Agnes and the Hitman

by Jennifer Crusie

  Shane read the screen over his shoulder:

  df: Yeah?

  (six-second pause)

  df: How the fuck do I know?

  (eight-second pause)

  df: No shit.

  (four-second pause)

  df: Hell yeah, I still want the job done.

  (four-second pause)

  df: Fuck you. We agreed on a price.

  (seven-second pause)

  df: All right. All right. Fuck it. We got a contract. You make sure you do your part. The rest can come on the back end. My consigliere only got the cash we agreed on with him for the front end.

  (three-second pause)

  df: Yeah, that’s the target. How’d you know?

  (eight-second pause)

  df: No shit? But you do nothing until I get there. I wanna be there. I wanna see it. I’m giving you an extra hundred large for that. Which you get when it happens, but not before the wedding. Got to be after. Got to show some respect.

  (eight-second pause)

  df: Today? Fuck. Yeah, he’s in Keyes. My consigliere. And he’s got the down payment in cash. But-

  (nine-second pause)

  df: The what fucking bridge? Talmud?

  (two-second pause)

  df: Okay, Talmadge. Two p.m. local. Breakdown lane, southbound, center of span.

  (five-second pause)

  df: Yeah, yeah. The money’s packed like you said.

  (two-second pause)

  df: You better be fucking worth it.

  End of conversation.

  Shane was already checking his watch. The payoff was taking place in an hour. “Where’s the Talmadge?”

  “Did you cross a large suspension bridge coming out of Savannah heading into South Carolina when you came up here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s it.”

  “How far away?”

  Carpenter got out of his seat and slid open the door leading to the driver’s compartment. “I’ll make it in fifty minutes unless we get caught in traffic.”

  “That’s cutting it close.”

  “Perhaps we should have been monitoring instead of in that tunnel.” Carpenter got in the driver’s seat and started the van.

  “That’s not helpful now.” Shane opened up the weapons locker.

  “What about Agnes?” Carpenter said, but he was already heading down the drive.

  Shit. “Maybe she won’t kill him.”

  “What if she does?”

  “What’s one more body among friends?” Shane said.

  Agnes had come in from consoling Cerise with shrimp and called the florist, powering through some rabbit of an employee on sheer leftover rage from the flamingo-napper who’d taken Cerise from the loving wings of her flock. “Hello?” Maisie said.

  “This is Agnes Crandall,” Agnes snarled. “You can’t cancel the Keyeses’ wedding flowers if you ever expect to sell flowers in Keyes again. Are you insane?”

  “Oh,” Maisie said, her baby-doll voice even higher than usual. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but I can’t, I just can’t, they’ll kill me.”

  “Who?” Agnes said. “And don’t you dare hang up on me or I’ll kill you. And don’t think I won’t, Maisie.”

  “The Fortunatos,” Maisie whispered into the phone.

  “Why would the Fortunatos kill you for doing the flowers for one of their weddings? They’re a lot more likely to kill you for canceling on them.”

  “You don’t know them,” Maisie said.

  “Yeah, I do. A hell of a lot better than you do, evidently.”

  “Not better than Brenda,” Maisie said.

  “Maisie, Brenda is trying to stop the wedding. She doesn’t care that she’s putting you in harm’s way. The Don is coming for this wedding, he’s giving Maria away. Don Fortunato. The Silicon Don. That’s much tougher than Teflon. If he gets here and there are no flowers, you think he’s going to be happy?” Agnes dredged up memories of any mob movies she’d seen. “He’s going to ask who disrespected his grandniece. And you know what everybody is going to tell him?”

  “What?” Maisie said, her voice a little moan. “Maisie Shuttle.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Get those daisies out here by Saturday morning and you won’t be sleeping with the fishes, Maisie. He’ll never know the hell you put us through. But if you don’t, I will tell him everything. I’ll tell him where you live, Maisie. I’ll tell him about the Scottie dog on your mailbox, so help me God, I will.”

  “Oh, no, all right, all right.” The words were almost inaudible.

