The Hitwoman and The Pro Bono Job

Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 55

Chapter 1

You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you’re stuck on a treadmill, and it’s speeding up.

“I want off this thing!” I shouted. “Can somebody help me shut it down?”

I got no response, but the belt beneath my feet went even faster. My lungs burned, and it felt like my heart was going to explode. I was afraid I was going to go flying off at any moment. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the killer pace.

Death by gym equipment was not the way I expected to go.

“Help!” I panted. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Between the thundering of my heartbeat and the roar of the treadmill motor, I could barely make out a faint squeaking in the background.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” a small voice called.

And I woke up. 

Drenched in sweat, pulse pounding, I gasped for breath as I lay in my bed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Benny, the little white mouse squeaked from his habitat.

“I’m awake,” I groaned.

“You were having a nightmare,” God, the anole lizard, lounging on a piece of driftwood in his terrarium, informed me in a bored and superior tone.

“Bad dream. Bad dream. Bad dream,” Benny confirmed.

“What was it about?” the lizard wanted to know.

I pushed myself into a seated position. “I was stuck on a treadmill that kept speeding up, and I couldn’t get off.”

“Hmmm,” God murmured. “Fascinating. Do you think that’s because you’re suspicious of Doc’s activities, or do you think it represents the repetitive, yet frantic nature of your day-to-day life.”

“I think that’s too deep a question to ponder without coffee.”

“You wouldn’t be able to answer, ‘What’s your name?’ without coffee.”

He was probably right.

I pulled myself into a sitting position and surveyed my bedroom. “Where are Piss and DeeDee?”

“Alicia let them out,” the lizard explained.

“She was here?” I asked, surprised it had been my niece who’d released the cat and dog.

“She knocked softly, pushed open the door, saw you were sleeping and waved out the furry beasts,” God confirmed. “She’s a very considerate child.”

“She certainly is.” Standing, I pulled on my bathrobe, stuck my feet in fuzzy slippers, and shuffled out of the room in search of coffee.

When I got to the kitchen, it was occupied by Doc, my sister Marlene’s boyfriend, and one of the potential causes of my treadmill nightmare. He was humming off-key while he scrambled what looked like a dozen egg whites. 

“Morning,” I grunted as I stumbled toward the coffee maker. 

“Good morning!” 

I made a conscious effort to not roll my eyes. His level of cheeriness, first thing in the morning, grated on my caffeine-deprived nerves.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

I shrugged. I poured my coffee, focusing on the action, hoping he’d take the hint that I wasn’t in the mood to chat.

For an intelligent man, he was downright dense. He kept talking as he dumped a pile of mushy, runny white onto a plate. “Do you think Marlene has managerial skills?”

I was mid-sip and choked slightly on the steaming brew, sputtering a bit. 

“Because she wants to be a manager,” he continued, obliviously.

I wished I’d brought God with me. He might have been able to come up with a good answer on the fly. I just stared at Doc dumbly, having no concept of how I should respond but instinctively knowing that I shouldn’t say what was going through my head, which was, “She was a prostitute, and now she cuts fabric at a craft store. Neither of those screams “manager material” to me.”

“What do you think?” Doc pressed as he carried his plate to the table and sat down.

I gulped some scalding coffee to buy myself a moment to think.

He waited expectantly.

“I really know nothing about business, so I think you should probably ask someone else.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for logically and successfully passing the buck.

“She’d be trained,” Doc persisted. “The current manager could show her the ropes.”

I sighed, realizing with resignation, that I wasn’t going to get off easily. “Are we talking about her managing the fabric store or the gym you’re thinking of buying?”

“Gyms,” he corrected. “Plural.”

I frowned slightly, wondering again how an unemployed male-dancer-turned-failed-medical-school-student was going to purchase gyms.

He paused long enough from shoveling colorless and tasteless egg into his mouth to ask again. “Do you think she could manage one of the gyms?”

“I don’t know,” I answered carefully. “She’s smart and resourceful, so maybe?” Since I ended with a question, it wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement.

“But does she have the people skills?” he worried aloud. “I mean, let’s face it, with the exception of Loretta, nobody in your family is warm or charming.”

I blinked at him over the rim at my coffee mug. Had he just insulted everyone in the family (with the exception of Loretta who basically lived to flirt)? 

He ate some more of his eggs before adding, “I need someone who is at the top of their game for the position. She’s great and all, but…”

Maybe it was because the caffeine hadn’t hit my bloodstream yet, or maybe it was because it irked me that he was second-guessing my sister, but my attempt at restraint crumbled faster than a stale cookie. “You’ve gone from med student to cutthroat entrepreneur pretty quickly.”

He froze in the midst of lifting another forkful of food to his mouth. 

“You’re worried about whether Marlene is up to the job,” I continued relentlessly, “but how do you know whether you are up to the job?”

He put his fork down.

“You have no training or experience, do you?” I challenged mercilessly. “You’ve never run a business.”

“I…well…I…”

I scowled at him over my coffee cup. “You do not have the right to question my sister’s capabilities when you don’t have a clue what you’re doing either.”

He gulped and then nodded, looking around furtively like he was searching for an escape route. 

He didn’t find one, but an opportunity to exit the conversation sailed into the room, in the form of my Aunt Susan.

“Good morning,” she murmured primly. “Oh good, there’s still coffee left. Margaret hasn’t guzzled it all.”

I shot her a dirty look. She didn’t appear to care.

“Good morning!” Doc said, jumping out of his chair. “Here, take my seat.” He fumbled to pick up his fork and plate.

“There are plenty of other places I can sit,” she pointed out. “You’re still eating.”

He glanced down at his plate and then at me. “I…”

“He’s trying to get away from me,” I informed my aunt dryly.

Susan paused for a moment while pouring her coffee and then, shaking her head slightly, she resumed filling the cup. “Are you torturing the poor young man, Margaret?”

“Not yet,” I countered sharply.

“Sit,” Doc practically begged her. “Please.”

Using her body as a human shield, he sidled behind her and made a dash for the kitchen door, plate in hand.

Once the door closed, Susan slid into the seat he’d occupied. “What was all that about?”

“He was questioning Marlene’s competency,” I muttered. “I was just defending her.”

She nodded. “Enough about him. We have important things to discuss.”

My stomach clenched. No doubt she wanted to talk about my mother and what we were going to do about her. 

“You have to pull your weight, Margaret,” she lectured. “We all do.”

Feeling attacked, I scowled at what remained in my coffee cup.

“And you have to promise not to…be you,” she said forcefully.

“What does that mean?” I asked defensively. Sure, I may not be the perfect daughter, but I did my best to do right by my mother.

“You…” Susan insisted. “You can’t do that thing you do. Promise!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I complained.

“Promise!” Susan thundered, like raising the volume of her voice would somehow force me to comply with her mysterious request.

The trick had worked when I was a little kid, and it worked now. “Fine,” I pouted. “I promise.”

I had no idea what I was getting into.