Fat Assassins (14 page)

“What the hell was Cornnut thinking . . . giving us a car with NOS tanks?! We’re lucky we didn’t die,” Ulyssa said, directing her anger at the only other person involved in the foiled assassination attempt. 

“I think the engine caught on fire before the NOS tanks exploded, so there musta been something else wrong,” I replied, chugging my glass of wine. “I hope he was right when he said the cops couldn’t trace the car without the VIN number.”

“We should check the newspapers tomorrow just to be sure.” Her hands were shaking as she sipped her wine. “Do you think Marcus saw us? Or knew we were trying to kill him?”

“The smoke was so heavy I don’t think anyone would recognize us, even without our disguises.” She had soot stains outlining the shape of our oversized sunglasses. 

“We suck at being assassins,” she sighed. “We weren’t even close to killing him. I don’t know if I can do this again. It’s emotionally exhausting.” 

“Let’s take this one step at a time and get some rest. We’ll see what’s in the news tomorrow and go from there.” 

I collapsed on the bed without changing out my smoke scented clothes.

The next morning we stopped by the local Piggly Wiggly for newspapers and breakfast. We sat in the Pinto eating yogurts and scanning for news of the attempted assassination. 

“Here’s something! In the Charleston Gazette,” I said, pulling the paper closer to my face. “Old model Chevette explodes outside the Capitol Conference Center. The car, which had been outfitted with nitrous oxide, blazed for over an hour while firemen fought to get it under control. Flying shrapnel and debris caused over $30,000 in damage to nearby buildings and vehicles. Police have a few leads, but the motive for the violence remains a mystery.” 

“Are you sure that’s about us?” Ulyssa asked.

“I’m pretty sure.” I spun the photo towards her and pointed at the Bella’s sign barely visible beyond the flames and three firemen spraying the car. 

“And look,” I said, pointing to the Mercedes, “this is the car the NOS tank busted up.” I squinted hard and could see the giant hole where the tank flew threw the back windshield. “I hope they don’t figure out it was us. We can’t afford to fix that windshield.” 

She grabbed the newspaper from my hand saying, “We sure messed that car up! If they find out it was us, we’ll have to spend the rest of our blood money to fix it! Cornnut sold us a real piece of junk car!”

“Well, in his defense, he didn’t know we needed to run somebody over with it . . . otherwise he would have probably tried harder to sell us that El Camino. I’ve heard those cars are surprisingly reliable.” 

She shook her head at my twisted logic.

“Speaking of Cornnut, let’s give him a visit and see if the Sidekick is ready.” 

Ulyssa started the car and we began another trek to Cornnut’s. We were spending too much time in his neighborhood lately, if we’re not careful it’ll end up in the rumor-mill. 

“We could try knives or guns?” I offered.

“What?” 

“The car didn’t work out, so maybe we should try knives or guns?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I’m trying to recover from almost being consumed in a giant fireball.”

“Well, what do you think? Knives or guns?”

“We’d never get a gun permit approved in two weeks and we don’t know the first thing about shooting. Wouldn’t killing someone with a knife be messy?”

“I don’t know. They make it look easy in all those Rambo movies. Or we could do it with Samurai swords like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill!” The mental picture of me and Ulyssa in yellow Bruce Lee outfits kept us giggling the rest of the way to the garage. 

It was no surprise that crazy Ronnie was hanging out with Cornnut when we got there. 

“Hey Cornnut! Ronnie!” 

“Howdy, girls! You’re a bit early. I’ll need another hour or so before she’s finished,” he said, patting the suspended Sidekick for emphasis. 

“No problem. We’ll just hang out if you don’t mind,” I replied.

We grabbed a seat on his concrete front porch while we waited. 

“Shasta! I bet Ronnie could help us with the knives!” Ulyssa whispered.

I had to look at her twice to make sure she wasn’t joking, but she was absolutely serious. “Seriously? You want crazy Ronnie to show us how to use knives?”

“Well, we could see what type of weapons he has . . . and see which ones we could use. What do ya think?”

“I’m too young to die.”