  “Do not fail me, Maisie,” Agnes said, putting steel in her voice. “Or the first thing the Don will put a bullet hole through will be the Scottie on your mailbox and the second thing will be you.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “The flowers, Maisie, the daisies will be out here Saturday morning, won’t they?”

  “Yes, Agnes.”

  “Thank you, Maisie. You won’t be sorry. And the Keyeses will be very, very grateful. Oh, and Maisie? Put in some little flamingo pink touches, will you? Little touches.”

  Agnes hung up, trying to feel guilty for having beat up on a helpless Southern florist, but basically, Maisie should never have canceled on a wedding; any good florist should have known better. She looked for her To Do List to mark Maisie off so she could go take a shower and put on something that had less of a history of sex and violence attached to it-Imay never wear this dress again-only to hear cars rumbling over the bridge just as the phone rang again. She waited until the rumbling stopped without an ensuing crash of timber and then picked up the phone.

  “Agnes Crandall,’’ she said. “Our bridge doesn’t collapse.”

  “Pardon,” the man on the other end said nervously.

  “Humor,” Agnes said. “Har. What can I do for you?”

  “This is Wesley Hedges, your photographer for the wedding this weekend.” His voice was so tight, it broke on weekend.

  “Don’t even think about canceling, Wesley,” Agnes said, her voice level.

  “I’m not,” he said. “I wouldn’t. But I can’t make it.”

  “Let’s review,” Agnes said, her temper rising.

  “But I’m sending my assistant,” Wesley said quickly. “She’s as good as I am. Some people say better. But they’re all men. She’s very attractive. I’m actually better, but…” Wesley sounded calmer now that he was being bitchy.

  “Wesley, if you’re trying to make me happy about your assistant coming-”

  “No, she’s really good,” Wesley said, nervous again. “I mean, she’s new, but I’ve seen her portfolio. I wouldn’t send anybody bad. I have my pride. Even if they put a gun to my head, I would protect the sanctity of Wesley’s Wonderful Wedding Memories.”

  Agnes was distracted by the alliteration. “Shouldn’t that be ‘Wesley’s Wonderful Wedding Wemories’?”

  “I don’t feel bad at all for canceling on you,” Wesley said. “Kristy will be out tomorrow to talk to you and get a feel for the place.”

  “Thank you, but-,” Agnes said, but Wesley had already hung up.

  “Photographer cancel, too?” Taylor said from behind her, and when she turned, he was standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling like he owned the place, instead of just half of it. He was wearing a suit jacket and an ascot, and he looked ridiculous, but she shouldn’t really criticize since the ascot was probably to cover up the fork holes.

  “You look ridiculous,” she said. The dumbass had lied to her and left her all alone out here. And he’d never fed her shrimp, either.

  Beside him was a tubby little man who looked around with the air of an inquisitive basset hound, alert but patient.

  Rhett ambled in from the from hall to collapse in front of the counter. He didn’t seem too perturbed with either of them.

  “This is Mr. Harrison,” Taylor said, still smiling. “Mr. Harrison is our health inspector in Keyes. I told him you had some health violations out here, and he’s concerned about you ser
ving food to a hundred vulnerable people on Saturday at the wedding.”

  “Yes, I am,” Mr. Harrison said, smiling, too, the smile of a man who has been well paid to find health violations. “Concerned, that is.”

  “Taylor, you’re the one catering that wedding,” Agnes said. “That’s your big break, catering the most important wedding of the season for this godforsaken county. Will you never learn not to shoot yourself in the foot?”

  “I’ll be catering it at the country club, too,” Taylor said. “My foot is just fine.”

  “It won’t be when Shane gets finished shoving it up-” Agnes began, and then Dr. Garvin said, Agnes.

  Where the hell have you been?

  You haven’t been listening. Don’t threaten people in front of witnesses, Agnes.

  But it’s okay to threaten them otherwise? What are you, Dr. Garvin’s evil twin?

  “What were you saying, Agnes?” Taylor said, his smile widening.

  “I was saying you’re an evil moron whom fate and karma are going to take care of,” Agnes said. “Now your line is ‘Who’s Fate and Karma, and what did I ever do to them?’“

  “That’s not funny,” Taylor said.

