Page 3 of A Chip on Her Shoulder

Considering the supplies, I sighed, bit the bullet, and replied, “Actually, yes. I have a rescued pet chipmunk that can’t be released into the wild, and he needs a house. It needs to be a nice house, and I need everything for him.”

“A chipmunk?” He asked, and according to his expression, I’d said the best thing he’d ever heard in his life.

“Yes, a chipmunk.” I patted the box under my arm. “I’ll need a good travel container for him, too. He’ll be coming places with me often.”

“That’s so cool!”

Great. Not only did he likely spend more on gas than he earned, he loved animals enough he wouldn’t complain about the drive or the wasted money. Oh, well. I’d benefit from his enthusiasm even if he tired me out. “Pick out the best stuff for him, and I’ll need food, treats, and toys, too.”

The kid started grabbing stuff off the shelf and adding them to my cart after asking if I liked his choices. As arguing would only extend the pain, I approved everything, expecting to wipe out most of my bank account caring for my idiot brother.

After I got his furry ass back to human, proving the impossible could be possible in the process, I’d make him pay me back tenfold, and I’d make him quake in fear of my wrath if he screwed around again.

In some ways, I envied the kid and his carefree delight in helping me shop. I worked as a slave at the neighborhood grocery store, stocking shelves because the boss didn’t trust me with the customers. He’d caught me on the street with my ears and tail, and he’d brought the CDC into it, but their fancy meters hadn’t registered any diseases, barring me from being fired as I hadn’t done anything wrong.

To keep my job, the CDC sent a damned bureaucrat over to steal some of my blood to feed to their demonic meter, confirming I wasn’t infected with lycanthropy or some other nasty disease someone might catch from coming in contact with me. Usually, they sent some doe-eyed girl to play to my nicer side, the one who wouldn’t punch her in the face for annoying me.

The first and last time they’d sent over some damned baby devil who owed someone a favor, I’d socked him in the nose and told him to fuck off and tell his master hello. The devil had stuck around long enough to steal a drop of my blood for the meter, but I’d made him pay for it tit-for-tat with interest.

Devils pissed me off.

They reminded me of the mafia, and they worked for an even nastier boss.

“There are better chews for rodents at the cash register, but if you can give me a few minutes, I’ll ask my manager if I can use the office computer to check which diet is best for a chipmunk.”

“I don’t mind paying twice, but I’d like to get him into the carry case while you do that. Help on what to feed him would be great.”

I lied in more ways than one, as until I got a chance to vent out my anger over Jonas’s stupidity, I couldn’t care less what the fucker ate, I did mind paying twice, and I only wanted to put him in a better carry case so I wouldn’t have to hunt for his ungrateful, selfish ass if he escaped me.

I did have to give the kid credit; he was as efficient as he was enthusiastic, and while I did have to ring up my order twice, it took him less than five minutes to get the information on what my rodent brother needed to eat. Jonas squeaked his protests and beat on the smooth plastic of his new carry cage, balling his little paws into fists.

I lifted him up, stared him in his beady little eyes, and whispered, “Well, it’s your own damned fault you’re like that, so you just sit your furry ass down and be grateful I didn’t toss you out on the lawn to fend for yourself.”

My brother sat his furry ass down, which offered some hope Jonas was still in his chipmunk body somewhere—or at least understood some English.

Almost two hundred dollars later but with enough toys, treats, and chews to keep my brother fed for six months, I left the pet store, loaded my brother’s car with his new habitat, and returned home.

One of the mafia goons waited for me on my doorstep, and I considered digging out the pistol hidden in my brother’s glove box. Narrowing my eyes, I leaned over, popped it open, and grabbed the weapon, checking that the magazine had been properly loaded with bullets and making certain a round was in the chamber and ready for duty.

I got out with my purse slung over my shoulder, my brother’s gun in one hand and my brother’s cage in the other. “You sent your invitation already, so you get the fuck off my lawn, or I’ll send you back to your family with a new hole. If you’re lucky, I’ll patch it before tossing you into the street so you don’t make a mess on my grass.”

As I’d expected my brother to get me into shit one way or another, I stepped so I presented as small a target as possible, extended the firearm, and waited.

The shock on his face amused me.

Revenge would be far more fun if they offered me a little challenge while I destroyed them. After all, I needed to achieve my gold standard and make the Devil cringe.

I smiled for my unwanted guest. “Did you really expect me to go unarmed after I had a gun held to my head once already today? Obviously, since you’re on my doorstep probably trying to deliver some new threat. Deliver it, then you get your ass the fuck off my property. You’ve finished your business with my brother, you’ve issued your threats, and while my brother may have broken the law, I haven’t, this is my house, and I will call the cops.”

“You’ll call the cops?”

“A bunch of men broke into my house, turned my brother into a chipmunk, and threatened me. Unlike my idiot brother here, I have a clean record and no association with you cockwombles. So, yes. I fully intend to call the cops, and if I have to shoot you first for being on my lawn and trespassing, well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?”

“How did an ass like him have a sister like you?”

“I’d say ask our ma, but she abandoned ship.” That was better than saying she’d died and left me the house since she hadn’t trusted my brother. The way I figured it, she’d been one hell of a smart woman, and I hoped she was taking over heaven along with our pa.

Nobody believed our pa had been a well-respected pastor.