Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (3 page)

It was my turn to cock my head at her. She was right. Technically I no longer came home to an empty house. Instead I lived with a dingbat dog and a smugly superior lizard. Which reminded me . . . why the hell hadn’t God warned me of Patrick’s presence? The Doberman had the excuse of being a few brain cells short of a full load, the lizard did not.

Stalking into my bedroom, the mutt following closely on my heels, too closely considering the mood I was in, I went to confront Godzilla. In the light flickering from the television I’d left on for him, I could see that he was draped over a branch in a corner of his glass-enclosed terrarium, eyes closed and belly bulging.

“Wake up!” I pounded on the lid of his home like I was the Big Bad Wolf getting ready to blow his house down.

Startled, he fell off the branch in an undignified mess of legs and tail. “Earthquake! Earthquake!”

“It’s not an earthquake. It’s me.”

He drew himself up to his full height (which is only a couple of inches so it’s not nearly as impressive as he’d like to think it is), crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled an unblinking stare at me. “Why,” he asked in his snootiest, wannabe-a-British-aristocrat voice, “why did you do that?”

“Because you didn’t warn me that Patrick was sitting in my living room.”

“Was he?”

“Yes! He was! And neither of you thought to tip me off to that particular fact. I almost had a heart attack when I realized I wasn’t alone here.”

“Not!” Doomsday interjected.

“Not what?” God asked.

“She thinks I’m not alone because the two of you are here.”

“She’s right.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A quick glance at the dog revealed that she was grinning from ear to ear (the sight of a Doberman beaming is downright scary if you ask me), obviously pleased that God had said she was right about something.

“Technically . . .” I conceded grudgingly.

“You should get used to the idea.” The lizard climbed back onto his branch and lay down. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Doomsday licked my hand for emphasis.

“Now go to bed. You look exhausted,” God lectured.

Without showering or changing clothes I flopped onto my bed tiredly. Doomsday jumped up and curled against me.

Just then, feeling the warmth of my canine companion and listening to God snore, I’ve got to admit that a strange sense of peace stole over me as I drifted off to sleep.

It wouldn’t last though. All hell was about to break loose.

Chapter Four

I
SHOULD HAVE
known something was up the moment I walked into Insuring the Future and saw Armani sitting at her desk. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I assured myself that I wasn’t late for work. That meant Armani was on time . . . a few minutes early, in fact. In the entire time I’ve worked at the insurance company, she has shown up late every single day.

Maybe it was Harry’s offer of a free breakfast, but I thought it was more likely the imminent threat of heads rolling that had scared her into acting like a model employee.

“Morning, Chiquita!” she practically chirped as I strolled up to her desk.

“Morning. Meeting start yet?”

“Uh-uh. E-mail sent out this morning says the start’s been delayed by an hour. Think that means Harry’s bailing on the breakfast deal?”

I shook my head. “I think it means he’s fucking with our heads. Showing us who’s in control.”

Nodding, she held out a purple silk bag. “Pick.”

I hesitated. I knew what was in the bag. Scrabble tiles. My partially disabled pal claims to be able to read the future in them, sort of like reading tea leaves.

She shook the bag impatiently.

Sighing, I indulged her, pulling seven tiles from the bag and placing them on her desk. Up until a few weeks ago I would have told you that I didn’t buy into this psychic act at all, but things had changed. I now was open to the possibility that my work friend could catch glimpses of the future. Unfortunately I was just as convinced that her interpretation of those visions was usually way off base.

Shaking her mane of thick, dark hair so that it partially obscured her face, she quickly put them in alphabetical order: DEFIRRU. Pitching her voice deeper, a standard part of her fortune-telling act, she mused, “Eleven. Not such a great number.” She’s also superstitious about the numerical value, as computed by Scrabble tiles, of people’s names and important words or phrases.

Big surprise there. Only an idiot would have suggested that my life was filled with sunshine and roses. Even though Armani knew nothing of my murder-for-hire venture, she was well acquainted with Katie being in the hospital and the car accident that had put her there.

She stared intently at the letters, as though willing them to reveal my future to her.

“Armani, I—”

“Shh!”

I smelled pepperoni a split second before Harry spoke from behind me, “Good morning, ladies.”

“Hey, Harry.” I answered for both of us since Armani was engrossed in her study of the tiles. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Donuts. Could I speak to you for a moment alone, Maggie?”

“Sure.” I tried to catch Armani’s eye as I followed Harry into his office, but she was busy moving the Scrabble pieces around.

The second Harry shut the door to his office, I forgot all about the faux prophecy being dreamed up, because Harry draped an arm around my shoulders. A hot, sweaty, possessive arm. “We have to talk, Maggie.”

I tried to gracefully pull away, but he was one wily octopus.

“It’s about your future here.”

“My future?” Shoving his arm off of me, I made a point of putting a chair between us before I turned to face him.

