Fat Assassins (The Fat Adventure Series) Read online

  She handed me a bowl of the candy/microwave popcorn concoction and held up both movies. “Which one first?” she asked.

  I pointed at The Professional and she popped it into the DVD player. The movie plot was surprisingly good and there were loads of detailed scenes showing how to assemble, dissemble and use a sniper rifle. We were feeling a little bit better about using guns at the halftime intermission. I got up to visit the bathroom groaning with pain. When I got back, she had refilled our snack and handed me two more Tylenol PM pills.

  “Okay. Time for more medicine, missy. I need you in tip-top shape these next few days. We got a job to do,” she explained.

  I gulped the pills down with water this time. I softly snored through the rest of the movie and was still dozing on the couch when someone knocked at the door.

  I forced my eyes open and saw Eric’s tall frame shrinking the room as he stepped through the door. He stood there in his uniform talking to Ulyssa, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  He looks like one of those Greek warrior statues. A strong jaw, high cheek bones, and slightly curved nose. Looks like it may have been broken once, but that only made him sexier. I bet it was broken in a fist fight with a dangerous criminal! His leather jacket and uniform shirt fit snugly over his broad chest. I want to rip that jacket off him and run my hands over those muscles.

  I felt some drool slide out the slide of my mouth.

  Dang Tylenol!

  I drug my arm to my face wiping the drool off with the back of my sleeve. Busted! He caught me checking him out and drooling. Great!

  “You didn’t do that to me, it’s the Tylenol,” I slurred to him.

  OMG! Why did I always say stupid stuff around him? People with Turret's Syndrome have better control over their mouth than me.

  “Wow, I’ve never had a woman drool over me. Then you had to go and blame it on drugs,” he said, giving me an injured look.

  “She just took some Tylenol for her injury, so she’s a little out of it right now.”

  “Ah. In that case I believe your drug alibi. I’m sorry again for hitting you and hope you feel better soon,” he apologized, handing Ulyssa two movies. “Here ya go. I brought both movies, but I can’t stay and watch it with you, Meryl is down in the bed with pneumonia.”

  Meryl Beaumont had been the Nitro Sheriff for the past twenty years and it took doctor’s orders to keep him out of the office.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Meryl’s a tough ol’ coot. I bet he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he will be, but ‘til then I’ll pulling double shifts to cover for him.”

  “Thanks for the movies. We’ll get ‘em back to you when we’re done.”

  “Keep ‘em as long as you want.

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “Well, it’s back to work for me,” he said, with a nod. “Y’all have a good night.”

  Instead of nodding back, I tried to talk.

  “Bye bye.” My voice came out sounding like Kermit the Frog.

  I should have just nodded.

  Surprise crossed his face before he let out a deep, warm laugh. “That is THE best Kermit impression I’ve ever heard.”

  I cursed the Muppets, gave a weak wave and pretended to fall asleep to hide my embarrassment. I opened my eyes as the door clicked closed.

  “Nice possum defense,” she mocked, inserting the Boondock Saints before sitting down on the loveseat.

  The movies were so good, I didn’t nod off once during either of them. When it was over, we looked at each other with confidence.

  “We got this!” Ulyssa said. “We just need some guns now.”

  Ulyssa stood up and sorted the movies into return piles. “We’ll have to remember and drop these off in the morning, so we don’t get charged for two days.”

  Her comment triggered my memory of Tamera’s tattoo.

  “Salvo.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you say Salvo was an underground arms dealer?”

  “That’s all speculation though. I’ve never actually heard it from him.”

  “We could talk to him and get an idea. Maybe he has a gun we can buy or rent.”

  She still wasn’t convinced. “Dang. He’s crazier than Ronnie. Are we sure we want to get mixed up with him?

  I thought about my star-crossed romance and sighed. “We’ve got nothing to lose. We’re already part of the criminal underworld now. Do you know where he lives?”

  “He’ll probably be at work tomorrow, so we can stop by and talk to him.”

