1 Who, What, Where, When, Die

by Amanda M. Lee

"What goose?" I was momentarily flummoxed.

  "That stupid one she dressed up out on the front porch."

  Ah, the ceramic one. Better than talking to a weather girl, I guess.

  "She's worried that if I don't marry Kyle that no one will have me because I've had so much sex," Carly said as she grabbed her robe for the shower.

  "Your mom lives in the Stone Age," I lamented. "Doesn't she know that being a pro at sex makes you a catch these days?"

  Carly giggled as she went into the bathroom.

  Waiting for Carly to get ready is an extravaganza. She's one of those people who won't leave the house looking anything less than perfect. I'm fine leaving the house as long as my ass isn't hanging out of my shorts.

  An hour and a half later she was ready to go. I noticed as we left to get into my car, that her mother was no longer talking to the duck. Instead she'd fallen asleep on the porch next to it.

  "Should we wake her up and move her inside?"

  Carly considered it a moment. "No. That's too much work and I don't want to sweat."

  Since I wasn't up for sweating either, I carefully stepped past her mom and got into the car. We drove a few miles to the nearest Target and prepared to shop.

  One would think shopping for vandalizing tools would be pretty basic. Eggs and toilet paper. Frankly, that's for amateurs, and Carly and I were anything but amateurs. I'd learned my trade from the master -- my Aunt Marnie. She'd taught my cousin Lexie and me that it was an art form from a very young age -- and you could never have enough imagination when exacting revenge by property defacement.

  Our first stop (after a quick gander at the clothes -- hey, we're girls and revenge can't be everything) was in the paint department. Carly was feeling especially vindictive.

  "Do you think I should get white or off-white spray paint?"

  Hmm, toughie. "If I were you, I'd go with red. I know you're trying to send a message about her stealing your thunder with the dress but isn't her car like an ugly taupe color? Like puke?"

  Carly nodded, while knitting her brows. "You don't think the white will stand out?"

  "Not enough to make a definite impression for that stupid hag."

  Ultimately, Carly agreed. "You think two cans is enough?"

  I shrugged. "I'd get three just to be on the safe side. We can always save it for a later date. Someone is bound to piss us off before that stuff expires. Besides, it's buy two and get the third for free."

  We are nothing if not frugal.

  Our next stop was the toilet paper aisle. Now this is a standard for any vandalizing excursion -- however, it's not a good option if it gets wet. Plus, the two-ply and three-ply stuff just gets in the way.

  "Is it supposed to rain tonight?"

  Carly pondered for a second. "I don't know, but let's skip the toilet paper. That's just too high school." Yeah, because this was a sophisticated operation.

  Next up was the shaving cream aisle. We both were quiet as we looked at the options. Since the invention of shaving gel things had gotten harder when trying to make sure that your shaving cream has staying power. You're better off going with a cheap men's brand.

  I was struck by a sudden thought. "You know what we should do?"

  Carly looked at me expectantly.

  "Let's build a giant sundae on the hood of the car and use condoms as cherries."

  "That sounds fun. What can we use for the sauce?" Carly is always practical.

  "What will eat the paint job?" I'm always as destructive as I can be, especially when it comes to my friends and revenge in their honor.

  "The eggs will do that."

  "Yeah, but we're going to use the eggs on the side of the car after we use the spray paint. Let's not double dip."

  We both lapsed into silence as we thought about it.

  "Maybe we shouldn't be too destructive," Carly bit her lower lip.

  "I didn't say destroy it. Just something that's really hard to clean up."

  We lapsed into silence again.

  "I know, let's get some of that colored paste the kids use these days. In like purple or something." Carly was back on her game.

  "Good idea. That will be a bitch to get off."

  Ultimately, once in the arts and crafts aisle, we opted to ditch the paste and instead selected copious amounts of glitter. We rationalized that it would be a lot easier to cast about while we were in a hurry.

  Our last stop was the grocery section, where we bought two dozen eggs. One dozen only allowed us each six eggs to throw and three dozen was just too decadent. We were worried we'd go crazy with the power.

