Girl of 100 Lists
Stephen Buehler
Delete. Damn, that felt good. Walking out of the cleaners, Melissa deleted the first item on her to-do list she kept within her Notes app. God, it was hot outside. She didn’t plan on that. Going in and out of air-conditioning on days like this caused colds, her mother told her once, but then again, she never liked her mother. She blew a long strand of blonde hair away from her ordinary face. You won’t believe how many people told her she reminded her of their sister. She didn’t mind. Not at all.
Melissa hung the clean clothes in the backseat of her Mustang, on that little hook nobody uses above the door. A lot to accomplish that day but she decided to take it slow and methodical. It’s the organized tortoise that wins the race, not the scattered-brained rabbit. Besides, she had plenty of time before her noon appointment. She blasted the car’s air-conditioner and drove off.
After spending ten minutes in the home and gardens store, she opened her trunk and five bags of sand were placed inside by a husky employee. He was all business and didn’t flirt. Melissa was okay with that. Her finger slightly quivered as she deleted purchase six fifty-pound sand bags off the list. For her backyard’s garden, she told the man, not that he cared.
Lowering herself in the front seat and turning the air back on, she scrolled down her long list, one that she made every day. She beamed. It’s how she kept her hectic schedule in order. Even if she didn’t have errands or work assignments she still created that list, including scheduling naps and what TV shows to watch. Every night, before she went to bed, she thought about what she needed to do the next day, what was the best order to make sure she completed everything and entered it on her cell phone. It was her favorite part of the day.
The second favorite part of her day was when she was able to delete the task. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t completed a day’s list, except for that one damn thing last week. Her time was strictly structured but deleting tasks actually relaxed her. She hated interruptions, unscheduled phone calls, people wanting to stop and talk to her. It might cause her to rearrange her list and Melissa didn’t like doing that. Not at all.
She checked the time on her phone. And no, checking the time on her phone wasn’t on the list.
Almost noon. Time for her appointment.
She was to meet a business acquaintance of her boss for lunch at eleven-thirty. Her employer thought the two should become acquainted, a sort of interview to become part of the organization. He didn’t go into details, he didn’t need to. She knew what she had to do. And she knew she couldn’t mess this one up. It could cost her job and her job was her life.
Parking in front of the café was impossible that time of day so most people used the valet. That didn’t interest Melissa. Ah, but the side streets were usually empty, nobody wanting to walk very far. Walking is good, Melissa thought. It would give her time to delete and see what was next on the schedule. Two streets over she found a deserted spot and parked. Perfect.
Melissa checked herself in the rearview mirror. Her appearance was very important. She released the barrette that held a small bun atop her head and her blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders. The blue eye shadow complemented her green eyes. Two hoop earrings blatantly dangled from her ears. All set. After hefting up her oversized purse Melissa deftly slid out of the car.
She strolled toward the entrance unnoticed. Nobody gave her a second look. That’s what an ordinary face does, nobody remembers you.
She surveyed her surroundings, who was window shopping, sitting in their cars, walking their dogs. She would keep that picture in her mind.
Peering through the front window, she immediately recognized the woman, let’s call her “Debra,” sitting behind a small table in the corner. Brown hair highlighted with blonde, round doe-like eyes, a bright red top. Checking her phone, probably for the time.
Melissa had set the appointment for eleven-thirty but her plan was to be late, knowing her “interviewee” would probably have a few drinks. Desperate people always drank and Melissa was sure this woman was desperate. Perfect timing. The woman stood up and looked around for someone to hold her table. The waiter nodded and directed Debra to go around the corner. Melissa knew that was the way to the women’s restroom. Being late paid off. Debra grabbed her purse and followed the waiter’s directions.
Melissa suppressed a triumphant smile. Debra had followed her advice and wore the bright red blouse. That’s how Melissa was to recognize her.
She entered the café and ambled toward the door with the universal woman stick figure that Debra had just pushed open. Appearing to keep her focus on that door, she surreptitiously glanced around, checking to see if anyone noticed her. No one paid any attention.
Slowly she opened the door and peeked under the stall. A set of shapely legs, a purse by her foot and the sound of a steady stream of pee. This would be easy. She’d still be on schedule for the rest of the day’s tasks.
Quietly, she locked the door behind her. In setting up this appointment, she had scouted plenty of cafés to find bathrooms that could be locked from the inside and this one fit the bill.
Even with a locked door, not much time. Melissa dug a tissue from her purse and removed her hideous but memorable eye make-up then took off her large loopy earrings. Finishing, she pulled out a wig, brown hair with highlights. She tucked her own blonde hair up and fit the wig over her head. It didn’t have to be perfect, but Melissa was a pro. She had done this many times, it only took her seconds.
