Fat Assassins (The Fat Adventure Series) Page 24

  “Perfect. What’s one more felony to an ever growing list? I didn’t expect us to get parole anyway!”

  “We won’t get caught if you listen to me. There are FBI agents posted outside his house at all times, so don’t get freaked out when you see them,” she explained, trying to re-focus me on the plan. “Just keep looking forward and ignore them. We’ll be okay once we get inside the house. When we park, walk around and grab one of the cleaning supply buckets out of the backseat.”

  A government vehicle with two agents was parked in front of the driveway. I did exactly as she instructed and followed her up to the door. She wiggled the door handle and the door whooshed open. My senses were super heightened when we stepped through the door. I waited for an alarm to signal our intrusion or at least a German Shepard attack. Nothing. I guess when you’re the local mobster, most folks are too smart or too scared to break into your home. I squeaked when the door clicked closed behind me.

  “Shhh.” Ulyssa held her index finger up to her lips then waved for me to follow behind her. We walked down the hallway past unusual pieces of art. One looked like crushed beer cans randomly arranged across a bicycle tire. A giant painting on the left wall had a giant empty suitcase folded open and filled with dirt and blooming flowers. Garden gnomes were positioned at the four corners of the suitcase like watchmen in a castle. They must have been protecting the flowers from the twenty odd cats circling the outside. It must’ve been the byproduct of a drug high. Ulyssa quietly cleared her throat, drawing me away from the cat cavalcade painting into the kitchen.

  It was a magnificent kitchen with granite counters and gleaming copper pots everywhere. The refrigerator was the industrial kind with glass doors. Ulyssa swung the door open and surveyed the contents. She pulled out some Chinese food cartoons, cream cheese spread, a jar of pasta sauce, and giant jug of green puree. I watched as she opened the Chinese carton and sprinkled the basil over the food. She picked up the cream cheese to do the same thing.

  “Psst. Won’t he notice green in the cream cheese?”

  She held up the lid and pointed to the label. “Onion and chives blend.”

  I gave her a thumbs up.

  She finished adding the basil to the other containers and replaced them back in the fridge in their exact spots.

  “On to the electrical.”

  We grabbed our cleaning supplies and headed upstairs.

  The elegant, twisting staircase was a good backup plan. Anyone who fell down it would have to be drunk to survive.

  Ulyssa opened the first door, but it was a closet. The second door led to a spare bathroom. She continued down the hallway looking for the master bedroom. It was behind door number five.

  It looks more like a lair than a bedroom.

  Everything was black marble, dark wood, and mirrors. The masterpiece of the bizarre art collection was positioned above the giant waterbed. It was a giant Alpaca seated on a throne, wearing a crown and gold necklaces. His queen was human, but the rest of the court were birds and sea creatures. A seahorse, dressed like a belled court jester, was juggling crabs. I tried to shake the Dali-esque painting out of my head.

  We shouldn’t be here. This guy is seriously twisted. If he catches us - he’ll kill us.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, a raspy voice slithered from the corner, “You girls looking for something?”

  Marcus sat in an old oak chair positioned in the corner of the room, lightly scratching his disgustingly long finger nails down the curved arms as he waited for us to respond. I cowered behind Ulyssa, wishing I’d worn my gun. “We’re with Merry Maids. Here for the usual cleaning. We usually start with the bathrooms because they need the most work. Know what I’m saying,” she said, laughing nervously.

  “Well, well. Don’t let me stop you. Go ahead about your business,” he replied, swirling his hand towards the bathroom.

  We shuffled backwards never taking our eyes off him. “We’ll shut the door, so we don’t disturb you.” We stepped into the marble monstrosity of a bathroom and closed the door. I sat the cleaning supplies down and started wheezing.

  “Pull it together,” Ulyssa encouraged, starting to pace. “We’ll just clean the bathroom and leave. As far as he knows, we’re Merry Maids.”

  My breathing resumed a normal pattern.

