The Hit Woman's Assassination Handbook

by Jane Brooke

  The barn gate opens, his two obedient children pass into the silence of the stables. He stares at the stars, does not know that he shares a common wish with the beautiful creature he has just spied. That is a vision of death, the termination of pain, genius and grief, once and finally forever every morning as they wake.

  STANDING in the office, her future, or lack of it whirls in her noggin. Mandals eyes roam around, she groans for place is a disaster. Behind the desk a sign reads:

  NO CASH: NO ROOM.

  Out the window an old woman, burnt face, flowered tent dress, is just standing, staring at the barn.

  Mandal looks out a side window, at the barns, old woman, barns, old woman, nothing is happening. Her blues peek at the sign:

  CASH ONLY.

  Good, she’s got tons of that in her tummy pack. One more pawn move lights her head up. Being a liar, cheat, con artist, pays dividends.

  Especially when one plays life or death life games

  MAVA walks into the office. She looks hard at the blonde. Mandal looks sweetly back, especially at the new tattoo on Mava’s wrist that reads:

  ART.

  Internally, Mandal plays it out in her mind, every angle as the old broad looks harmless enough.

  “What can I do fer ya?” Mava asks.

  She’s unfriendly, sharp blue, clear eyes, tan face, starin’ at the beautiful girls face as the mirror image hitter is trying to read her ancient old thief eyes as well.

  Folks like The Cox, rest of society too, aren’t tortured by complex thought stuff. There more interested what comes out of their anuses then like Mandal, who wonders if there is life on Uranus.

  Though being uneducated, does not make Mava stupid.

  Proof, is the sophisticated business she had created for her clan.

  Her distrust is wise and though Mandal wows them any where she places a spoiled foot, Mava could care less that she makes Kate Hudson look like a bent back ape. Mava just stares at her like she’s trouble yet to come.

  But, like any person born poor, she has a weakness, money. But now Mava don’t know that the sexy blond is sweeping her with a-radar of unimaginable intelligence, searching for that PING so she can send a torpedo through her brain, to get her own way.

  Mandal, Mother Board scrambling numbers as it seeks info, watches, analyzes, nano by nano second, instantly becomes sweet. She’s in harm’s way as she acts all dependent and all, kinda frail; her body language changes instantly.

  “Hi, the folks down at...Ahhh...Berks, nice lady Kate, is it?”

  Waits, for confirmation with I’m a little scared smile on her face

  Mava coldly nods.

  “Said you might be able to fix my old Cadillac.” Nods out the window, “I need a room, too.” If you have one available. I’m in a bit of a fix.”

  My, what a sweetie she is.

  Mava, cynical, knows there is little innocence left in the world, no body’s fool, wonders when the gal is gonna drag out the Girl Scout cookies fer sale. She looks at the car, back at the cutie pie, decides it ain’t worth it cause she don’t need no extra pair of eyes around, especially since something big is about to go down.

  “Can’t fix no car. Ain’t got no room.”

  Okay. Mandal says in her mind. Let’s try this.

  “Mamm, I could really use some help. Folks at Berks said one of the Cox boys was a real genius fixin’ cars. Is that your boy? Arvan I think they said his name was.”

  Mava kinda glows. Nobody ever called her idiot son a genius, even they knowed the boy could be a bright moment fixin’ cars and such. Basking in a motherly glow, she fumbles in her dress, finds a cigarette, pushes it in her lips, pats her pockets and can’t seem to find her Bic.

  FLAME appears, from nowhere.

  Mandal finds a smile as Mava puffs and looks through the smoke at the hypnotic eyes of the polite blond.

  Mandal shoves it into her change pocket.

  “I’m kinda stuck mamm.” Lowered eyes, whimper, whimper, eyes raised, “Have some money, would pay you real good.”

  She’s becoming a Texan right before Mava’s eyes.

  Marginally softened, Mava says. “Sorry. Every body’s real busy here. No room, no fixin’ yer car.”

  Enough already. Mandal whispers in her mind. Here, Time to roll the dice” she thinks.

  Small fist opens, ten one hundred dollar bills spill from their roll, furrow on the desk.