Next in the purse, her fingers wrapped around a HK 9mm 45. A sound suppressor topped off the muzzle. She had bought the silencer in Nevada since California wouldn’t allow anyone to purchase one. As usual, Melissa obtained the gun accessory under an assumed name and under a platinum blonde wig. She closed her eyes and took a small breath. This is what she was meant to do. This was her life. It was all scheduled in her phone.
Behind her, the stall door opened. Debra, startled, then quizzical, looked at Melissa. One second later realization registered on Debra’s face. Melissa always cherished the moments when the victim knew what was going to happen next. It proved to her that she was always in control of her destiny.
“No,” Debra, said. The soon-to-be-dead woman raised her hands protectively in front of her. Yeah, like that would stop the bullets.
Two quick pops, no louder than balloons popping. Debra fell backwards and dropped her purse. She landed half on the seat, ready to topple over. Debra’s hair almost came off. Not her hair, a wig? No time to think about that. One more pop to Debra’s forehead and Melissa’s work was done.
She righted Debra as best she could on the toilet seat and picked up the deceased woman’s purse. It was heavier than it looked. Melissa shut the stall door. She removed all the ID, making it more difficult for the police to identify the newly departed.
Her eyes widened. From the purse she pulled out a Walter PPK, silencer attached. Not the most powerful gun but up close it would do its job. She dug further and found a black and white photo of herself. One of the few pics where she wasn’t wearing a disguise. The photo had been taken in her boss’s office. He was more than a little pissed with Melissa. Apparently, he had hired another hit woman to kill her.
She lived by obscurity, it was one of her trademarks. No one knew who she really was, only her employer. Time to get out of the bathroom before someone banged on the door and made a scene.
Blood spattered on Melissa’s shirt. No problem. She had come prepared. She reached into her large purse and snatched the duplicate bright red blouse she knew she’d need and put it over her bloody one. She shoved her victim’s gun, photo and wallet back into her own purse. One last glance at the mirror to make sure her new identity looked right. As usual, it was.
Debra. Debra. Even though she hadn’t planned for it, she opened Debra’s wallet and read her driver’s license. Candace Bigelow. Not sure if that’s her real name but from now on Debra would be known as Candace.
One more thing. She couldn’t help it. Had to do it. She opened Notes on her phone and deleted her latest task. Take out Debra.
Any customer who had witnessed Melissa walking out of the bathroom would have sworn she was the same Debra they saw enter.
Unlocking and opening the door, Melissa strode out like she didn’t have a care in the world. She gazed down at her purse, not making eye contact.
Once outside, the L.A. bright sunshine forced her to shield her eyes as she checked the street. A small bead of sweat traced past her ear and trickled down her cheek. She wiped it off with the back of her hand. Sweat from the oppressive heat or the excitement of what she had just accomplished?
The Mercedes across the street hadn’t moved since she had arrived. Not in itself troubling, but in the front seat, the two same men still pretended not to look at her.
Without missing a beat, she walked the other way. The quaint neighborhood was filled with quaint shops selling quaint paper goods, quaint trinkets and secondhand dresses.
She made a sharp turn down a narrow alley. This was something she had scouted out earlier too. Know the lay of the land.
Walking briskly, she followed the zigzag path until it led her behind the Italian spumoni shop. Another short path emptied her out to the street where her Mustang waited. Well, it wasn’t technically hers and the plate was not technically the car’s but for the next couple of hours she’d be driving both.
Before she crossed the street, a Prius pulled up behind the Mustang. Melissa froze. Out stepped a woman with shoulder length blonde hair. This was too good to be true, finding a woman she had been looking for since last week’s problem. She could pinch herself.
Feeling grateful, Melissa crossed the empty street. The blonde woman, standing by the Prius’ door, checked in her purse. Melissa did the same. The woman pulled out a set of keys. Melissa pulled out a gun, silencer still attached and warm. Approaching the unsuspecting Prius driver, she kept her gun hand down by her side.
“Thanks,” Melissa said.
The blonde woman looked at her, confused.
Melissa changed that confused face to horror as she jammed the sound suppressor against the unsuspecting woman’s chest. One pull of the trigger. The woman collapsed. Melissa scanned the street and sidewalks. If there were any witnesses, she’d take them out, too. Not part of the plan but she had to think of her own safety. Nobody else died on that street.
Melissa picked up the Prius’ keys, hid the body in the trunk and changed clothes. Scheduled sessions at the gym were paying off. This was the second body she had to lift and haul around that day.
Time to leave the scene of the crime, but she couldn’t help it. Sitting in her borrowed Mustang, Melissa cradled her phone. Even though she had her life scheduled to-a-T, she added additional tasks at the top of her to-do list that may occur any time. This was one of them. She deleted, Take out blonde woman.
A quiver ran down her spine. Even though her schedule that day was intense, she was knocking off tasks one after another.
