Free Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman by JB Lynn

argue about: her abysmal taste in men and the fact that she adores my father. Ever since he’d stopped her own dad from molesting her by beating the crap out of him and running him out of town, she’d worshipped him.
    “He does know, doesn’t he?” she asked.
    “I told him.”
    “Good. That was the right thing to do. I’m proud of you, Maggie.”
    I took a step back so that I could see her properly. Besides being ridiculously good-looking, my dear friend Alice was an amazing humanitarian who traveled to exotic spots all over the world to teach English . . . or is it irrigation? Either way, she enriches lives, while I, on the other hand, ask people if the police had given them a ticket when they crashed their vehicle. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be gone for another three months.”
    She patted her stomach.
    “You’re sick? You picked up one of those exotic nasty bugs or worms, like they’re always trying to diagnose on House , didn’t you?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then what? Your iron stomach finally surrendered and you couldn’t take the local diet?”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Delveccio amble out of his grandson’s room. Dammit! I needed to talk to him, but I couldn’t very well do that while chatting with Alice.
    She shook her head again. An angelic smile spread across her face, making her eyes sparkle and her skin glow.
    I was still too slow to get it. In my defense, I did have an awful lot on my mind.
    “I’m pregnant, Maggie.”
    I blinked. I looked down at her stomach. She didn’t appear to have one. I looked up into her face again. Maybe this was another of my delusions. “I don’t understand . . . how?”
    “The same way men and women have for centuries.”
    “What man? Who’s the father?” The last I’d heard she’d sworn off men. A prudent decision, considering her last boyfriend, who I’d told her repeatedly was bad news, had beaten her to within an inch of her life. That scumbag was rotting in prison.
    Speaking of prison, my favorite mob boss had disappeared from sight.
    Alice pointed to a dark-skinned man, taller than a refrigerator and almost as wide, perched uncomfortably in one of the too-small waiting chairs. He waved. I swear his hand was bigger than my head. He smiled, teeth shiny, gleamy white against chocolate pudding skin. The fact that I was mentally comparing him to chocolate pudding told me I’d eaten too many of my meals in the hospital cafeteria.
    I waved weakly in reply.
    “C’mon. I’m dying for you to meet him.” Alice grabbed my shoulder and propelled me in his direction like she did when we were seven.
    “Where is he from?” I figured it was more polite to ask that than to come right out and ask if he spoke English.
    “Chicago.”
    Whew! I speak Windy City. Sorta.
    “Lamont, this is Maggie,” Alice chirped. “Maggie, Lamont.”
    “Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand only to have it swallowed whole by his.
    “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. My condolences on your loss.”
    “Thank you. Welcome to New Jersey. How do you like it so far?”
    “We-l-l,” he said carefully. “It’s not exactly what I was expecting.”
    “If you drive an hour or two in any direction, you can find whatever you want, mountains, ocean, New York city, farms . . . we’ve got it all. Plus, we have all four seasons.” I knew I sounded like some Board of Tourism hack, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Movies and TV haven’t been terribly kind in their portrayal of our fine little state, but I promise there’s plenty here to like.”
    Unable to take any more of my sales spiel he said quickly, “I already found what I like.” He pulled Alice toward him. For once she didn’t tower over the guy she was dating.
    “How’d you know I was here?” I asked my oldest friend.
    “All my stuff’s in storage, and I’d given up my apartment before I left, so I called the bed and breakfast to see if they had a room