  “Please Miss. I ain’t rich, but I can give ya this as an advance on the room and the car fixin’. I’ll pay whatever it costs too, fer the car reparin’, ya know, I’d spend a coupla a thousand dollars to get my car goin’. Please, Mamm.”

  Mandal says as she talks more and more like Ellie Mae Clampet from the Beverly Hill Billie’s by the moment.

  Mandal is Old School wise, knowing if a little bit of money is good, more is better for, she can see the old woman’s eyes have lit, looking at the ten C notes fanned on the counter.

  Mava, curious, sees the girl has class, sweet, scared, war between the money, privacy and money again.

  What could be wrong takin’ it, helpin’ the gal fills her greedy mind.

  Most likely the Captain of the Titanic had those same thoughts.

  Iceberg! What fucking Iceberg?

  “Maybe, can help ya”...Inferno Flats no place fer a lady.”

  Mava’s hands budge toward the grand, hesitate.

  “Another thousand darlin’, cars can be costly to fix.”

  Mandal smiles, digs past her 38, flashes a roll thus letting Mava know she’s a mark for more. She fans ten bills on the counter, smiles sweet like. Mava eyes ignite, sweeper, sweeper, up goes the cash, a small smile.

  “Seein’ yer stuck in all. Should cover the room, car, ya can stay, jest til my boy get’s yer car fixed.”

  ICEBERG dead ahead.

  Reaching back, Mava’s gnarled hand wraps around the room key as she hesitates, teasin’ just a bit. She’s wondering how many more Benjamin’s she can glam out of the girl.

  Bidness is bidness.

  She suspends the key in front of Mandals blues.

  Shakedown!

  Mandal knows it.

  “Key Deposit darlin’, two hundred more.”

  Mandal smiles, fans four more hundreds on the counter, smiles more.

  “Thank you, I appreciate it, just a little more to say thank you.” Laughs, Mava grins.

  “That should hold the fort fer awhile?”

  Mava digs her vibe, smiles and hands Mandal the key, knows the girl ain’t what she says she is. Don’t matter to her. She thinks the blond is a class act anyways.

  Rubbing her chin, Mava asks. “What ya say yer name was?”

  No hesitation, Mandals says. “Betty, two T’s.”

  Mava catches the faded white scares on the beauty’s face.

  “What happened ta yer face, darlin?”

  Mandal, satiated in fatigue, bad Idea telling the old woman that she once paid a professional to beat the shit out of her, sighs, says. “Wrong man, wrong place, wrong time.”

  Mava knowed that story real well.

  “I hear ya, darlin’. Some men like that.”

  Mava Hoovers the money up and likes the classy girl with the big money.

  “Okay Betty with two T’s, that’s jest fine, sweetie. Room #6.”

  She’s got a sense of humor.

  Mandal likes the old broad, a lot, carbon copy grifter 40 years in the future of her as Mava says. “Now, my boy Arvan can fix anything wit wheels. Just a sec.”

  Mava, twists, opens a sliding window, screams. “ARVAN.”

  Turning back to Betty, with two T’s, sweet smiles, wonderin’ again how much more money she can hit her up for.

  Mandal, sugar sm
iles is wondering how much more it’s going to cost her to get out. More money! No problema. She’s got Bobby Ugo on her mind.

  Crooks of a feather, Mava and she gotta stick together.

  “YA MA.” Filter’s through the window from the garages.

  Mava, wind mills her arm for him to get his skinny butt over. “GET.” She screams.

  Arvan nods, begins to clump over.

  Mandal, looking out the window, dirt bag kid, string hair, grease everywhere, looks tough as a horse nail. Little men are like that. Chewing tobacco, a small puppy come from nowhere, yip, yip, yip, biting, playing at his motor cycle boots. Arvan spits brown on it and, then kicks it violently in the ribs.

  “YIP, YIP, YIP.” Puppy squeals in pain as it runs off.

  Mandal, makes notes in the brain check box for revenge, payback, already. Animals are her friends, besides hurting females, Wal Mart comes to mind; no one hurts animals, payback later, maybe.

  Dead whores don’t have pets.

  “Boy’s bout as mean tempered as there is. Knowed cars though.”

  Avan grinning and Mandal is feeling caged rage. It’s just a matter of time. The Way Back Machine primed, revenge for puppy kicks.