  “Get your bucket and let’s get this over with,” she said, walking over to the bathroom sink to set her bucket down. She pointed me towards the giant jacuzzi tub while she started cleaning the mirror. I didn’t like doing my own housework and it annoyed me that I was having to scrub a gangster’s bathroom. “How long do you think we should stay in here?”

  “At least twenty minutes,” she answered, finishing up the mirror and starting on the sink counter.

  I looked at my watch and sat down on the tub. “We’ve only been in here for seven minutes.”

  “You’ve got to be patient or he’s going to get suspicious.”

  I sighed, whining, “Maybe you should shave the cables while we’re in here...”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Ulyssa said, grabbing a tool from her cleaning box. She started looking around the bathroom for exposed wires or electrical outlets. “It looks like they built it to code. I can’t do anything with these outlets. They’re designed for use in bathrooms.”

  “What exactly were you planning to do?” Marcus asked, watching us from the doorway. Ulyssa spun around with the wire strippers in her hand.

  My fight or flight instincts took over and I kicked my arms and legs straight out from my body. I think there’s a type of beetle that uses this defense in the wild. In my case, it sent me careening backwards into the bathtub. I really started freaking out then because gangsters liked killing people in bathtubs. It’s easier to clean up the mess. Ulyssa and Marcus stared at me as I struggled to flip over onto my stomach to drag myself out of the tub.

  Ulyssa stepped forward to help, but Marcus raised a gun and pointed it at her.

  “Stay where you’re at,” he said, looking at me. “Get over there with her.”

  I jumped out of the tub and scurried over to stand beside Ulyssa.

  “This is all a big misunderstanding, we’re with Merry Maids...” she started.

  “I don’t think so,” he interrupted. “See, I cancelled my cleaning service for this week. I have an important meeting with the Mexicans tonight and I couldn’t have anyone interrupting it.” He stepped to the side and motioned with the gun for us to leave the bathroom as he continued, “But, yous already know that dontcha?”

  We shook our heads side to side.

  “Lying isn’t going to save you,” he warned, waving the gun down the hallway again. We tiptoed past him afraid he would shoot us. He followed us down the hallway, keeping the gun trained on our backs. I flinched when I heard a click, but he had just opened his cell phone.

  “Hey, fellas. I need a couple of yas to come over early. Got a couple problems. Everybody else sticks to the plan. Our guests will be arriving in six hours.”

  We reached the top of the swirling staircase and stopped. He poked me in the back with the gun.

  “You first. Try anything funny and I’ll kill your friend.”

  I grabbed the handrail and slowly guided myself down the stairs. Ulyssa and Marcus were close behind me.

  “We’re going to go in the kitchen and have a little chat while we wait for the party to show up.”

  We clung to each other as he guided us to the kitchen. We sat on the stools at the kitchen island. Marcus walked around the island keeping the gun trained on us.

  “How much does the FBI know about tonight’s meeting?”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t play stupid. It just pisses me off even more,” he spat, pointing the gun at my chest, Speaking directly to Ulyssa he asked, “I’ll ask one more time. How much does the FBI know?”

  “Um. I don’t know. We’re not FBI.”

  That took him by surprise. “That’s interesting. Then why were you trying to install
bugs in my bathroom?”

  “What?”

  “This little game is getting old. If you’re not FBI - why were you installing listening devices in the bathroom?”

  “We weren’t.”

  His finger curled around the trigger and I shrieked.

  “We were trying to kill you!”

  “What?” he blurted, laughing so hard he had to lay the gun down on the island so he could grip his sides. “You two? Kill me?”

  I was really getting annoyed at his disregard for our assassin skills. I kept staring at the gun wondering if I could get across the counter fast enough to grab it and shoot him. Ulyssa must have been thinking of more subtle options.

  “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Can we have a quick snack while we wait?”

  “You’re about to die and you want a snack?”

  “Even death row inmates get a last meal,” she responded.

