The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman)

by JB Lynn

  “Off! Go let!” he shouted, squirming wildly as I scooped up the bundle of fabric and fur.

  “Sensitive skin!” God screeched as I pressed the wriggling dog to my chest while trying not to drop my flashlight.

  “Oops,” I muttered.

  “Oops?” Candace sounded a bit panicked.

  “It’s nothing. Let’s just get out of here.” I headed for the door.

  “Do you think we should let the rest of them out?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer because Ghost had started with, “Me kill. Me kill.”

  “Shhh.”

  “What is that smell?” God shrieked. “It reeks! My lungs! It burns!”

  Stumbling out the door and into the parking lot, I didn’t see the man waiting for us. When I did, I stopped in my tracks, which caused Candace to slam into my back.

  “What…?” she started to ask, but then she saw him too.

  Or she saw the gun pointed at us. Either way, her question died on her tongue as I hoped I wasn’t going to die in a parking lot.

  “Give me the dog,” the man ordered. “And no one gets hurt.”

  He was dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt, also not the best outfit to go around committing a crime (in my humble opinion). Unlike us, he hadn’t opted to hide behind a mask so his intention and resolve was plain to read on his face. He waved the gun to emphasize his intention.

  “Me kill. Me kill,” Ghost whined.

  I could hear Candace hyperventilating in her Kate Middleton mask.

  “Easy,” I whispered, unsure if I was talking to the dog, Candace, myself, or the guy.

  “Hand it over,” the man ordered again.

  “Okay. Tightening my grip on my flashlight, I took a step closer to him.

  “You can’t.” Candace gasped behind me.

  Hoping her true believer status within Ms. Whitehat’s organization wouldn’t lead her to do something stupid, liking trying to stop me, I stepped closer to the man.

  “I agree with the bimbo,” God intoned nervously. “Not that I’m in the mood to get hurt, but I don’t think your interests will be served by handing over the mutt.”

  I kept my attention on the gunman. I had a plan. With faltering steps, I closed the distance between us, trying to ignore how oppressively hot the rubber mask felt.

  “Me kill,” Ghost cried pitifully.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. The police were responding to the tripped alarm.

  Stowing his weapon in a holster beneath his suit jacket, the gunman reached for the squirming bundle of whining dog. “Hurry up, before the cops get here.”

  Reaching out as though to hand the animal over, I whispered a one word prayer. “Please.”

  Then I dropped the dog, reeking towel and all.

  “Run!” I shouted, swinging my flashlight at the gunman’s head.

  I missed.

  It bounced off his shoulder ineffectually.

  “Run, Ghost. Run!” I urged as the little white dog disentangled himself from the cloth he’d been imprisoned in.

  “Run, Forrest. Run!” the lizard boomed from my bosom.

  The dog raced away.

  I tried desperately to remember the self-defense lessons Patrick had given me after he’d realized I’d escaped my first run-in with a killer by doing Stop, Drop, and Roll like we’d practiced as kids during Fire Prevention Week in grade school.

  The gunman pulled out his gun. I kept swinging the flashlight at him, but the blows just glanced off him, as if I was involved in some macabre game of Whack-A-Mole.

  Ignoring my attack like I was nothing more than a pesky mosquito, he aimed the gun at the quickly disappearing dog.

  Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin. That was what Patrick had taught me.

  So in the instant that the gunman squeezed off a shot at the running dog, I aimed my flashlight lower. A lot lower.

  The blow to his groin connected while the bullet missed its intended target.

  The gun fell out of his hand while the man curled into a primitive crouch to defend himself.

  Behind me, Candace began to scream.

  “Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin.” I smashed the flashlight against his exposed face and was rewarded with a sickening crunch.

  He crumpled to the ground with a pained groan.

  “Way to go, Warrior Princess,” God cheered. “Now beat it before the cops get here.”

  Kicking his gun away so it was out of reach, I turned, grabbed Candace’s pink-clad arm and dragged her back toward my car.

  “Shut up and run.” I panted, desperate to tear off the stupid mask and suck in some fresh air.

  “You hit him.” She looked back at our would-be attacker.

  “He was going to shoot us.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “He shot at Ghost. If someone shoots at a dog, they’ll shoot at a human being.”

  Reaching my car, I threw the flashlight into the backseat, jumped behind the steering wheel and had started the engine before Candace slid into the passenger seat.

  “Slow and easy,” God coached. “You don’t want to attract attention.”

  “I think you broke his nose.” Candace twisted in her seat to get a better look at my victim as I pulled away from the curb.

  “Good,” I muttered, planting my hands at ten and two o’clock and concentrating on obeying any and all traffic laws.

  “Also something you might want to keep in mind,” God suggested mildly, “you look like a couple of cheesy bank robbers in those things.”

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, I caught my reflection, or should I say the distorted face of the Princess of Wales. “Lose Kate,” I ordered Candace as I ripped off my mask.

  The cool air on my cheeks was a welcome relief.

  The respite didn’t last long. Carefully removing her own rubber torture chamber and smoothing it with reverence, Candace pointed out, “We lost the dog.”

