Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

G
OD IS A
backseat driver. Or in this case, a front-seat driver. After killing Alfonso Cifelli, I made the mistake of buckling Godzilla’s terrarium into the front passenger seat for the ride home. He second-guessed every turn I made, every touch of the brake. I was ready to kill the lizard by the time we got back to the apartment.

I almost did, when I dropped his enclosure the second I walked into my place, but that wasn’t my fault.

“Hey, Mags.”

Expecting to walk into an empty apartment, I shrieked and almost let go of the cage as I registered the outline of a man standing just feet away.

“Don’t you dare drop me!” God boomed.

“Easy! Easy. It’s just me.” Patrick said. He’d been examining the family photographs lining the wall when I walked in. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well you did!” I shoved the glass container into his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His face revealed nothing as he stood there examining me, running his gaze over me from head-to-toe and then back up again.

“Have him put me down,” God demanded.

“Put that down on the kitchen table.” Somehow giving an order to the redhead helped to slow my racing heart.

Moving toward the kitchen, Patrick peered inside the clear box. “You brought it with you?”

“Inform him that I am a him, not an it.”

“Him,” I muttered. “He’s a him.”

Carefully placing the enclosure on the table, Patrick bent over so that he was eye-to-eye with the little guy. “He looks pissed.”

“What do you expect? You called him an
it.
”

Straightening, Patrick stared at me. I recognized that wary expression. It was the look people gave my mother the moment they realized she’s bat-shit crazy. I hated that look when it was directed at her. I hated it even more now that I was caught in its spotlight.

“That was a brilliant move,” God drawled haughtily.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him to shut the hell up. If I did that, Patrick would know for sure I’d lost it. Instead I did my best to sound outraged. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?”

“It went okay?” He moved toward the kitchen sink and turned on the water.

“If by
okay
you mean that a man’s dead, than yes, it went okay.”

“And you’re okay?” He wet the edge of my dish towel.

“Well, if you mean by
okay
that I’ve just killed a man and haven’t gone running to the police to confess my crime, then yes, I’m okay.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Shuddering as I remembered the destruction in his eyes as he lunged at me, I shook my head.

Turning off the water, Patrick crossed the room so that he was standing right in front of me. Grabbing my chin, he tilted my head up so that he could see my face.

Cold fear skittered down my spine. Now that I’d done his dirty work, was he going to kill me? Like an idiot, I’d stashed the gun under the front seat of my car. I didn’t have anything to defend myself with.

He raised his other hand toward my face. He was going to smother me! I knew I should move away, fight back, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even breathe.

He dabbed the wet towel along my jaw line. I hadn’t been aware that my face was burning, until I felt the cool water against it. The chilled dampness snapped me out of my near catatonia. Knocking down his hand holding the soaked cloth, I tried to spin away, but he tightened his grip on my chin. The pressure was insistent, but not painful.

“You’ve still got some on you.” He wiped at my fiery cheek.

“Some what?”

“Blood.” He whispered the syllable as though he somehow knew that would lessen the force of the blow to my psyche.

“B-blood?”

“On your face and in your hair.” He swabbed at my face a bit more vigorously. “It’s not too bad.”

“Oh yes,” God piped up. “I’d been meaning to tell you about that. It looks like you practically bathed in the stuff.”

Screaming, I shoved Patrick away and made a mad dash for my bathroom so that I could look in the mirror.

God had exaggerated. It wasn’t as bad as he’d said. On the other hand, Patrick had definitely downplayed the mess I’d made. Cifelli’s blood covered almost half my face and matted my hair. Basically I looked like a horror-movie reject.

I retched into the sink, but since I still hadn’t eaten, I wasn’t actually sick. It was pretty much the only break I’d caught.

“It’ll come off.” Patrick was standing in the doorway of my bathroom watching me dry heave. Yeah, the day really wasn’t going my way.

Without thinking (or undressing) I jumped into my shower and turned the water on full blast. It was ice cold. “Fuck!” I screamed. “Fu—”

My air supply was cut off by a hand slapped over my mouth. My scream was stifled too.

“You can’t go around screaming, Mags. Neighbors remember that kind of thing.” Standing in the shower behind me, Patrick scolded gently before taking his hand away.

“I have to get it off!” I whimpered through chattering teeth, raising my face into the stream of water. I wasn’t sure if I was shivering because I was cold or upset.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know.”

“This is all your fault!”

I felt every muscle in his body tighten, but he didn’t argue. “How do you figure that?”

“Goddamn Life Lesson Two. Dead is dead. I listened for his heartbeat. That’s how I got his blood on me.”

“Good girl. Nice to know you were paying attention.” Reaching around me, he snatched up my bottle of shampoo and squirted some on top of my head.

“Hey!” I spluttered as soap got in my eye. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Washing your hair.”