  “Are you sure? You’re not going to punch Rick again are you?”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to see how it goes,” she grinned.

  Ulyssa backed the Pinto into the driveway. We wanted to be sure that we could escape quickly if things got chaotic like they had at Ronnie’s. We stepped out of the car and looked around. This was the address Salvo had given us during lunch, but we weren’t sure if we should knock on the door of the small camper or the concrete bunker. The strains of heavy metal music seeped through the rickety frame of the camper, so we decided to try our luck there first. We banged on the door for ten minutes before Salvo finally heard the noise through a break in the songs. He answered the door looking like he’d just come from a Metallica concert complete with silver gothic cross necklace and stained white tank top tucked into black combat pants.

  “Mornin,” we said in unison.

  “Howdy! Sorry I didn’t hear ya knocking. Just unwinding from a sale I had this morning. Big spender who wanted to test out a couple high end weapons. I always like to rock the camper after I shoot the big guns.”

  He grabbed a black leather jacket off a nearby chair and pulled the trailer door closed behind him. We crossed the yard and he unlocked the giant bunker door swinging it outwards so we could step inside. “I built this here bunker about ten years ago. It’s made of reinforced concrete so it can withstand just about anything. Temperature and moisture controls keep the environment stable, so things don’t get rusty,” he said, lovingly patting the wall while giving us the tour. “I didn’t get a chance to put away the guns from my previous customer, so be careful ‘cause they’re still loaded.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, blinking at rows of weapons neatly lining each wall.

  The room was a giant square, about 10x10 and I’d never seen anything like it before. Six glass showcases were strategically arranged around the room and guns were neatly organized along all the walls tiered into three rows. Soft lighting glinted off the gun barrels and I reached out to caress one of the smaller guns with a pearl inlaid handle.

  “Shheeeett. You don’t want that one,” he said, striding past us to the end of the bunker. “It’s pretty, but a pellet gun has more kick. That’ll just piss off whatever you’re trying to shoot.”

  He grabbed a gun from the third row and fit it into his palm. “You can tell the caliber by looking at the markings,” he continued, pointing to the numbers etched along the side of the gun. “This here is a 9MM Berretta. It’s an all purpose, lightweight gun with minimal recoil. Real popular with the military and such. We’ll try one of these.” He tucked it into his righthand waistband. “Y’all planning on shooting at a distance or close range?”

  “Close range!” Ulyssa answered, “But we’d like silencers.”

  “Hmmm.” He walked over to the back wall and pulled down a bigger gun, shoving it into his lefthand waistband. “We’ll try this Desert Eagle too. It’s a badass .50-cal gun. Give me a sec and I’ll dig up something for it.” He pulled a black cylinder and a couple boxes from a filing cabinet saying, “I don’t get too many requests for silencers. Rednecks tend to like to hear their guns.”

  “Do we look like rednecks?”

  “I reckon not. I didn’t mean anything by it. What y’all do with the guns is your business just be careful because silencers can only be sold by a Federal Firearms Licensed dealer. As you can tell I ain’t a licensed dealer, so if you get into any trouble
don’t tell ‘em where you got the silencer.”

  “We don’t plan on getting into any trouble,” Ulyssa reassured him. “A girl just needs to be able to defend herself. You never know who or what is lurking around the corner.”

  “Ain’t that the truth! There’s so many sickos in the world nowadays, you cain’t never be too safe. Y’all ready to do this?”

  We followed him outside and around the side of the bunker to an official looking shooting range. Paper targets were attached to professional looking frames in front of a giant clay embankment. He laid the guns, ammo and cylinders on a table that seemed to mark the beginning of the range. He grabbed safety glasses and hearing protection off the table and handed them to us. I put them on trying not to think about all the germs left over from previous users.

  “Have y’all ever fired a gun before?” he asked, not waiting for us to answer, before he began explaining the importance of exhaling as you squeezed the trigger. He looked down the barrel and extended his arm holding the 9MM where it was pointing at the targets.