“Well, what’s your idea then?” 

Maybe she’s right. Knives are a good choice. Whatever we do, it has to be low profile and knives are definitely low profile. We can’t afford for them to tie us back to the exploding car.

“Okay,” I relented. “I’ll let you do the talking since it’s your idea.”

We hopped off the porch and walked back around to the garage. Ronnie was sitting on a folding chair talking to Cornnut while he drained the truck’s oil. 

“Ronnie. Is it true that you have the biggest knife collection in Nitro?” 

“Yup. I got over 500 different types of bladed weapons,” he glowed with militant pride.

“Wow. Would you mind showing us some of them while we’re waiting on the truck?” That earned Ulyssa a sharp look from Cornnut.

“Sure. Y’all want to ride with me.” I paled at this question, but Ulyssa smoothly responded. “Nah. We’ll drive. Shasta isn’t feeling good and I don’t want her getting sick in your nice truck,” she said, flashing him her movie star smile.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Cornnut. You good without me?” Ronnie asked. 

Cornnut nodded his concurrence while continuing to stare at us. 

And we were off to our training session for assassination attempt #2.

Crazy Ronnie owned a chunk of land about a mile away from Cornnut, so it didn’t take us long to get to his house. The driveway was a long dirt road surrounded by forest. The sun shimmered on the side of his double wide trailer. The landscaping was an unusual combination of flower beds planted inside monster truck tires and garden gnomes. Two mangy dogs ran from under the trailer as we rolled to a stop in the dirt lot. The overexcited dogs jumped all over Ronnie leaving clay mud paw prints all over his overalls. He patted them on the head as they followed him to the front door. If they were supposed to be guard dogs - they sucked. They ignored us as we followed Ronnie to the trailer. The seashell wind-chime tinkled over our heads as we waited for Ronnie to open the door.

The interior looked like something from the redneck royalty collection. The living room walls were covered with black velvet paintings of Elvis and scary looking porcelain clowns. A giant tapestry of poker playing dogs hanging behind the living room was pulled to the side to reveal a guest bathroom. Five of the bathroom shelves were dedicated solely to Aquanet hair spray. The extra storage along the TV stand was chocked full of knick-knacks. I leaned closer to have a look at one of the larger centerpieces. At first glance it looked like a furry hat, but as I got closer I realized it wasn’t a hat. It was four stuffed squirrels dressed liked barbers with striped jackets and hats. Ronnie caught me staring at the taxidermy weirdness. 

“You like that? It’s my BoysIIMen tribute to my wife, Amy! Had ‘em stuffed as a wedding present since ‘I’ll make love to you’ wuz our wedding song. I sure wish I had enough money to take her on one of them fancy BoysIIMen cruises. She’d sure love it.” 

We shouldn’t be here.

“But y’all didn’t come here to listen to me yammer on like a lovesick fool. Let’s get you edumucated on blades!” He led us over to a set of stainless steel display cases near the giant skinny Elvis painting and pulled out the first drawer to reveal thirty butterfly knives. “These here ones are called butterfly knives because the handles fan open. They’re good if you only have one hand free.” 

He picked a shiny, silver one up and began flicking his wrist to open and close the blade. 

“I learned how to use these when I was stationed in the Philippines. Filipinos use them for all kinds of work and play.” 

He returned the butterfly knife and closed the drawer. He opened up the next drawer and pulled out a gigantic knife with a hooked tip. 

“I’ve got about forty of these puppies. A lot better than them crappy Rambo ones with compasses. This here is a bonafide real bowie knife. It’s good for bigger jobs.” 

He swung his arm back and forth like he was fighting off a grizzly bear. Ulyssa and I took a step back to avoid being impaled during the knife demo. I gave her a ‘told ya so look’, but she refused to take her eyes off the knife in Ronnie’s hand.

“Some folks confuse bowie knives with Arkansas Toothpicks. But the toothpick is balanced for throwing. Here I’ll show ya.” 

He returned the bowie knife and extracted another knife from the third drawer. 