You know all those movies where a man is washing a woman’s hair and it looks like one of the sexiest things ever? They’re all a lie. Trust me, there is nothing remotely sexy about having a man standing behind you, rubbing your scalp like he’s scrubbing a stain in the kitchen sink.

The water warmed as we stood there, soaking into our clothes. Suds flowed down into my eyes. It stung, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

“You’re going to blind me,” I muttered. “Just let me do it myself.”

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I raised my hands to my hair and began methodically rinsing the lather away. I was barely aware of Patrick stepping out of the shower and leaving the bathroom.

The only thing I could hear over the roar of the pounding water was God singing. In Italian.

I wondered whether it would be difficult to drown a lizard.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Y
OU LACK EMPATHY.”

I glared at Harry while I counted to ten to keep from telling him that he lacked hair, a personality, and the basics of dental hygiene.

He was unaware that I was giving him a look that could kill. He was too busy studying his copy of the printed-out report he’d given me.

I was having a crappy day, even by my standards, which, let’s face it, aren’t set all that high. First I’d killed Alfonso Cifelli and gotten his blood smeared all over me, then the damn lizard harangued me mercilessly and Patrick practically gave me a heart attack. Now, to make my misery complete, I’d been called into my boss’s office for my quarterly review. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

“Yes, you definitely lack empathy.” Harry clucked like a disapproving schoolmarm. “There will be no way I’m going to be able to approve you for a raise on your hire anniversary if you don’t improve those empathy scores.”

I really wished Patrick hadn’t taken the gun I’d used to kill Alfonso. It would have come in handy right about now. I knew damn well that Life Lesson One was: Don’t get caught, but eradicating Harry might be worth it.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“But my other numbers are off the charts,” I argued. “My call volume. My accuracy. My problem-solving.”

Harry shook his head sadly. “But we can’t tolerate employees of Insuring the Future being heartless.”

“I’m not heartless!” Sure I hadn’t shed a tear for Theresa or Katie, and I hadn’t felt much of anything when I’d pulled the trigger and ended Cifelli, but that didn’t mean I was a cold-hearted bitch. Did it?

“All you have to do is stick with the script, and your scores will go up.” Standing, Harry walked around from behind his desk to sit in the chair beside me. “And if you could refrain from calling people stupid . . .”

“People
are
stupid. If you’re talking about that call last week with the guy who left his keys in the ignition of his car while he ran into the sporting goods store to buy a new nine iron . . . he
is
stupid.”

“But it’s not our place to tell the customers that.”

“His kid was strapped into the carseat in the back seat! He left him and the key in the car so he could get a new golf club, and then he has the nerve to complain that the jackass who stole his car . . . and his kid, let’s not forget the kid was in there too . . . the jackass smashed the front fender when the police chased him down.”

“Our job is to take the claim. It’s not our place to judge.”

“If you ask me, somebody should have taken the nine iron to the guy’s skull!”

“That’s not my concern. All I’m worried about is the fact that you called him stupid. According to the transcript of that call, Mr. Balch said, ‘Isn’t that awful?’ And you replied, ‘Awful? No. Stupid? Yes.’ You can’t go around saying that kind of stuff to customers. If you do, I’ll have no choice but to let you go.”

Harry let what he perceived to be a threat hang in the air. Personally, I thought getting let go from this hellhole would be a blessing.

Leaning in close, Harry laid a hand on my knee. I eyed the stapler on his desk. I was pretty sure I could use it to both shatter his creeping fingers and bash in his head.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, Maggie.” Sitting this close, his pepperoni breath threatened to trigger my gag reflex. “That’s why I’m willing to overlook this.”

He squeezed my knee.

I envisioned grabbing the stapler and swinging it through the air. I closed my eyes as I imagined the satisfying thunk it would make as it bounced off my boss’s skull. It made me smile.

“I’m glad you appreciate that I’m looking out for you.”

Jolted out of my pleasant daydream, my eyes snapped open.

“Just try to remember when someone tells you that something has happened that was upsetting to them, you’re supposed to say, ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Let me hear you say it.”

I stared at him.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” My delivery was flatter than a pancake.

“Okay. Okay. Needs a little work, but you’ve got the general idea. Let’s practice a couple of scenarios. I’ll be the customer.”

“Do we have to?” I was thinking another root canal would be preferable to role-playing with Harry.

“You’re my responsibility, Maggie. I want you to be the best that you can be.”

I’d have been willing to bet he’d learned this lousy pep talk at one of his manager-training meetings.

“Oh,” he said in a falsetto that would have given Mickey Mouse a run for his money. “I’m so upset. My car was rear ended.”

“Really?”

“No! You’re not supposed to say
really
. You’re supposed to say . . .” He waited for me to fill in the blank.

Desperate to get away from him, I did my best to sound sympathetic. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Better. Much better! Let’s try another.” He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for me to indicate that I was into this stupid game we were playing.

“Okay.”