  “Okay. Make me a sandwich while you’re at it. Killing people gives me an appetite,” he said, picking the gun back up. Pointing it at me, he asked, “So, who hired you to, um, kill me?” He couldn’t stop the maniacal laughter from rattling through his tough guy exterior.

  “Um, the Mexicans?” I stalled, watching Ulyssa pull the poisonous cheese from the refrigerator. I was afraid to tell him that Nicolo had hired us because then Nicolo would have yet another reason to kill us. I didn’t know the Mexicans, so that seemed a safer bet.

  He stopped laughing and gave me a hard stare. “The Mexicans?”

  I nodded.

  “Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted them. Who contacted you?”

  “Jesus.”

  Ulyssa stopped making the sandwiches to give me an incredulous stare.

  I guess I could have picked a more popular name, but all I could think of was her mom’s attack dog.

  “Jesus?”

  “Yes. Jesus told us to kill you,” I said, starting to sound like the Son of Sam killer.

  “Hmmm.”

  Ulyssa put a plate full of sandwiches down between us.

  I grabbed a sandwich off the plate and crammed my mouth full to avoid anymore questions.

  Marcus wasn’t going to let me off that easily though asking, “Are you sure it was Jesus?”

  “Yup. Jesus and I go way back.”

  He picked up the sandwich. Ulyssa and I sat staring, waiting for him to take a bite and hopefully keel over. We all jumped when the backdoor swung open and two men stepped into the kitchen. Marcus put the sandwich back on the plate and stepped towards the men.

  “Girls, say hello to Bobby ‘No Knuckles’ and Jimmy ‘Hotplate’.”

  “Hello,” we said politely.

  “So, is these yous problems?” Bobby asked Marcus.

  “Yeah. We wuz just having a discussion about who hired them to kill me.”

  Bobby and Jimmy both gave us a once over and started laughing.

  “It was Jesus.”

  This made them both stop laughing.

  “He orchestrated this whole deal. Why would he double cross you?”

  “I don’t know. He can’t run the whole drug ring from Mexico. He needs an American partner.”

  Bobby grabbed a sandwich from the plate. “Unless he’s found someone else who will take less of a cut? Nicolo?”

  “Could be. I plan on getting rid of these two and seeing what Jesus has to say when he shows up.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you wuz allergic to Basil.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, I ain’t no chef, but it sure tastes like this sandwich has Basil in it,” Bobby said, giving us a suspicious look.

  Jimmy reached over and grabbed a sandwich off the plate and took a bite. “Yeah. That’s definitely an onion and chive blend with a hint of basil.”

  We stared at him.

  “What? I studied at Le Cordon Bleu for a year. Until a guy pissed me off and I stuck his face on a hot plate.”

  “Well, it seems that I underestimated you two. You were seconds away from completing your mission,” Marcus said, turning back towards us with a new respect. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

  “You want us to kill ‘em, boss?” Jimmy asked, overly excited at the prospect.

  “No. These two are mine. I’ve got a special plan for them and I need one of you two to stay here and make it look like I’m in the house. I don’t want the FBI to get suspicious and come snooping around for the next couple of hours. It will take at least four hours for the girls to finish digging their grave.”

  “What?!” Ulyssa protested.

  “You’re gonna dig your own grave. Then I’m going to kill you.”

  “But... but...” she struggled to find words.

  Marcus ignored her and started giving out instructions. “Bobby, I need you to get a blowup doll out of the bedroom closet and put it in the passenger seat of the VW Bug out front. You’ll need to put on a wig - check the same closet - and drive the car away from here. I need the FBI to think that these two left on their own accord. Once you get far enough away find a way to get rid of the car and evidence.” He paused and grabbed a big bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Jimmy, you’ll need to walk through the house occasionally turning the lights on and off, so it looks like I’m spending a quiet night at home. I’ll be back before the Mexicans arrive.”

  He looked at us continuing, “They don’t look like they’re in very good shape, so if it takes a little longer stall ‘em until I get back. Keep an eye on them for a minute. I’m going to grab a couple shovels from the garage.” He stood up and left us alone with Jimmy and Bobby.

