Diary of a Hit Woman, Episode 4

Episode 4: Two for One Special

Previously in Tulsa: Karen Widowmaker was finally starting to get comfortable in her new job. She took out a man abducting, assaulting, and killing women.

Episode 4

Two for One Special

Dear Diary,

You know, I didn’t used to keep a diary. I started after my divorce. I wanted to chronicle my life in case he tried to kill me. He was insane. Still is. What can I say? The best wife beating husband is a dead one.

Anywho, I’d like to start with a firm statement. I didn’t mean to screw it up. Darn though. I messed it up something fierce.

Now, let me back up. It all started like any old regular day. I was going about my business, listening to Oops I Did it Again. Ironic. I know. I don’t fail to see this later. I was reminiscing about killing another client’s husband.

You see, he was beating her and the kids. I did the world and court system a justice by sorting him out.

The day it all started going cattywampus was such a normal day. And then, I received my mail. There was an anonymous message.

COME TO [redacted] STREET TONIGHT. GO INTO THE CLUB. WE WILL FIND YOU. YOUR BUSINESS IS APPRECIATED.

And yes, I’m not telling where this place is actually.

I was so taken aback. My business? What type of business? Mental health and therapy? Killing? Oh man, those are two different things to prepare for. And yes, logically, I knew I was gonna check it out.

And when my workday was done, I went home and prepared for my meeting by dressing up, wearing a wig, and doing my makeup really dark and sultry. I wanted to look like a bad bitch.

It was, in my honest opinion, nothing but luck that I dressed appropriately for the occasion. Would have been awkward AF if it would have been a therapist gathering I forgot about. But it wasn’t, so my mini skirt, blond curly wig, and sky high heels were much more in place.

I walked in and someone from the bar looked up. There was this small exchange, then I was escorted to a VIP booth in the back. The whole place looked like one of those dollar strip clubs off the interstate that you see in movies.

When we got to the booth in the back, there was a big beefy man in a suit. He would have looked comical, but he was strapped to the teeth with weapons. I’m talking knives, guns, and you name it, he had it.

I said, “Hello.” I mean, I was unsure what was going on.

He asked me to sit. His voice was deep and gruff. But then he continued. “I’m glad you got my message. You’ve been on my radar for a little while, and you didn’t seem to know about us.”

I awkwardly cleared my throat. “Who exactly is us? And how did I get on your radar?”

He smiled at me. It made his face look weird. All screwed up somehow. “I know every hit man, or in your case, woman, in the tri-state area. I’ve even given you a nickname. You’re Karen Widowmaker. Damn good at your job.” He chuckled before he continued. “Both of them, actually.”

I smiled a genuine smile at him. “Thank you. And I think I’ll use that nickname. It’s…fitting. But still who are you? What do you do? And maybe most importantly, how did you know my identity?”

He looked vaguely frustrated at that. “I’m not answering all those questions, but I’ll answer some of what you want to know. We are suppliers, for people like you. You need weapons or gear, we’ve got it. I’ll send you home with some samples today so you know I’m legitimate. And you, my dear, weren’t hard to trace. We followed you home from a hit. One of my men saw you. Then, we just had to do some digging.

My horror must have been palpable. So he continued, “My man was there for the same reason you were, but you were quicker. Don’t worry, it’s the only reason we know about you.”

“Can I ask where at?”

“No, I get to have my secrets too.”

I thought about fighting, but this man scared me. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

“I’m not a dog,” I said automatically.

He laughed. “Feisty. Okay. Now, we’re more than just suppliers. You can get jobs through us as well. What are you charging?”

“Uh, about that. I’m doing it for free. It’s sort of a vigilante thing.”

“Free?”

“Yeah. Well, well, well…”

“I only take innocent clients.”

“Be that as it may, you’ll need to be paid.”

I felt this deep moral dilemma happening. After a moment or two, I said, “I could consider taking on clients that are rich and in my area of comfort. That could pay. A little, but that’s not really my purpose.”

“Smarter, but think how many cases you could take on if you take a few paid. Tell you what, take as many pro bono cases as you want, but consider some that aren’t.”

I just nodded. He shuffled through some things on the table and said, “Here. This lady is a PTA mom. She’s desperate though. Her husband beats her and the kids black and blue.” He gestured to some pictures accompanying the paper he gave me.

My stomach turned sour. “Okay.”

“Charge her $50,000. That’s the rate I set. She agreed, but she needs it done tonight. You up for it?”

“I think so.” I mean, she was the exact type of woman that I’d choose to help. I could charge rich clients. She had to be wealthy if she agreed to 50,000 grand.

“Good. Set his house on fire. She and the kids will be gone for another hour and a half. Supplies have been loaded into your car.”

And that was that. I was being ushered out of the club. Once I was in my car, I was overwhelmed by how fast that meeting went. Well, that wasn’t all that was overwhelming.

I looked over the sheet of paper. I plugged the address into my GPS, and I headed that way.

One look at their place told me they were old money rich.

Everything seemed simple. Until it wasn’t. I went through the motions. Set the fire. The place was blazing when I left.

Until morning, I honestly never suspected anything. But when I turned on the news as I was getting ready for work, I saw that I’d botched the job.

Someone got him out before he died. He was in the hospital, not dead. What had I done? I was royally screwed.