One of two things would happen next. When she drove by the Mercedes, it would either follow her or not. She had a to-do list for both scenarios. This was finally the day she had to pick one. She drove back toward the café.
With a slow approach, she passed the Mercedes. Glancing sideways, she saw two men that looked like life had taken them on in a boxing match and they had lost. The cold stare, the broken nose, the slouched shoulders. She didn’t recognize either one of them. Out of towners. Not good.
The Mercedes screeched a U-turn several cars behind her. It was on. This was it, Plan B. Plan A had her stopping at the Apple store checking out the latest phones. A much easier chore to pull off.
She weaved through the streets, passing cars, not caring about stop signs. Scheduling time at the hazardous driving school appeared to pay off. Then, it didn’t. They were still behind her.
Driving with one eye on the road, she brought up the plan B list. Lose the tail was her new task.
She sped through the yellow light. So did the Mercedes. She headed out of town where there was less traffic. It was no accident she picked out a Mustang to steal that morning. She’d needed the V8 engine with 460 horsepower to help her accomplish what she wanted to do.
Careening onto the highway she let the engine sing, putting distance between her and the two men. Trees, bushes and signposts whipped by, much like her life had the past couple of years.
She’d come a long way from the market crash of 2008. That’s the crash that ruined her family but enabled her to live the life she was living now. All on her own terms. Nothing happening unexpectedly.
Parents split up over money, sort of. The small amount they were able to retain, Dad took and ran away. Mom was no help. She had a complete breakdown, always crying and feeling sorry for herself, spending days, sometime weeks, on the sofa. Always playing the victim. Fifteen-year-old Melissa stepped up and took control. She quit school and worked several jobs, so they could survive. She’d wake up at five to start her cleaning job, then go burger-flipping in the afternoon. At night, twice a week, she’d help clean up the church. She had so many things to do. Make sure mother took a bath. Take her to the doctors. Bring food home. Remember which job she had next. The cleaning job moved around daily so it was difficult to remember where she was working that day. She’d go to the burger joint and find out it was her day off. Pick up medicine. Pay any bills they could. Avoid creditors. At the time, she resented her mother for making her grow up so fast.
The only good moments they had together had been when they watched movies at home on the DVD player, one of the few things she didn’t hock. Melissa would make popcorn and her mom would share the sofa with only the light from the TV illuminating the room. Her mother loved movies starring women; Beaches, Thelma and Louise, even Legally Blonde. It was rare that her mother made it through the film before passing out. There were plenty of times her mother was snoring so loud it ruined the endings.
That spark of happiness wasn’t enough. Her life was a living hell.
She confided to Father Elliott that she couldn’t control her life. She had no time to herself but that didn’t matter much because she didn’t even know who she was. She saw no future for herself. She wanted to give up.
She wasn’t religious, she worked at the church purely for the money, but Father Elliot would always stop and talk. He sat her down in a pew. He opened a Bible and gave it to her. “Page through the good book and tell me what you see.”
It took a minute for her to flip the pages from front to back.
Melissa shook her head.
Father Elliott smiled like he knew something she didn’t. “It’s all there. In order. The first book is Genesis. The beginning of everything. The universe, earth, man, woman. Then Exodus. The chosen people breaking free from their slavery. Leviticus comes next. All the way to the New Testament with Mathew, Mark, Luke and John. It ends with Revelations, the last book in the Bible. Do you see what I’m saying?”
She shook her head again.
“The books are in order. From Genesis to Revelations. From the beginning of man to the end of mankind. One after another. They have been organized by God. You can do the same. Organize yourself.”
“How?”
“Make to-do lists. Stick to them. You’ll be surprised how much you can accomplish when you follow your lists. It tells you what to do next. It’s all mapped out for you.”
“Really?”
“Give it a try.”
Melissa read the Good Book in two weeks. Not for the content, more to learn how things happened in order and how that could apply to her own life. She made a list of all the books in the Bible and saw the progression of life Father Elliot had mentioned. For once she felt like she could do something besides being tied down to stupid jobs and taking care of her mother.
She tried making a list. At first, she couldn’t finish the tasks without being interrupted. “Can you come home and make some soup?” or something like that would take her away from completing or starting on time. Then she got the hang of it. She scheduled anticipated interruptions in her to-do list. She moved up to manager in the burger place. She became a supervisor for the cleaning company.
It was time for her to leave home. The last task she deleted from her phone before moving out was, Press pillow over mother’s face for seven minutes. Just to be sure.
She changed her name and appearance. Her life improved. She found a job with a shady bookkeeper. She quickly moved up. Tasks were not always on the right side of the law, but if Melissa could accomplish it and then delete it, she felt great.
That all led to working for the man who was now her employer. The man who wanted her dead. He had been the father she never had. Praised her for completing her assignments so efficiently. Somebody paid attention and appreciated her organized life. She had been loyal.
