The Hitwoman VS the Training Schedule

Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 42

Prologue

You just know it’s going to be a bad day when you have to run for your life.

I’m not a runner. I possess no gazelle-like abilities. Instead of racing with grace, I grumble when I stumble. 

“You’re lumbering like an ungainly hippo,” the lizard squished in my sports bra complained. 

“Hippos are more deadly than lions,” I wheezed.

Chapter 1

“But it’s for charity, Margaret.”

My Aunt Susan is the only person I know who can manage to inject disapproval, wheedling and guilt-induction into a single sentence.

Gritting my teeth, I ground out, “I understand that. I’m happy to support the charity, I just don’t want to participate.”

“After all that was done for us?” She shook her head, disappointed by my choice.

“I’ll write a check,” I told her. 

“It’s not the same thing,” she complained. “You need to be an active participant in life.”

“As opposed to being comatose?” I shot back.

“Margaret! We do not joke about comas in this house. You should know better.”

I winced and hung my head. I totally deserved her judgment of my thoughtless remark. My niece, Katie, had been in a coma for a while, so Susan was right to think my smart aleck comment was in poor taste. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“At least think about doing it,” Susan bargained.

I stole a glance in her direction. We were sitting on the front porch, and I could tell from the speed of the movement of the rocking chair she sat on that she was agitated. “Why is it so important to you that I do it?”

“It would reflect well on the family,” she replied primly.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering why she cared about the social standing of our dysfunctional clan. “Why can’t Marlene do it?”

Susan looked away, the muscle in her jaw tightening.

“You already asked her, and she said no,” I guessed.

“I did not!” Susan exclaimed quickly.

Too quickly. Her response made me suspicious. “Are you going to ask her if I refuse?”

Susan closed her eyes, looking pained. “She is not exactly the ideal candidate for us to put forward.”

“Candidate for what?”

“Normalcy,” Susan admitted.

This sent the anole lizard, who was hanging out in my bra, into a paroxysm of laughter. 

Susan rolled her eyes as the lizard’s squeaky laughter began to emanate from my chest.

I frowned, not because of God, but because I knew that my aunt didn’t think my sister passed for “normal”, whatever the hell that was, because she’d once worked as a prostitute. If she only knew I talk to animals and currently work as a paid assassin…

“She thinks you’re the poster girl for normalcy!” God wheezed, breathless from laughing so hard. Saying the words sent him into another fit of uncontrolled giggles.

“We need to be able to project some normalcy,” Susan insisted. 

“So, you do it,” I pushed back. 

“I can’t.”

“And she thinks you can!” God chuckled. “Has she seen–?”

“Committee members are prohibited from participating,” Susan explained, drowning out the lizard. “And you don’t need me to explain why Loretta can’t do it.”

“I do not,” I muttered. “Leslie?” I asked as a last-ditch effort to save myself.

“She and Lorraine are already scheduled to be off for a romantic weekend. You’re my only hope, Margaret.”

I raised my eyebrows, silently signaling that I thought she was being a tad dramatic.

“Tell her that if she puts her hair into Princess Leia-style braids and repeats that, you’ll do it,” God urged, and then mocked, “You’re my only hope, Maggie Lee.”

I swallowed a smile at the suggestion. “I’ll think about it,” I told my aunt. 

Susan beamed. “Oh, thank you!” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” I reminded her. “I haven’t agreed. I haven’t committed.”

“I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

“I think her confidence is misplaced,” God ventured, “considering you’re a contract killer.”

“Die, evil beast! Die!” 

I didn’t say those words. I didn’t even think them, I swear!

That outraged battle cry was uttered by my Aunt Loretta as she teetered around the corner, trying to chase after a goat while wearing stilettos. The goat in question trotted a few feet ahead of her, nonchalantly chewing on a piece of blue fabric.

“You’re going to break an ankle, Loretta,” Susan warned her sister.

