Fat Assassins (13 page)

“You crazy old woman! Don’t think I won’t hit you cause you’re in a chair!” Bsssssrrrtt. Crunch. “You ran over my foot! I’m gonna knock you outta that chair!” 

A loud smack was followed by more shouting. 

“You hit my momma!” a younger female voice yelled into the confusion. 

Instinctively drawn to drama, we peeped our heads around the corner to see what all the hubbabaloo was about. 

Two young girls were acting like body guards for two old women. 

I immediately recognized the woman in the hoverround. “That’s Roberta, the crazy old hoverround lady I was telling you about. That other old woman is Daisy . . . the cart runner. Those girls must be their daughters or something.” 

We watched as they continued to fight over girdles and underwear. Roberta kept trying to stash the items between her legs under the hoverround seat. But Daisy’s daughter kept snatching the items from her and throwing them back in their trolley. Roberta’s daughter grabbed it out of the buggy and handed it back to her momma. This shoplifting cycle went on for about ten minutes with tempers continuing to escalate with each rotation of the items. It looked like it was about to break out in some form of gang violence and I was wondering why an associate hadn’t come by to break it up yet. 

We were so busy watching the action unfold we didn’t notice the man standing behind us. 

“Enjoying the show?” 

Thinking the mobsters had come to finish us off, we turned shrieking and ran smack into each other trying to escape. 

“Whoa, whoa. It’s just me.” 

I sat stunned on the floor waiting for my fear to pass. 

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t a-snuck up on you like that.” 

Deputy Hodde extended his hand to help us up. My face flushed thinking about the last time he’d helped me off the ground. The twinkle in his eye was the only indication he was thinking of my birthday night. 

“How’s it going, Deputy?” I stammered, adjusting my headscarf. 

The only visible part of Ulyssa’s face was her giant you-go-girl smile. 

“Not too bad. Got a call about warring gangs in women’s lingerie, so I came down to check it out before the violence endangered innocent civilians. You know how crazy these turf wars can get.” 

“I think your shoplifting gangs are the next aisle over. They’re fighting over girdles and control underwear,” I said, nodding toward the next aisle. 

“Shoplifting gangs? I thought it was serious gang warfare.”

“Don’t mock it,” I warned him. “I’ve heard stories about folks ending up up in body casts because they cut into another shoplifting gang’s profits.” 

They both stared at me with confused looks, so I continued my explanation, ”Girdles and control underwear are high dollar items worth about $25 a pair and they can carry more of them out without getting caught.” If I hadn’t already won Eric’s admiration with my Waffle House anger, my vast knowledge of girdle pricing would sure do it.

“Ah.”

“Um. Not that I wear girdles. Just had to do a lot of price checks on them when I worked here,” I said matter-of-factly, as my face started giving off a purplish, red glow.

“Um-hmm. That’s good info about the girdle strategies. I guess I better get to fighting crime,” he replied, winking at me as he walked away. “Nice disguises, by the way! Going undercover at a bingo hall or something?” I ran over to the mirror and stared at my image. I looked like an elderly hoot owl with a black and pink rose covered scarf and large white rimmed sunglasses. 

Ulyssa stood behind me wearing a similar disguise. “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” she laughed.

I stuck my tongue out at her. “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me. You look like your mother before Mass!” We added our excellent disguises to our basket and joined the check out line at Mitsy’s register. 

“Hey! How ya been?” I asked.

“Pretty good. Be glad you don’t work here anymore though. Your resignation speech stirred up a whole mess of trouble. Corporate sent in somebody to investigate Bobbie Ray. They’re not liking what they’re finding so far. Rumor has it they found out he’s been stealing oil filters.”

“What? Oil filters? Don’t he make $90,000 a year? Why would he steal ten dollar oil filters?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s one of them Wynona Ryder situations where he did it for the thrill. I don’t know. But he’s in a heap of trouble. I’ll have to give you the juicy details later. That’ll be $26.43.” We handed her a hundred dollar bill to pay for our merchandise. “Sorry I can’t talk longer. They clamped down on us socializing with the ‘customers’. ”

“No problem. We’ll see ya at karaoke this weekend at Buck’s!” 

