Yellow Mama E zine

Bunny’s Holding the Gun

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by S.A. Smith

 

           “I’m sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Mills, but your husband has hired someone to kill you.”

            My breathing stopped.  It felt as if my heart stopped, too, but as a science teacher I knew that my autonomic nervous system would keep it beating.  In five minutes, since that black SUV pulled into my driveway, my world had been turned upside-down. People who aren’t criminals never expect to see an FBI agent at their door.  I’d been skeptical and insisted on seeing his badge and credentials before letting him into the house.

           “Fortunately, the man he hired got cold feet and contacted our office,” Agent Kepler continued.

           “Who is it?” I asked, expecting to hear that it was someone who’d advertised in the back of some militia magazine.

           Agent Kepler flipped open his notebook.  “Name’s Patrick Callahan.  Ever hear of him?”

           “Yeah, he’s a friend of Adam’s.” If you’d told me beforehand that my husband would hire one of his acquaintances to commit a murder, I’d have guessed it would be Pat.  He was always nice enough to me, but disturbing rumors swirled around him, including that he’d served time for manslaughter.

           “So, am I in danger? I mean, you’ve arrested Adam, right?”

           The agent cleared his throat.  “Actually, ma’am, that’s why I’m here.  You see, at this point we don’t have enough evidence to charge him.  It’s his word against Mr. Callahan’s, and there are problems with Mr. Callahan’s credibility.”

           Which is exactly why Adam chose him, I thought.

           “So Adam’s still out there?  After trying to have me killed? Do I need to leave town?”

           “That’s up to you, ma’am, but we don’t believe he poses any direct danger to you.  If he was going to kill you himself, he wouldn’t have hired someone else to do it.”

   That made sense. Adam owned a small arsenal. Recently he’d even bought me a little 9mm pistol.  I didn’t want a gun, but Adam pointed out that our house was in a remote area, next to a state forest, and it would take some time for law enforcement to get there. At the time it seemed thoughtful of him.

“Any bad guy who thinks you’re an easy target will feel different when it’s the bunny holding the gun,” Adam had said. It was one of his favorite expressions.

           “That’s it? He just goes free?” I asked Agent Kepler.

           “Actually, Mrs. Mills, we’d like your help in gathering more evidence. The murder is supposed to take place tomorrow. Your husband plans to call and ask you to meet him somewhere.  He’ll sabotage your car, so it breaks down and you have to pull over.  That’s when Mr. Callahan is supposed to carry out the hit.”

            It probably would have worked. There were few other houses on the road where I lived. If my car broke down close to home, it was unlikely that there would be any witnesses.

           “So what we’d like to do,” he continued, “is stage a fake murder. We’ll make it look like you’ve been killed, and Mr. Callahan will take photos to prove to your husband that he’s completed his assignment. He’ll be wearing a wire, so we’ll get your husband’s reaction on tape. That should be enough to put him away for a long time. But this plan is not without risk. It’s totally your decision whether or not to do it.  If not, we’ll do everything in our power to protect you, in coordination with your local sheriff.” He glanced around the room and out the window with a concerned look on his face.

            I couldn’t think of any alternative. “I’ll do it.”

           “Honestly, Mrs. Mills, I think that’s the right choice.  Now, I know this won’t be easy, but it’s important for you to act like you don’t suspect a thing.  Think you can do that?”

           I wasn’t at all sure, but I nodded.

           “Good.” He handed me a business card.  “Call me tomorrow as soon as your husband calls you.”

           He paused in front of the door as he was leaving.  “Mr. Callahan didn’t know why your husband wants you dead.  Do you have any ideas?”

            I hadn’t even shared my suspicions with my closest friend, but I needed this stranger’s help, so I told him part of it.  “I think he’s having an affair.”

            “Wouldn’t a divorce be simpler?”

            So I told him the rest.  “Under our pre-nup, if we’re married more than two years, I get a share of the trust that his parents set up for him and his sisters. It would take too long to get a divorce.”

           “Ah, I see.  When’s your anniversary?”

           “Three weeks from now.” I’d been planning a romantic getaway at the beach where we were married, hoping to win Adam back.

           After the agent left, I stared at our wedding picture on the wall for a long time.  How could I have been so wrong about someone I thought I knew so well? Strangely, what made me angriest was that he planned to kill me before I could enjoy my summer vacation.  I considered poisoning his dinner or smothering him in his sleep, but I didn’t want to risk going to jail myself.

           That night it took all my acting skill just to be in the same room with Adam. He hadn’t been interested in me physically for months, but that night he wanted sex. I figured he didn’t want to miss out on his last opportunity. He fell asleep immediately afterwards, snoring gently.  I was too tense to sleep and felt like clawing off my skin wherever he had touched it.

