Diary of a Hit Woman, Episode 2

EXIt Strategy for One

Previously in Tulsa, Karen Widowmaker killed her client’s husband. Karen used her ex husband’s gun to get the job done.

Episode 2: Exit Strategy for One

Dear Diary,

I know that i’ve thrown a lot at you. And to pour my heart out to you when you’ve barely got to know me. It’s a lot, but I’ve got more. I mean, after you’ve killed once, it’s like slingin’ shit at a rodeo. It’s bound to happen every now and then.

So I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the life I took, and I’m going to be honest with you. I’m sorry… that I didn’t make it take longer. That man was a piece of shit. If you think about it, I did the world a valuable service.

A few weeks after my first kill, I was up late watching Game of Thrones. I was bored out of mind when the phone rang. I picked it up, even though I didn’t know the number. It was Gary, my ex husband.

“Look, Karen, I’m in jail. I’m being framed!” He said.

“Don’t you think it says something about your life that you have to call your ex wife when you get your ass thrown in jail?” I asked him.

“Uh, probably, but can you call my lawyer? Tell him I’m being framed for murder.”

“What?” I said in mock horror. I was smiling.

“Yeah. Tell him I need him. He didn’t answer when I tried to call him. I only get so many calls, so I tried you.”

“Okay, but I’m not sure how I can be of much help…” I said. “I have a pedicure later. Super busy.”

Then, the line went dead. I mean, I could tell you that I was in shock over my ex being in jail for murder, but to be honest with you, I wasn’t. I stole his gun, killed a man with it, and decided to ditch it because I got nervous with it laying around. With any luck, they’d pin it on him. He was a nasty, cheating, good for nothing man.

The next morning, I was rushing through my morning routine at the office because my first client of the day was already there. I was running late, low on energy and patience, and needed more caffeine. I decided that the least I could do is call Gary’s attorney. I mean, to be honest, he was in this predicament because of me.

I dialed up Logan Tippers number. Logan is sleazy. Logan is annoying. Logan is really damn hot, and I’d slept with him once after Gary and I got divorced. It was probably the best sex of my life. That’s not saying much sense my frame of reference was high school guys or Gary, who lasted about twenty-five seconds.

Anyway, I digress. Logan answered.

“Hello,” he said.

“Did Gary get ahold of you?” I started straight in.

“Yeah. I’m going over there now.”

“Great,” I said. And I hung up. I had one shit to give today, and I’d already used it.

I headed out to the lobby to grab my client. She seemed skittish today. When we were settled in my office, I got a good look at her. She was visibly upset.

“Maggie,” I said. “What’s going on?”

Maggie is not her real name. I need to protect her identity though. Seems right.

“Can I tell you something?” She asked.

I tried not to roll my eyes because what the hell else was my purpose as a therapist?

“Oh course,” I said soothingly. “Anything at all.”

“My probation officer is harassing me.”

That stopped me dead. Maggie was an ex-con. She did something stupid at eighteen, got caught, and did her time. Now, she was out. Poor girl caught all the bad breaks. You name it. Shitty job. Check. Shitty apartment. Check. Shitty boyfriend. Check. Now, we’d add probation officer to that list.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“He told me he’ll have me sent back if I don’t sleep with him. He keeps touching me when I have to go in. I have a major case of the icks.”

“Do you think he’d really try to have you sent back?”

“I don’t know, but I think so. He did it to another woman my age.”

Damn. This world would be better off without this guy. Then, something popped into my mind, a plan of sorts, forming.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

***

The rest of the session was history. Maggie told me enough that I was able to look this guy up online. He had three harassment claims against him and two retraining orders over the years. How was he a probation officer with that history? Thanks, Oklahoma. After a little research on him, I messaged him under a fake name. Faker than the one I gave you. I asked if he wanted to meet for drinks. I mean, he was on a lot of dating apps, it appeared. I just had to hope that he wasn’t too suspicious.

He answered he was open that evening.

Big ego. That would help.

The day flew by. Before I knew it, I was entering the bar in a blond wig. I’d forgone a mask. Seemed sus. I had put on a pair of leather pants and a tube top that hadn’t seen the light of day since the early 2000s. I looked hot. Lots of skin showing to distract him. I got a little booth in the back and messaged him again. When he came walking up, I was sure Maggie was right. He’d do it. He had the look.

I’m not sure how to explain the look, but if you know, you know. Certain people have it. I think it’s a combination of ego, thinking the world owes them something, and being a little dead inside.

I just had to get him drunk now. Conversation was dull, but he seemed enthralled. It might have been my cleavage, eight shots, and a whiskey that helped though. He hadn’t noticed I wasn’t doing anything other than sipping. He’d made this extremely easy on me. He got up to go to the bathroom.

I sighed with relief.

Then, I looked around. No one was anywhere near, and this booth was out of camera sight. I’d checked that when I came in. This was one of those sleazy bars where people half did it in the back corner, and no one said anything. I quickly took the little bottle that normally held my office cough syrup I used in the winter out of my purse. Then, I dumped the contents into his glass. I dumped a little of my drink in there to help hide the taste. Just enough he’d down it in once drink though.

To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure this would work. It had to taste like shit, and I was hoping the alcohol and the 350 mg of Benadryl I’d liquified would do the trick. I had not been brave enough to google it. I mean, that much antihistamine with this much alcohol. Seemed legit.

I never said I was good at killing people, okay?

On the other hand, I did make sure that he was walking home. Otherwise, I’d been going to insist on driving him. Even if I had to make it seem like I wanted to go home with him. I was good at saving people. Duh. Therapist.

I held my breath as he came back to the table. He was so drunk that he didn’t seem to be aware I was on edge. He downed the last drink in one swig. He held the cup out and looked at it, made a face, and said, “Damn. That tasted like shit.”

I laughed. “Liquor does. Or was it worse?”

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “It was probably just getting warm. Want to come home with me?” He was slurring. Gross.

“Sorry. I can’t,” I said casually. “I have work tomorrow. I’ll call you though.”

“Damn. All right,” he said.

We paid, said our goodbyes, and I went out and got in my car. I couldn’t believe the bar didn’t stop him when he got really drunk. They were not on top of it, that was for sure. I was pretty sure there was some limit on the number of drinks you were supposed to be able to consume, but whatever. With any luck, all that alcohol and the overdose of Benadryl would do it. If not, it might teach him a lesson. It would also look like he just mixed the wrong medication with alcohol, carelessly taking too much.

I laughed out loud. I’d just been extremely careless myself, but I’d just saved Maggie from a terrible fate. That would be enough to help me sleep tonight.

***

Two days later, I read a headline in the paper about a local man found dead in an alley near his apartment. I wasn’t sure what he was doing in the alley, but it didn’t matter much. Clearly, my plan had worked.

He was dead. If anyone called or came by, I’d swear he was putting that alcohol back so fast that he disgusted me. I’d make it obvious he was sloppy drunk when I’d last seen him. And I’d seen him on the dating apps. I always used fake names for first meetups. While not strictly true, it would sound reasonable as an explanation.

Sadly, when I saw him in person, I realized how many times I had done just that. Seen him on dating apps, that is. Oh well, I’d done just what needed to be done. If he was a miserable, lonely creep, he was now a dead one.

More people need to be willing to go the extra mile. I chuckled to myself as I set the paper aside and went to retrieve my next client.

Another one bites the dust.