Henry stared at the bright green monstrosity on Chaz Luciano’s priceless Persian rug, trying to think of a way to tell the Mafia boss he was out of his mind.
“Whadda you think?” Chaz said.
“Uh, it’s a mascot?” Henry said, unable to come up with more than that. The costume was a mammoth green bodysuit, with a bulbous belly, elephantine legs, and a head that looked like a cross between a crocodile and Kermit the Frog.
“Yeah, it’s Larry Lizard, man,” Chaz said.
Henry frowned. “No disrespect, Chaz, but you called me over to talk about Miguel Villanueva. What’s the point of all this?” Villanueva was a recent transplant from the Durango Cartel, and he’d siphoned off thirty percent of the heroin trade. In retaliation, Chaz had brought in Henry, his best contract guy.
“You gotta get close to Villanueva, right?” Chaz said. “Well, the only time that paranoid motherfucker lets down his guard is at a Lakeland Lizard’s game. You ever been to one?”
Henry shook his head. He wasn’t a sports fan, and the town’s minor league baseball team held zero appeal.
“Between innings, Larry Lizard messes with people in the stands. You know, dancing around and giving away T-shirts and shit. He gets close to them. You get me?”
Henry did, and he had to admit it wasn’t a terrible plan. “Room for a pistol in that get-up?”
Chaz’s grinned. “Plenty.”
Henry sighed and squatted next to the costume. “Okay, help me put this fucking thing on.”
• • •
The costume fit fine back in Chaz’s place, but Henry had been unprepared for how hot it was. Layers of fur and foam trapped and magnified the summer heat, and Henry was sweating rivers.
It was the middle of the fourth inning, and Henry was doing his best to cavort and dance around like Larry Lizard was expected to. This would not go down as one of the mascot’s better performances. Chaz was right, though. Miguel Villanueva sat virtually alone, the seats around him cleared of other spectators. Henry didn’t see any bodyguards, but he still had to be careful. Miguel might relax a bit in public, but the cartel shot-caller wasn’t stupid.
Henry capered through the stands, shaking his belly, and operating Larry’s long retractable tongue. When Henry was thirty feet from Miguel, he pulled his right hand into the body of the costume—letting Larry Lizard’s corresponding arm dangle—and clutched his SIG P365. There wasn’t room for a suppressor, but the noise of the crowd and the deadening effect of the suit’s many layers would make a shot virtually undetectable.
The crowd suddenly broke into roars of laughter, and the announcer’s voice came over the speakers. “Uh, oh, looks like Larry Lizard is in big trouble! He forgot Linda Lizard’s birthday!”
More laughter and cheers rose up around Henry, and he saw another lizard mascot ambling in his direction. This one had bright red lips, a bow on its scaly head, and its hands planted on its hips in a display of exaggerated disapproval.
Henry was about to take his shot, but now Linda Lizard was too close, and the mascot operator might see or hear something. Henry moved nearer to Miguel, and the man looked up at him, an ugly, knowing smile on his face. “Ola, Larry. I didn’t know Patrón Luciano was a baseball fan.”
Terror seized Henry’s guts with icy fingers, and then it felt like someone punched him in the back three times in rapid succession. Henry turned, staggering, and saw Linda Lizard just a few yards away. The mascot’s right arm hung limp, and three smoking holes had appeared in its bulbous green stomach.
Miguel stood, that ugly smile growing into a vicious grin, and began making his way through the stands toward the exits. Linda Lizard went in the other direction. The strength left Henry’s limbs, and he collapsed across a row of seats.
“Looks like Larry can’t take the heat!” the stadium announcer boomed. “I thought he was cold blooded!”
The crowd howled with laughter, and Henry laughed with them, coughing blood. Chaz’s plan had been a good one. It just wasn’t original.
~ fin ~
Aeryn Rudel is a writer from Tacoma, Washington. He is the author of the baseball horror novella Effectively Wild, the Iron Kingdoms Acts of War novels, and the flash fiction collection Night Walk & Other Dark Paths. His short stories have appeared in Dark Matter Magazine, On Spec, and Pseudopod, among others. Learn more about Aeryn’s work at www.rejectomancy.com or on Twitter @Aeryn_Rudel.
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