           When he left for work the next morning, he spent several minutes by my car, but I couldn’t see what he was doing.  He called around 10:30 and asked me to join him for lunch.  “Wear that new dress you like so much,” he suggested, which was odd.  He’d made fun of that dress when I brought it home.  It had a green ivy print on a white background, and he’d asked if that was mold. But by then he was criticizing everything about me, so I didn’t give it much thought.

            I put on the dress, fixed my hair and make-up, and called Agent Kepler, who answered on the first ring. He said that he and Pat would follow me. Sure enough, after about a mile both tires on the passenger side went flat. I pulled onto the shoulder beside the road, and a black SUV stopped behind me.

           Agent Kepler and Pat posed me behind the wheel of my car, and Agent Kepler smeared a sticky red substance on the side of my head and splashed some of it on my chest.

           “Pig’s blood,” he explained. “From the slaughterhouse. Your husband will never know the difference. It’s not going to come out of that white fabric, though. Hope you weren’t too fond of that dress.”

           Pat snapped photos from several angles with his phone. “That should do it,” he said after a few minutes.

           Agent Kepler examined the tires.  “No punctures – he just let out some air and took off the valve stem caps. I’ll fill ‘em up – I keep an air pump in my vehicle just in case. Duct tape over the valve stems should get you home. Go get cleaned up, and I’ll call when he’s in custody.”

           I went home, scrubbed off the blood, and changed into jeans. Agent Kepler was right about the dress.  The bloodstains would always show on the white background, but I thought I might be able to salvage the skirt.

           Agent Kepler called about an hour later. “Bad news,” he said. “The meeting went wrong. Your husband shot Mr. Callahan and one of our agents. Callahan’s dead; the agent is critical. Your husband fled the scene. He’s probably on his way there right now, armed and dangerous. I’d get out if I were you.”

           “Thanks, but if I run now, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.  This ends today, one way or another.  You said you’d do everything you could to protect me, so do it.”

            I found my pistol and loaded it. I’d chosen the gun that felt most comfortable in my hand. Adam had warned me that 9mms lack stopping power, so I’d practiced until I became proficient with it and learned to handle the recoil. I sat in the chair facing the front door and waited.

           Adam’s key turned in the lock. I waited until he was halfway across the room. 

“The bunny’s holding the gun now,” I said as I pulled the trigger. Blood seeped across his chest, and he collapsed.

           Pat Callahan walked through the doorway.

            Confusion overwhelmed me.  “Pat! You’re not dead!”

           Adam sprang to his feet.  “And neither am I. Good girl – you fired center mass, just the way I taught you.” He opened his shirt to reveal a Kevlar vest and a plastic baggy of blood. “As you know, pig’s blood looks very realistic.” He smirked. “Too bad about your dress. I know how much you liked it.”

           For some reason he didn’t try to take my gun, perhaps thinking I would panic and shoot again.

           Just then Agent Kepler entered the room.

            “Agent Kepler! Thank God! He’s right here – you can arrest him now.”

            Agent Kepler smiled. “Not my real name or title, I’m afraid.”

“But I saw your badge and credentials!”

            His smile broadened. “Oh, these?” He pulled them out of his pocket. “Some of my best work, I must say. That’s how I met Pat here” – he clapped Pat on the shoulder – “doing a stretch for counterfeiting.”

           The fog in my brain lifted. I couldn’t believe he’d brought incriminating evidence into my house. He must not be allowed to leave with it. Fleetingly I wondered if he or Pat, both ex-cons, were armed. I was sure that Adam was.

           “You both saw her try to kill me, right?” said Adam. “That makes this self-defense.” He reached for the Luger in his waistband.

           I was quicker. My shot hit the middle of his forehead. I didn’t think he’d be getting up again, but there was no time to worry about it. I shifted my aim to the counterfeiter and shot him center mass. Apparently he wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest, because he went down and stayed there.

           Pat fled at the first gunshot, but I was confident he’d be caught soon. Patrick Callahan was almost certainly his real name, and his fingerprints were in the system.

           I called the sheriff. Then I realized that it must be a federal crime to impersonate an agent, so I also called the FBI. I resisted the urge to empty my pistol into Adam, which would have been hard to explain. Instead I trained my gun on the two bodies and waited for officers to arrive.

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S.A. Smith lives and writes in the New Orleans area. She is a member of the Company of Women Writing Dangerously. One of her stories has appeared in Rock and A Hard Place.

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Bernice Holtzman’s paintings and collages have appeared in shows at various venues in Manhattan, including the Back Fence in Greenwich Village, the Producer’s Club, the Black Door Gallery on W. 26th St., and one other place she can’t remember, but it was in a basement, and she was well received. She is the Assistant Art Director for Yellow Mama.