  We were about to check out when it happened -- the worst thing that can ever happen when you're about to do something ridiculously childish. We ran into one of our college roommates. The one we'd purposely stopped talking to because she was not only no fun -- but she was a constant downer on our fun.

  Francis Talbot. Crap.

  "Avery, Carly, what a surprise."

  Francis' tone was clipped -- pretty much as short as her hair. She was dressed in a pink plaid suit (for shopping at Target on a Sunday, what a ponce). Her high heeled shoes matched the suit to perfection (probably special order) and her once long dark hair had been shorn into one of those business cuts that equals no muss in the morning and no nookie at night, because it made her look like a guy.

  "Francis," Carly greeted her in a fake saccharine voice. "Wow, long time no see."

  Long time glad to not see her was more like it. I merely nodded in hello.

  "So how are things ladies?" She was trying to be ingratiating. Instead she was managing to be irritating, and we'd only been around her for two minutes. Apparently she didn't want us to answer. Instead she launched into the litany that was her life. "So, I got married a few years ago and I have a son. He's a real handful. He's going to pre-school in two years and Tom (her equally lame husband) and I are going about trying to decide what pre-school to get him in. It's really the most important decision of our lives. If we send him to the wrong pre-school then he's going to be a loser in life. So, who are you married to?"

  Good grief, had she finally stopped talking?

  "Carly's engaged," I offered.

  Carly shot me a death look.

  "Oh, really," Francis enthused. "I'm so glad you finally got over that loser Kyle. So, tell me about this guy. Where did you meet him?"

  "I'm marrying Kyle," Carly said through gritted teeth.

  "Oh," Francis clucked sympathetically. "It's so hard to break cycles." She turned her attention to me. "What about you Avery?"

  "What about me?" I knew it was stupid to engage Francis, but I figured if I didn't Carly was going to kill her.

  "Are you dating anyone special?"

  Did flirting with a heavily tattooed pawnshop owner count? Somehow I doubted it. Not that I'd share that with Francis anyway. "Nah, I just broke up with a guy."

  "That's too bad," Francis patted my arm -- and I felt the immediate need to shower, or smack her. "Did he have commitment issues?"

  "No, I did. He offered to let me move into his box with him but I didn't think it would be practical in winter. I guess that's what happens when you only date homeless guys though." I smiled widely at her. "The good part is that dental hygiene is never a problem because they usually only have a few teeth."

  Francis seemed confused, not sure if I was kidding or not. Frankly, I didn't care either way what she thought about me.

  What's truly funny about Francis, though, is that in college she was wilder than Carly or I ever dreamed of being. Once, at a local bar, she'd knifed the tire of a car that had blocked us in rather than wait five minutes for the driver to come out. She also once toilet papered two guys together outside a fraternity party and then lit the end of the toilet paper on fire and laughed maniacally while they panicked.

  She "grew up" as soon as she left college. I personally think she just covers that crazy part of herself better than most. It's bound to come out sooner or later, though, and I didn't want t
o be at ground zero when she went nuclear. I did keep perusing the crime blotter for her name, though.

  Francis frowned as she looked at our cart. I could tell the wheels were turning. "So, um, what are you guys shopping for?"

  "Just stocking up," Carly answered brightly.

  "For what?"

  "Why do you care?" Yep, I'd hit my limit.

  Carly silently admonished me for my rudeness with a dirty look. I pretended I didn't notice.

  Francis pursed her lips. "God, Avery, just as rude as ever, huh?"

  "Better than being crazy," I muttered.

  Francis tapped her heel angrily. "What did you say?"

  "You heard me."

  "I am not crazy. I'm not the one shopping for some high school vandalization project. I grew up. You should try it some time."

  "Come on guys." Carly is a lot more practical in public than I am.

  Things pretty much deteriorated from there. Of course, they didn't have far to fall at that point. Francis made a hasty goodbye, while shooting Carly a look that said, "How can you still hang out with that maniac?"

