The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost (15 page)

“Sounds depressing,” I muttered, flopping down on his couch.

“It is. People don’t usually last long.”

The bagels popped out of the toaster.

“So you found DeeDee and now you’re ready to tackle Ira Frankel?” he asked as he scraped a knife along the crunchy breadstuff.

“I guess. I actually came over because I figured it was the only way I could communicate to you that I found her. I thought if you saw us both on your security footage, you’d get the message.”

“Clever.”

I wondered why everyone sounded so surprised when they bestowed that particular compliment on me.

Carrying a plate, he plopped down on the couch beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine. “Eat.” He thrust the plate under my nose.

I was going to refuse until I looked down at a raisin bagel slathered in butter. “My favorite.”

“I know.”

I looked up at him. “How?

Instead of answering, he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. “So about Ira Frankel...” He put the plate in my hands and took half of the bagel. “You might get lucky with him.”

“Lucky? I went and looked at his place. It’s a fortress.” I didn’t tell him that I’d had a run-in with the man himself.

“But lucky for you, he’ll be attending a poker game tonight.” He took a self-satisfied bite of the bagel.

“And that helps me how?” I asked over his crunching.

He swallowed before answering. “If he shows up dead afterward, everyone, cops and the criminals he plays with, will assume it was connected to the game.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“Plus he drinks at the game, so he’ll be impaired.”

“That’s a plus.”

“Oh, and I got you something.” Putting his bagel back on the plate, he reached behind him and pulled out a gun. “It’s got a silencer, see?” He tapped the end.

“Great,” I said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. As a general rule, I’m not fond of guns. I’m not fond of killing people, either. I’m really not cut out for this job.

Undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm, Patrick continued. “So I’ll give you the address of the game. All you’ll have to do is wait and then ‘pop! pop!’” He pretended to shoot the gun. “The job’s done.”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” I grumbled.

“For one thing, Delveccio didn’t give me the job.” He put the gun down on the floor by his feet and picked up his bagel. “For another, I’m working an all-night stakeout. So you’ll be on your own for this one. You okay with that?”

“Of course.”

He must have heard the doubt in my voice because he leaned his shoulder into mine. “It’s okay if you can’t do it, Mags. But it’s like Yoda said,
‘Do or do not. There is no try.’
Because if you try, and you’re seen or caught, it’s all over. If you’re in that alley and Frankel sees you, you’ve
got
to pull that trigger. Understand?”

I nodded, acid churning in my gut. I’d already been seen. I’d already been caught.

“Hungry,” DeeDee reminded us on a pitiful whine.

Nervous about the upcoming hit, I felt like I was about to toss my cookies. Instead, I tossed the dog my bagel.

After taking the gun and address from Patrick, I headed home with the dog and lizard in tow.

Before I got there, my phone rang.

I wasn’t surprised that it was Candace calling to say we had to break into the pound.  Sadly, I didn’t consider that to be a crazy request.  I calmly agreed to meet her at the appointed hour and went on with my day.

I visited with Katie, who told me all about the fun visit she’d had with Aunt Marlene, avoided phone calls from both Armani and Aunt Loretta, puzzled over Templeton’s visit to the pawn shop, and took a nap. It was going to be a long night.

I’m no expert on breaking and entering, but I don’t think it should be done wearing pink.

Candace, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about her color choice as she approached my car.

With God hanging out in my bra, I was parked beneath a burned out streetlight, across the street from the pound, a vantage point that allowed me to keep an eye on the front door while watching Tara’s purple car, which was still parked in the lot, despite the fact it was after eight. It seemed like her SNGL GRL license plate was mocking me.

“Hi!” Candace trilled as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s a pretty night. I saw Orion.”

“Who?”

“The constellation. In Greek mythology he’s a hunter.”

Ignoring her astronomy lesson I said, “The animal control officer is in there.”

“She works long hours.”

Glancing at the vanity plate, I muttered, “She’s single. Probably has nothing better to do.”

“I brought you this.” Candace handed me something rubbery.

I peered through the shadows trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s a Kate Middleton mask,” she explained. “So in case there are cameras, all they’ll see is Kate.”

“Who?” I looked at the misshapen face I held.

“Kate Middleton. Catherine Elizabeth Middleton. The Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Oh,” I said, like I cared about what Candace was saying. “Her.”

“Her? She’s not just a
her
. She’s the wife of Prince William.”

“Lucky her?” I said weakly, wishing I’d never asked about the stupid mask.

“God save the queen from the Anglophiles of the world,” God muttered from his hiding place.

“What was that?” Candace asked, startled.

“My lizard,” I said quickly, glad to change the subject. “I brought him along for good luck.”

