The Hitwoman Gets Lucky (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman) (6 page)

“You’re cheating,” I told him, unimpressed. “You’re using your tail to balance.”

Godzilla dropped out of the stork pose and tapped his foot impatiently at me. “You haven’t told me yet why Patrick needs you to help rip off this Lucky O’Hara.”

“I don’t know.”

“And do you know why he wants to steal the flash drive?”

I shook my head. I’d been careful to avoid asking the hitman that question. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. Otherwise, it was probably safer for me not to know.

Armani, wrapped in a black silk robe, her gorgeous hair perfectly done, emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of honeysuckle-scented steam. “You’re back, Chiquita.”

I nodded, trying not to gag from the sickeningly sweet scent. God had no such compunctions. He gagged, retched and carried on dramatically. I ignored him.

“Good. Let’s go to dinner. I’m starving.” Armani smiled, oblivious to the lizard’s distress. “Wear that zebra you bought.”

“Zebra?” I asked dumbly.

“I like it. It’s sexy. You should have no problem catching a man wearing that.”

“Wearing a zebra?” I asked, totally befuddled.

“Animalistic. Call of the wild, baby.” She clawed the air with her good hand. Then picked up a brush and began stroking her hair.

Feeling like I’d stepped into a
Twilight Zone
episode, I looked over at God to see if he had any idea what she was talking about.

“The redhead broke in and hung something in the closet. Woke me from my nap. The man’s a menace.”

That explained how he’d known I’d brought God to Atlantic City.

I got off the bed and peeked inside the closet. Sure enough, a zebra-print dress hung there. I snuck a quick look at the tag. It was my size. I wondered if Patrick had looked at the tags of my clothes or if he’d guessed at the size. The first seemed sort of creepy, the second kind of sexy, knowing he’d have had to study my body to make an educated guess.

“I’ll do your make-up,” Armani declared.

“I don’t think—” I began.

“It’ll be fun, Chiquita,” she promised. “We’ll pretend we’re on one of those makeover shows, turning the ugly duckling into a swan.”

“So you’re saying I’m ugly?”

“I’m saying,” she said, pointing her hairbrush at me for emphasis, “that you don’t make the most of what you got.”

Forty minutes later, she’d done her best to play up what she thought were my assets.

“Go look in the mirror,” she ordered, standing back to admire her handiwork.

I approached the mirror with trepidation, not wanting to know what she’d turned me into.

The zebra-print dress hugged my curves making me self-conscious as I crossed the room. My breath caught in my throat as I took in my reflection.  Accustomed to hiding behind its length, I’d balked when she’d insisted on pinning my hair up in an elaborate style, but I had to admit that the few tendrils she’d left framing my face gave me a soft, sexy look.

My eyes, usually a drab brown, seemed like endless dark pools because of the five-alarm-fire kind of smoky make-up she’d applied.

To balance the look out so that I didn’t look overly made-up, she’d swiped on a generous dab of lip gloss, which gave the illusion I’d just been kissed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Lifting my hand to my cheek, I brush a stray hair away. “I don’t look like me.”

“And that’s a
good
thing.”

I frowned at her. “You’re not doing much for my ego.”

“You look hot, Chiquita. Let’s go find us some men!”

“I don’t really—”

“Speaking of which,” Armani continued, bulldozing over my end of the conversation, “we should have a signal to let each other know the room is being used.”

“Used?” I gulped.

“Whoever gets back to the room first with their man will hang the Do Not Disturb sign out.” Disappearing back into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her.

“Take me with you,” God demanded.

“What?”

“It’s bad enough I’ve endured her singing, there’s no way I’m going to be forced to witness her bizarre mating rituals.”

“You’re the one who wanted to come along,” I reminded him again.

“You’re not leaving me here.”

“I can’t carry a hat box around the casino,” I muttered. “And I didn’t bring a purse.”

He mulled that one over while I pulled my black heels out of my suitcase.

“I’ll ride in your bra,” he declared triumphantly.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll ride between your boobs. They’re soft, aren’t they?”

My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation.

“Hurry up,” he ordered. “Plop me in there.”

“You can’t ride between my breasts,” I said in the most reasonable tone I could muster.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because?” he mocked, sneering.

“Because that sort of thing isn’t done.” I winced as I realized I was parroting a phrase Aunt Susan had subjected me to a million times.

“Going around killing people for money isn’t done either,” the lizard reminded me.

“Can’t smile without you…”
Armani crooned from the bathroom.

“If she’s that pitchy when she sings, imagine the noises she makes in the midst of carnal lust. You’ve got to take pity on me.” He hung his head, doing his best to look pathetic.

“What if you suffocate?” I asked, hating the way my resolve was crumbling.

“Without youuuuuuuuuu.”

“If I get into trouble, I’ll bite you,” God pledged solemnly.

I gnawed on my bottom lip, agonizing over the decision.

“Hurry,” he begged. “Make up your mind before she comes out again.”

Shaking my head, knowing I was nuts for doing so, I moved toward his case.  “Remember, this was your idea.”

I stuck my room key in one cup of my bra, twenty bucks in the other cup, and extended my hand to the lizard. “Be careful in there.”

Chapter Seven

We never got dinner.

Armani, who’d apparently done quite well against the slot machines wanted to play a few games of roulette first.

As far as I could tell, she had no rhyme or reason to her method of betting, just yelling out “red” or “black” as the mood hit her. Then again, it
is
a game of chance.

Standing there, watching the roulette wheel spin round and round, I didn’t bet a dollar, despite the urging of the crowd around the table. I fought the urge to fidget as I pretended to be interested in Armani’s gambling. It felt as though a million pairs of eyes were giving me the once over as I stood there in the zebra-print dress that was even shorter than the black dress Patrick liked so much. I desperately wanted to tug down the hem, but there was nowhere for it to go.

