It was a dark and stormy night. A perfect night for murder.
“Hey! Joey! Man, it’s way too dark back here!”
Well, almost perfect, Eddie thought as he turned to look at his partner. Why Mr. Lee wanted this to be a two-man job, I don’t know.
“Shut up!” Joey hissed. “You want to give us away? Blow the whole thing?”
“Nah, but can’t we move closer to the elevator? Light’s better there. Here, I can’t see my own hands in front of me.”
“You don’t need to see your hands – you only need to see the vick.”
“But by the elevator…”
“He’ll walk out, we’ll jump out. Surprise! Whammo with the bats! We'll take a few pics, send them to the boss, then go get some Starbucks and coffee cake! It's that easy!”
Joey set his the tip of his baseball bat between his feet to hold it steady. He peeled off his thin black gloves and flexed his long fingers. His knuckles popped. Waiting always made him tense. The partner Mr. Lee had assigned wasn’t helping matters either.
“You’re not listenin’, Joe,” Eddie whispered, leaning in. His breath smelled like the peppermints he’d been crunching earlier until Joey stopped him. “What I’m sayin’ is that we’d have more light if we waited by the elevator. I’d do a better job if I could see what I was hittin’.”
“What’s to see, Eddie? We have baseball bats! Hit the guy anywhere and he’s going down. Keep on hitting and the job’s done.”
Eddie was silent for a minute. Joey kept his eyes on the brightly lit square of the parking garage by the elevator. Their target would walk out of that elevator exactly eight seconds after its bell chimed. Joey knew because he’d been able to time it twenty-five times already. In the final seconds of the game, the two hit men had slipped past security to the team’s private level of the garage, five levels below the arena. The northeast corner held some maintenance equipment, storage bins, trashcans, and a sweeper mounted on a white Chevy truck.
Joey had decided that a spot next to the sweeper was dark enough to keep the players from seeing them even if they’d lost and walked out slowly. Plus, the spot was still close enough to the elevator that they could watch everyone leaving the locker rooms and getting into their cars. All but two spots were empty now – a red Honda and a bright yellow Hummer. They were waiting on the vick – the hockey team’s mascot, Pucky the Purple Pig. Or more specifically, the guy behind the pigskin mask.
And everything’s going perfectly! Two cars left, just like Mr. Lee’s email said, Joey thought to himself. We’re in the perfect spot. And the storm up top sets the perfect tone.
“Hey! Joey! Man, it’s way too dark back here!”
Well, almost perfect, Eddie thought as he turned to look at his partner. Why Mr. Lee wanted this to be a two-man job, I don’t know.
“Shut up!” Joey hissed. “You want to give us away? Blow the whole thing?”
“Nah, but can’t we move closer to the elevator? Light’s better there. Here, I can’t see my own hands in front of me.”
“You don’t need to see your hands – you only need to see the vick.”
“But by the elevator…”
“He’ll walk out, we’ll jump out. Surprise! Whammo with the bats! We'll take a few pics, send them to the boss, then go get some Starbucks and coffee cake! It's that easy!”
Joey set his the tip of his baseball bat between his feet to hold it steady. He peeled off his thin black gloves and flexed his long fingers. His knuckles popped. Waiting always made him tense. The partner Mr. Lee had assigned wasn’t helping matters either.
“You’re not listenin’, Joe,” Eddie whispered, leaning in. His breath smelled like the peppermints he’d been crunching earlier until Joey stopped him. “What I’m sayin’ is that we’d have more light if we waited by the elevator. I’d do a better job if I could see what I was hittin’.”
“What’s to see, Eddie? We have baseball bats! Hit the guy anywhere and he’s going down. Keep on hitting and the job’s done.”
Eddie was silent for a minute. Joey kept his eyes on the brightly lit square of the parking garage by the elevator. Their target would walk out of that elevator exactly eight seconds after its bell chimed. Joey knew because he’d been able to time it twenty-five times already. In the final seconds of the game, the two hit men had slipped past security to the team’s private level of the garage, five levels below the arena. The northeast corner held some maintenance equipment, storage bins, trashcans, and a sweeper mounted on a white Chevy truck.
Joey had decided that a spot next to the sweeper was dark enough to keep the players from seeing them even if they’d lost and walked out slowly. Plus, the spot was still close enough to the elevator that they could watch everyone leaving the locker rooms and getting into their cars. All but two spots were empty now – a red Honda and a bright yellow Hummer. They were waiting on the vick – the hockey team’s mascot, Pucky the Purple Pig. Or more specifically, the guy behind the pigskin mask.
