4-Patty

4

Patty

Patty stood.  The bus had come to her stop and the clock was running.  She walked to the front.  Paying the toll, she exited the mass-transit vehicle.  Her feet hit the suburban sidewalk and kept stride, her camouflage cargo pants making a faint ‘zip’ noise in the quiet night air.  She reached into the pocket of her studded black leather jacket, feeling her hands around the brass knuckles to find the elastic hair-tie.  She drew her hands up as she walked and pulled her long, curly, red hair from her face and off of her neck into a high pony tail.  This revealed her nearly bone colored white face which was littered with piercings, two in the eyebrow on the right, one in the left, a stud in the nose and her ears where more metal then flesh.

Patricia Katelyn O’Shaughnessy was an Irish born national, here illegally in the country and she was here to hurt people.

Patty rounded the corner and could now hear the sounds of a loud and unruly house party in the distance.  She smiled as her business stride continued.  She was in the right place.  As she approached the house party, she went into a different pocket and pulled out a picture.

Patty examined the picture.  It was of a man in his late twenties, short brown hair with heavy bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in months.  Patty flipped the picture over, reading the words written on the back.

Matt George - $1500

Patty committed the name, face and amount to memory, then she placed the photo back in her pocket as she approached the house.  The house itself was a disaster.  Garbage littered the lawn, which included but was not restricted to plastic disposable cups, toilet paper, a frying pan, vomit, and unconscious people.  Patty did not stop.  Instead, she shook her head as she stepped over one of the victims of alcohol poisoning and made her way toward the front door.

The music was ridiculously loud.  Deafening even before she entered the house.  Patty had tempered herself to be used to situations like this.  It wasn’t the first and certainly would not be the last.

Patty moved through the rooms of the house systematically looking for the target.  Stopping in each one for only a split second as she visually swept the faces before moving on.  After finishing the kitchen, she moved to the stairs and then to the second floor.  She found the master bedroom first and would have startled the couple in the room, had they not been so into what they were doing.

She closed that door, ‘How did she get her leg that high?’  Patty briefly wondered and then moved on, opening the next door. This was the door that she needed to open.

On the other side of this door was what had, at one point before the party been a den. In the center of the room was a coffee table.  To each side, parallel to the table and to each other, were two sofas.  On the one sofa sat Matt George, shirt off, making out with two women, one to either side of him.  On the couch across was another man.  Short and angry looking, he had creepy beady little eyes that just stared at his friend across the table.

Patty stood there for a three second count before she was noticed. In that three seconds, she noticed the creepy guy had a pistol stuck into the front of his jeans.  It was as if to broadcast the fact that he was cool, simply because he had a gun.

Patty did not think he was cool.  Patty thought he was a moron for having a gun that close to his dick.

The creepy guy was the first to notice Patty.  He gave her the once over.  Patty was five-feet, seven inches and frumpy with large legs and a big butt.  The coat hid her arms, however.  Those were pure muscle.

“Well, you’re a little fat for me but I’ll throw you a fuck if you want,” the creepy guy said, before laughing.

The laughter got Matt’s attention.  He broke away from his tongue-fest to laugh loudly at the non-joke from his buddy.

Patty was not laughing.  She put a foot to the coffee table and aggressively shoved it across the room, sending it into the wall with such a force that it broke at the legs and crumbled to the floor.

Patty stepped in-between the couches and looked down at Matt, whose laughter had started to fade into confusion, “You owe Elmo Kincaid fifteen hundred dollars.”

Patty’s accent was a constant problem in the negotiations part of the business.  Lucky for Patty, she didn’t much care for that part.

Matt looked confused and stood.  Patty’s hands moved into her pockets as this happened.

“I what, the who?” Matt asked confused.

Patty sighed and very slowly said, “E L M O    K I N C A I D.”

Matt started to smile, “Kincaid?”

Patty nodded.

“Kincaid sent you?”  The sarcasm was heavy in Matt’s voice and Patty forced herself not to smile.  Her favorite part was coming.

Patty nodded.

Matt started laughing and his creepy friend with the gun started laughing too.

Patty was still not laughing.

“Ok, look Lucky Charms, you go back to Kincaid and tell him he’s gonna have to do better than you if he wants to scare me into paying.”  Matt said this before he went back to laughing.

