked in the face with a pair giant bloomers. I coulda swore he blushed a little.

  The sidekick sputtered when I shut the engine off outside Cornnut’s.

  Cornnut and Ronnie were sealing the new windshield into Ulyssa’s car when we walked into the garage. “You girls are a little early. She won’t be ready for another hour or so.”

  “We came a little early cause we were hoping to look at some of the cars you have in the backyard,” Ulyssa said.

  “Why in the world would you girls be interested in one of them cars?”

  “We’ve got something we need to take care of... and we need a car nobody will recognize.”

  “Well, I reckon you are looking for a backyard car then. Ronnie, keep an eye on this windshield while I show the girls some cars.”

  Ronnie gave us a crazy smile causing us to scoot after Cornnut. He lead us through a side gate with Doberman Pinchers chained up on either side.

  “Cain’t be too safe. Moe and Curly keep the place safe when I’m not around,” he said, patting the dogs affectionately on the head. The dogs snarled a warning at us. “They don’t take well to strangers. But that’s good fer me.”

  The backyard was full of beat up cars that looked like they’d been used for a variety of badness.

  “This here is a fine car,” he said, patting a red Ford Probe as we walked around the front. “Only problem is getting in and out of the driver’s side.” The entire door was missing and a giant piece of ribbed sheet metal had been riveted over the gap. The window was a sheet of plastic taped to the sheet metal with duct tape.

  “We need something with two functioning doors. We’ll need to get in and out of the car quickly.”

  “Okay. Let’s head over to this section.”

  It seemed like the backyard lot was double the size of the front car lot. Cornnut must do alot of backyard business. He led us over to a group of bigger vehicles.

  “How bout this one?” he asked, swinging the door open on a old VW van as a sweet fragrance seeped out. Cornnut popped his head inside the van continuing, “Loads of room and storage for your transportation needs.”

  He gave us a knowing smile. “Or this El Camino will give you the same storage space with better gas mileage.”

  “Oh, no. We’re not dealers! We just need a car with a little get up and go...”

  “Y’all gonna do a little street racing, huh? I got the perfect car for that then. Why didn’t ya just say so?” he asked, walking over to the last row and pulled the tarp off a car. “Just got her in last week and she’s a sweet ride,” he added, sliding a hand across the grill. “1977 Chevy Chevette... somebody customized her with nitrous oxide (NOS) tanks and racing fins. She’ll burn up any race. The vehicle identification number has already been sanded off just in case you get busted and need to ditch it. That and the false license plates make it untraceable by the police.”

  “It’s perfect. What’s your price?”

  “Well...” he paused, adjusting his baseball hat. “I was going to put a sticker price of $1500 on ‘er. But, I reckon I could cut y’all a deal... I’ll give it to ya fer an even thousand.”

  “That’s your best price?” Ulyssa argued. “That car is over thirty years old and bright orange. Ain’t nobody gonna buy it except us... we’ll give you $500.”

  Cornnut frowned and tugged on his overall straps. “I can’t go any lower than $800 cause of the racing kit.”

  “Done.” Handshakes all around.

  We paid him for the car and windshield while we were still in the backyard to avoid prying eyes. We walked around the side of the house and waited for him to bring the car into the driveway.

  Crazy Ronnie was sitting in the garage watching the windshield and sharpening a giant bowie knife.

  “Howdy, Ronnie! How’s the deer meat?”

  “I got it hanging in the smoke shed... making jerky. It was a twelve point buck, so I stuffed the head and hung it in my house. It really fancies up the place. Kinda like one of them hunter cabins.”

  We were saved from any more conversation as Cornnut brought the Chevette around to the front of the house and neatly parked it in front of my truck. I asked Cornnut if he would mind checking it out since it had been running so rough. He said it would take him a couple days, but he should be able to get it done before the weekend. He traded me the Chevette keys for my truck keys and we were on our way. Ulyssa led the way back to the main road and I followed in the Chevette. After a few minutes getting familiar with the interior, I guided it onto the road and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car slowly started picking up speed, but wouldn’t push past forty-five miles per hour. Irate drivers sped past us, honking to show their annoyance.

  We pulled over a few miles down the road to discuss our plans.

  “That car is a piece of crap. Racer my ass!” Ulyssa declared, leaning against the orang
e Chevette.

  “I hope it’s fast enough to get the job done. I don’t even think it’ll kill a possum going at this speed. It‘d just knock it over,” I laughed nervously.

