Bad-Ass Old Bitties
Weapon-wielding, attitude-having Grannies here to whoop misbehaving ass.
Gajevy Oneshot
CapAleran2
Media
Believe - The Bravery
When You Were Young - The Killers
Wish I Knew You - The Revivalists
Longshot - Catfish and the Bottlemen
Just Business - Bass Drum of Death
Storyline: As part of an organization known only as WHAA (World Hitman-Assassin Association), Levy thrived for most of her adult life. It's how she made a living, where she met her friends, her passion for proper trigger control. But when she turned 70, Levy was forced to retire because "that was just their policy". Now nearing her 75th birthday, the well-adjusted to ordinary suburban life retiree realizes there's something not quite right about her new neighbor.
AN: It's nice to be back to writing for fun.
If this is popular at all, I have ideas for making it a short multi-chapter. A longshot, if you will.
This would have been finished earlier had it not been for sickness and work. Thanks for your patience.
Levy thanked the young man at the check out as she put her checkbook back into her oversized purse. She watched while he quickly loaded the three, large paper bags full of groceries into the shopping cart. She was perfectly capable of doing it herself. She would have rather done it. In her eyes, she was still youthful and independent, but her age had physically caught up with her. Instead of insisting against it, Levy forced a grateful smile and slowly led him out the automatic doors to her car.
Best to keep up appearances, she thought, fighting the urge to frown. She kept her purse close.
Her gaze swept the small-town grocery lot. It wasn't too busy on a weekday; Thursday was relatively slow for the only grocer in town. Better to get her to-do list finished now so she could relax on the weekend while everyone still in the workforce was out and about. Even in retirement, Levy found herself almost as occupied as she had been prior to it.
Cleaning her small two-bedroom house room by room gave her a routine, something she could mindlessly accomplish. But one could only clean the same things so many times before there's nothing left to clean. Yard work was where she could best think, mowing the small lawn once every few weeks and tending to her prized flower gardens.
The complete rainbow of several different kinds of flowers lining her house and shed in full bloom were like children to her. She tended them daily in some way or another. On the sunny days, she talked to them through the open windows while she did housework. The occasional animal got the hose when they crept too close to the manicured flower beds.
"That should be it," the employee casually said. He shut the trunk closed and turned to leave with a wave. "Have a good day."
Levy carefully watched his oblivious expression. He must not have seen the semi-automatic rifle camouflaged against the trunk's back wall or the box of ammunition disguised as a toolbox.
Once safely inside the car, she locked the doors and put her purse on the middle console, keeping it open in case she needed her new cell phone. Or the Glock 19 and extra loaded magazine. She made a face at the thought of what they said when she was forced into retirement as she pulled out of the parking lot.
Just because she was no longer active with the association did not mean she would simply roll over and die. Levy's expression changed upon remembering the flabbergasted look on the salesman's face when she went firearm shopping at 70 years old and knew more about them than he did.
The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth creased with a fond, easy smile.
The drive home didn't take but fifteen minutes. After she had driven past the library and the elementary school, her phone came to life with the default ringtone that went with a new phone. With a quick breath, Levy glanced at it, her hands still at ten and two. There was no way she could safely answer, not with how unfamiliar it still was to her. She always needed her thick glasses to read the number properly and the backlight hurt her eyes if she stared at it too long.
The ringing stopped and began again with a new call.
"Ok well hang on…" Levy mumbled with a low tone as she maneuvered the car through the winding residential streets.
When she turned onto her lane, she completely forgot about the two recently missed calls and fell into full scrutiny mode: a small Uhaul sat in front of her house.
"Hmmm."
Slowing the vehicle to a mere crawl, Levy's eyes narrowed to help her see a bit more clearly the neighboring lawn dotted with various items and cardboard boxes from the truck. Her form hunched over the wheel, still tightly gripping it and humming to herself.
"Mmhmm."