  WAKE UP BITCH. Make the right moves.

  “No mistakes.” She whispers.

  “What Betty?”

  “Oh nothing. Jest sayin’ to myself, your boy fixin’ my car, real kind of you. Handsome fella to boot.”

  Bites on the tongue.

  Don’t go too far. Get it together.

  Arvan at the window, staring at Mandal as if she was a burger and he ain’t et fer a week.

  Mava stares at Mandal, maybe she just landed from Mars. Arvan handsome? A Ma’s love fer her son-making them believe just about anything no matter how outrageous it is.

  Girl’s got a boat a cash; weird taste; someone for everyone. Maybe she might do some matin’.

  Tall girl, good blood, brain, Aaah and, then there’s Arvan. Dreamer Mom and ya never knowed when match makin’ is involved.

  “Yeah.” She whispers, playing along, “He’s a real bargain, single too.”

  Mava’s prayin’ the kid don’t shit his pants, do some other lame thing to embarrass her.

  Freak show, Mandal straining to keep it together, exhausted, surreal, taking pawns as she whips the kid across his BB head with a smile.

  Arvan grins, already naming their first kid, Arvan Jr.

  “Come around here will ya.”

  Mava’s eye’s bouncing, Arvan, dolls tummy pack, doll, Arvan, Mava knowin’ Ben Franklin’s is her favorite note. Chawin’ on Red Dog, spittle mingling in his beard, he stands at the open door. Mandal can smell him from where she is.

  “Ya Ma.”

  Mandal, new Country Motif, friendly like, crunching data, looking at him with evident interest as Arvan’s circuits hot wire cause woman look at him like dirt. The lanky blond ain’t though.

  Mava, mystery pollinating the air inhales from her smoke, hands through grey hair, best foot forward and one never knows. Unfortunately the Cox family is genetically, patently insane. Nothin’ nobody can do to think otherwise.

  Moving a Castle, in Arvans direction, she understands it will be better, to have the little guy’s love in her column. If he is to fight for her, possibly die for her, he must love her.

  Geeze, love, survival is intricate, many moves, her moves, along the chess board of life.

  “Arvan, is it?”

  She extends her velvet hand, pumping the grease and calluses, friendly like, tiny bit of seduction added. Not too much though.

  “Yeah. Yer...?”

  “Betty.” Mava chirps in.

  Mandal squeezes his hand, telling him in doing so.

  Just maybe.?

  “Ole Caddy, in the lot there. Broke down. Tow her, check her out. See what’s ailin’ her. Be quick, girls in a hurry, if fin’ ya can. Girl’s got a life ta lead.”

  Arvan, shows a pack a Juicy Fruit, tilts the pack to Mandal, he’s a gentlemen. Beauty draws a stick, peels it clean and, then slow like, lays it on a pink tongue.

  “Uuummms.”

  She groans like its Beluga, rapt audience of one, ummmms again.

  “Thank you Arvan, good.”

  Grins, from Arvan as he turns to the De Ville.

  “Seventy-four, uh! I’ll bring her in tanight, check her out fer ya, see what’s what.”

  “Thank you Arvan. Big cop back there, Keats, I think. Said it might be the fan belt, or a pump, or a bearing, or some silly thing like that.”

  Keats name was a bad move as Arvan and Mava shoot looks at each other.

  SILENCE.

  A moment moves and to Mava’s dismay, Arvan spits on the ground. Mandal, say something to dispel the moment.

  “Cops, what the heck do those shit bags know?”

  Right move, right words as the tension lessons as Arvan says. “Don’t ya worry Betty. Arvan, he’ll fix her up fer ya.”

  She smiles, wondering when she will have to fuck him, keep his love intact; one never knows when the bad guys will show.

  “Thank you Arvan.”

  Memories of a boot in a dogs ribs.

  Stop thinking.

  Another Mandal homicidal moment passes.

  Nodding his pinhead, he grins, struts away, confident; probably for the first time in his life he’s got some luck; maybe with the beautiful lady.

  In a fulminating illegal world of violence, where stuff usually goes wrong, Mava, with Betty’s dollars on hand feels things went right well. Mava is helpful now, liking the girl as she moves, bends to the valise and stops from Mandals hand on her arm.