  “But we’re all alive.”

  Two police cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing pulled to a stop in front of the pound. I wondered if our assailant had escaped into the night or if they’d find him. I also puzzled over why an armed man was willing to go to such extreme lengths to possess a dog.

  “Again,” Candace complained, yanking me out of my train of thought.

  “Huh?

  “We lost the dog again.”

  “And we’ll find him again,” I assured her.

  “How?”

  I shrugged.

  “We don’t even know where to look. We could spend the whole night searching and end up with nothing.”

  “You can’t spend the whole night chasing after that ungrateful mutt,” God reminded me. “You don’t want to let down the Delveccios too, do you? You’ve got a hit to pull off.”

  “I know,” I muttered.

  Candace, thinking I was responding to her, asked, “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to go home and start fresh tomorrow,” I told her firmly.

  “But—”

  “But nothing. We’re not roaming around aimlessly in the dark when there are men with guns waiting for us. We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Rested and with a plan,” I assured her.

  She didn’t sound convinced. “What plan?’

  “The brilliant freaking plan I’ll have come up with by tomorrow,” I snapped.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Candace huffed. “You don’t have to be so touchy about it.”

  She had no idea how lucky she was that I’d tossed the flashlight into the back seat.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After I’d looped around the pound and dropped Candace off at her car with a curt promise to be in touch the next morning, I pulled off the road so I could ask God an important question.

  “We need to talk,” I told him. “Face-to-face.”

  It tickled as the little guy wriggled his way out of my bra, using the strap to heft himself onto my shoulder.

  I offered my flat palm for him to climb onto. He
complied and I gently placed him on top of the dashboard so I could look him in his unblinking eyes.

  “Do you want me to drop you off at the B&B before I try to kill Ira Frankel?”

  His tail twitched. “You don’t want my help?” The little guy sounded mortally offended.

  “It’s not that I don’t want your help,” I hurriedly assured him. “It’s that I want to keep you safe. In case you haven’t noticed, things haven’t been going smoothly around me lately.”

  “And who’s going to keep you safe?” he countered.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You just said that things aren’t going smoothly,” he reminded me archly. “Among other things, you’ve been blackmailed, almost killed a couple of times, had your apartment blown up, and now you’re in the clutches of some mysterious organization that has you chasing after a dog that people are willing to shoot you for. Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you’re going to be fine.”

  I frowned. When you put it that way, the odds that I could pull off the Ira Frankel job didn’t seem so hot. “You’re the one who said I shouldn’t let the Delveccios down.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m just saying that you don’t have to do it alone.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Why? What are you up to?”

  He looked over one of his shoulders, than the other, making sure no one was within earshot before he stage-whispered, “Though I’m loathe to admit it, I find I’ve grown quite fond of you, Maggie May.”

  Catching me off-guard, his admission pierced my heart. Tears filled my eyes. A lump rose in my throat.

  “You are?” I barely managed to choke out.

  He twitched his tail unhappily. “You’re not crying, are you?”

  Dashing away my tears, I shook my head.

  “Good. There’s no crying in professional assassinations.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked, “So you’re ready to do this?”

  “We’re ready to do this.”

  Reaching over, I pulled the gun and silencer Patrick had supplied out of the glove compartment and placed it on the seat beside me. “This wasn’t my projected career path.”

  “What was? Moving up the food chain at Insuring the Future?” the lizard mocked as he scrambled to a safer riding spot, perched above the rearview mirror.

  “That’s harsh.” Putting the car into drive, I headed toward the address Patrick had given me. “I wasn’t always so aimless. Things just… happened.”

  “Darlene and Marlene?”

  “Among others.”

  “Your mother?”

  I nodded.

  “Your father?”

  I shrugged.

  “I get it. Dead sister. Hooker sister. Institutionalized mother. Imprisoned father. It’s a lot, but don’t you think it’s time to try something better for yourself?”

  “I’m killing people for money,” I reminded him drily.

  “But not for yourself. You should look into the real estate job that Builder Bob and his sister keep offering you.”

  “I don’t want to sell real estate.”

  “But maybe you’ll hate it less than you do taking insurance claims. Besides a flexible schedule could come in handy with Katie.”

  I squeezed the steering wheel as, at the mention of my niece, my eyes once again filled with tears.

  “Just consider it,” God said gently.

  It was his soft, considerate tone that told me, without words, how worried he was about me.

  “I will,” I pledged. “After I take care of Frankel.”

  We drove to the address Patrick had provided. Leaving the car a block away, but sticking the Kate Middleton mask in my back pocket for good luck, I found a dark hiding spot in the alley behind the building where Ira Frankel played poker.

  God perched on my shoulder, giving me a pep talk interspersed with complaints about our surroundings. “You’re a good shot. Why are alleys always so dirty? This guy deserves to die. And the smell… vile creatures you humans. Don’t be nervous. You can do this.”

  Thankfully he fell silent when the door of the building swung open, splashing light onto the pavement.

  Shrinking deeper into the shadows, I held my breath and tightened my grip on the gun.

