MATILDA: diary of a cleaner
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By: Scott D. Halfacre
Copyright 2000
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The character of Matilda appeared in the movie THE PROFESSIONAL. She was a child and played by Natalie Portman. I have taken her into the future and made her what she wanted to be. Forget La Femme Nikita… Matilda is the true cleaner.
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Entry One
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Ever been kicked in the chest by a mule?
Me either, but I imagine it's gotta feel like this.
I've just been shot.
First time in my life. I guess what they say about "first time for everything" is true, huh?
Well, John just shot me. No, not like that. He made sure my vest was on and secure before he did it, but then he did it.
John shot me.
"Get up Matilda!" His voice is like nails on a chalkboard when he screams at me.
"It hurts!" I can feel a tear in my right eye and try my damnedest to fight it back.
"You want to clean, yes?"
My lower lip sticks out involuntarily at times like this, I can't believe how many times I must answer this question.
"Yes."
"Then quit your sniveling and stand on your own two feet." John flicks his cigarette at me.
I stand.
Not because I want to, I just hate being looked down at; and he was doing so. I like to carry my own weight; it's something inside me that won't let me fail.
I like it; it's helped me plenty in my life.
John smiles as he takes out another cigarette. "Good."
I can't help but pull the vest out a bit and look at my chest where he shot me; it's a swelling red spot now.
As I look up, John has the gun out.
"No Joh--"
Damn that effing mule.
This time I don't wait for him to tell me to get up, it's a reflex.
"Very good." John tosses the weapon on the table.
He didn't use his own gun, John prefers a .45. He bought the .22 for "training" he said. I didn't know by that he meant to shoot me with it.
I don't bother to move the vest this time. I just want to make sure he doesn't go for that gun again.
Effing mule.
"Here," John tosses a twenty on the table next to the gun, "Go get me something to eat."
He said "me," not "us." That should tell me this isn't a "normal" relationship. I guess at some things I'm still a slow learner. Without a word I remove the vest and grab what he left and head for the door.
"No pickles this time!" Damn chalkboard. "And take the--"
"I already have." I say as I close the door.
No matter how hard I want to slam it, I just close it.
John wanted me to take the gun, the .22, but I already swiped it. I have it tucked into my jeans just above my rear. It makes less of a lump there on me.
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The training ground he takes me on is full of the seedy type. They all stare at me when I'm in the place, I guess I just don't look like someone should come here.
Once a guy even called me a narc. Scared the place shitless.
John made the place understand that I wasn't a narc though.
He shot the guy.
Took out his gun, said, "She's no Narc," and tucked it in his gut and fired. Tossed a fifty on Teddy's counter and said, "Get him some medical attention."
Teddy is our contact while we're here in Detroit. Nice guy, black, shaved head, a "real" goatee, well over six feet, and well well over 350. His arms are bigger than my waist… easy.
"Where ya headed Matty?" Teddy's voice is so soft and low, he should be a singer.
"John needs some food." I smile as I pass and toss him a wave; he's on the phone.
"Hold up, you need someone to go with you in this neighborhood." Teddy sets down the phone and starts to get out of his chair.
"I have someone." I wink at him and pat the slight bulge above my rear.
"You think I would have noticed that lump in your pants." Teddy laughs and goes back to his conversation on the phone.
I use my back to open the door as Teddy hits the buzzer to let me out. "You were to busy thinking of the lump in your own pants Teddy!"
He's laughing as I back out into the street.
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The cool air of the night makes my chest hurt.
Effing mule.
Guess I should be glad he only used a .22 and not his gun.
The street outside "The Hubbub," Teddy's place, is on a small side street in downtown Detroit. But you wouldn't guess that by seeing how many people are roaming this street.
But the cops know all about this area.
In fact I can tell the guy standing on the corner is a cop. He's made to look like a wino, but the problem isn't in his acting, nor the clothes you can see. His pants are falling down slightly and I can see the underwear he's wearing.
NO bum wears Tommy Hilfiger shorts.
"Evening officer." I say as I pass him without slowing down.
He keeps up the charade though. "Got any spare change?"
I learned while growing up on the streets not to slow down, no eye contact, don't speak, and just keep walking.
So I do.
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my Jean jacket and am walking towards John's favorite place to eat.
Subway.
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"And no pickles." I brush some stray hairs from my face as I tell the kid behind the counter.
He might be older than I, but I still think of him as a kid. He probably still lives at home with mom and dad and has a new car and all that jazz. I've never known that life, only dreamed of it.
"Pickles?" Josh--according to his nametag--asks while making the sandwich.
Just cause he's cute, there's no reason I should assume he has a brain.
"No," I put a lot of emphasis on that word. "No pickles."
"Anything else?" Josh looks at me with his not so perfect eyes. They would be perfect, but he wears contacts. As far as looks though? They are the prettiest eyes I've seen in quite a while.
I smile sheepishly. "No."
"Right." Josh lets the word hang there for a moment, just enough till it starts to get a little uncomfortable. "You're new here aren't you?"
I can't believe he hasn't noticed me before, been coming here for the past two weeks. "No, been here before."
"I meant Detroit." Josh smiles.
"Can I have the sandwich?"
"After you pay for it you can." Josh's smile grows.
I dig in my pocket and feel the .22.
"Don't sweat it," Josh hands me the sandwich. "On me."
"Uhmmm, thanks." I stare at the sandwich for a sec then grab it.
"Busy tonight?" Josh takes my hand as I grab the bag, and I swear he's holding onto a live electrical cord.
"N-No." I smile uncontrollably.
"I get off at twelve." Josh tells me.
"Bet you say that to all the girls." I back out of subway much like I did The Hubbub. "Keep in touch." I wink as I turn to leave.
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Walking back to The Hubbub, I spot the "wino."
He's on the fire escape.
Second floor.
Near our place, John's and mine.
I run up and before I can knock, the door buzzes.
"Where you headed in such a hurry girl?" Teddy actually is out of the chair faster than I thought he could move.
I don't answer, just run up the stairs.
The door to the apartment is open, and John is sitting in the middle of the floor.
Bleeding.
The .22 is in my hands before I know it, and I try to drag John out of the line of fire from the window.
"Matilda!" John's chalkboard voice is on full display.
I look down and the bleeding has slowed, it isn't as bad as I feared. He also isn't holding his .45 anymore, which means the threat is over.
I walk towards the window and can make out John's four shots. Two by two, he double taps his gun when he fires.
The dead cop is hanging in our window.
"Get him in here," John says standing under his own power.
I grab the "wino."
Great.
Just what we need.
A dead cop.
Matilda
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