And everything’s going perfectly! Two cars left, just like Mr. Lee’s email said, Joey thought to himself. We’re in the perfect spot. And the storm up top sets the perfect tone.
Even through three levels of steel and concrete he could hear the boom and rumble of the thunder. The rain hadn’t made it this far down, but the air was damp and heavy. His thin cotton ski mask felt like a wet bag pulled across his face. He pulled the neck up for a second and breathed deeply twice. The air tasted like exhaust. He grimaced and covered his face again.
Joey slipped his gloves back on and swung his bat up slowly to his right shoulder. He slid his grip up and down the wooden handle a few times. Finding the right spot took only a second or two. College ball hadn’t been so long ago after all, he reminded himself.
Joey slipped his gloves back on and swung his bat up slowly to his right shoulder. He slid his grip up and down the wooden handle a few times. Finding the right spot took only a second or two. College ball hadn’t been so long ago after all, he reminded himself.
His knee made him stop playing, but obviously his hands hadn’t forgotten what to do. Grinning under his mask, he lowered the bat and tapped its tip gently against the soles of his Converse sneakers. They were all black, like his mask and his sweats. He’d even chosen black ash wood for the bat.
Perfect bat for slamming home runs. And perfect for slamming the head in on hockey mascots, too! This is turning out to be a perfect hit.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of teeth grinding hard peppermints brought him back to reality.
Almost perfect, he thought for a second time and turned to Eddie. The younger man was dressed just like Joey but had his ski mask pushed up past his forehead. He was unwrapping a green-and-white peppermint slowly, muffling the crinkling plastic somewhat . He stopped when he saw Joey staring.
“You don’t chew hard candy on a job! I told you that already!” Joey whispered, forcing all of his annoyance and anger into his eyes and into his voice. “And you’d better not be dropping any of those wrappers either! The last thing we need is a trail of candy wrappers leading back to us!”
“Course I’m not droppin’ the wrappers – I’m not a noob,” Eddie grunted as he shoved a handful of mints back into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “Just don’t see why we have to hide in the shadows and dress in all black and use these stupid bats.”
The younger man kicked with one toe at the bat he’d leaned against the sweeper. To Joey’s dismay, he’d shown up at the assigned meeting place dressed like a college kid and carrying a cheap aluminum bat. Only Joey’s threats to text Mr. Lee made him reluctantly change and then cover the shiny barrel with tape on the ride to the arena.
Eddie kept griping. “This whole hit’s been a hassle and a waste of time, right from the start. I could’ve picked the vick off with my M40A3 from outside and avoided all this clichéd crap.”
“Dammit, Eddie! We talked about all this back at the gym!” Joey fought the urge to brain his co-worker with his ash bat. “If you want to call the shots, go freelance! Get a MySpace and advertise! Then, you can do it your way. Wear a clown suit and hit your vicks with a frying pan if you want! But for now, you have to do it the way the boss says!”
Eddie grunted, but the elevator chimed suddenly. Silencing both men, it reverberated off the concrete walls and steel pylons supporting the roof. Joey’s eyes snapped to the lighted area. Eddie tugged his mask down into place.
Eight seconds! Joey mentally began counting them down. He flexed glove fingers around his bat. He readied his stance. At his side, he sensed Eddie doing the same thing.
Seven seconds! According to the email, the vick would walk out with #71, the team center. The vick drove the Honda. The center drove the Hummer.
Six seconds! The vick and the center always left the locker room last so that no one would know they were dating. The center would be wearing a jersey. The vick would be carrying the mascot head.
Five seconds! Jealous spouse? Angry fan? Owner afraid of bad publicity if it leaks that the star center’s being gay with a purple pig? Joey didn’t know and didn’t care – his job was just to follow the boss’s orders.
Four seconds! The vick and the center would walk to the Hummer and make sure that no one was around. Then, the vick and the center would share a long kiss.
Three seconds! The kiss would be the best time to get to work. The vick and the center would be occupied and caught by surprise. Kill the vick and do whatever to the center. That’s all the orders had said. That’s all Joey needed to know.
Two seconds! Behind the closed doors, the elevator settled at the bottom of the shaft with a dull thud. Joey bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. He tightened his grip on the ash handle of his bat. A rush of adrenaline flowed through him. He felt like he was back at bat in the state finals.
One second! Joey heard muffled crinkles coming from his left. Ignoring it, he clenched his teeth. He had to keep his eyes on the elevator doors. Out of sight, gears began grinding. A metallic clang echoed as everything locked into place.