“Your reviews are consistently problematic. I’ve done what I can to protect you, but . . .” He let his unspoken threat hang in the air for a second before he made his move. “I think you need more one-on-one help. Some additional training outside the office.”

I have many faults. Among them is my tendency to imagine the worst of any situation. It’s something I’m working on, so I did my best to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You mean at headquarters?”

He chuckled. “With me. Over dinner.”

“You’re asking me out?”

He nodded, smiling.

“No.”

His face fell. “That would be a mistake, Maggie.”

“Are you threatening me?” I’d gotten away with murder. Twice. I was pretty sure I could knock off this smug son-of-a-bitch and get away with it.

“I’ll give you until the end of the day to make your decision. Just remember that your job is hanging in the balance.” He opened his office door and said loudly enough for half his employees to hear, “I’ll see you in the meeting.”

Steaming, I marched back out to Armani’s desk, intent on sharing what I’d just endured, but I never got the chance.

The moment I was within earshot she blurted out, “Bad news, Chiquita.”

“What now?”

She pointed to my letters which she’d laid out: RUF RIDE “You’re in for a rough ride.”

I didn’t need a freakin’ psychic to tell me that.

The meeting consisted of stale donuts, burnt coffee, and Harry doing his best to play benevolent dictator while threatening to “let go” twenty percent of the department who had “less than stellar” reviews. Basically this meant me, Armani, a couple of alcoholics who stumbled in late and hungover on a consistent basis, and the twenty-something slackers who were more suited to bagging groceries at a snail’s pace.

To be honest, I was miffed to be counted among the company of the others. I was punctual (despite what Aunt Leslie might say), accurate, and efficient. I just “lacked empathy” for the idiots sucking up valuable space on Earth who called in their accident reports day in and day out.

“I was thinking about the rough ride thing. Maybe you just need new shock absorbers in your car,” Armani said as I ended my last call of the day.

I glanced from her to the clock on the far wall. In two minutes I would be free of this place. Free from the worrying glances Armani kept shooting in my direction. Free from Harry and his pepperoni breath. Free from the morons who couldn’t spell the name of the street they lived on, but had still managed to somehow pass a written driver’s test.

“Maggie?”

“Yeah. I’ll have a mechanic check out the car.”

“Ice, ice, baby.” It was a none-too-subtle reminder that she’d ignored one of her own visions and been run over by an out-of-control Zamboni, resulting in a bum leg and hand that she tended to milk for all they were worth. “On the other hand, that dream about a disco ball may mean you have something to celebrate soon, so don’t go around feeling sorry for yourself.” Settling her hip on the edge of my desk so that she could take the weight off her bad leg, Armani picked up my newest addiction and sniffed it suspiciously.

“They’re Life Savers. Candy. Mints.” I’d started chomping on them whenever I felt anxious because they reminded me of Patrick, the only calm and stabilizing influence in my life. Yes, I know it’s pathetic that a hitman is the best person I know, but it’s the truth.

“Have you made a decision, Maggie?”

I didn’t even bother to swivel my chair around to face Harry, who’d crept up behind me. Instead I rolled my eyes at Armani. To her credit, she didn’t react at all.

“I have.”

“And?” He sounded . . . hopeful.

“The answer is still no.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I’m not sure you understand the seriousness of this issue, Maggie.” Now he sounded . . . put out . . . pissed off . . . offended.

I spun my chair around, looked the lecherous louse in the eye, and said loudly enough for half my coworkers to hear, “No, Harry. I won’t go to dinner with you to save my job.”

A dozen heads swiveled in our directions. A cacophony of gasps, chuckling, and throat clearing filled the office.

His mouth working, but no sounds coming out, Harry turned a most unflattering shade of purple.

I smiled my satisfaction. I’d killed people. He didn’t intimidate me.

“Time to go.” Armani slid off my desk, grabbed my arm, and hauled my ass straight out of there.

“I don’t think a mechanic is going to be able to fix this,” she muttered as we bulldozed a path through our gossipy coworkers.

She was right. I was in for a rough ride.

M
Y DAY DIDN’T
get any better while I was at the hospital for my daily after-work visit with Katie. Her condition remained unchanged, which meant her small, still body was tucked into the hospital bed, just like every other visit. I smoothed my hand down her cheek. The bruises she’d sustained in the accident had faded, but her skull was still encapsulated in a cast. It was a terrible look for a three-year-old. “Aunt Maggie’s here, Katie.”

Pulling the visitor’s chair up to her bedside, I took her limp hand in mine and began our nightly ritual. “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.”

Some days she responded to my silly song, her fingers twitching against mine. Some days she didn’t move at all. This was one of the latter.

The doctors had told me not to read too much into her reaction or lack of reaction, but each time she failed to respond, I panicked anew that I’d lost her forever.