  Remembering Tamera’s bullet wound, Ulyssa and I started jumping around like a couple of overexcited penguins, hoping our sporadic movements would prevent us from getting shot when Salvo fired the gun. He discharged two quick shots into the center of the target.

  “And that’s how it’s done,” he pointed out, turning back to us before handing Ulyssa the smoking gun. “See what you think of this one.”

  She stepped forward and imitated Salvo’s movements, extending her arms downrange. I started hopping again. You can never be too safe.

  Pop.

  Wood chips flew off one of the trees behind the shooting range.

  “Okay. Try to keep your eyes open.”

  Pop.

  Dirt flew everywhere as the bullet hit the clay embankment.

  “That one was closer. Try exhaling as you squeeeeeezzzzzeeee the trigger.”

  Pop. A hole appeared in the corner of the paper target.

  Shasta threw her hands in the air and spun towards me landing with a perfect cheerleading victory stance. “I hit it! Did you see it? Did ya? Did ya?”

  I widened my penguin hops.

  Salvo grabbed her arms and held them in the air until he wrestled the gun from her.

  “Whhhooooaaa! There’s still bullets in there! Here let me show you how to put the safety on.”

  Salvo must have mistaken my ricochet shuffle as excitement, because he offered me the gun next. I pretended to be impressed by the weapon, but I had no idea what I was looking at, so I simply hmm’d as I adjusted my grip and looked down the barrel.

  Exhale. Squeeze. Pop.

  Chunks of clay went flying.

  “Good. Just bring it to the left a little bit.”

  I adjusted my aim slightly and fired again.

  Pop. Pop.

  Two holes appeared in the stomach of the silhouette.

  “Great job, Annie Oakley!” Ulyssa cheered.

  “Good shooting! I think you’re a natural,” Salvo said, as he took the gun from me, flipping the safety on.

  “Let’s try it again with the silencer on so you can see the difference,” he said, twisting the cylinder onto the end of the barrel before handing it to Ulyssa.

  Threrp. Threrp. Threrp.

  The silencer made the gunshots sound like a friendly cricket.

  Ulyssa hit the clay once and target twice this time. All three of my shots landed in the target’s midsection again.

  Salvo slapped me on the back like a proud parent. “Good shooting! Y’all ready to graduate?” he asked, grabbing the bigger gun and loading some shells. He double checked the safety before handing it to Ulyssa.

  “Yeah. This feels good. Heavier.” She turned it sideways looking at the design and excitedly whispered to me, “I think this was one of the guns from Boondock Saints!”

  “Alright. Step up and give it a go. This one has a little bit more kick than the 9MM.”

  The power of the gun rocked Ulyssa’s arms into the air as the barrel recoiled cracking her in the forehead. She took a few steps backwards and fell on her butt.

  “What the hell?!” she yelled at Salvo. I could barely hear her over the ringing in my ears.

  “I told you it had more kick,” he replied, extending a hand to grab the gun. “You handled the 9MM pretty good, so I thought you’d be able to handle the Desert Eagle.”

  Now he was challenging her ego. She jumped up, wiped the blood off her nose and grabbed the gun exclaiming, “I’m fine! It just surprised me.”

  He winked at me and said, “Okay. Let’s try it with the suppressor this time.”

  Ulyssa turned her head away and flinched a few times before she actually pulled the trigger again. The gun still bucked, but it wasn’t as bad as the first shot. She stood a little more confidently for her third shot and finally hit the body on the target singing, “Woohoo! Rock and roll!”

  “You’re turn,” Salvo said to me, removing the suppressor while shoving me to the firing line. I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. A giant hole exploded in the center of the target.

  I felt the power reverberate from the gun through my whole body. This is some serious firepower. Now I understand why people get high off firing guns. I fired two more shots and decided that this was the gun for me. “I don’t need to test it with the suppressor! How much you want for two of these and some bullets?” I asked, laying the gun down on the table.

