Fat Assassins (10 page)

“Why were you making such a big deal outta driving his truck? I mean it’s not like it’s a beamer or anything. It’s just a truck.”

“I’ll tell you what I told him . . . It’s about trust. He didn’t trust me enough to let me drive his truck, which means he valued it more than me.”

“And . . . ?”

“The third time we went out, he let me drive his truck.”

“That’s good. It means he trusts you!”

“Yeah, he did . . . until I wrecked it,” she said, finishing off her nachos with a flourish.

“You wrecked his truck after all that trust pycho-babble?”

“Yeah, but it was a minor fender-bender,” she said, taking a sip of her soda. “I backed into a tree. It didn’t really do any damage to his truck or the tree, but he made a big deal about it. I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.”

“Even after all that, he’s still in love with you?”

She shrugged, “He’s only interested because I’m not. I wish he’d leave me alone. It’s stalking.”

“Well, you tried to stab him in the crotch and I think that surpasses stalking on the illegal scale,” I replied, grinning evilly.

“Deputy Hodde is so into you that I bet he’d let me off with a warning if I had impaled Johnny.” 

“He’s Nitro PD, not Charleston. He has no jurisdiction here,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her. “We should be talking about interview strategies anyway, not guys!”

“I think we should be extremely confident and exaggerate our experience. They’re not going to know any different anyhow.”

I shook my head, “They’ll figure it out real quick when we can’t get rid of the pests.”

“Nah. We’ll just find out what type of animal they want us to get rid of, research it on the internet and then we can ask Tater or somebody to help us get rid of it. But we won’t tell them we’re getting paid to do it, of course.”

That’s a pretty reasonable argument, I relented starting to psych myself up for the role of confident exterminator.

“Are you sure this is the right address?” I asked.

Ulyssa double checked the piece of scrap paper and nodded yes. “I guess everyone needs exterminators. It kinda makes sense since they’re so far out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“I still can’t believe there’s a strip club in a town called Pinch,” I laughed. 

We could see the highway from the parking lot, otherwise I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside this place. The neon lights flashed “HUBBA HUBBA” causing red shadows to mamba over the the parking lot full of old, cars and beat up trucks. The only exception was two polished, black towncars parked near the front door. 

“Dang! If that’s the owner’s car, I bet they’ll pay us real good for taking care of their pest problem. Having critters running around in a strip club can’t be good for business.”

“Yeah, I wonder if they have insurance in case one of the dancers gets bit? Imagine sitting there getting ready for the show wearing nothing but feathers and tassels,” Ulyssa said, twirling her fingers in circles by her boobs for emphasis, “. . . and BAM! A squirrel bites a boob!” 

We both shuddered thinking about a crazed squirrel swinging by the teeth from our boobs.

“Ouch! Don’t forget they carry diseases too? That would doubly suck! Getting a squirrel bite and a rabies shot in the boob! I hate squirrels!” I said.

“Yeah, me too. They’re evil, furry rats!” 

“What if there are squirrels in the parking lot right now just waiting to attack us for our boobjerky? Maybe they’re circling the car looking for a way in . . .”

POP! CRACK! 

A jagged line appeared in the Pinto’s windshield making us jump and grab our boobs protecting them from an impending squirrel attack. A truck squealed its tires pulling out of the parking lot sending another spray of gravel at the Pinto. We weren’t going to be very good exterminators getting freaked out by imaginary, carnivorous squirrels. We tumbled out of the car and scurried into the club. Just in case there were crazy squirrels on the loose. 

The inside of the club was much nicer than the exterior. It had an edgy, sexy vibe to it like we had just walked onto the set of CSI: Las Vegas. Beefy bouncers, scantily clad waitress, and sweaty men waving dollar bills. Topless dancers were shimming and twirling on stage.

A waitress dressed like Mrs. Jetson walked up to us asking, “How can I help you girls?”

“We’re here to see Nicolo.”

“Oh!” she said, her eyes registering shock, but she was on customer service autopilot. “Right this way.”

She led us to back room and pulled the heavy curtains to the side, so we could step through. 

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“Two diet Cokes, please.” 

She nodded and left us alone in the room. 

We walked over and sat down on a giant chair shaped like a pair of red lips. I bounced on the couch to test it’s softness. I’d always wanted to know if these seats were comfortable because it was difficult to tell from the pictures. A few minutes later, four men entered the room through the door opposite the kissable couch. 

“Good evenings, ladies! I’m Nicolo.” He unbuttoned his leather jacket releasing a pot belly over his belt. He waved his hand and the other three men positioned themselves by the door. “So, yous are here about the exterminator job?” 

His thick New Jersey accent made it difficult to tell whether he was telling us or asking us. So, we just silently nodded at him. 

Very calm and cool. Confident exterminators.

“I have to say . . . I’m surprised yous are both girls. That’s very unusual for these types of jobs,” he said, regarding us under hooded eyes. Luckily, the waitress came in to deliver our drinks giving us a second to think of a response.

“Sexism from an East Coast buffoon. You must be Italian to boot.” He grinned acknowledgement at Ulyssa’s stereotyping. “No surprise. That’s probably the Patron Saint of machismo on your necklace!”

“It’s Saint Avellino, Patron Saint of sudden death. I’m surprised you don’t know him, since you’re in this line of business,” he taunted her. “If you’re real exterminators, that is?”