  I responded by shooting Francis the finger.

  Once back in the car, with our goodies bagged in my hatchback, Carly turned to me. "Sooo, coffee? It's not going to be dark for a few hours."

  Sounded good to me. Of course, I made a mental note to find out where Francis lived in case we had extra spray paint after our excursion tonight.

  Eight

  Carly and I opted for coffee in downtown Mount Clemens, conveniently next to Eliot's pawnshop. Given her fragile state of mind I had decided to withhold my problems from her -- so obviously I couldn't explain Eliot without explaining why I needed to buy a gun. That was a conversation I didn’t want to have with anyone – let alone Carly. Besides, if she found out I had a gun she’d steal it the next time she got mad at her future mother-in-law.

  As we walked into the coffee shop, I couldn't help but let my eyes drift to Eliot's storefront. He was working behind the counter and he looked just as good as he had last night. Damn. I was hoping he'd somehow gotten ugly in the intervening hours.

  "Wow, look at him."

  I turned to see who Carly was looking at. Unfortunately, she was looking in the same direction as I was.

  "He's okay," I conceded. "If you like guys like that."

  "Who doesn't?"

  I tugged Carly's sleeve, redirecting her back towards the coffee shop. The last thing I needed was for Eliot to look up and see us drooling. We probably looked like puppies with our faces pressed against the window begging for people to adopt us. Unfortunately, in this case, adoption wasn't the word running through my mind.

  We spent the next two hours getting loaded up on caffeine and gossiping about everything from politics to celebrity scandals. Before we knew it, darkness had descended and it was time to implement our plan.

  We'd both changed our clothes at Carly's and we were now clad in solid black. Once back in the car, I shoved all my blonde hair under a black bandana. We were going to be in real trouble if the cops stopped us. We definitely looked like we were up to no good.

  Kyle's apartment was a half hour away in Royal Oak. Carly had checked her voice mail and found that Kyle (like me) wasn't giving her cancellation of the wedding much due. He knew she was just venting. He told her he was going to take his mom out to dinner and then she was leaving the next morning and everything would be fine. He ended by telling her he loved her more than anything. That put Kyle off our hit list, but his mother remained.

  We parked my car about three blocks out of the way and gathered our bags of goodies. Kyle's dinner should last a few hours, but just in case he came back early we didn't want him to recognize my car -- it was hard to miss with the Star Wars decals in the rear windows.

  Kyle's apartment complex was only one level that surrounded a great pool, like three sides of a rectangle. The good news was that Kyle's unit was at the far end. An end that was unlit. As luck would have it, his mother had parked in the far dark corner so no one would park next to her precious Bentley and accidentally ding it. My guess was that a ding would be preferable to what we were about to do.

  We sat the grocery bags down and surveyed our palette. As veterans of many a vandalization campaign, neither of us were nervous.

  "What do you think we should do first?" Carly likes a plan of action.

  "I would say the eggs, but they've been in the car for like three hours now so they are going to stink to high heaven." Hey, I can be practical, too. "I think we should save them for last. Besides, they’ll make the most noise. Why don't you do the paint on the back and I'll do the sundae on the front and then we'll both do the eggs last?"

  "Sounds good," Carly said, reaching into the bag for the paint. "What should I write?"

  Now here was a problem. We couldn't do anything too personal that would point to us. We were built in alibis for each other, but we couldn't handle too much suspicion. I would never buckle, but Carly might if pressed too hard.

  "Do something immature, like a high schooler would do," I suggested. "Write class of 2013 or something. That way they'll think it's kids and it will still ruin the paint job on the trunk."

  Carly went to work on her end and I started on mine. I emptied two full cans of shaving cream in a big pile on the hood, tossed the glitter on top of it and then unwrapped the jumbo red condoms we'd bought. Oddly, they did look like cherries.

  By this time, Carly had finished her paint job and came up to survey my handiwork. "Nice."

  I reached into the bag, pulled out a tube of toothpaste and went to the side doors where I sprayed the toothpaste under the door handles. Just an added bonus for fun.