After an hour of singing and telling her how God was doing in his lizard world, it was time for me to go.

I got to my feet tiredly and shuffled out of the room.

Vinnie the Muscled Meathead was waiting for me. “Boss wants to talk to you.”

I glanced toward the room where Tony/Anthony Delveccio’s grandson lay in a bed just like Katie’s.

“He said to get yourself a chocolate pudding. His treat.”

“Big spender.”

Vinnie grabbed my arm, squeezing tightly. “Don’t you go disrespecting the boss!”

Yanking free, I glared at him. “Don’t you go putting your hands on me.” I’d killed Delveccio’s son-in-law. I’d murdered a professional hitman. I was considering taking out Harry. I had no problem adding this steroid-fueled animal to my to-do list, but if I was going to do that, it wouldn’t be prudent to get into a public tiff with him, so I turned on my heel and marched toward the land of chocolate pudding.

I’d eaten two bowls’ worth by the time Delveccio showed up. Vinnie was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s the meathead?” I asked as Tony/Anthony slid into the seat opposite me.

“Guy gets on my nerves.”

“Mine too.”

“So about that job I was telling you about . . .”

“The one I’m not sure I’m going to take.”

He fiddled with his giant diamond pinky ring. “How ’bout I tell you about it, you give it some consideration, and then you make a decision.”

I nodded even though I was fairly certain I was out of the killing game for good.

“So you have a general idea of who Jose Garcia is?”

“He runs the second largest drug-dealing gang in the state.”

“Who runs the biggest?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Delveccio frowned. “What’s it matter?”

“I’ve got no desire to help the biggest dealer in the state knock off his main competitor.”

“Some might consider that a public service. If two operations merge into one, there’d be less drive-by shootings. Less . . . oh what’s the word for it? One of those Schwarzenegger movies  . . .”

“
Collateral Damage
.”

“That’s it!” Delveccio clapped my shoulder as though I’d just solved the mystery of life itself. “You know the damndest things. That’s why I like you.”

The only reason I knew what crappy movie he was talking about was that God had insisted on watching it two nights before. “I’m all for public good, but I’m not going to help a drug lord grow his empire.”

“Cuz you’ve got standards.”

I’d recently killed two men, my most meaningful conversations took place with a lizard, and I’d agreed to wear a cotton candy–colored tutu for a wedding, but yeah, somewhere in the warped recesses of my soul, I still had standards. “Yes, Mr. Delveccio. I’m afraid I do.”

“Good girl! Good girl!” He pummeled my shoulder.

I had no idea why he seemed so pleased that I’d refused the job, but I was relieved. I had no desire to kill Jose Garcia. Especially since I’d once called him Uncle Jose . . . albeit for a very short time.

“It’s not his competition footing the bill for this hit. It’s the father of one of his victims.”

I fought hard to keep hope alive that I could get out of this particular job. I really didn’t want to kill Uncle Jose. “Victim?”

“Some rich kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and made the mistake of telling the cops what he’d seen. Garcia had him whacked as he was leaving the police station. A message to cops and anyone else paying attention that no one was going to get away with testifying against him. Rich boy’s daddy brought all kinds of pressure on the D.A.’s office, but they couldn’t make anything stick. So the man’s given up on the law and is looking for a different kind of justice. Which is where you come in.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” It was a feeble attempt to buy some time to think up an excuse to get me out of this situation without pissing off the mob boss sitting across from me. The chance to earn more cash for Katie’s care was a powerful incentive to take the job, but knowing that the news of Garcia’s death would make Aunt Loretta cry made the idea hard to stomach. (She cried every time the New Jersey Devils or New Jersey Nets lost a game . . . she was loyal like that . . . to losers . . .)

“He wants it done at a very specific time and place.”

“Why?”

“He wants Garcia’s family to suffer as much as his has. The hit’s gotta take place in two weeks.”

“Where?” I found myself asking.

“He wants it done publicly. Either at the rehearsal dinner for his daughter’s wedding or at the wedding itself.”

“I hate weddings.”

T
HANKFULLY
G
OD AND
Doomsday were the only ones in my place when I got home and they both greeted me cheerfully.

Well, in reality, God groused, “Turn on the TV. It’s almost time for
Wheel of Fortune
.” The lizard is obsessed with the game show despite the fact he royally sucks at it.

Doomsday smothered me with doggie kisses before whining, “Gotta! Gotta! Gotta!”

Switching on the set for the lizard, I slipped the leash on the Doberman and walked outside. “We’ve got to hurry. I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

“Where?”

“Wedding dress shopping.”

“Marry?”

“My friend Alice is getting married. We’re going to pick out her dress.” I didn’t bother to explain to my four-legged friend that Alice was knocked up and was in a huge rush to get hitched before she started to show. This meant that wedding preparations were in overdrive.