“This is my favorite drawer. It has all my throwing weapons in it.” That drawer seemed to transport him to a darker place and time. “I love throwing weapons ‘cause you can hit Charlie with ‘em when he’s running away,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to clear away a dream. “Sorry, girls! Where were we?”

“Um. You were going to show us how to us the Arkansas Toothpick . . . ,” Ulyssa stammered.

“Oh, right. The toothpick. She’s balanced so you can throw her and use her close-in.” 

He grabbed the knife by the blade and slung it into the wooden rack holding a spoon collection. 

We jumped as the knife made a dull thwack sound knocking the spoons to the floor.

“Would that be enough to kill a man though? Hypothetically?” I asked. 

Ronnie’s eyes started glazing over as he responded to my question. “I reckon if you hit him in the heart it would kill him. Otherwise, you’d have to hunt him down and finish the job.” 

I wished I hadn’t asked him that question because he seemed to be teetering on the brink of sanity. 

A doorbell shattered the intensity in the room. 

Happy to be rescued from the Ronnie’s combat flashback, I ran over and pulled the door open. “I’ll get it for ya!”

“Don’t open the door! It might be a trap!”

I spun around and watched Ronnie lose all semblance of sanity as he looked past me at the visitor.

“It’s Charlie!” he screamed, “He’s back!” 

I turned back to the door where a Chinese delivery guy stood frozen, staring at crazy Ronnie. 

“Ohhhh no, Mr. Ronnie! I just delivering food for your wife. She said you not here,” he cried nervously holding up a plastic bag of food.

“Git him! It’s a sneak attack!” 

I felt a breeze rustle my hair as a shiny metal object flew past me and impaled the door frame. The delivery guy’s mouth dropped open and I shrieked when we realized Ronnie was trying to maim someone with his throwing stars. 

“Run! He’s having a flashback,” I wheezed, to the delivery guy. 

“I know! He crazy redneck! I Chinese. Not Vietnamese. Tried to kill me twice now! I say I never deliver again, but his wife call and beg. So I say okay as long as Ronnie no home.” He stopped his rant long enough to duck when a second throwing star lodged a inch below the first one. 

“Shasta! Move! I can’t throw around you. Hurry afore he keels us all.” Ronnie was shouting so loud he must have been competing with the grenade explosions and helicopter noise in his flashback.

The delivery guy stumbled backwards down the steps taking his plastic bag with him and dropping menu fliers on the porch. I stood in the doorway for a few seconds longer, giving him a head start. A third throwing star clipped my ear as it whizzed out the door following the delivery guy like a laser guided missile. 

“Amy! Ammmyyy! Ronnie try to kill me again!” he screamed, as he ran to his car, zig-zagging across the yard like his was dodging machine gun fire. “Amyyyyy!!!! I no deliver again. He crazy redneck and you no tip.” 

Ronnie joined me and Ulyssa at the doorway after grabbing another fistful of throwing stars from the drawer. He stared at us like we were part of his battalion. 

Thank heavens Ulyssa liked watching war movies because she popped to attention and saluted Ronnie. 

“We’ll head out the back and cut him off! You head out the front. We’ll flank him and meet you in the end zone.” She was so impressive as a make believe platoon leader that I snapped to attention next to her and imitated her salute. 

Ronnie saluted us back saying, “Roger that! Commencing Operation ‘Redneck Samurais’. We’ll rendezvous at the drop zone in approximately eight minutes. Synchronize Watches.” He checked his watch and we mimicked him. He nodded and finished his speech. “Maintain radio silence in case Charlie’s in the bushes! And leave no man behind!” 

We heard the screen door open as Ronnie ran out the front door to commence phase one of the operation.

Ulyssa spun in a perfect about face maneuver before sprinting down the hallway. “Let’s get the hell outta here before he thinks we’re defectors working with the Viet Cong and comes after us.”

I followed her around the corner and ran smack into the deer head from our ‘hunting’ excursion. I felt the soft fur against my cheek as the snout collided with my windpipe knocking me clear off my feet. I laid on my back surrounded by orange and black shag carpet, holding my breath as the deer head tilted on the wall.