Open Sesame! His timing was perfect. The doors parted with a hum at that exact moment.
Perfect bat for slamming home runs. And perfect for slamming the head in on hockey mascots, too! This is turning out to be a perfect hit.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of teeth grinding hard peppermints brought him back to reality.
Almost perfect, he thought for a second time and turned to Eddie. The younger man was dressed just like Joey but had his ski mask pushed up past his forehead. He was unwrapping a green-and-white peppermint slowly, muffling the crinkling plastic somewhat . He stopped when he saw Joey staring.
“You don’t chew hard candy on a job! I told you that already!” Joey whispered, forcing all of his annoyance and anger into his eyes and into his voice. “And you’d better not be dropping any of those wrappers either! The last thing we need is a trail of candy wrappers leading back to us!”
“Course I’m not droppin’ the wrappers – I’m not a noob,” Eddie grunted as he shoved a handful of mints back into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “Just don’t see why we have to hide in the shadows and dress in all black and use these stupid bats.”
The younger man kicked with one toe at the bat he’d leaned against the sweeper. To Joey’s dismay, he’d shown up at the assigned meeting place dressed like a college kid and carrying a cheap aluminum bat. Only Joey’s threats to text Mr. Lee made him reluctantly change and then cover the shiny barrel with tape on the ride to the arena.
Eddie kept griping. “This whole hit’s been a hassle and a waste of time, right from the start. I could’ve picked the vick off with my M40A3 from outside and avoided all this clichéd crap.”
“Dammit, Eddie! We talked about all this back at the gym!” Joey fought the urge to brain his co-worker with his ash bat. “If you want to call the shots, go freelance! Get a MySpace and advertise! Then, you can do it your way. Wear a clown suit and hit your vicks with a frying pan if you want! But for now, you have to do it the way the boss says!”
Eddie grunted, but the elevator chimed suddenly. Silencing both men, it reverberated off the concrete walls and steel pylons supporting the roof. Joey’s eyes snapped to the lighted area. Eddie tugged his mask down into place.
Eight seconds! Joey mentally began counting them down. He flexed glove fingers around his bat. He readied his stance. At his side, he sensed Eddie doing the same thing.
Seven seconds! According to the email, the vick would walk out with #71, the team center. The vick drove the Honda. The center drove the Hummer.
Six seconds! The vick and the center always left the locker room last so that no one would know they were dating. The center would be wearing a jersey. The vick would be carrying the mascot head.
Five seconds! Jealous spouse? Angry fan? Owner afraid of bad publicity if it leaks that the star center’s being gay with a purple pig? Joey didn’t know and didn’t care – his job was just to follow the boss’s orders.
Four seconds! The vick and the center would walk to the Hummer and make sure that no one was around. Then, the vick and the center would share a long kiss.
Three seconds! The kiss would be the best time to get to work. The vick and the center would be occupied and caught by surprise. Kill the vick and do whatever to the center. That’s all the orders had said. That’s all Joey needed to know.
Two seconds! Behind the closed doors, the elevator settled at the bottom of the shaft with a dull thud. Joey bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. He tightened his grip on the ash handle of his bat. A rush of adrenaline flowed through him. He felt like he was back at bat in the state finals.
One second! Joey heard muffled crinkles coming from his left. Ignoring it, he clenched his teeth. He had to keep his eyes on the elevator doors. Out of sight, gears began grinding. A metallic clang echoed as everything locked into place.
Open Sesame! His timing was perfect. The doors parted with a hum at that exact moment.
Out walked a tall blond-haired man wearing a red, black, and silver jersey emblazoned with the number 71. He was smiling and laughing.
The center! Joey breathed.
The second person walked out of the elevator. Just like the order emailed to Joey said, the vick was carrying a giant purple pig’s head. Much shorter than the center, the vick was laughing at whatever his boyfriend had said on the ride from the locker rooms.
The center! Joey breathed.
The second person walked out of the elevator. Just like the order emailed to Joey said, the vick was carrying a giant purple pig’s head. Much shorter than the center, the vick was laughing at whatever his boyfriend had said on the ride from the locker rooms.
Her boyfriend, Joey corrected himself as the couple looked around and then walked hand-in-hand toward the parked vehicles. She's laughing at her girlfriend. The vick's a woman.
Beneath the mask, he bit his lower lip. His thoughts whirled around like the gears grinding the elevator doors shut. Damn. I assumed it was a guy. Stupid to assume anything. I know better. But it doesn’t matter. It’s just a mistake. Mr. Lee forgot or got some papers mixed up – that’s all. Left out a detail on the order. It happens all the time probably. Just hasn't to me before. But nothing to get upset about. Easy to fix. Just got to talk to Eddie for a secong...
