The Hit

My parents’ cottage was isolated in winter, but it was rent-free. I was almost forty, broke and soon to be divorced. My husband was still living in “his” house. He bought it before we got married, but I had been paying the mortgage for six years.

It was late February, and the afternoon my sister arrived, the snow had changed to freezing rain. She appeared at the door with two suitcases.

“Geez, Krystal, how long are you planning on staying?”

“Great to see you, too.” Krystal deposited her bags in the back bedroom. Returning, she said, “I need a break from Charlie, so … a week?”

“What did he do now?”

“He was chewing. Loudly.”

I laughed. “I get it. The work-from-home quarantine effect. You’re stuck in the house with each other 24/7, so little things are starting to wear on your nerves. My almost-ex, on the other hand, is pure evil.”

“Call him by his name. Bob the Blob.”

“Must you give everyone stupid nicknames?”

“Only when it fits, Wacky Jackie.” Krystal plugged in the kettle. “You got that lawyer working on your settlement yet?”

“Yes, with the speed of a snail,” I said. “Anything else need to come in?”

“Three bags of groceries.”

I sighed, pulled on my jacket and slipped my feet into my boots.

“Watch your step,” Krystal said. “The roads have been sanded, but everything else is super slippery.”

As I penguin-walked the icy path to the car, I glanced at the lake. A century of erosion had worn the ten-foot vertical bank closer to the cottage than it was ever intended to be. My eyes passed over the boulders and winter debris below and came to an abrupt stop at the body sprawled on the shore.

I shuffled back to the cottage door and flung it open. “Krys! There’s a man flat out on the rocks. He looks dead!”

Krystal wasn’t far behind when I picked my way down the limestone slab steps to the narrow beach. Our father had worked them into the side of the steep bank when we were kids, adjusting and stabilizing them every few years.

The stranger was lying face up on the rocks, blood pooling around his head. Lazy waves licked his longish dark hair. I felt his neck for a pulse. His skin was cold. Creepy cold. “Yup, he’s dead,” I said.

Krystal poked him. “No he’s not. I can see him breathing, and the blood is still oozing. We need to call 911.”

“Maybe we should move him,” I said. “He could freeze or bleed out before an ambulance gets here.”

Krystal was looking back at the steps. “My guess? He slipped and fell from up top.” She pointed to a red smear on a nearby boulder. “Hit his head right here and did a 360 roll. Just moments ago, I’d say.”

Alarmed, I looked up at the steps and then at my sister. “Why would he be climbing our steps to our cottage?”

“Dunno. It does seem odd. I saw a car parked down the road. Bet it’s his. Do you have your phone on you?”

“No,” I said. “You?”

“Left it inside. Maybe he has one. We should check for I.D. too.”

Searching the pockets on the man’s camouflage jacket, I found a small black notebook. I thumbed through the pages while Krystal unzipped his jacket to check inside.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed.

I looked up to see her pulling a handgun from a shoulder holster and as our eyes met, I mirrored her open-mouthed expression.

“It has a silencer!” Kyrstal said. “This is a .22. Criminals like them because they’re extra quiet with a silencer.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watch Dateline. What’s in the notebook?”

“Addresses.” I quickly flipped the pages to the end and was about to close the book when I found myself staring at a name. Jackie. Below it was the address of our cottage and a phone number I didn’t recognize. I stared at Krystal as the truth washed over me. “I think Bob put a hit on me.”

Krystal uttered a few choice swear words and searched the inside pockets of his jacket. “Aha!” She held up his phone. “I’m calling 911.”

“Wait,” I said. “If Bob put a hit on me, he’ll deny it and so will this guy. We need proof.”

“What are you suggesting we do?”

“Use this window of opportunity.” I took the phone from her and, opening the notebook, tapped in the number that appeared under my name. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Is it done?” Bob’s voice was unmistakeable. “Wolf?”

I disconnected and turned off the phone. “It’s Bob. That wasn’t his number, but I’m guessing he got himself a burner.”

“I told you he was no good when you married him,” Krystal said.

I ignored the told-you-so remark. She was right. “Let’s get him inside and see if he comes around. I want answers.”

“What if his brain swells and he dies?”

I had no time for what-ifs. “Help me get him up the steps.”

Together, we lifted-dragged-bumped “Wolf” up the stone steps. They were coated in black ice, so it wasn’t easy. Fortunately, he was a lightweight – half the size of Bob the Blob. Wolf groaned when I slipped at the top and had to drop his legs. By the time we got him into the cottage, he was mumbling. Krystal held the gun on him while I scrambled to grab some rope from the woodshed, and we soon had him tied securely to a kitchen chair.

The wound to his skull had stopped bleeding. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted his head. “Wolf!” I shouted. “Is that your last name or your made-up he-man name?”

The eyes slowly fluttered open and focused on mine. He winced. “What happened?”

“You fell,” Krystal said. “You need an ambulance, but you’re going to answer some questions first. Like, how much is Bob paying you to knock off his wife?”