  Salvo laughed, “I think you got the fever! Next thing you know you’ll be hunting deer.” The thought of deer made me shudder. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re one of them PETA hippies, no offense to your parents and all.”

  “No. I just don’t like deer.”

  “Haha. I reckon y’all ain’t typical. I ain’t never met a woman who doesn’t love Bambi!”

  “I don’t like squirrels or chickens either.”

  That made him laugh harder. “Alright. Let’s take these back in the bunker and talk business. You can do a little bit more shopping, there might be some more stuff you’re interested in.” He grabbed the guns and led us back inside the bunker.

  He laid the guns down onto of one of the glass top showcases. I stared down through the glass at what appeared to be a giant antique artillery shell. I suddenly understood why Rick didn’t want everyone to know he was messing with Emma and made a mental note not to piss off Salvo. This single shell looked like it could kill a couple hundred people.

  He caught me staring at the shell. “That’s Willie Pete. It’s a tracer round that I bought from a buddy who brought it back from the Gulf War.”

  “Oh, ok.” How cute! He nicknames his ammunition! Maybe we should name our guns.

  He went back into salesman mode saying, “I usually sell the Desert Eagles for $2000 each cause they’re high end and untraceable. But since it’s your first gun, I’ll cut ya a discount. What do you think about $1800 apiece?”

  We gasped at the expensive price tag.

  “Well I could let ya have the 9MM for $700 each. It’s up to you.”

  “Could you give us a second to think about it?” Ulyssa asked.

  “Sure. I’ll head downstairs and grab a couple things.”

  “This place has a downstairs?”

  “Yup. This is just the showroom. I keep most of the arsenal downstairs. Y’all take your time. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Ulyssa turned to me and whispered, “That 50-cal is nice, but it’s really expensive.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a sweet gun! Think about it as an investment.”

  “An investment?”

  “Yeah. An investment in us killing Marcus and getting the rest of our money from Nicolo.”

  “Yeah, but we could do the same thing with the 9MM!”

  “But it’s not as sexy as the Desert Eagle!”

  “Sexy? Really? You really want to blow $4,000 on guns we’ll only use once?”

  “We might use ‘em more than once,” I countered.

  “What? Did you forget that we’re st
ill unemployed and this little vacation is funded by the mafia? Sooner or later, we’ll be broke again!”

  “Fine. We’ll get the stupid 9MM guns!”

  Salvo tromped back up the stairs carrying a black case and some other unidentifiable items. He shoved the test guns to the side and laid the items down asking, “Did y’all decide?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to go with the 9MM. Maybe we’ll come back for the 50-cal after we’ve practiced more.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s get you kitted out then,” he said, walking over to a corner full of various leather items. He grabbed two bundles of tan leather and handed them to us. “These here are Cordura holsters. You put your arms through the loops where the strap runs across your back and the holster is under your right armpit.”

  “We get holsters too? This is awesome!” I exclaimed, quickly pulling the holster into place.

  “Why do you sell fanny packs?” Ulyssa asked, pointing at the other bags hanging in the corner.

  “Those are gun holsters.”

  We laughed at him.

  “No, really,” he said, grabbing one and unzipping the top. “You just put your gun in here. It will hold a 9MM or smaller. You want one of these for your guns?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good with the holster,” I said.

  “Me too!”

  “Next is the silencer, also known as the suppressor. Step up to the cabinet here so you can practice putting it on the gun.” He emptied the bullets out of the test gun, unscrewed the silencer and handed it to Ulyssa. He pulled another 9MM and silencer out of the pile and handed them to me.

  “Now slide the gun down into the holsters,” he explained, as we followed his directions.

  “How does it fit?” he asked.

  “It’s a little weird feeling the cold metal on the underside of my arm, but it seems to fit pretty good,” I said, strutting back and forth. When we were done with our gansta runway walk, we pulled the guns out of the holsters and laid them back down on the case.

  “Cool. I know you said you wanted the 9MM, but I wanted to let you check out these nickel plated beauties real quick before you make your final decision.”