“I guess they weren’t in the plan.”
Mariska upended the trash bag and shook the pancaked critter to the grass.
Darla stared at it.
“Hurry up, we don’t have all day,” said Gloria, without looking at her. Her gaze remained locked on the top of the pool cage, as if imagining the raccoon there would transport it to the spot.
Darla poked a finger at her. “Write this down in your plan—I’d like to be the mastermind next time and you do all the dirty work.”
Gloria looked at her. By the light of the moon, Darla thought she detected pity in the little woman’s expression.
Does she feel bad?
No.
Gloria didn’t regret asking a friend to toss a dead animal on a pool cage. She pitied Darla for thinking she could ever come up with a plan as brilliant as her own.
Jaw clenched, Darla looked back at the raccoon and then at her own hands.
I don’t think I can do it.
Her attention pulled toward the shovel she’d dropped on the grass.
Hm.
Maybe Gloria wasn’t the only genius.
Darla squatted to grab the shovel and then scooped up the raccoon. Balancing it, she eased it back and over her shoulder. Mariska scurried out of the way to avoid being touched by the shovel.
“What are you doing?”
Darla pressed her lips tight, readying.
“I’m going to fling it up there, pumkin chunkin’ style.”
She counted to three in her head and then heaved the critter in what she hoped would be a perfect arc.
Instead, she slapped it right to the ground in front of her.
Darla swore as the vibration of the shovel hitting the ground rumbled up her arms.
“Ooh,” moaned Mariska. “That looked like it hurt.”
“Him or me?” snapped Darla.
Gloria put her finger to her mouth. “Shhh!”
They crouched there, frozen, waiting to see if a light turned on.
Nothing happened.
After a moment they all heaved a sigh and straightened.
“That could have gone better,” said Darla, finding her composure.
“Try again,” suggested Gloria, ever helpful.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to try this time?”
Gloria shook her head. “You were so close.”
Darla squinted at her.
Lies.
“Hasn’t he suffered enough?” asked Mariska.
Darla scooped him up again. “It’s not my fault he stuck to the shovel that time.”
She lifted the raccoon and crouched into pumpkin chunkin’ position again.
“Here goes nothing.”
She flung.
A piece, Darla couldn’t see what, flew off and she heard Mariska yip behind her.
Wincing, she peeked through one eye to watch the racoon, stretched out like Superman, sans one limb, silhouetted against the moon. It flew in an arc to land on top of the cage not far from her beautiful hamburger.
She took a deep breath and stabbed the shovel into the ground.
“I think it pawed me,” whined Mariska, pointing to a raccoon foot on the ground not far from her.
Darla chuckled. “Put it on your keyring. Might be your lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“Perfect,” said Gloria, though Darla sensed she meant the plan more than the throw.
“Now what?” she asked.
Gloria smiled. “Now we come back in the morning to enjoy the show.”
She headed toward the sidewalk.
Mariska glared at Darla. “She’s a psychopath. How did you forget that?”
“I am so sorry.” Darla hung her head and then looked back up. “That was a heck of a fling though, huh?”
Mariska nodded as they started after Gloria. “Pretty impressive.”
Gloria spun and strode back towards them with such purpose it stopped them in their tracks.
Darla felt her heart sink. “Oh no. Now what?”
“Almost forgot something,” mumbled Gloria as she opened the unlocked outer door of the cage.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said as she passed them on her way back to the street.
“Is she on drugs?” asked Mariska.
“She should be on something,” said Darla as they hurried after her.
***
“Hey Darla, we have to go.”
Darla opened her eyes to find Gloria’s face almost touching her own.
She jumped and jerked the sheets to her neck. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“We have to go,” said Gloria, tapping her watch. She was already dressed and smelling like lavender after her hard night of bossing people around. Darla had taken a shower, but she felt confident she still smelled like warm raccoon.
“What the—” Frank cracked open an eye. “What time is it?”
“It’s daylight,” said Gloria.
“Gloria? What are you—”
Darla put a hand on his stomach. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
Half asleep herself, Darla swung her legs out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, holding up a finger to let Gloria know she’d be right there. She washed her face, put on the bare minimum amount of clothing and scuffed into the kitchen, where she found Mariska trying to make coffee with her ancient Mr. Coffee machine.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Gloria called my phone about sixty times,” said Mariska, her tired eyes swollen into slits. “I’m going to hire her to get you back for this.”
“This was such a bad idea.” Darla finished the coffee setup as Gloria appeared from the guest bath.
“Okay, let’s go girls. Isn’t this exciting?”
“But the coffee—”
“No time, have to go.”
Gloria circled her upward-pointing index finger in the air as if directing a wagon train to circle.
“But—” Mariska tapped the coffee machine, trying to burp the coffee out of it faster.
Darla tugged on her arm. “Let’s go and get whatever this is over. Then you can have your coffee in peace.”
Like zombies, they followed Gloria to her car.
“Get in,” said Gloria, sliding into the driver’s seat.
They piled into the Mercedes and Gloria drove them across the street and through the Silver Lake gate to park in front of the hoarder’s house. Above them the sky darkened with the bodies of