“I had a little too much to drink, and I crashed my car into my house.”

This time I didn’t miss a beat. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

The vermin actually clapped his hands. “Now, for good measure, you could always add,
Are you ok?
Let’s try one more.”

“If you insist.” It wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter. If it was up to me, he’d be lying on the floor of this office with his mouth stapled shut.

“I ran a red light and mowed down an old lady trying to cross the street.”

I swallowed convulsively. Sadly, I’d had a call just like that a couple of weeks earlier. I knew for certain I’d offered no empathy to that driver. This one was the ultimate test. Forcing myself to smile, I said, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”

“Excellent! Now just remember that when you’re back on the phones.” He patted my knee.

I stood and walked out before I made a grab for the stapler.

—#—

At lunch Armani offered to help me perfect my bullshitting skills. “Pretend it’s a game,” she encouraged, pushing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich across the table toward me. “Imagine you’re an actress, giving the performance of your life.”

I looked from her to the sandwich, unsure of which made less sense.

“Try it,” she urged.

I picked up the sandwich.

“Not that! Try the line.”

“Why?”

“Why? Cuz I’m not going to let you get your Chiquita-lite ass fired. I’d miss your swollen face.”

“Sullen.”

“What?”

“Not swollen. You’d miss my sullen face.”

“Damn right I would!”

“Is that why you brought me the sandwich, to sweeten my disposition?”

“Naah . . . that there is a bribe.”

“A bribe for what?” I asked even though I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. I tried not to think about what it meant that my friend thought I could be bribed with a sandwich.

“I need you to go shopping with me.”

“For what?” The last time we’d done the retail thing she’d taken me to a sex shop where she insisted on . . . sampling everything, much to the amusement of the clerk and my humiliation.

“Bibs and clothes. Baby shit.”

“You’re pregnant?” I gasped.

Armani threw back her head and laughed. “I’m as likely to get pregnant as you are to get laid any time soon.”

I
BARELY MADE IT
through the work day, and all I really wanted to do once I was done was to go home and sleep. Instead I drove to the hospital. While there under the pretense of visiting my beloved niece Katie, I would talk to the mob boss Tony/Anthony Delveccio. I couldn’t wait to tell him I’d done the dirty deed and he had no reason to worry about his ne’er-do-well son-in-law ever again, and every reason to hand over a hundred grand.

Of course, my life being the clusterfuck that it is, things didn’t exactly turn out that way.

Before I even passed through the doors of the hospital, I heard a familiar voice calling my name.

“Maggie, oh, Maggie, Darling!”

Hoping that this was just another of my ill-timed hallucinations, I turned around slowly.

Nope, not a hallucination, just a nightmare come true. Aunt Loretta came tottering toward me on her five-inch stilettos.

“I’m so glad you’re here!”

That made one of us.

“A terrible thing happened, just terrible.” As she grew closer, I could see that her mascara had run down her face. She’d been crying.

Something had happened to Katie.

Something terrible.

The world around me tilted and swirled. Overcome by sudden vertigo, it was a struggle to remain standing.

Katie.

A shadow fell over everything, and I was suddenly cold.

Not Katie.

My sisters were gone and now my niece.

I’d never in my life fainted, but I was pretty sure I was going to. Maybe if I was lucky I’d hit my head as I fell and would die too.

“It’s poor Templeton!”

I swayed unsteadily as I tried to make sense of what she was saying.

“So much blood. So very much blood!”

She charged into me, almost knocking us both to the ground. “I’m so glad you’re here, Maggie,” she gasped on a hiccupped sob.

“What?” I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I’d thought she’d meant something had happened to Katie, but now I wasn’t so sure.

“Templeton’s hurt!” Loretta wailed.

“What happened?” Now that I knew for sure that Katie was okay, well, as okay as someone in a persistent vegetative state can be, I had to sort out why Aunt Loretta was so upset. And she was upset. This wasn’t her being overly dramatic for attention. Her whole body was shaking. Hugging her tightly, I led her to a bench beside the hospital doors. “Take your time, Aunt Loretta. Just tell me what happened.”

“We were . . . getting frisky,” she sniffled. “And I was on top and—”

Ewww. The image scarred me more than that of Alfonso Cifelli keeling over in front of me. I hurriedly interrupted her before she could give me any more details about her lovers’ tryst. “You said something about blood?”

“The portrait above my bed, the one in that heavy oak frame, you know the one.”

I nodded. I’d never known anyone else who kept an oil painting of themselves hanging in their bedroom.

“It fell and broke Templeton’s nose!” She cried. “So much blood!”

I almost started to laugh hysterically. Here I’d been thinking Katie was dead, and all that had happened was the rat had gotten his snout dented. I didn’t think Aunt Loretta would take kindly to my being amused by her boyfriend’s fate, so I fell back on my professional training.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you okay?” There was no way my aunt could say I wasn’t empathetic.