“You’re stifling me,” God complained on a whisper.

I ignored him

“You’re crushing me,” he insisted, more loudly.

Armani, in the midst of scooping her winnings toward her, gave me a strange look. “Are your
boobs
squeaking?”

“What?” My face grew hot as everyone in earshot focused on my chest.

“Are your
boobs
squeaking?” Her voice carried far enough that people at other tables started staring at me.

I thought my face might spontaneously combust.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I told her, tottering away on my high heels.

“Don’t you dare slouch,” God berated me. “Every time you do, my air supply is cut off.”

Face burning, breasts chirping, balance teetering, I retreated to the relative calm and quiet of a restroom. Locking myself into a stall, I reached in and pulled the lizard out of his hiding place.

“Easy! Easy!” he cried. “I have delicate skin.” He balanced on my palm, giving me the evil eye, which wasn’t the slightest bit intimidating considering he’s only inches long.

I was tempted to drop him in the toilet and let it flush him into the Atlantic, reasoning that my life would be a whole lot easier, not to mention quieter.

“Either I leave you in the room, or you shut the hell up,” I whispered. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“I’m bored.”

“Yeah? Well I’m bored, my feet hurt, and I feel like a t-bone hanging in front of a dog pound.”

“So let’s go back to the room,” he suggested. “I’ll even let you choose what to watch on television.”

“I dunno…” His suggestion
was
tempting.

“You
know
she’s going to stay at the that table until her money runs out. Is that really how you want to spend the night?”

I sighed. “No.”

“Good, so it’s settled.” He clambered back up my arm, across my collarbone and climbed down to the valley between my breasts.

It tickled.

“Don’t slouch,” he reminded me.

I paused when I stepped out of the ladies’ room to let my eyes adjust to the flashing lights and my ears to adapt to the non-stop din.

“It looks good on you, Mags.”

I turned to find Patrick lounging against the wall, blatantly admiring my legs. As his gaze travelled slowly upward, a warm flush spread inside me.

“Not loving the make-up though,” he murmured, taking a step closer to focus on my face.  Leaning closer, he tenderly brushed a tendril of hair from my cheek.

Anticipating his kiss, I let my eyes flutter closed.

“I need you to get lucky,” he whispered.

Liquid heat coursed through my veins.
That
was how I wanted to spend my night.

“Get him out on the boardwalk,” Patrick continued, throwing ice water on my overactive imagination. “But leave Armani at the table.”

I opened my eyes and realized he wasn’t staring down at me with heavy-lidded desire. His gaze was fixed on a spot across the room. I followed it and saw Lucky O’Hara standing a few feet from Armani, watching her antics with fascination.

“How am I supposed to do that?” I asked.

“You’re a resourceful woman in a killer dress,” Patrick said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He spun on his heel and marched away, leaving me to ponder this newest problem.

“Any suggestions?” I said aloud, even though no one stood around me.

“You’re on your own with this one,” God said from my bosom. “I can’t fathom a woman’s wiles. Whatever you do, don’t slouch.”

I made my way, shoulders back, chest lifted, across the casino floor and retook my spot behind Armani. Busy batting her eyelashes at the guy on her right, she didn’t notice my return. I stood there for a few minutes watching her gamble and flirt, while keeping an eye on Lucky.

He made no move to place a wager, probably because he was too young. Like me, he just stood there, watching. I tried to come up with a reason to talk to him, but couldn’t. I was tired and all I wanted to really do was take a nap. I wasn’t cut out for thievery.

I yawned, closing my eyes as I did. When I reopened them, he was gone. Panicked, I spun around, searching for him. Unaccustomed to wearing high heels, I swayed unsteadily, but someone grabbed my elbow, preventing me from ending up on the floor in an undignified sprawl.

I turned to thank my rescuer. “Thank—”

“You okay?” Lucky O’Hara asked me, releasing my arm.

I nodded dumbly. Close up, he looked closer to twenty than twelve, with a slightly bemused smile and intelligent eyes.

“You look bored,” he said.

“I am.” I admitted.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

I nodded. Normally if I guy I’d
just
met asked me to leave with him, I’d tell him to take a hike, but this worked into Patrick’s plan, or lack of a plan, perfectly.  “I’d love to take a walk on the boardwalk.”

Lucky smiled. “Sounds like an excellent plan. I’m Lucky.” He extended his hand. “What’s your name?”

I shook his hand. It was a little limp. “Is Lucky really your name?” I asked, trying to come up with an alias. If I was going to steal from the guy, it probably wasn’t a good idea to give him my real name.

“It really is,” he promised.

“I’m Pearl,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie. My mom had told me many times that Margaret means “pearl.”

“Nice to meet you, Pearl. Shall we?” He offered me his arm.

I crooked mine through it and off we went. As we crossed the casino floor, he asked, “You don’t seem to be a gambler, so what brought you to Atlantic City, business?”

“Barry Manilow.”

He chuckled. “Really?”

“Really. My aunt gave me tickets. What about you? Why are you here?”

I hoped that his answer might give me an inkling of why Patrick was so desperate to get hold of his flash drive.

“Business,” he said simply.

Since I knew his business was robbery, I didn’t push the issue.

Escaping the noise of the casino, we stepped out onto the Boardwalk. The sun was setting over the Atlantic Ocean. If I’d been standing arm-in-arm with another man, I might have found it romantic.

“Where to?” he asked.

Thinking fast I said, “Would you think I was silly if I said I like to play games of chance?” I figured they’d be a good distraction if Patrick was planning on picking Lucky’s pocket.

He smiled. “Me too.”

We moved toward the bright lights of the Steel Pier where the lights from the Ferris wheel lit up the sky and the screams from The Rocket punctuated the night.