We grabbed our bags and walked past Minnie who was in the middle of a screaming match between the warring shoplifting gangs. The two daughters were in a tug of war using one of the girdles. Deputy Hodde was trying to keep the shoplifting crews from brawling. I flashed him a big smile as he got smacked in the face with a pair giant bloomers. I coulda swore he blushed a little.

The sidekick sputtered when I shut the engine off outside Cornnut’s. 

Cornnut and Ronnie were sealing the new windshield into Ulyssa’s car when we walked into the garage. “You girls are a little early. She won’t be ready for another hour or so.”

“We came a little early cause we were hoping to look at some of the cars you have in the backyard,” Ulyssa said.

“Why in the world would you girls be interested in one of them cars?” 

“We’ve got something we need to take care of . . . and we need a car nobody will recognize.” 

“Well, I reckon you are looking for a backyard car then. Ronnie, keep an eye on this windshield while I show the girls some cars.” 

Ronnie gave us a crazy smile causing us to scoot after Cornnut. He lead us through a side gate with Doberman Pinchers chained up on either side. 

“Cain’t be too safe. Moe and Curly keep the place safe when I’m not around,” he said, patting the dogs affectionately on the head. The dogs snarled a warning at us. “They don’t take well to strangers. But that’s good fer me.” 

The backyard was full of beat up cars that looked like they’d been used for a variety of badness.

“This here is a fine car,” he said, patting a red Ford Probe as we walked around the front. “Only problem is getting in and out of the driver’s side.” The entire door was missing and a giant piece of ribbed sheet metal had been riveted over the gap. The window was a sheet of plastic taped to the sheet metal with duct tape. 

“We need something with two functioning doors. We’ll need to get in and out of the car quickly.”

“Okay. Let’s head over to this section.” 

It seemed like the backyard lot was double the size of the front car lot. Cornnut must do alot of backyard business. He led us over to a group of bigger vehicles. 

“How bout this one?” he asked, swinging the door open on a old VW van as a sweet fragrance seeped out. Cornnut popped his head inside the van continuing, “Loads of room and storage for your transportation needs.” 

He gave us a knowing smile. “Or this El Camino will give you the same storage space with better gas mileage.”

“Oh, no. We’re not dealers! We just need a car with a little get up and go . . . .”

“Y’all gonna do a little street racing, huh? I got the perfect car for that then. Why didn’t ya just say so?” he asked, walking over to the last row and pulled the tarp off a car. “Just got her in last week and she’s a sweet ride,” he added, sliding a hand across the grill. “1977 Chevy Chevette . . . somebody customized her with nitrous oxide (NOS) tanks and racing fins. She’ll burn up any race. The vehicle identification number has already been sanded off just in case you get busted and need to ditch it. That and the false license plates make it untraceable by the police.”

“It’s perfect. What’s your price?”

“Well . . .” he paused, adjusting his baseball hat. “I was going to put a sticker price of $1500 on ‘er. But, I reckon I could cut y’all a deal . . . I’ll give it to ya fer an even thousand.” 

“That’s your best price?” Ulyssa argued. “That car is over thirty years old and bright orange. Ain’t nobody gonna buy it except us . . . we’ll give you $500.”

Cornnut frowned and tugged on his overall straps. “I can’t go any lower than $800 cause of the racing kit.”

“Done.” Handshakes all around. 

We paid him for the car and windshield while we were still in the backyard to avoid prying eyes. We walked around the side of the house and waited for him to bring the car into the driveway. 

Crazy Ronnie was sitting in the garage watching the windshield and sharpening a giant bowie knife.

“Howdy, Ronnie! How’s the deer meat?”