  Agnes looked at Mr. Harrison. “I thought it was a little funny, didn’t you?”

  “A little,” he said, smiling. Taylor glared at him and he shrugged. “So what am I supposed to look at?”

  Taylor pointed to Rhett, now asleep on the floor of the kitchen. “That dog is unsanitary.”

  Harrison looked back at him. “You want me to shut down this place because there’s a dog on the premises? We have to make this plausible, Mr. Beaufort” He looked around. “This is a clean kitchen. I can go through it, but you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  Taylor glared at him. “There’s a basement that hasn’t been cleaned in twenty-five years.”

  Harrison sighed. “I’ll poke around under the sink.” He bent down and patted Rhett and then opened the cupboard doors under the sink. Everything was packed in plastic tubs with airtight lids, clearly marked as to the contents. He looked up at Agnes.

  “I’m a Virgo,” she said. “We do that.”

  He closed the doors and stood up. “This could take a while. Let’s see the basement.”

  Agnes pushed on the door in the wall. “There’s a ladder.”

  Harrison looked taken aback and then poked his head through the door. “This doesn’t look like you, Miss Crandall.”

  “We just found it two days ago,” Agnes said. “And I can’t put stairs in and clean it up because it’s a crime scene.”

  “That must be hard for you,” Harrison said with real sympathy, and then he turned to Taylor. “This is probably where we’ll get her.”

  “Told you,” Taylor said.

  “Hold on a second.” Agnes grabbed her cell phone and punched in Joey’s number on the speed-dial. When it rang, she got his message. “Joey, this is Agnes. Taylor is here with a very nice man named Mr. Harrison from the health department. Taylor’s bribed him to shut me down for the wedding, and they’re going down to the basement now to find something so he can do it. Is there somebody higher up you can confer with to take care of this? Thanks. Love you.” She clicked off.

  “Mr. Harrison is head of the health department, Agnes,” Taylor said.

  “Then he’s about to meet Joey,” Agnes said, but her heart sank.

  “So,” Harrison said, looking down into the hole, “a ladder.”

  Five minutes later, they were at the end of the tunnel looking at the acid dripping through the glass tube, and Harrison was legitimately upset.

  “That’s dangerous,” he said, covering his nose. “Those fumes are dangerous.”

  “And if I was serving dinner down here, that would be a problem,” Agnes said, thinking, What the fuck is that thing? Language, Agnes.

  “You never know where fumes will go, young lady,” Harrison said sternly. Then he retreated down the tunnel at a good clip, and Taylor followed him, all but chuckling.

  When they were back in the kitchen, Harrison wrote up his prelim report and handed the pink copy to Agnes. “You can’t cater that wedding here,” he told her, as if he’d been rehearsed. “You’ll have to move it to the country club.”

  She handed the pink slip back to him. “The wedding’s going to be here. You know damn well that whatever that is down there will not affect a dinner in my barn on Saturday. And if you try to stop it, I will not only sue your ass for damaging my career,” she turned on Taylor, “I’ll have you arrested for bribing a public employee, and you,” she turned back to Harrison, “arrested for taking that bribe.”

  Harrison shook his head. “That’s not how it works here in Keyes, Miss Crandall.”

  Agnes sighed. “I see. Then it’ll have to be Plan B.”

  Harrison blinked. “Plan B?”

  “He didn’t tell you about the bride’s family, did he?”

  Harrison looked at Taylor. “The bride’s family? Well, the Fortunatos, yes, but Mrs. Dupres, the bride’s grandmother, wants the wedding at the country club-”

  “The bride’s mother doesn’t,” Agnes said. “And the bride’s uncle, who runs the local diner? Joey Torcelli? I just called him. He-”

  “Give up, Agnes,” Taylor said. “Mr. Harrison doesn’t scare that easy.”

  Agnes looked at Harrison. He didn’t look happy. He had to know who Joey was. Probably had tried to inspect the diner once.

  “I wouldn’t file that report just yet,” she said to him. “I’d give yourself some room to maneuver, just in case the bride’s family would rather the wedding was at the bride’s old family home. Did Taylor tell you this is Frankie Fortunato’s old place?”