“We’re real alright!” Ulyssa said, leaning forward on the edge of the couch. “You’ve obviously never met redneck girls before, cause we have a way of getting things done.” 

I choked on my Diet Coke, but it came out sounding more like a growl. 

The three guards stepped forward placing their hands on their hips, but Nicolo waved them away.

“I likes you girls! You’ve got toughs! I think yous gonna be perfect for the job,” he said, turning to the nearest goon. “Joey! Gets me a whiskey, willya?”

“We haven’t accepted the job yet! I think we have a few details to discuss before we agree to anything.” Ulyssa had gone into tough negotiator mode. “How many pests are we talking about?”

“One big rat,” Nicolo answered, as Joey returned with his glass of whiskey.

“In that case, the price is double. We won’t do it for less than forty.”

He leaned forward, pulling his gold necklace taut across his neck. “For that price, I wants it to be invisible. Has to looks natural.”

“No problem. We’re stealthy like ninjas!” I contributed. 

What was it with me and ninja references lately? I blame the roofie.

“Ninjas, huh?” His eyes scanned me head to toe. “I don’t cares how ya do it. I just needs it finished two weeks from tomorrow. The date of completion is a-very important to me.”

“Big day, huh?” I guessed.

“Yeah.”

“Just out of curiosity . . . . You and your crew look strong . . . why aren’t you taking care of the rat yourself? Why bring in a couple of outside exterminators to do the job?” Ulyssa asked.

“Cause we don’t like to get our hands dirty, iffen ya know what I means. I’ve just started seeing ‘someone’ and if they find out about our little deal things wouldn’t be too good for our relationship. It would be finito. Which means the same for yous girls, got it?” 

I don’t like the idea of being finito, whatever that means.

“Why all the trouble for this one rat?” Ulyssa continued.

“Let’s just say I’m tired of this rat eating my cheese. I don’t like greedy rats. They draw a lot of attention and people start looking in places they shouldn’t be and that gets real dangerous for everyone,” he said, a sinister grin sliding across his face.

“Okay. We’ll do the job quietly for forty. Where do we find this rat?”

Nicolo nodded to the tallest goon and he stepped out of the room. He returned seconds later with a large, manila envelope which he handed to Nicolo. Nicolo tossed the envelop on the glass top table in front of us.

“Here’s all the information you need, plus half of the payment up front.” He stood up and stretched making the buttons on his shirt strain to stay closed. “I gots a plane waiting on me at Yeager airport. Yous girls got my number if you needs anything.” Nicolo put his hand on the envelope, towering so close I could smell the whiskey from his breath. “I like you, but you girls cross me and I’ll kills ya.” 

We didn’t exhale until they left and the waitress poked her head into the room. “Y’all want anything else? Nicolo said to make sure you were taken care of,” she said, smiling at us as she grabbed our empty glasses. “BTW, My name is Cheri, like the fruit!” 

Of course it is. 

“Nice to meet you, Cheri. Is Nicolo always so intense?”

She gave it some thought, “He only comes into town every once in a while, so I don’t know ‘em that well. But, I think he liked y’all. And I know for sure that’s a good thing cause he’s one of them mobsters from New Jersey.”

What? That didn’t make sense. Why would a mobster fly to West Virginia to hire an exterminator? 

We ordered two more Diet Cokes, grabbed the envelope and opened the metal clasps. Peeking inside, we were shocked to find bundles of cash crammed behind a photo. We shoved the envelope lid closed when Cheri reappeared with our drinks. 

“You can use the room as long as you want. Just give me a shout if you need anything else.” 

“Thanks, Cheri!” she said, pulling the curtain closed behind her. 

Strains of music piped into the room over an old sound system masked our excited whispers as we extracted the contents of the envelope. 

“These are stacks of hundreds!” Ulyssa exclaimed, as she organized the bundles of cash on the table. She continued to count them as I finished pulling the photo and newspaper clipping from the envelope. 

“There’s at least $20,000 here! I’ve never seen so much money. There must be some mistake. Twenty-thousand divided by $40/per hour equals five hundred hours. There’s no way it will take us five hundred hours to get rid of one rat.”

I looked at the papers in my hand. “I don’t think he hired us to get rid of a rat.”

Ulyssa stopped organizing the cash and looked at me. “Huh?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting rid of a rat and that’s only the first half of the payment. He said that it was the first half up front. He’s going to pay us forty-thousand.”

“Why in the world would he give us $40,000?”

I spun the clipping around, “Because we’re supposed to exterminate him!”

The club was thumping with an old Joan Jett song while the rowdy crowd hurdled catcalls at the gyrating dancers. The song was perfect for our current situation as the rocker screamed about dirty deeds. 

“We can’t do this!” I said, dropping the newspaper excerpt on the table next to the money.

“We have to Shasta! You heard what he said! He’ll kill us! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What have we gotten ourselves into?” She usually reserved her use of JMJ for the worst of situations. It was a subconscious byproduct of her Catholic upbringing. 

She started shoving the money back into the envelope with shaking hands. 

“I’ve never killed anything. There’s no way I can do this,” I said, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat. “My parents are vegans for goodness sake. I never even had a Chicken nugget until I started hanging out with you!”

“Okay,” she said, patting my back. “It’s been a long day, let’s head home. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.” 

She stuffed the envelope in the back of her jeans and pulled her sweater over the top. We walked out to the cheering crowd as the stripper finished her dance and exited the stage.