The Divorcee Murder Club

Veintitres ~23

                If the devil were a woman, she’d wear a fur coat and red lipstick. But who am I kidding? Angie would eat that demon for breakfast and then floss her teeth with its bones.

“Fuck is right! What the hell are you doing here?” Angie barks across the room and proceeds to pace while trying to light a cigarette. Her fingers are trembling, and she can’t get it to spark.

“I should ask you the same thing.”

“All I know is that asshole forced me here at gunpoint!” A flame finally blooms, and she lights her cancer stick with a long drag. The amber end glows, followed by her blowing the smoke toward Kay. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking about you, fucker.” 

“You have a big mouth.” Kay shuts the door behind him and swallows the chipped floor with vast strides.

Maybe he’ll put a hole in her skull, ending this nightmare? 

But nope. 

Instead, he plucks the cigarette from her mouth, drops it on the floor, and stubs it out with his expensive boot. 

“No smoking in here.”

“Fuck you. I do what I want!” Angie barks at him, followed by a very oh-so-lady-like glop of spit she launches at his feet. However, it’s a bad move because Kay snatches her by the jaw and looks her dead in the eyes.

My mother would be impressed with his tactics.

“If you think your tantrum proves something, you’re clearly not ready.”

He releases her, and Angie shrinks back like a puppy. Is that all it takes to shut her up? A little dominance? I’ve been going about this all wrong. 

“All that useless muscle…” she directs towards me under her breath—eyes coated in a glossy rage. Her lipstick is now smeared on her chin from Kay’s fingers, and I almost feel sorry for her, but she’s behaving like too much of a C U Next Tuesday at this moment.

“You’re confusing me for someone who cares,” I utter back. 

If the Goliath had done that to Mindy, I would have thrown my hands at him in a heartbeat. Then again, Mindy wouldn’t be in this situation. Only a psycho killer like Angie Mendoza winds up in this asbestos-filled warehouse on the edge of town. She is the definition of trouble, and wherever she goes, chaos detonates like a nuclear bomb—poisoning everyone in her path.

Unfortunately for me, I was at the epicenter of her explosion, and I’m soaking in her radioactive mayhem.

“Today, you’re going to prove yourselves,” Kay says as he finishes sliding fresh bullets into his revolver and slaps it shut with his palm. 

Off to the side, another door opens, and four men enter, except two have cloth bags over their heads with hands tied behind their backs. My gaze flicks from them to Kay and then to Angie because what in the actual fuckery is going on?

“You’re going to kill them,” Kay says as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“What now?” 

“Pick your weapon.” He motions to the cluttered desk, which one of his minions has cleared off with a sweep of his hand. 

The piles of folders slap the ground as they land with papers scattering, and Kay's minion proceeds to casually set up a sharp knife, some wire, and a gun.

I scoff. “This is how we prove ourselves?”

“Pick your weapon,” Kay says.

“Who the hell are these guys?” I pivot towards the two men with cloth sacks over their heads.