  “So, we’re really going to do this?”

  “Yeah. I think we need to do it tonight though. If I sleep on it again, I think I’ll lose my nerve.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Okay, it’s getting dark enough so we’ll drive over to Charleston and park the Pinto within walking distance of the restaurant. Then we’ll both ride in the Chevette for the hit. Once we’ve run him over, we’ll grab the Pinto and ditch this car somewhere outside of town.”

  “Who’s going to be the driver when we run him over?” I asked.

  She paused for a moment before responding, “We could Rochambeau for it?”

  “Really? We’re going to rock, paper, scissors to see who’s going to kill a man?”

  “Got any better ideas?” she snapped.

  “Okay. Rochambeau it is.”

  “1!” We smacked our right fists against our left palms.

  “2!” Smack.

  “3!” Smack.

  “Go!”

  “Rock!” I yelled, pleased with my choice.

  “Paper covers rock!” Ulyssa danced and cheered.

  “Damnit!” I pouted. “Lead the way!”

  The speed impaired Chevette doubled the time it took us to reach Charleston. It was almost 8PM when we parked the Pinto three blocks East of Bella’s.

  Ulyssa hopped in the Chevette and we donned our disguises. I eased the car around the corner and we idled a block away where we could see the restaurant door. We weren’t even sure Marcus would be here tonight, so this seemed more like a stakeout than anything. Ulyssa tried the radio, but it was stuck on a bluegrass channel. So, we sat in silence waiting for our target.

  Thirty minutes later he walked outside and started to cross the street.

  I threw the car into gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car refused to budge and the engine squealed like an angry sow at a pig roast.

  Reeeeeeeeeeeetttttt.

  I pressed harder on the gas pedal surrounding the car with white smoke and vibrating the rear view mirror. The angry sow squealed louder.

  RRRRREEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTT!

  An explosion rocked the car as the orange hood blew three feet into the air, cartwheeled down the street and slammed into the wall like an uncoordinated cheerleader.

  We scrambled for the door handles as the stench of burning rubber filled the car. The sky seemed to be raining hoses, belts and spark plugs, as we stood coughing outside the car. Bystanders started nervously edging towards the metallic inferno while sirens wailed in the distance. One of the NOS tanks blew out the front grill flying down the street and through the rear windshield of a Mercedes Benz startling the bystanders and propelling us into action. Another explosion shook the ground as we sprinted to the Pinto. The fire must have consumed the final NOS tank buying us some extra time to get away. We kept our disguises in place until we were on the highway back to Nitro. Ulyssa drove under the speed limit and kept checking the rear view mirror. She weaved through Nitro’s back streets just in case anyone was following us. We half expected to see the trailer park crawling with police helicopters and canine units, but were instead greeted by the sound of crickets and hum of the park’s generators.

  We went through what was quickly becoming our normal evening routine, Ulyssa checked the tampon box while I poured us a glass of wine.

  “What the hell was Cornnut thinking... giving us a car with NOS tanks?! We’re lucky we didn’t die,” Ulyssa said, directing her anger at the only other person involved in the foiled assassination attempt.

  “I think the engine caught on fire before the NOS tanks exploded, so there musta been something else wrong,” I replied, chugging my glass of wine. “I hope he was right when he said the cops couldn’t trace the car without the VIN number.”

  “We should check the newspapers tomorrow just to be sure.” Her hands were shaking as she sipped her wine. “Do you think Marcus saw us? Or knew we were trying to kill him?”

  “The smoke was so heavy I don’t think anyone would recognize us, even without our disguises.” She had soot stains outlining the shape of our oversized sunglasses.

  “We suck at being assassins,” she sighed. “We weren’t even close to killing him. I don’t know if I can do this again. It’s emotionally exhausting.”

  “Let’s take this one step at a time and get some rest. We’ll see what’s in the news tomorrow and go from there.”

  I collapsed on the bed without changing out my smoke scented clothes.

  The next morning we stopped by the local Piggly Wiggly for newspapers and breakfast. We sat in the Pinto eating yogurts and scanning for news of the attempted assassination.

  “Here’s something! In the Charleston Gazette,” I said, pulling the paper closer to my face. “Old model Chevette explodes outside the Capitol Conference Center. The car, which had been outfitted with nitrous oxide, blazed for over an hour while firemen fought to get it under control. Flying shrapnel and debris caused over $30,000 in damage to nearby buildings and vehicles. Police have a few leads, but the motive for the violence remains a mystery.”