Patty smiled.

This was the part she liked.

Patty’s right hand came out of her pocket with the brass knuckles lining her fist and into a beautifully executed hook-punch.  The blow struck Matt on the cheek and the impact dislodged a tooth and simultaneously broke his lip open.

Matt’s head floated in mid air for a half second before falling backward.  His eyes rolled back in his head from the devastating punch.  Patty spun in the second that followed. Mr. Creepy had yet to understand what was going on and Patty still had the drop on him.

He reached for his gun but Patty stepped forward and on to gun in his crotch.  He wailed as the barrel smashed his genitals.  Patty then swung with the metal lined hands; a right cross, then a power left hook.  Mr. Creepy rolled into the fetal position onto the couch.

One of Matt’s women screamed bloody murder and exploded off the couch toward Patty’s back.  Patty twisted with an open hand and connected with a thunderous backhanded slap.  She staggered and fell onto all fours, blubbering like a baby.

Patty then fixed her hard vision on the remaining girl who stared back, wide-eyed.

“Well?”  Patty asked, her accent giving the word a hard edge.

The girl stood slowly, then scampered out of the room.

Patty picked the gun out of Mr. Creepy’s pants and disassembled it.  She then went through his and Matt’s pockets and wallets cleaning them out - cash, cards, and even driver’s licenses - making it impossible for them to get away from Elmo Kincaid now.

She then pocketed the goods and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house.  Her stride continued.  Down the street, the music from the party began to fade behind her.  Patty turned a corner and came to a bus stop.  She breathed into her hands on the cold September night, then she rubbed her knuckles a little.

The bus arrived a moment later and she got on and sat down.

She sat on the bus and waited.  In the course of the trip, she hummed the song that played on the bus’s internal radio and eyed the other passengers.  She chuckled to herself when she went over the events in her head and remembered one of the women leaving.

The bus stopped and Patty stood.  She moved to the front of the bus, paying the fare and getting off.  She continued her stride as her foot hit the sidewalk pavement.  She moved up the street then crossed at a cross walk and headed into a parking lot.  Still in the suburbs, she moved to a black car that was parked at the far end and got in.

Inside sat an older man in his late forties; he still took good care of himself.  He wore a loose button up shirt and had a receding hairline, peppered with gray.  He was big and broad-shouldered and smiled at Patty when she got in the car.

He had a lover’s smile.

He had a killer’s smile.

Elmo Kincaid

“How’d it go?” he asked, in a low gruff voice.

“Just fine.  Got your haul right here,” Patty said, her accent thick, as she pulled the stash out and handed it to Kincaid.

 “You’re going to find that he still owes, but he ain’t going nowhere without his car,” she said as he counted and took inventory of Patty’s cache.

“Good.  Good.”  Elmo began, “This is good, but I have another job for you.  It’s important.”

 Patty’s eyebrow raised, “Already?  Just got done with this one.”

Elmo nodded.  “Someone took something of mine and it needs to be returned to me.  This is important.  Double your take.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Patty said with wide eyes.

“It’s nothing compared to what I lose if I don’t get it back.” Elmo said, a ring of desperation in his tone.

Patty thought a second.  “I’m in.”

Elmo nodded and smiled before handing her a package.  “Those are the targets.  The item is a thumb drive.  Small, portable computer device used for storage.”

Patty frowned, “I’m from Ireland, not Alabama.  I know what a thumb drive is.”

Elmo smiled, “Of course.”

Patty then opened the door and got out.

Elmo leaned back and took a deep breath.  He then took out his phone.  He dialed a number he never thought he would dial again.

The other side picked up, but no one spoke.

“Stone.  This is Kincaid.” He said into the dead air.

The other side spoke quietly and cautiously, “Thought you were done with us after what happened at the RTA incident?”

Elmo remembered the incident well and had never intended to work with them again.  They were insane.  “Desperate times, Stone.”

“What’s the job?”  Stone asked, all business.

“I’m putting a reward on an item.  If you get it back, you get paid big,” Elmo began then took a deep breath before the next part, “and its first come, first serve, Stone.  Whoever brings it to me will get the money.”