Fat Assassins by Marita Fowler

trailer park. But it failed because of age discrimination laws. They started warming up to us once they realized we were just four hard working professionals trying to survive. They’d still call the cops if we were too noisy or rowdy, but at least they weren’t standing 24x7 shifts watching our trailers for drug deals anymore. 
    “Mornin‘ Mitchell! She gonna be ready to race this weekend?” I asked. 
    “Mornin’ girls! I’ve been having problems with the alternator, but I’m hoping she’ll be ready to race by Sunday afternoon.” He stopped working and leaned against the 1982 Buick, propping his boot against the oversized tire. 
    I stared at the giant MoonPie pasted on the hood of the yellow racing car. “Did you finally get a sponsor?”
    “Shoot no. I keep hoping they’ll see me racing and pick me officially. Til then I’m just promoting ‘em for free,” he answered, before abruptly shifting the conversation. “What have y’all been up to?”
    Ulyssa picked up the conversation smooth as pie, “Not too much. Just job shopping. Why?”
    “Just wondering cause I saw one of them fancy Lincoln Town Cars parked outside your place last night. I thought maybe you’d won the lottery or got a rich boyfriend.”
    “Uh.” She shot me a warning look before continuing, “Those were just some friends out for a visit from the East Coast. They were in town on business and could only stop by for a few minutes.” I shuddered remembering my squirrel nightmare. 
    Maybe I was psychic. Like a Dr. Doolittle-Diona Warwick hybrid. I wonder if I could get my own hotline . 
    “Yeah, they were only parked there for bout an hour. I saw them when I wuz running down to Wally World for some pork rinds, about 9, I reckon, and they were gone when I got back. I wasn’t gone for too long, probably an hour. Glad you know though. Thought we were going to have to report them to the neighborhood watch,” he said, winking at us.
    “Yeah. These nosey fools don’t have anything else better to do with their time. They probably have one of those hearing amplification devices going right now, so they can here us talking. We’re going to Starbuck’s for coffee in case anyone is curious,” she said the last part loudly to emphasize the joke.
    Mitchell laughed, “Y’all have a good one. Enjoy your yuppie coffee!”
     
    Between the nosey neighbors and mob stalkers, we’d reached maximum paranoia and didn’t talk until we were on the highway with the radio blasting 80’s metal. We had to talk louder over the music, defeating the purpose of the white noise. But it somehow made us feel better.
    “I can’t believe they followed us home! We’re so dead now! Did you notice them following us last night?”
    Ulyssa shook her head and frowned. “I was so worried about what we were going to do. I didn’t pay much attention to anything else. This really, really complicates things. They know where we live now. I can’t believe we’re messing with the mob! Have you ever watched the Godfather or Sopranos? It never ends well.” We both shuddered at the thought of an unhappy Nicolo. 
     
    It was too cold for most folks to sit outside Starbucks, but we were cosy sitting in the corner away from prying eyes. Ulyssa extracted the newspaper clipping from her pocket and flattened it on the table. We both leaned closer to get a better look at it. The man in the photo was being escorted from a courthouse surrounded by bodyguards and lawyers.
     
     
    CASE DISMISSAL FOR GRAVE ROBBING RINGLEADER
    Alleged grave robbing ring leader, Marcus Bernini, was released from custody on Monday after his case was dismissed today. Bernini was arrested after residents complained about unusual activity at the graveyard after hours. An undercover sting by the Charleston Police Department gathered evidence of the nocturnal thefts, but were unable to convince witnesses to testify under oath. Victims claim that Bernini was the ringleader responsible for raiding