  All that was left was the eggs. When I opened the first carton I had to hold back a gag. They'd already went rancid.

  "Uh," Carly gasped. "Those are awful."

  "Isn't that the point?"

  We both donned knit gloves that we'd brought from home -- like I said, this wasn't our first time -- and let loose with a flurry of eggs. In the end, we were having so much fun that we used all two dozen and dissolved in a giggling fit.

  "Oh, God," Carly gasped. "We are so immature."

  Once we'd recovered, we diligently picked up the empty egg cartons, spray paint and shaving cream cans, and empty condom wrappers and put them back in our bags. There was no reason to litter -- or leave evidence behind. I doubted they would waste the time fingerprinting for car vandalization, but I didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.

  We were making our way out of the parking lot when a pair of headlights flashed down the road coming our way.

  "Shit! Hide!"

  We both scrambled to the side of the road but there was nowhere to hide. Carly looked like she was about to panic. Her eyes had went wide and she looked like she was having trouble catching her breath.

  I scanned the vicinity, looking for anything to hide behind. Unfortunately, the only option appeared to be the Dumpster toward the back of the building. I was moving before I really had a chance to think about it. I grabbed Carly's arm and pulled her along with me. Seeing where I was heading, Carly started to dig her heels in.

  "No way. That thing is filthy."

  "It's better than jail."

  Carly seemed to think about that a moment. Doubt flashed in her eyes.

  "Come on."

  I'm like the Borg on Star Trek. Once I make up my mind, resistance is futile. Carly gave up fighting and dived behind the Dumpster with me, gagging at the rank smells that surrounded us.

  "I'm going to have to burn this outfit."

  I shushed her. The car had closed the gap between us and was slowing down. With any luck, it would be another resident and not Kyle. We'd only have to be crouched behind this Dumpster for a few minutes.

  We weren't that lucky.

  The car swung into the parking spot directly next to Kyle's mom's newly decorated car. The lights died and the doors opened. What came out was the shrillest voice known to man. Seriously, it
could put little yapping dogs to shame.

  "What happened to my car?"

  "Kyle's mom," Carly mouthed to me. Yeah, like I hadn't figured that out myself. I put my finger to my lips to remind Carly to be quiet. We were going to be stuck here awhile – and it was going to be a lot harder for her than it would be for me.

  I desperately wanted to peek around the corner of the Dumpster to see how Kyle and his mom were reacting -- but I didn't dare. All I could do was listen. What I heard was surprising. It was Kyle laughing.

  "You think this is funny?"

  Kyle was trying to stifle his chortle. "No, of course not, I was just surprised."

  "You know your girlfriend did this don't you? I told you she was low class."

  Carly made a move to get up and I grabbed her. She started to argue and I shot my hand over her mouth and shook my head in silent but defiant warning. If she burned me here I was going to be pissed.

  "Why would Carly paint 'class of 2013' on the car?" Kyle was trying to be practical, even though I was pretty sure he knew it was us.

  "She probably hired high schoolers to do it." Kyle's mom was ticked. I could hear her pacing in her clickety-clackety heels. "Paid them five bucks each and showed them her boobs or something. She’s like that, you know."

  Now I was pissed. We should have used paint stripper on her stupid car.

  "Mom, go inside and I'll take care of this," Kyle was not laughing now. He seemed angry. Hopefully it was only with his mother and not with us.

  "No, we have to call the police."

  Shit. If the police came they would almost certainly find us and I didn't have the same capital with the police in Oakland County as I did in Macomb County. If I had to call in a favor to Jake to try to get us out of trouble, he wasn't going to be happy. Knowing Jake, he'd make us spend the night in jail to teach us a lesson.

  "Mom, I'm not going to bother the police with this," Kyle argued. "I'll just hose it off and everything will be fine."

  His mother harrumphed her way into his apartment. She wasn't happy with his decision, but for some reason she wasn't fighting it. I could only hope if she called the police, we'd have time to get away before they got here.