  Mr. Harrison shot Taylor a look of loathing and walked out of the kitchen.

  “I’ve got you, Agnes,” Taylor said, not fazed in the slightest.

  “You had me, Taylor,” Agnes said. “Now you’ve got Brenda, you poor, doomed sap. And Joey ‘The Gent’ and Shane after your ass. You better go now. Your flunky is out in his van, and his feet are turning to ice while you wait. At any minute now, he’s going to tear up that report and go somewhere far away until the wedding is over.”

  “Nah, he-”

  “And Shane’s coming home any minute.” Taylor looked over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, well…” He looked back at Agnes. “You give me back the ring and I’ll go.”

  “What?”

  “The engagement ring.” He nodded at Agnes’s hand. “Give me my ring back and I’ll go.”

  Agnes looked down at the ring he’d given her. She’d actually forgotten about it. Five thousand dollars he’d said it’d cost him. That could buy some stuff for the house. Like landscaping maybe. Wonder if Garth can landscape?

  “No,” she said. “Go away.”

  “I want the-”

  “You broke the engagement, I get the ring.”

  “You stabbed me with a fork!”

  “You married another woman first,” Agnes said. “Go away. I have things to do.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Taylor said.

  “That’s the best you’ve got?” Agnes said. “Beat it or I’ll have Doyle take a hammer to the Cobra.”

  “Hey!” Taylor said, and then evidently realizing his ride was vulnerable, he left.

  Agnes looked at the ring and then at the basement door. “Why can’t anything this week be simple?” she said, and went to call her lawyer.

  “We’re about five minutes from the bridge,” Carpenter said. “I can see the towers.”

  Shane checked his watch. Ten minutes till the payoff. He poked his head in the opening to the front of the van and saw two suspension towers straight ahead on the horizon. Left and right was swamp as far as the eye could see.

  “Ideas?” Shane asked.

  “I would think a direct approach is needed here, which is your specialty. It’s not like we’re going to be able to sneak up on the drop site.”

  “Pull off befo
re you hit the on-ramp for the bridge. I want to see if I can get an over-watch position with a clear shot with the long rifle.”

  “Roger that,” Carpenter said, “but it’s going to be a tough angle up to that midspan.”

  Shane saw what he meant as they came around a slight curve, and the road rose precipitously toward the nearest tower. “Pull over here,” Shane said before they got so close that he wouldn’t be able to see the midspan.

  Carpenter waited until they crossed a concrete bridge over a creek, then pulled over to the side of the road.

  “Open the sunroof,” Shane ordered as he placed his M21 sniper rifle in the passenger seat, muzzle up.

  Carpenter did so, and Shane stood between the seats, putting a small spotting scope on the roof of the van.

  “Not inconspicuous,” Carpenter noted.

  “Feel free to contribute Plan B,” Shane said.

  “We grab the consigliere and the money before the exchange. Maybe Casey Dean will work a deal with us or break off the contract.”

  “Wilson wants Dean terminated.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “He doesn’t send me out to talk to people.” Shane leaned forward and looked through the spotting scope, adjusting the focus. “He’s testing you.”

  Yeah, and I fail if I don’t shoot Casey Dean.

  Shane saw a black Lincoln Town Car pulled over in the breakdown lane, right side of the bridge, center span. These goombahs were nothing but predictable, he thought. He checked his watch. Three minutes before two. Casey Dean was a professional, which meant the drop would be made right on time. Shane slid back down in the van, crouching between Carpenter in the driver’s seat and the sniper rifle in the passenger seat, taking the spotting scope with him.

  “The consigliere is there.” He held the scope as he peered through the windshield. The view wasn’t quite as good, but he could clearly see the black Town Car.

  “Two minutes,” Carpenter said. “And we’ve got flashing lights coming down the road behind us.”

  “Cops?” Shane could hear the sirens now.

  “Looks like, followed by an ambulance.” Carpenter reached forward and turned on the special radio, tuning it to the local emergency band, the volume turned low while Shane kept his focus on the bridge.