“I got it hanging in the smoke shed . . . making jerky. It was a twelve point buck, so I stuffed the head and hung it in my house. It really fancies up the place. Kinda like one of them hunter cabins.” 

We were saved from any more conversation as Cornnut brought the Chevette around to the front of the house and neatly parked it in front of my truck. I asked Cornnut if he would mind checking it out since it had been running so rough. He said it would take him a couple days, but he should be able to get it done before the weekend. He traded me the Chevette keys for my truck keys and we were on our way. Ulyssa led the way back to the main road and I followed in the Chevette. After a few minutes getting familiar with the interior, I guided it onto the road and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car slowly started picking up speed, but wouldn’t push past forty-five miles per hour. Irate drivers sped past us, honking to show their annoyance. 

We pulled over a few miles down the road to discuss our plans. 

“That car is a piece of crap. Racer my ass!” Ulyssa declared, leaning against the orange Chevette.

“I hope it’s fast enough to get the job done. I don’t even think it’ll kill a possum going at this speed. It‘d just knock it over,” I laughed nervously.

“So, we’re really going to do this?” 

“Yeah. I think we need to do it tonight though. If I sleep on it again, I think I’ll lose my nerve.” 

“Yeah. Me too. Okay, it’s getting dark enough so we’ll drive over to Charleston and park the Pinto within walking distance of the restaurant. Then we’ll both ride in the Chevette for the hit. Once we’ve run him over, we’ll grab the Pinto and ditch this car somewhere outside of town.”

“Who’s going to be the driver when we run him over?” I asked. 

She paused for a moment before responding, “We could Rochambeau for it?”

“Really? We’re going to rock, paper, scissors to see who’s going to kill a man?”

“Got any better ideas?” she snapped. 

“Okay. Rochambeau it is.”

“1!” We smacked our right fists against our left palms.

“2!” Smack.

“3!” Smack.

“Go!” 

“Rock!” I yelled, pleased with my choice.

“Paper covers rock!” Ulyssa danced and cheered.

“Damnit!” I pouted. “Lead the way!” 

The speed impaired Chevette doubled the time it took us to reach Charleston. It was almost 8PM when we parked the Pinto three blocks East of Bella’s. 

Ulyssa hopped in the Chevette and we donned our disguises. I eased the car around the corner and we idled a block away where we could see the restaurant door. We weren’t even sure Marcus would be here tonight, so this seemed more like a stakeout than anything. Ulyssa tried the radio, but it was stuck on a bluegrass channel. So, we sat in silence waiting for our target. 

Thirty minutes later he walked outside and started to cross the street. 

I threw the car into gear and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car refused to budge and the engine squealed like an angry sow at a pig roast. 

Reeeeeeeeeeeetttttt.

I pressed harder on the gas pedal surrounding the car with white smoke and vibrating the rear view mirror. The angry sow squealed louder. 

RRRRREEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTT! 

An explosion rocked the car as the orange hood blew three feet into the air, cartwheeled down the street and slammed into the wall like an uncoordinated cheerleader. 

We scrambled for the door handles as the stench of burning rubber filled the car. The sky seemed to be raining hoses, belts and spark plugs, as we stood coughing outside the car. Bystanders started nervously edging towards the metallic inferno while sirens wailed in the distance. One of the NOS tanks blew out the front grill flying down the street and through the rear windshield of a Mercedes Benz startling the bystanders and propelling us into action. Another explosion shook the ground as we sprinted to the Pinto. The fire must have consumed the final NOS tank buying us some extra time to get away. We kept our disguises in place until we were on the highway back to Nitro. Ulyssa drove under the speed limit and kept checking the rear view mirror. She weaved through Nitro’s back streets just in case anyone was following us. We half expected to see the trailer park crawling with police helicopters and canine units, but were instead greeted by the sound of crickets and hum of the park’s generators.

We went through what was quickly becoming our normal evening routine, Ulyssa checked the tampon box while I poured us a glass of wine.