  A figure emerged. A woman dressed in stilettoes and a dress that practically screamed prostitute. She was followed by a man wearing a dark suit, enough cologne to cut through the stench of the alley, and gold chains that clanked when he moved. I recognized him from the news; he was some sort of mobster.

  “Better luck next time, Donny,” a voice mocked from inside the building.

  “Yo, Frankel, eat shit and die,” Donny yelled back.

  “Quite the erudite gentleman,” God whispered, forcing me to stifle a chuckle.

  With the hooker on his arm, Donny made his way out of the alley as the door swung shut, cloaking the alley in darkness.

  “Looks like we’re in the right place,” God said.

  I nodded. My stomach was tied in knots and my fingers ached from clutching the gun.

  We waited there in the dark for almost thirty minutes before the door opened again.

  This time, instead of a hooker on his arm, the wiseguy in the expensive suit who stepped out had, as accessories, two goons who looked a lot like Vinny, Delveccio’s bodyguard.

  I watched them nervously from my hiding spot, but they left without noticing me.

  “He must be winning,” God remarked when we had the alley to ourselves again.

  “Good,” I said, despite the fact my feet were starting to hurt since I’d been standing in one place for so long. “Means the losers would have more motive to kill him.”

  “We’re going to make a bonafide criminal out of you someday, Maggie May,” God said proudly.

  “Even if I pee in my pants?”

  “You wouldn’t,” he gasped, horrified.

  “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a bathroom break?”

  “You can’t.”

  “I might have to.” It wasn’t like I had the luxury of leaving. This job had to happen.

  “They’ll be able to trace your DNA,” God warned.

  “In pee?” I asked.

  “In all bodily fluids.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he did spend a ridiculous amount of time watching true crime shows.

  The door swung open and a familiar face was bathed in the light from inside. A face I’d never expected to see again. It couldn’t be.

  My breath caught in my throat. I was so surprised by his appearance that my fingers went slack and I almost dropped the gun.

  Fumbling to catch it, I banged my shoulder into the garbage dumpster I hid beside with a dull thud.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He was already enthralled with whatever he was looking at on the screen of his phone as he moseyed down the alley. The light from the phone illuminated his Asian features and I knew my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

  “Was that who I think it was?” God asked once the man was out of sight.

  “Lucky O’Hara,” I murmured.

  “The one who was responsible for me nearly drowning in Atlantic City?” God huffed indignantly

  “I told you, that was an accident. And really, it wasn’t his fault. Patrick was trying to mug him and I was trying to steal his flash drive.”

  “But what’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. He’s a criminal. Maybe only criminals play in this game.”

  “I didn’t mean ‘here’ as in the alley, you nincompoop. I meant here in town.”

  “How the hell—?” I didn’t finish because the door opened again and another familiar face emerged.

  While I hadn’t expected to see him, I wasn’t shocked that I did.

  God began to let out a low whistle of surprise, but I swatted at my shoulder where he perched to quiet him.

  I felt sick to my stomach as I watched him make his way down the alley.

 
“What do you think Templeton was doing in there?” I asked God.

  “Catering,” he replied sarcastically.

  “Well now we know why he frequents the pawn shop.”

  “We also know he’s a criminal. How am I supposed to tell Aunt Loretta that?”

  “We don’t know he’s a criminal. He just happens to be playing cards with criminals. Maybe—” God didn’t get to finish because the door opened again.

  This time, along with the light, another lady of the night spilled into the alley. The door closed quickly behind her, leaving her to stumble in her sky-high heels down the alleyway like a drunken sailor on stilts.

  “She reminds me of Loretta,” God commented snarkily.

  “Or my sister,” I muttered, thinking about Marlene’s less-than-ideal life choices.

  Ten minutes later, the door opened and my target finally emerged.

  “Showtime,” God whispered. “You can do this.”

  Just in case I couldn’t, I wedged the gun between my knees, whipped the Kate Middleton mask out of my pocket, and pulled on the princess’s face. Grabbing the gun, I took a deep breath, inadvertently sucking the rubber into my mouth and momentarily choking myself.

  “Get it together, woman,” God urged as Frankel started to move away.

  My fingers, slick with sweat, trembled as I turned the gun’s safety off. Stepping out of my hiding place, I raised the gun, which seemed as heavy as DeeDee’s fifty-pound bag of dog food.

  I felt sick to my stomach. I really don’t enjoy killing people. It’s sort of like eating vegetables because it’s what’s good for your health, but nobody really likes them.

  Before I could get his attention or squeeze the trigger, Frankel was accosted by the drunken sailor hooker.

  I quickly jumped back into the shadows, lowering the gun. Her arrival complicated things. I struggled enough with killing people who deserved it. There was no way I’d off an innocent. Okay, well, considering her chosen profession, she probably wasn’t all that innocent, but you know what I mean.

  “Pay up,” the hooker demanded, holding out a hand to the killer accountant, palm up. In her heels she was a good couple of feet taller than he was.

  “Earn it.” The unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered whispered through the alley.