Raising her fists overhead, a move that almost caused her breasts to spring free of the low-cut blouse she wore, Loretta shrieked, “Die!” Then, she promptly lost her balance and fell onto her hands and knees. 

I couldn’t tell whether the cry she let out was due to pain or frustration, but it alarmed me.

Curious to see whose death had been ordered, God scrambled out of my bra and onto my shoulder. “Goats are often associated with the devil, you know.”

Ignoring him, I jumped up, ran off the porch and knelt in front of Loretta. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Kill it!” she screamed, her face a mask of twisted rage. “Kill it now!”

Startled by the depth of her reaction, I fell back, then jumped to my feet.

God let out a startled yelp and dove back into my bra. “Take cover, Maggie! Save yourself!”

The goat bleated at us. 

“For goodness’ sake, Loretta. What are you carrying on about?” Susan stepped up behind me, hands on her hips, glaring at her sister. “Don’t just stand there, Margaret. Get her on her feet.”

“It ate the cerulean!” Loretta wailed.

I moved behind her, hooked my arms under her armpits, and awkwardly hauled her to her feet.

“Sensitive skin!” God screamed as Loretta’s back pressed into my chest, crushing him.

“Sorry,” I murmured, pushing my aunt off me. 

She stumbled forward and would have fallen again if Susan hadn’t helped steady her. 

“You are too old for those ridiculous shoes,” Susan scolded her sister. 

“One is never too old to maximize their sex appeal!” Loretta retorted indignantly. 

While they argued about footwear, I walked over to the goat and said firmly, “Billy, I need you to give that to me.” 

“It’s mine,” he bleated, though his words were muffled because he had a mouthful of fabric.

“Thief,” God muttered, scrambling up to my shoulder. “I’m not Loretta’s biggest fan but I can’t advocate stealing from her.”

I grabbed for the end of the length of blue hanging from the goat’s mouth and tugged. And kept on pulling, slowly removing a five-foot-long length of blue ribbon.

“Ewwww,” the lizard groaned. “What could be grosser than masticated material?”

In the moment, I couldn’t think of anything.

Holding it at arm’s length, I marched the ribbon back to its rightful owner. “Here you go,” I offered, holding out the saliva-soaked strip to Loretta.

She shuddered with revulsion. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It’ll dry,” Susan told her. 

“What were you going to use it for?” I asked curiously.

“It’s an experiment,” Loretta began to explain.

“Aren’t you sorry you asked?” God mocked. 

“Oh, cool!” I said quickly, hoping to prevent my aunt from telling me exactly what her “experiment” entailed. Knowing her, it had to do with sex, and I really didn’t want to know about it. I could be happy living out my days never again hearing about her sex life, her lingerie shop, or her sexual experiments.

Loretta, oblivious to my discomfort and lack of interest, continued her explanation. “We’re trying to see if we get better reviews online if we tie our pleasure packages with red, black or blue ribbon.”

“Pleasure packages,” God chortled.

“Oh,” I murmured weakly. I waved the wet ribbon at her. “Well, here you go.”

“I’m not using that,” she said. “What would a customer think if their order arrived with that nasty thing?”

“A sound business decision,” Susan approved. “Just get rid of the vile thing.”

“Gladly,” I muttered. I marched toward the barn, where the trash receptacles were stored. 

Billy trailed behind me. “If she’s not going to use it, can I have it back?”

“Absolutely not,” I told him. “It could get wrapped around your intestines or something.”

“Hag!” the goat bleated, and then hurried off in the opposite direction.

Dumbfounded, I stopped in my tracks, staring after him.

“Did he just call you a hag?” God asked in amazement.

“Sounded that way. I don’t know if I’ve ever been called that before.” I headed toward the trash cans. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Not something to brag about.”

“I wasn’t bragging,” I argued, lifting the lid of the garbage can. “I was—” 

Screaming, I stumbled backward, frightened by what I spotted in the receptacle. 

And all hell broke loose.