It only took one mess up for her to fall from grace. For him to send her to a café to meet Debra AKA Candace Bigelow, another hit woman. Candace probably pissed the boss off too. Maybe he wanted to see who came out on top. Also sent two guys to kill the survivor. But it was too late. She knew she was now expendable.
The wind raced through the open window of the Mustang, tangling Melissa’s hair. Didn’t matter. Not this time.
Even though she flew through the countryside, she didn’t lose the guys behind her. She’d occasionally glance them in the rearview mirror. They were out to kill her no matter what. Yep, the boss was livid.
Last week, she’d been asked to take out a certain employee that had been skimming from the top. You don’t mess with the man in charge. Never gave second chances. He had told her he’d recommended that the Skimmer take in a classic movie, The Maltese Falcon, that afternoon. Sometimes working for a bastard like the boss did have its perks. He frequently sent guys to the race tracks or strip bars. Of course, the boss was always invested in these establishments.
There was only one place The Maltese Falcon was playing. At a theater where you had to park in the back and walk down a short alley to get to the front entrance. Perfect place for a hit.
Melissa showed up on time. So did the Skimmer. The monkey wrench in the job was he brought along his ten-year-old son. The kid wasn’t part of the plan and she liked to stick to the plan. She also had a soft spot for kids. Never in front of a kid. She’d have to wait until the Skimmer was alone. But he never left his son’s side during the movie or the walk back to the car. Then the unavoidable happened. It was time for her next task, the gun range. She loved shooting guns. Pulling off one or two shots every couple of weeks was not enough for Melissa. Going through four or five clips in ten minutes was like intense sex. She couldn’t get enough.
She knew where he lived. If she rearranged her errands for the next day, she could catch him when he left home for work. But that didn’t happen. During the night, someone broke into the Skimmer’s house and killed father, mother and son.
Melissa didn’t know if her boss had hired someone to kill the family as an example of what could happen if you crossed him or as a warning to her for not completing her task. Do what he asks, kid or no kid.
A glare on the car’s back window kept her from seeing behind her. Blast. That window shattered, looking like a giant spider web except for the large hole. Pain exploded in her shoulder. The killers were kissing her rear bumper. This was it. Gritting her teeth, she re-gripped the wheel with both hands. She couldn’t afford to slow down.
Getting shot wasn’t part of Plan B. The plan she had made since last week. Right after hearing about what happened to the Skimmer.
She leaned heavy on the accelerator. Even with the extra weight of the sandbags in the trunk, she put distance between her and the Mercedes. Peering down at her lap, she skipped to the last task of Plan B, Die. She knew it would come to this. Her whole seedy life would catch up to Melissa. It had to happen one day and today was that day.
There was one more thing to do before the Die task. Something she thought her mother would enjoy. It simply read, Thelma and Louise. It was one of the few endings the pain in the ass had stayed awake for. Her mother thought it was a great way to depart this life, never imagining for her it would be with a pillow. Oh well, this might be the only time she’d follow her mother’s advice.
The bridge that crossed the fourth biggest river in the state was coming up. She had studied it. It was a thirty-foot drop to the water. And if you made a hard right before getting on it you’d be able to plow through the hedges and dive straight in.
It was on her to-do list. She’d always survived by being super organized. Up to her death.
She came around the bend and just before the bridge she tugged the steering wheel to the right. Her shoulder was on fire. Well, that would end soon.
She blasted through the hedges and flew through the air. Yep, Ma, Thelma and Louise. She completed her last task.
The Mercedes skidded to a stop just before crossing the bridge. The men ran out and barreled through the hole made by the Mustang.
They almost missed the car sink quickly out of sight. A minute later, up floated a body, blonde hair and all. The back of the blouse soaked in blood.
Not wanting to get on the bad side of the boss, they whipped out their guns. Most of the bullets missed but three hit their mark. They sped away, eager to tell their new employer of their completed task.
Judy O’Hara walked out of the meeting feeling it went well. She was sure she had the job. He complimented her on her short red hair and he even made a stupid remark, wondering if the carpet matched the drapes. She knew she’d have to put up with some harassment, but during the interview? Taking out her phone she looked at the task, find man who runs this new town.
Her relentless adherence to her schedule was what kept her alive. Tasks like Pick up clothes at cleaners. Find and kill blonde-haired woman who, from behind, looks like you. Put her in your trunk but first switch clothes with newly deceased. Practice holding breath at community pool. Keep second phone in waterproof bag in pocket with an app containing tasks, such as start a new life.
She massaged her shoulder. An impish smile graced her face. When you’re prepared, good things can happen to you. Like unexpectedly being shot, but that helps you match the dead blonde in the trunk even more.
Follow the scheduled tasks and opportunity opens another door.
Judy O’Hara deleted her find a job task. Damn, that felt good.
She then Googled Where’s the nearest gun store?