She was always somewhat suspicious of new people. In her previous line of work, one could lose their life being too careless. Too trusting. Few understood her general apprehension. Few if any knew exactly why. Most thought she was just an old bitty, a bitter spinster unwilling to be subject to the behest of another.
If they only knew.
After purposely parking on the driveway instead of inside the garage, Levy carried her groceries in one bag at a time, a chance to observe the goings-on at the neighboring property. She didn't see anyone except for the two young movers. From the look of the scattered items, it seemed that no children would be living there. There was a small crash within the house like glass shattering. Levy doubted anything in the boxes on the lawn were wrapped in protective bubble sheets or old newspapers either.
Not wanting to be conspicuous in her investigation, Levy retreated inside. For now, her observations would have to be through the safety of her windows while she put away groceries. She opened the refrigerator and immediately felt a nagging suspicion she forgot something important while she was out.
Humming to herself and lost in thought, she jumped when the ringtone burst into the quiet once again.
"Oh, right." She had forgotten about the earlier calls. She closed the refrigerator door and put on her thick glasses. Holding the device at arm's length, she read the contact name and hit the correct button to answer. "Hello?"
Lucy's relief came through in a frustrated tone, a tsk tacked onto the end. "Finally, you old bat! What took you so long?"
Levy rolled her eyes and started for the cabinet to put away the last of the soup cans still in the paper bag. "I was driving home. I saw it but can't do everything at once."
"I've been trying to reach you for the last thirty minutes! I was about to arm up and head over."
"What do you mean?" Levy closed the cabinet and refolded the brown bag to use for later instead of throwing it into the trash.
"I thought you were dead."
"Why? I'm not decrepit. Everything is fine. My blood pressure-" Levy abruptly cut herself off, pausing before angrily huffing, "I forgot to pick up my blood pressure medication…"
"Again? Do you need another post-it pad to remember this? The pharmacy closes in twenty minutes… how many do you have left?"
Levy couldn't remember. "Hm. Let me see."
She rummaged through her medicine drawer next to the pantry, vitamin and medication bottles rattling. She held up the appropriate transparent bottle. She squinted at it as she inspected the contents. "Three."
There was a sigh in response. "Doctor Aidil, right?"
"Yes."
Aidil was her doctor as well. "I can spot you until Monday," Lucy said reassuringly.
Levy smiled. "Thanks, she's not in tomorrow due to a funeral."
"Oh!" The slight detour in the conversation didn't distract Lucy. "Oh, I meant I thought you were dead-dead. Where are you?"
"My kitchen obviously, what are you-"
Lucy interrupted, her voice cracked, struggling to reach a higher pitch as she has in prior decades. It was loud enough for Levy to lift the phone away from her face.
"Code Antique! Somebody put a hit out on you, Levy!"
At the shocking news, the retired assassin's mouth dropped open. Levy stood facing one of the kitchen windows that overlooked the side yard. The words she heard yet her mind couldn't understand.
Someone wanted her dead?
"W-What, why? Who…" Levy began with some confusion. She gripped the phone tighter, bony knuckles turning white.
It had been almost a full five years since she retired from the association. They demanded she gave them back the loaned property she had utilized. Tools that literally caused bloodshed in their day. Her own blood even.
The files she received on individuals targeted by undisclosed identities were handed back, sealed away into the information locker to be immediately incinerated. No trace of evidence could have led back to her real identity. If it had, it would have been during her active status. Not five years later when she was all but erased from her old life, back to living as a regular citizen. All connections had been severed. Loose ends tied.
"I don't know but Wizard still has connections. He's the one who tipped me off," Lucy replied.
"How long has it been? When was it activated?"
The sound of paper crinkled. "Two days ago. But Levy, I sent-"
The call ended before Lucy could finish. Levy started for her bedroom as fast as her popping knees would allow. It was time to cycle and load. Her phone began to ring again but she ignored it. As far down the hall as she was she couldn't have retrieved it before it became a missed call anyway.