“Me,” I said, just in case he didn’t remember my face from whatever photo Bob must have shown him. I released my grip and his head stayed more or less upright.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wolf slurred.

“You’re a hitman. I called the number I found in your little black book,” I said. “Guess who answered.”

“I’m not a hitman,” Wolf said. “I work at the paper mill.”

“You’re not a pro, Wolfie – that’s obvious – but you were hired to kill me.”

Wolf moaned. “My head hurts and I think my ankle is broken.”

“Which ankle?” I asked. I nudged his right foot with my boot. “This one?” I gave the other foot a firm kick. “Or this one?”

Wolf screamed.

“Look, you’re going to prison anyway, so you might as well talk to us,” Krystal said. “Plus, I have your gun, so if you don’t, I may just put a bullet through your kneecap.”

I turned to Krystal and held out my palm. “I want to be the one to shoot him through the kneecap.”

“It was my idea.”

“Yeah, well he’s my hitman.”

“You’ve never shot a gun before,” Krystal argued.

“So what? How hard can it be?” I snatched the gun from her hands. “I just take it off safety – that’s this little thingy here, right? Then I aim and pull the trigger.” I pointed the gun at Wolf’s knee and watched him cringe.

“You’ll be charged if you shoot me,” Wolf said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No, I won’t. We found you on the shore and helped you into the cottage. You pulled a gun on me, but Krystal tackled you and knocked it away. I grabbed it and when you lunged at me, I shot you through the kneecap, because I’m considerate like that. I didn’t want to kill you. They’ll give me a medal.”

Wolf’s head wobbled and he blinked a few times. I didn’t know if it was an act or he was really about to pass out.

“You’re bat-shit crazy, lady, just like your husband said.”

“That’s why everyone calls me Wacky Jackie. I’m guessing you came down the shore so you wouldn’t leave footprints in the yard. A fateful decision. You’re lucky you didn’t kill me because you would have been caught and given a life sentence.”

“Yeah,” Krystal added. “Don’t you ever watch Dateline? The hitman always gets caught.”

“If you cooperate, we’ll get you help,” I said. “I just don’t want Bob the Blob to get away with this. Were you hoping to shoot me?”

“Take me to my car and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Rental car down the road?”

“Yeah.”

I pressed the silencer against Wolf’s knee. “You are not in a position to bargain.”

Wolf’s head drooped forward and he moaned. “The gun was a backup plan. And to control you. I was supposed to knock you out and leave you on the shore with your head in the water so you’d drown. Make it look like you’d fallen down the steps.”

“Ironic,” I said. “You come here to kill me, and I end up saving you from a similar fate. How much was I worth?”

“Twenty grand.”

“Has he paid up?”

“No, he’s leaving the cash under the seat of my truck.”

“When?” I prodded.

“The minute I send proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“Photos of … the body.”

“Where is your truck and what does it look like?”

Wolf shifted in his chair and yelped when I stomped on his foot. “Grey Ranger. Old. Parked at the entrance to the ski trails near Elm Ridge Falls.

“Perfect,” I said. “Come on, Krystal. You’re going to take pictures of ‘the body’ on his phone.”

We weren’t gone long. We came back with two great shots – one with my head face up on the blood-stained stones, and another with my head face down and submerged in the lake. When we went back inside, we saw that our captive had tried unsuccessfully to free himself by smashing the chair against the wall. One of the legs had broken off and Wolf was lying on his side, his wrists still firmly tied to the back of the chair. He was weeping.

I tossed my wet jacket on the floor and accepted the towel Krystal handed me. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be a hitman, Wolf,” I said. “You can just lie there for a while.”

“You said you’d call an ambulance,” Wolf sobbed.

“Not until I have the proof.”

Krystal shoved Wolf’s phone under my nose. “Ready to send?”

I looked at the images and read the message: Done. Time to pay. You have 20 min. Leave $ and beat it.

I got down on the floor and put my face really close to Wolf’s. “If Bob calls, you’re going to play along. Got it? Otherwise … kneecap.” I nodded to Krystal. “Hit send.”

The text that came back from Bob said, Good. Destroy sim card.

I read it aloud a little differently. “No pay. Cop car just pulled in.” I feigned shock. “Let’s wait. He may text again.”

Krystal had called her husband when we were outside, and he was going to do the pick up. Charlie may annoy her sometimes, but he’d do anything for either of us. He’s a good guy. It took forty-five minutes for him to text us with the code words, I found your credit card in the dryer, meaning he’d jimmied the window of the truck and found the cash. Twenty thousand! I had earned it.

“The Blob must have taken out a huge life insurance policy on you,” Krystal said as she texted her husband. “Just like the crims on Dateline.”

I leaned over Wolf. “The Blob never pays his debts.”

“Call the cops,” Wolf pleaded.

“Okay, Wolfman. I may be wacky, but I’m not a monster,” I said.

Kyrstal put in the call to 911. I made us some tea.