Eddie leaned over and pressed his face against Joey’s left cheek.
“How about that! The vick’s a girl! I had no idea! And she’s cute! Lucky us, huh, Joe? Maybe doing this up close won’t be so bad after all!”
With Eddie’s face pressed against his, Joey could feel the young man’s molars ever so slowly crunch down through a piece of candy. And even through both of their masks, he could smell the peppermint. Eddie chuckled quietly as he pulled back and looked at the couple. They’d reached their cars.
“Look! They’re getting’ ready to kiss! God, she’s hot! It's time. You ready for some fun, Joe?”
Joey exhaled and held it. He stepped back and set his weight on his right leg. With muscles trained by years spent on high school and college baseball teams, he swung his bat up and smoothly to the left. His speed was incredible – a decade spent pursuing his present career ensured that the younger hit man didn’t have a chance.
“Shut up!” Joey hissed as his muscles went through the familiar motions that had once given him the most joy in his life.
As he spoke, the tip of his hard ash bat connected with a solid thonk against Eddie’s left temple. The man dropped to the pavement without a sound. His legs twitched a few times but stopped after Joey slammed down another hit. He hit a third time just to be sure. It was kind of a tradition when he did a hit – he called it the Power of Three. It worked just as well with a ball bat as it did with a gun.
Satisfied, Joey finally inhaled. He straightened. He laid the bat down carefully and pulled out his phone. Behind him, the vick and her hockey center boyfriend broke their kiss and started getting into their vehicles.
By the time Joey finished his text, the Hummer and the Honda had left him alone in the parking garage. The storm still rumbled up on the surface.
It took him longer to text than most people. Refusing to use silly abbreviations, he typed out each word. He even put commas where they belonged. When he was done, he hit
A few seconds later, Thomas Lee received this text message during dessert with his wife and children:
Mr. Lee, I apologize for any inconvenience, but I did not finish tonight's project. I had not been told that the pig was female. You will remember that my application and my resume both specify my policy regarding females. I shall pay for wasted resources, time lost and also for company property I destroyed (ED). Also, this message is my two weeks’ notice. I’m considering pursuing freelance work elsewhere. Would you consider being a reference?
Eddie leaned over and pressed his face against Joey’s left cheek.
“How about that! The vick’s a girl! I had no idea! And she’s cute! Lucky us, huh, Joe? Maybe doing this up close won’t be so bad after all!”
With Eddie’s face pressed against his, Joey could feel the young man’s molars ever so slowly crunch down through a piece of candy. And even through both of their masks, he could smell the peppermint. Eddie chuckled quietly as he pulled back and looked at the couple. They’d reached their cars.
“Look! They’re getting’ ready to kiss! God, she’s hot! It's time. You ready for some fun, Joe?”
Joey exhaled and held it. He stepped back and set his weight on his right leg. With muscles trained by years spent on high school and college baseball teams, he swung his bat up and smoothly to the left. His speed was incredible – a decade spent pursuing his present career ensured that the younger hit man didn’t have a chance.
“Shut up!” Joey hissed as his muscles went through the familiar motions that had once given him the most joy in his life.
As he spoke, the tip of his hard ash bat connected with a solid thonk against Eddie’s left temple. The man dropped to the pavement without a sound. His legs twitched a few times but stopped after Joey slammed down another hit. He hit a third time just to be sure. It was kind of a tradition when he did a hit – he called it the Power of Three. It worked just as well with a ball bat as it did with a gun.
Satisfied, Joey finally inhaled. He straightened. He laid the bat down carefully and pulled out his phone. Behind him, the vick and her hockey center boyfriend broke their kiss and started getting into their vehicles.
By the time Joey finished his text, the Hummer and the Honda had left him alone in the parking garage. The storm still rumbled up on the surface.
It took him longer to text than most people. Refusing to use silly abbreviations, he typed out each word. He even put commas where they belonged. When he was done, he hit
A few seconds later, Thomas Lee received this text message during dessert with his wife and children:
Mr. Lee, I apologize for any inconvenience, but I did not finish tonight's project. I had not been told that the pig was female. You will remember that my application and my resume both specify my policy regarding females. I shall pay for wasted resources, time lost and also for company property I destroyed (ED). Also, this message is my two weeks’ notice. I’m considering pursuing freelance work elsewhere. Would you consider being a reference?
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