  “I’ll get that, real heavy, you know, girl stuff and all.”

  Mava hesitates, studies the smiling blond, a little suspicious, but liking her.

  “Miss Cox Mamm, thank you again for helping me, really thank you.”

  Nods from Mava, turns and waves her to follow as she says. “Ya seem like a nice kid, we’ll get ya goin’ alright. Come on.”

  An easy, Texas smile from Mava.

  One step, two and, then there is Billy blocking out the moon with his grid iron shoulders.

  Billy takes the key, from Mava, no ask, Mandals valise, forearms rippling, she does not resist. Mandal, eyes taking the long journey from the kid’s boots, up his jeans, his bulging cock, past his muscled arms to a smile Hollywood would surely have capitalized on. She stalls out, eyes locked with Billy’s.

  Mava groans, says reluctantly. “My son Billy. Guess he’ll show ya your room.”

  White teeth; chewing bubble gum. Billy winks at Ma and peeks at the blond trinket, and the key. Mava cynically says. “Number six. Ya come right back, ya hear. I need ta talk ta ya bout later, okay?”

  Billy scowls. He ain’t no-kid no more. Mandals a little edgy, shes trying to keep from losing it, a Freudian horse opera, all of it as her mind plinking like a Kinko Machine, Mava says.

  “This is Betty, she be stayin’ fer a day or so, until Arvan done fix her car.”

  Billy stretches out an arm that looks like twenty pound of copper cable, propping the door open, another Cox gentlemen.

  “Come on Betty, I’ll show ya yer room.”

  Mandal, smiles, moves out the door, eyes ticking at her valise. Billy follows, Mava hopin’ the door don’t hit I’m in the ass on the way out.

  A little concerned, for she never knows what her son will do or why he will do it, she shrugs her shoulders. She hopes Billy will shut up, not tell the nice gal that her clan is a wild, crazy, homicidal band of drug running murderers.

  Sighing, Mava bends; pries open a floor board, exposing a stout, iron floor safe. Combination time, clicks, handle rammed, open lid, staring back at her is about 350 K large, rolled in ten
Gee increments of rubber bands.

  Smiles, she layers Mandal’s money with it.

  “CLANK.”

  Heavy lid, spin the dial, she whispers. “Every little bit counts.”

  She loves being a rich woman and knowing that soon, she’s going to be a lot richer.

  Delusion, denial, hope and prayers and how could she know that her life was going to make a U-turn, thus not turning out exactly like she planned.

  Standing, fluff of the hair, smooth the dress, Art in the Kitchen, soon some lovin’ back in the room.

  Mava happy, not knowing that the world as she has always known might be changing real soon. Too bad she don’t know how to play Death Chess or she would have known that it is never wise to trust the White Queen of Death.

  Room # 6

  FROM the barns, Mava hears Winnie’s. Around the counter, she steps outside, stares, tears beginning to well in her eyes. She wishes things had gone differently. Life is harsh, unfair; what is in the barn is living truth of that. Life, imperfect, yet the love she has for her son, the other one is unblinking.

  She turns, walks back towards the cafe, where the love from Art awaits her.

  FROM the barn area, in the pitch, the shadow dwells. He is the real nut case of the Cox clan.

  He watches, as Billy leads the thin, tall girl, white hair, like his moon, towards the motel rooms. Rarely do horses become a man’s brother, but he has not been a man for thirty years, yet they chose him for such a thing. Horses are odd, as is the shadow that loves them.

  AS Billy leads Mandal to her room, he drawls. “My Ma, be near helpless wit out me.” Waving his hand in an arc around the compound, he says, “Whole thing mine, all of it.”

  Wanting to say something smart, like Geeze, I guess Donald Trump ain’t sleeping to well lately.

  She does not.

  “Pretty impressive.” She says, as Billy beams.

  Room # 6, on the wooden porch, Billy turns and smiles.

  “You from around here? Ain’t seen ya before.”

  Fighting a grin, trying to keep her face from cracking off her skull, she says. “Yeah, I live across the street, don’t ya recognize me?”

  Crinkled brow, gum chewin’ stops, jaw droppin’, suspended thoughts, pistons grinding in his head, he guffaws, slaps his leg, laughs again.