She was already in the daily habit of checking all of her firearms to make sure nothing jammed if she ever had to fire one. From the bedroom to the living room, the laundry and bathroom, every weapon from the .9mm Springfield to her second assault rifle, she made mental notes on the location of each should she ever need one.
Paranoia began to set in. Standing in the middle of her living room with the final handgun that needed tending, she took several deep breaths. It wouldn't do anyone any good to panic, to lose all sense of rational thought. For all anyone knew, her code name could have been recycled and that could be why Natsu found the active name.
Thoughts of her last ever missions flashed in her mind. It had been particularly difficult. For many reasons.
Levy shut her eyes. The mental partition she built within the association came up like a thick, brick wall, blocking encroaching thoughts that would haunt her if she let them. Focus on the now. Be in the moment.
When she opened them, her gaze settled on the window. Through the waving curtains in the summer breeze, she could see the house beside hers and the new neighbor through its large windows.
An old man stood surrounded by boxes and furniture. A cane was hooked on his forearm and he used it when he had to walk further than a few feet. His hair was medium-length and black. A thin, silver strip touched by age ran from one side of his receded hairline. He placed a lamp on a small table and turned towards another box behind him. Beside the lamp, a teacup was set on a cork coaster.
The sight of him slowly putting together his home was oddly comforting to her. Levy took another breath, this time even and slow. Just take the next few days as they come, she told herself.
The next morning brought more aches and pains than Levy had anticipated. She woke up tired and with a sore neck and back. It made her feel older than she actually was. Her knees had a permanent, audible pop to them when she took a step. Annoying and in the way it all may have been, it was nothing that a few Aleve and strong coffee couldn't fix.
Levy paused as she stirred in the teaspoon of Stevia into her black morning coffee, her eyes quickly flickering towards the bottle of Jack sitting by the wine. Baileys would be better to wake up to, and she opted for the cream liqueur instead.
She had never been one to drink, though through the years it assisted in allowing her to sleep when her job became stressful or she felt overworked. Now with all of her medications, it was on occasion.
Sunlight filtered into the house, brightening the rooms with yellow-orange light. Levy made a light breakfast of eggs and fruit and she ate it while she caught up on a novel. When only the coffee was left in front of her, the clock read 9 am.
Bills and other mail would need to be attended to soon. She hesitated, knowing she had to walk to the street for it. It would be the perfect opportunity for an assassination. Alone in the morning. A hit and run perhaps.
She took a big gulp of her coffee and wrapped the robe more tightly around her small frame. In the pocket was a Smith & Wesson .22 in case trouble did happen to stumble upon her. It made her feel a tad bit safer.
The air was crisp and smelled like flowers and the hint of future rain when she opened the front door. Looking around, down both ends of the lane, and towards the line of houses at her back, she approached the mailbox and plucked up the envelopes and paper advertisements which included coupon booklets she would have to look through later.
On her way towards her covered porch, she spied the glint of silver. Seated on his outdoor wicker chair was her new neighbor. In his hand was a mug and in the other was a newspaper, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Red eyes intently watched her over them. A sort of disapproving frown with all the wrinkles followed her to the porch steps. Levy could almost hear the tongue click when he went back to his reading.
She hugged the mail close to her chest, her eyes narrowing. Did he mean well or was the hostility she felt from the piercing stare on purpose?
Levy retreated inside. Setting the mail on the end table by the door, she pushed aside the curtains. The old man was still there, drinking from the mug. His eyes were trained on the text before him.
"Something doesn't feel right…" she murmured, her own voice surprising her in the silence. Of course, it doesn't feel right, paranoia is what happens when someone wants to off you, she thought.
She looked once more.
The man hobbled up from the chair. He tucked the paper under his arm, the mug in one hand, and leaned on his cane with the other. Keeping his head down, he slowly slipped inside to disappear into the house.
Maybe the paranoia was just strong after years of not having to worry about anything remotely close to kill or be killed. He seemed like a harmless homeowner observing his new neighborhood. Nothing was wrong with that. She had done the same thing when she first moved in.
