Code Name: Turkey

By J. M. Allison

I hefted my dad’s old army binoculars back into position and scanned the yard for our target. No one wanted to acknowledge the truth, but the facts were undeniable.

“How long we gotta keep this up, Mikey? It’s cold up here, and we only got the one binoculars.” Calvin rubbed his mitten-covered hands together and scowled from behind the coils of his knitted scarf.

I let the binoculars fall against my puffy coat and pinned the guys with a hard stare. “Old lady Caperelli is a Mafia hitman. If you don’t wanna help me prove it, then leave.”

Calvin chewed his lower lip, and Albi’s eyes grew wide. They’d sworn to help uncover the truth. Backing out now was akin to refusing a triple-dog-dare. They’d be labeled cowards forever.

“How’re you gonna prove it?” Albi leaned forward, his glasses giving him an owlish look.

“I’ve been gatherin’ evidence.” I pulled a tattered notebook from under the scattered comics, candy wrappers, and action figures littering the floor of the treehouse and flipped through it till I found the right page.

“She called Mr. Beghetti an over-stuffed, puffed-up turkey,” I pointed to where I’d transcribed my evidence. “Then she said he better listen, or he’d be sorry since his health was a fragile thing. Two months later, she bragged to my mom about having taken care of him with one shot.” Albi’s eyes grew wider. Calvin gulped audibly. “No one’s seen poor Mr. Beghetti since.”

“That’s not real evidence.” Calvin pushed his chin out. “Besides, my mom said he just retired.”

I scowled. “What do you think it means when the mob says they’re retirin’ you?” I drew a finger across my throat.

“That’s true.” Albi turned unblinking eyes toward Calvin. “My brother saw it in a movie.”

The tired rumble of Ms. Caperelli’s station wagon caught our attention, and we ducked out of sight. We listened as she pulled into the drive and shuffled around, muttering to herself.

“Can’t believe taking off the head was so messy… He’s too big to fit inside… I’ll stash him in the chest freezer.”

We peeked over the windowsill to see her prod the corners of the tarp filling her trunk. If only I could get a closer look. I inched the binoculars into position.

“Morning, Ms. Caperelli!” my mom’s voice interrupted, and we ducked back down.

“Good morning, Jill.” Ms. Caperelli’s voice held only sweetness and innocence.

“Any Thanksgiving plans?” I pictured my mom in her oversized sweater, leaning over the short white fence between our drive and Ms. Caperelli’s yard, chatting, a teal headband in her big curly hair.

“Taking care of a few neighborhood problems then getting ready for the next job.”

Images flashed through my mind of Ms. Caperelli cruising the streets in her brown station wagon, spraying lead from a tommy gun out the window at the neighborhood bullies, then cleaning an array of machine guns, brass knuckles, and knives.

“We’d love to have you join us tonight!”

The guys’ heads snapped up, their faces a mix of pity and terror. My gut squeezed. Mom had just invited Ms. Caperelli over for Thanksgiving dinner!

“Sounds lovely,” Ms. Caperelli chirped. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Perfect.” I heard the smile in my mom’s voice. Then the smile disappeared. “Mikey, time to come in, and don’t forget to pull up the trash bins.”

“Well…” Calvin didn’t meet my eyes. “See ya tomorrow, Mikey.” He scrambled from the treehouse like a cat dragging a tin can.

“Good luck, Mikey!” Albi chimed in as he clambered after Calvin.

I chewed my lower lip. The need for proof had just become critical. If she realized I was onto her, I’d be next on her hitlist. She’d take me out before Mom served the mashed potatoes.

I couldn’t wait. No easy options. I crawled to the ladder and peeped out.

Ms. Caperelli was nowhere in sight. I scrambled out of the treehouse and raced for the safety of the house. Then I skidded to a stop. The trash bins! Mom would kill me before Ms. Caperelli got the chance.

I raced back down the drive.

“Ah, young Michael.”

My blood ran cold. I froze and turned to face the wrinkliest and deadliest woman in the neighborhood.

“Would you help me carry him to my freezer?” She gestured toward her trunk.

She wanted me to help her hide the body! Excitement and terror crawled down my spine. If I helped, I’d have undeniable proof. Then again, she might retire me to ensure I couldn’t snitch on her.

I forced one foot in front of the other as I walked toward the trunk.

“You’re such a strong boy, I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ll get the doors for you.” She turned to lead the way.

With trembling fingers, I pulled back the tarp to find a large round package sitting in the corner. The brown paper wrapping bore reddish smudges, and dark feathery hair-like whisps clung to the edge of the paper.

I was right. She had a severed head in here!

I gingerly picked up the parcel. It was heavier than I’d expected. I had my evidence. I turned to run for home, but I only managed two steps before my foot hit ice. I found myself sprawled on the driveway, my precious evidence flying through the air.

It hit the ground and tumbled from its wrappings. I stared at the fresh body she intended to stash in her fridge. A huge turkey body.

“No worries, dear,” Ms. Caperelli called from inside the garage. “It’ll taste just fine once I cook it. I love getting my turkey fresh from the farm. A bit more work and mess, but worth it. Here’s a little thank you for your help.”

I looked up as she hobbled forward, a kind smile lighting her face, and a twenty-dollar bill in her hand. The guys would never believe me. I smiled back. Sometimes a sweet old lady was just a sweet old lady.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. M. Allison, more commonly addressed as Lisa, or Mommommommom, grew up captivated by the magic and wonder of fairy tales. She finds daily adventure in raising four rambunctious younglings, teaching musical theatre and dance, sewing, drawing, cosplaying, writing, and reading. Stories can communicate so many things, and she hopes her stories will bring a smile and inspire others to courageously live their own adventures.

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