Prologue:
As she pulled into her drive way she saw her brother's truck parked next to her rusty red mailbox with the broken flag cocked awkwardly to the left. Joanie was not in the mood for her deadweight brother and his redneck girlfriend, Tammy. In fact, Joanie was not in the mood for a single thing besides a cold beer and a relaxing bubble bath. Unfortunately for her, there was no avoiding this interaction. She stepped through her front doorway and saw that Chuck and Tammy had already settled down on her couch in her living room drinking her Budweiser. Before Joanie could even got out her decidedly sarcastic welcome, Chuck held up his hands in the universal sign for surrender. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her the way a matador looks at a bull with serious anger management issues.
"Now I know you're gonna be pissed that we're here Jay, but it's real important that we talk this out." Joanie sighed and said, "In that case, I'm gonna need to change out of my work clothes and grab a stiff drink." She fired a condescending glare at Tammy and added, "And don't you dare put your nasty shoes on my couch, girl." Halfway through folding her mosquito-bitten legs, Tammy narrowed her eyes and reversed her movement.
Why did they always have to start trouble when I have the least amount of patience to get them out of it, thought Janie. She figured it would be at least another two or three weeks before her whack-job sibling made a mess of another would-be business venture. She could have sworn she'd been mistakenly handed over to the wrong family at the Beaumont County Hospital twenty-one years ago. She peeled off her sweat soaked uniform and tossed it into the laundry hamper at the bottom of her closet. July nights in central Texas never got below eighty degrees, and tending bar in a hazy smoke-filled room with too many tipsy people (and not nearly enough air) wasn't easy work.
Wearing only her practical, nude colored bra and her white cotton panties, she entered her bathroom to wash her face. Standing over the sink, she took a moment to breathe and frowned at the face mirrored before her. The woman in the reflection looked tired and beat down. Her brown eyes were clouded and unfocused and she was starting to break out on her chin. She pulled her hair out of the messy bun on top of her head and was startled as her mahogany waves tumbled down, reaching just below her breasts. It had been far too long since she'd had a chance to let her hair down, literally.
As she scrubbed her face clean, Tammy and Chuck argued in the cozy living room over how to explain the cash they lost at the New Orleans casino last weekend. Tammy was just about to smack Chuck for an unfairly rude jab about her weakness for Texas Hold 'Em, when another knock came from the porch outside.
As Joanie pulled on a pair of sweats and a tank top she heard the knocking on her front door. Who the hell would be coming around this time of night? "Aw shit..." she grumbled to herself as she walked brusquely to the entryway. She peeked out the peeping hole and saw a very tall brunette man with his arms held behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels.
Opening the door a crack, Joanie peered out and in a slow neutral voice asked, "Why are you here?" The strange man's eyes caught the porch light and twinkled beguilingly. In a smooth Southern drawl he softly announced, "Joanie Carmichael? I'm here to kill you."
Chapter One:
Now, most women would have slammed the door shut in the man's scruffy face and called the police, but Joanie had never been most women. With a frustrated humph Joanie stepped outside, planted her bare feet firmly a shoulder's width apart, and slammed the door shut, causing the screens around the porch to rattle ominously. Squinting her eyes up at the man, she demanded, "Why do you want to kill me?" The man was obviously taken aback by her fearless response and stuttered out, "Wh-Why do you want to kill me? That's what you say to a big man that threatens your life at your home?" Eyeing the man's full length, she raised one eyebrow, "Well, you can't be much of an assassin if you make your intentions of homicide known after politely knocking on my door. Besides, you ain't so big. I could take you."
Her brazen display of disrespect snapped the man out of his surprised daze and he raised the revolver in his right hand and cocked the gun. "Say goodbye, cupcake." He was about to pull the trigger when Joanie thrust her palm up into his nose, shattering the bone and causing his eyes to tear uncontrollably. She moved so quickly he only registered a few seconds later that his face probably resembled road kill and the gun was pointing straight at his left eye. Joanie calmly repeated her question, "Why do you want to kill me?"
Inside, Chuck heard a yelp of pain and jumped up to make sure his baby sister was OK. "What the..." Chuck's eyes darted around the porch evaluating the situation. "Who the fuck are you!?" he yelled, turning his scrawny body toward the big man who was getting blood all over the hardwood porch. "Don't worry Chuck, he's just another big bad man sent to murder me. I'll take care of it," Joanie said without moving her gaze from the man's face. Chuck gave the bleeding man a jovial punch on the shoulder and laughed, "Well done, buddy. You got your ass kicked by a sissy girl." Joanie rolled her eyes at her brother's mocking tone, knowing full-well that if she hadn't been home Chuck would have hid in a closet and cried in the fetal position. "I'll leave y'all to it, then," and with that Chuck walked back inside and turned on the television set to The Price is Right.
"What's your name?" The man kept his mouth shut, undecided as to whether the sleepy looking woman would actually hurt him. He'd always been taught that females were soft-hearted and guessed that she wouldn't have the guts to cause him pain. A sharp pain exploded at his temple and he blinked away the bright, white light in front of his eyes. Shocked and dumb-founded, he realized he'd just been pistol whipped by a chick.
"What's your name?" She repeated in the same neutral voice. Instead of being dismissive of her tone, he was beginning to realize the lethal nature of her emotion barren speech. "Walt Shermann." "Who sent you?" "Big Billy." Joanie's body slumped into relaxation and she let the gun rest at her side. "Walt, why don't you come inside and have some sweet tea. I gotta talk to you." He opened his thin lipped mouth but closed it again, aware again that everything above his shoulders was throbbing ruthlessly.