Levy tried to put her feelings to rest. She turned her attention to the mail and prepared for the day.
***
The forecast promised rain in the afternoon, so Levy donned her wide-brimmed hat trimmed with yellow ribbon and her garden gloves and went to work on weeding her flower beds. At nearly 11:30 am, the summer heat kept climbing. Sweat rolled down the side of her face.
A pile of weeds laid at her side, dirt clods hung from the roots. She added another handful and stopped to take a sip from her water bottle. The bed along the side of the house was almost finished, clear of weeds and other debris. All that was left under the floral plumes were the bare dirt and tasteful little garden decorations, which weren't as visible with the weeds in the way.
As she sat back to inspect her hours of hard work, a loud ruckus behind broke the pleasant quiet. Levy turned and saw her new neighbor outside trying to start his lawnmower. The cane propped up on the shed door, the man leaned on the push mower, took a deep breath, and yanked as hard as he could on the start cord. It whirled without success.
Levy briefly closed her eyes at the sound of failed attempts. Her peace and quiet would be ruined. She didn't want a stranger staring at her, especially from behind. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand. For all she knew, this neighbor could have been the one that wanted her dead. Narrowing her eyes at the thought, she watched him crank over the mower.
After several failed starts, the lawnmower's noisy hum was all Levy could hear. The neighbor promptly guided the mower down the side of his backyard.
Levy hurriedly tried to weed the rest of the flowerbed, knowing grass clippings would soon start flying in her direction. Does he really need to do that now?
She risked a glance at him from under her hat.
His gaze was glued to the yard ahead. The grass clippings shot out from the other side into the middle of his property. It was only a matter of time before he was close enough to blow it all over her.
She waved a hand, still looking at him.
"Hello!" She called out, her voice drowned by the lawnmower hum.
He never acknowledged her.
Too soon he reached her where she knelt at the end of the garden. The scent of fresh-cut grass was heavy in the air, clippings blew into her yard the closer he came to the property line. Her hand flew up to her hat, her arm blocking the flying debris.
Frustration filled her. At least she was done with that side of the house. Still, the least he could do was acknowledge she was there. Show a little consideration. She wasn't used to being walked on or blatantly ignored.
The thought to go up to him and give him a piece of her mind was immediately dismissed, as she wasn't entirely sure if he would see her or stop to listen. What if he really was the person sent to kill her? The ruse was perfect: unsuspecting sleeper agent moves into the house next door, keeps tabs on the target, and eliminates when the time is right.
What if he pulled out a gun on his next pass down the yard and took care of her right there, mowing her down? Levy chided herself for the unintentional pun.
Deciding against all forms of direct contact, Levy gathered up her gardening tools and quickly headed inside, where she could further observe him in safety. The cool air in her house hit her with relief. A glass of water in hand, she took a few sips and stood in the window, partially hidden by the transparent curtains. She watched as he finished the yard work.
The old neighbor soon took the mower back to base and closed up the shed. He glanced around to check his handiwork, visibly drawing in a deep breath. When he reached the concrete walkway leading to his back door, he looked right at her window.
Levy sucked in a gasp.
She almost dropped the water glass and took a quick step backward. Did he see her? Was it an innocent glance or was he in fact out to get her? He seemed as old if not older than her, and she doubted the association would send hitmen and assassins older than their age cutoff to a job. If she had been forced to retire, then that old coot had as well. She didn't know much about her new neighbor, but he didn't seem like a normal one either.
Levy happily breathed in deep the familiar scent of gun cleaner. It took her to another place in time, when she was young, in her prime within the association. Deep in her morning coffee and memories, her fingers deftly took apart the handgun, laying out the separate pieces and cleaned parts and allowing them to dry before expertly put it all together again. She pointed the empty gun to the floor and dry fired, making sure nothing malfunctioned.