  “Are you sure that’s about us?” Ulyssa asked.

  “I’m pretty sure.” I spun the photo towards her and pointed at the Bella’s sign barely visible beyond the flames and three firemen spraying the car.

  “And look,” I said, pointing to the Mercedes, “this is the car the NOS tank busted up.” I squinted hard and could see the giant hole where the tank flew threw the back windshield. “I hope they don’t figure out it was us. We can’t afford to fix that windshield.”

  She grabbed the newspaper from my hand saying, “We sure messed that car up! If they find out it was us, we’ll have to spend the rest of our blood money to fix it! Cornnut sold us a real piece of junk car!”

  “Well, in his defense, he didn’t know we needed to run somebody over with it... otherwise he would have probably tried harder to sell us that El Camino. I’ve heard those cars are surprisingly reliable.”

  She shook her head at my twisted logic.

  “Speaking of Cornnut, let’s give him a visit and see if the Sidekick is ready.”

  Ulyssa started the car and we began another trek to Cornnut’s. We were spending too much time in his neighborhood lately, if we’re not careful it’ll end up in the rumor-mill.

  “We could try knives or guns?” I offered.

  “What?”

  “The car didn’t work out, so maybe we should try knives or guns?”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I’m trying to recover from almost being consumed in a giant fireball.”

  “Well, what do you think? Knives or guns?”

  “We’d never get a gun permit approved in two weeks and we don’t know the first thing about shooting. Wouldn’t killing someone with a knife be messy?”

  “I don’t know. They make it look easy in all those Rambo movies. Or we could do it with Samurai swords like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill!” The mental picture of me and Ulyssa in yellow Bruce Lee outfits kept us giggling the rest of the way to the garage.

  It was no surprise that crazy Ronnie was hanging out with Cornnut when we got there.

  “Hey Cornnut! Ronnie!”

  “Howdy, girls! You’re a bit early. I’ll need another hour or so before she’s finished,” he said, patting the suspended Sidekick for emphasis.

  “No problem. We’ll just hang out if you don’t mind,” I replied.

  We grabbed a seat on his concrete front porch while we waited.

  “Shasta! I bet Ronnie could help us with the knives!” Ulyssa whispered.

  I had to look at her twice to make sure she wasn’t joking, but she was absolutely serious. “Seriously? You want crazy Ronnie to show us how to use knives?”

  “Well, we could see what type of weapons he has... and see which ones we could use. What do ya think?”<
br />
  “I’m too young to die.”

  “Well, what’s your idea then?”

  Maybe she’s right. Knives are a good choice. Whatever we do, it has to be low profile and knives are definitely low profile. We can’t afford for them to tie us back to the exploding car.

  “Okay,” I relented. “I’ll let you do the talking since it’s your idea.”

  We hopped off the porch and walked back around to the garage. Ronnie was sitting on a folding chair talking to Cornnut while he drained the truck’s oil.

  “Ronnie. Is it true that you have the biggest knife collection in Nitro?”

  “Yup. I got over 500 different types of bladed weapons,” he glowed with militant pride.

  “Wow. Would you mind showing us some of them while we’re waiting on the truck?” That earned Ulyssa a sharp look from Cornnut.

  “Sure. Y’all want to ride with me.” I paled at this question, but Ulyssa smoothly responded. “Nah. We’ll drive. Shasta isn’t feeling good and I don’t want her getting sick in your nice truck,” she said, flashing him her movie star smile.

  “I’ll be back in a bit, Cornnut. You good without me?” Ronnie asked.

  Cornnut nodded his concurrence while continuing to stare at us.

  And we were off to our training session for assassination attempt #2.

  Crazy Ronnie owned a chunk of land about a mile away from Cornnut, so it didn’t take us long to get to his house. The driveway was a long dirt road surrounded by forest. The sun shimmered on the side of his double wide trailer. The landscaping was an unusual combination of flower beds planted inside monster truck tires and garden gnomes. Two mangy dogs ran from under the trailer as we rolled to a stop in the dirt lot. The overexcited dogs jumped all over Ronnie leaving clay mud paw prints all over his overalls. He patted them on the head as they followed him to the front door. If they were supposed to be guard dogs - they sucked. They ignored us as we followed Ronnie to the trailer. The seashell wind-chime tinkled over our heads as we waited for Ronnie to open the door.