“Like a rabbit’s foot?”

“Except I’m not dead or missing an appendage, you imbecile,” God shouted.

“He sure squeaks a lot,” Candace noted, staring at my chest.

“I. Do. Not. Squeak,” God squeaked.

“So what’s the plan for breaking the dog out?” I asked, trying to distract them both.

“I’ve got the key to the building,” Candace revealed smugly. “We’ll waltz right in, grab the target, and we’re out of there.”

“And then what?” I asked.

“We’ll deliver him.”

“What makes him so valuable?”

“I dunno,” Candace admitted.

“And yet you’re willing to break the law to get him.”

“I am.”

“I’m pretty sure prison orange isn’t your color.”

She shuddered, but I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of prison or wearing orange that disgusted her.

“You can always back out,” I told her.

“We’ve got different motivations,” she said mysteriously.

I knew my motivation was to keep the butts of myself and Patrick out of prison. Wondering if Ms. Whitehat and company held similar leverage over my Candace, I asked, “How so?”

“I’m a believer. You’re not.”

“Believer in what?”

“The cause.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, both intrigued and alarmed by the fervor in her tone.

“To right the wrongs of the world,” she said with enviable conviction.

“I’m not against that.”

“By whatever means necessary.”

I wasn’t opposed to that concept either, considering I kill bad people for money, but I didn’t share that with my pink Anglophile companion. Thankfully I was saved from continuing the conversation by the emergence of Tara. She’d changed out of her shapeless dog catcher uniform and was wearing a too-tight, too-short dress.

“Desperate,” I muttered.

“Huh?” Candace asked, watching Tara teeter across the parking lot on her too-high heels.

“I said she looks desperate.”

“She does,” my fellow dognapper agreed. “Then again, we can’t all be cute, so I guess you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.”

“Did you just call yourself cute?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve always been cute. Cute kid. Cute teenager. Cute woman. I guess it’s in my genes or something.”

Her cuteness made me want to grind my teeth.

“I’m just lucky that way,” cute Candace continued.

I watched Tara and her SNGL GRL car drive off into the night, reminding myself that if I could just get the damn dog, I could rid myself of cuteness and get to the job of killing Ira Frankel.

Candace pulled on her Kate Middleton—Catherine Elizabeth Middleton—The Duchess of Cambridge— Wife of Prince William mask.  “Okay, let’s roll.”

I eyed the rubber mask I held, wondering if I was about to do the stupidest thing I’d ever done. (Considering the myriad of stupid things I’ve done, that’s saying something.)

“Are you chickening out?” Candace asked, her voice distorted by the mask.

I shook my head and covered it with Kate’s face. “Let’s go.” My voice was distorted by the mask.

I grabbed the flashlight I’d brought, unsure if I was going to use it as a light source or as a weapon should I need to beat some sense into her.

We got out of the car, quickly crossed the lot like a pair of ne’er-do-well trick-or-treaters, and walked up to the front door.

Candace inserted the key.

“What about the alarm?” I asked, pointing to the control panel beside the door.

“Oh. I didn’t get that.”

“Who gets a key to break into a place, but doesn’t plan for the alarm system that can alert the cops?” I asked.

“Cute Candace!” God supplied helpfully from my bosom.

“Don’t worry about it.” The dognapper in pink unlocked the door and stepped inside. “We’ll grab the dog and be long gone before anyone comes looking.”

Against my better judgment, I followed her inside.

We were greeted by a cacophony of barking, howling, snarling, and whining mutts.

I turned on my flashlight, but shouldn’t have bothered since Candace flipped on the light.

“What are you doing?” I reached for the switch, but she stopped me.

“We need to see what we’re doing.”

“That’s why I brought this,” I said, waving the flashlight.

“No time.” She hurried farther inside.

I followed after her, muttering, “Worst. Break-in. Ever.”

“Here, Ghost! Here, boy,” she called as we stepped into the room where all the cages were housed.

“Out me let! Out me let!” Every dog called at once.

“It’s amazing their race has survived,” God yelled at me over the din.

Reaching Ghost’s cage, I pointed. “There he is.”

“Good boy, Ghost,” Candace said. Pulling out a pink, heart-covered leash, she held it out for him. “Let’s go.”

In response the little white dog backed into the far corner of his cage growling. “No. No. No.”

“Aw, come on, cutie,” Candace urged. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No time for coddling,” God declared. “The cops are already on their way.”

Usually, I disagreed with his grand statements, but this time I suspected he was right. Grabbing a towel that hung on a nearby cage that smelled of bleach and pee,  I opened the cage and threw the cloth over the yapping, oversized cotton ball.

“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.