A knock on the door broke her concentration and the fond memory recalls disappeared into the recesses of her mind. It was abrupt. Disturbing. Levy resented the interruption. She ignored whoever it was. They would have to wait.
The distinct knock rapped on the front door again, and again. Rolling her eyes, Levy heavily set the gun barrel on the table with the cleaning rag and rose to get the door. There was no peephole, even if there were, she was too short to look through it.
She cracked open the door and peered out.
Her next-door neighbor stood on the welcome mat holding a potted plant.
"Yes?" Levy said. She fought the urge to look towards the entryway table drawer that housed a .380. It would alert him to her suspicions, though if he were going to burst his way inside, he would have already done that.
The man cleared his throat. "Uh, I wanted to apologize for yesterday."
"Apologize?" she repeated. A tinge of confusion struck her. His voice seemed familiar.
"The grass clippings."
Oh. He must have realized at some point his actions. Levy stepped to the side to further open her front door and until he presented the small hydrangea plant.
"I got you this."
She hesitated but took it from his hand and said, "Thank you…"
"Gajeel."
She nodded and reluctantly offered her name. "Levy."
He mirrored her exchange, unsure of what to do now that he had accomplished what he had come to do. Before he turned to leave, he frowned. "Why does it smell like gun cleaner?"
The door began to creak as she pushed on it. Levy didn't know how to explain away that distinct scent. So distinct that only someone who has worked around it would recognize it. Her eyes narrowed.
Gajeel's eyes lit up with what seemed like her own train of thought. He straightened his back. "Levy. I knew a Levy. 'Turquoise'?"
The sound of her former codename frightened her. What could she say to that? How could he have possibly known that unless… she froze.
"I'm Gajeel," he said with a huff that resembled a tiny laugh. "'Carbon'."
Her fingers tightly gripped the hydrangea pot. Through the physical changes the years had laid on him, her eyes could see past it. She instantly knew him. Carbon had been his codename. He had been a coworker of sorts, more than a friend. She thought he had died.
"...Gajeel," she breathed in a whisper. The pot almost slipped from her fingers in surprised shock.
Before either of them could respond to the revelation between them, the late morning quiet burst to life with rapid gunfire. Sounds of bullets whizzed by, some striking objects near them. Holes appeared in the house siding, the door frame. Something broke inside with a crisp shattering.
Levy's vision blurred into darkness. She still heard the sounds of chaos all around her. For a minute she was pulled into the past, in missions similar to the current moment. It lasted a matter of seconds, but to her, it seemed longer. There was pressure over her, pinning her to the ground. Pain struck her shoulder, though it wasn't the white-hot as she had expected.
She opened her eyes and immediately saw Gajeel's face inches from hers. The handle of his cane pressed hard into her shoulder, pinning it to the rug beneath her. Gunfire seemed to subside, though a few shots still echoed. Three-round bursts. Her cozy neighborhood home now resembled a warzone.
Gajeel hissed as his knee scraped against the floor. He tilted his head to see her and keep an eye on the surroundings at the same time. Gritting his teeth, he kicked the door in a sad attempt to close it. It bounced off the broken wooden frame but cut them off from the sight of obvious hitmen hidden somewhere in the area.
"Someone wants me dead," Levy said with gritted teeth. She struggled to get up, pushing the cane off her shoulder.
"I know, Lucy sent me."
"What?"
He awkwardly crawled to the hallway opposite Levy, who moved to the drawer by the door that held the stashed handgun. "Lucy had suspicions, I moved here when it was confirmed."
A bullet zoomed through the door. Tiny wood pieces splintered into the room.
"Why hadn't I known then?!"
Gajeel leaned his shoulder against the hallway wall. His voice rose. "You never answer the damn phone!"
Levy expertly held the .380 in her hands and racked it. A golden round loaded into the gun's chamber. She held the gun pointing at the ceiling and looked over to Gajeel. She yelled, "What do we do now?"
He smiled. "Where's your arsenal?"