  I tried to connect with them by making idle conversation. “Bobby, how did you get the name ‘no knuckles’?” He showed us the top of his hands. There were giant scars where his knuckles should have been.

  “I like to beat people to death with my fists. My knuckles became so shattered and scarred that people just started calling me ‘no knuckles’.”

  “I wish I had a cool mafia name like that...”

  “Haha. What’s yours guys names?”

  “I’m Shasta and this is Ulyssa.”

  “Who put the basil in the cheese?”

  I pointed at Ulyssa and she gave me a shut-it look, but I felt like I was bonding with him. And maybe, just maybe he’d like us so much he wouldn’t let Marcus kill us.

  “Well, she could be ‘Herbivore’ or ‘The Black Widow’.”

  “Those names suck!” she protested.

  “Yeah. They’re not really scary,” I added.

  “I’d call you Medusa cause you got that crazy, curly hair.”

  “Oh, I like that one. But it doesn’t sound good with my name. Shasta ‘Medusa’? It’s not as catchy as yours.”

  “Your name won’t matter in a few hours,” Marcus interrupted, walking back in the kitchen carrying his bottle of water, two shovels and a folding chair. “You girls ready to go for a walk?”

  “It was very nice meeting you guys.”

  We gave them a little wave as we each took a shovel from Marcus on our way out the kitchen door. We stepped onto an expansive deck that gave way to a large back yard framed by forest. We descended into the yard and waited for instructions.

  “Walk straight into the woods for about a half-a-mile and then we’ll stop. That’ll be far enough into the woods that nobody will ever find your bodies,” he commanded. We used the shovels as walking sticks as we tramped through the dark forest. It didn’t take long for us to reach our destination. Marcus unfolded his chair and laid his bottle of water on the seat before walking over to a clearing and pacing off an area that was approximately 4 foot by 6 foot.

  “That should be big enough for both of you. Now get to digging!” He walked over and sat back down on the chair, watching us work. The good news is the dirt was soft from recent rains, so it wasn’t too hard to shovel. The bad news is that it was easy to shovel.

  Nothing in life can prepare you for a situation like this.

>   I was standing back to back with my best friend digging our grave.

  We were digging really slow, but Marcus seemed to know what we were up to and kept hurling threats at us to speed it along. After two hours we’d dug a sizable hole. It was large enough that when we were standing upright, it reached our chests. We must have been getting close to Marcus’s meeting time because he was getting increasingly antsy.

  “Are you done?” Marcus asked, looming over the hole.

  “My hands are killing me!” I complained, showing him my bleeding palms.

  “I don’t have time for this. The Mexicans will be here in a few hours and I need you two outta the way,” he demanded. “Keep digging!”

  “I need some water!” Ulyssa stalled. “I’m dehydrated.”

  “You’re gonna be dead in a few hours. Who gives a shit about dehydration?”

  “Some cultures believe that your spirit in the afterlife is a replica of your earthly body during the last days. I don’t want to spend eternity dehydrated.”

  He rolled his eyes and threw his half empty water bottle into the hole.

  “Ewwww. I don’t want to drink after you. Yuck.”

  I was glad the grave was too shallow or I think he would have shot us right then and there.

  He ignored her complaint and went back over to his folding chair.

  We picked up the shovels and started digging deeper into the moist dirt. I felt my shovel clang against something metal. I kept digging around it and pulled it loose from the ground. It was shaped like a NERF football with a tail. Looks like it might have been part of a fancy lawn darts game or something. I tossed it over my shoulder towards Marcus, hoping it might knock him out. No such luck. It landed on it’s side a few feet from him. He was busy speaking Spanish on his phone and didn’t notice my weak attempt to bludgeon him from a distance using the equivalent of a five pound dumbbell. I started shoveling dirt again.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I answered. “We just got mixed up with some bad men. In a twisted way, we’ve lived more in the past two weeks than we ever have.”

  “That’s because we’ve almost gotten ourselves killed so many times.”