GREATEST HITS BOXED SET

(Books 1-4)

Table of Contents

'SCUSE ME WHILE I KILL THIS GUY

GUNS WILL KEEP US TOGETHER

STAND BY YOUR HITMAN

I SHOT YOU BABE

SNEAK PEEK of PARADISE BY THE RIFLE SIGHTS

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'SCUSE ME WHILE I KILL THIS GUY

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

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ebook Edition

Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Langtry

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.” ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

No one really liked family reunions. I got that. But when I listen to people complain about it ’round the water cooler, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. I mean really, try it when you come from a family of assassins. Kind of gave “avoiding Aunt Jean’s potato salad” a whole new meaning.

That’s right. Family of assassins. I came from a line of murderers dating back to ancient Greece. Mafia? Puhleeeese. Ninjas? Amateurs. Illuminati? How pedestrian. My ancestors had invented the garrote, ice pick, and arsenic. And Grandma Mary insisted that the wheel had actually been devised as a portable skull crusher. I’d tell you the names of some of our famous victims through history, but I’d had to sign a confidentiality clause in my own blood when I was five. So you’d just have to take my word for it.

I turned the engraved invitation over in my hands and sighed. I hate these things. We only held them once every five years, but for some reason, this time, the reunion was only a year after the last one. That meant someone in the family had been naughty. That meant one of my relatives was going to die.

As I stroked the creamy vellum paper, for a brief moment I thought about sending my regrets. But only for a moment. After all, it wasn’t an option on the R.S.V.P. card. Unlike most family reunions with sack races, bad weather and crappy

T-shirts, where to refuse to go only meant you weren’t in the ridiculous all-family photo, to turn down this invitation was death. That’s right. Death. Any blooded member of the family who didn’t show was terminated.

Now, where had I put that goddamned pen? I rattled through the “everything” drawer, looking for the onyx pen with the family crest engraved in gold on the side. It may sound pretty calloused to throw a centuries-old family heirloom in with tampons, fishing hooks, batteries, and ten-year-old packs of gum, but I didn’t exactly have the usual family sense o’ pride.

I found it behind some broken cassette tapes and dusted it off. The coat-of-arms practically glowed on the cold, ebony surface. Crossed sabers entwined with an asp and topped off with a vial of poison. Lovely. Really sent that warm, homemade chicken-soup kind of feeling. And don’t forget the family motto, carved in Greek on the side which translates as, Kill with no mercy, love with suspicion. Not exactly embroider-on-the-pillow material.

The phone rang, causing me to jump. That’s right. I was a jumpy assassin.

“Ginny?” My mom’s voice betrayed her urgency.

“Hey, Mom. I got it,” I responded wearily. Carolina Bombay was always convinced I would someday skip the reunion.

“Don’t use that tone with me, Virginia.” Her voice was dead serious. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Right. Like I’d miss this and run the risk of having my own mother hunt me down.” For some reason, this would be a joke in other families. But in mine, when you strayed, your own family literally hunted you down.

“You know it makes me nervous when you don’t call the day you get the invitation,” Mom said, whispering the words the invitation. It was a sacred thing, and to be honest, we were all more than a little terrified every time we received one. (Did you ever notice that the words sacred and scared differ only by switching two letters?)

“I’m sorry,” I continued lying to my mother. “I just popped the R.S.V.P. into the mailbox on the corner.” And I would too. No point taking any chances with my mail carrier losing it. That would be a stupid way to die.

“Well, I’m calling your brother next. I swear, you kids do this just to torment me!” She hung up before I could say good bye.

So, here I was, thirty-nine years old, single mother of a five-year-old daughter (widowed – by cancer, not by family) and still being treated like a child. Not that my childhood had been normal, by any means. You grew up pretty quick with the ritualistic blood-oath at five and your first professional kill by fifteen.

To be fair, Mom had a right to be nervous. She watched her older sister, also named Virginia, get hunted down by Uncle Lou when she had failed to appear at the 1975 reunion. That really had to suck. I’d been named after her, which kind of jinxed me, I think.

In case you hadn’t noticed, my immediate family members were all named after U.S. states or cities (Lou was short for Louisiana, much to his dismay, and Grandma Mary was short for Maryland). It was a tradition that went back to our first ancestors, who thought it would be a cute idea to name their kids after locations, rather than actual names. My name was Virginia, but as a kid I went by Ginny. Of course, that had changed in college when everyone thought it was a real hoot to shorten my name to Gin. That’s right. Gin Bombay. Yuck it up. I dare you.

Bombay had been the last name of my family since the beginning. Women born into the family weren’t allowed to change their names when they get married. In fact, the husband had to agree to change his name to Bombay. You could guess what happens if they refuse.

Non-blooded Bombays were allowed to miss the reunion, as were children under the age of five. Bombays had to let their spouses in on the “family secret” by the time the first reunion in their marriage rolls around. It wasn’t exactly pillow talk. And of course, you weren’t allowed to leave the family once you know, or well, you knew what happened.

Most of us didn’t even tell our spouses until the first five-year reunion. I guess I’d been lucky, if you could actually call it that. My husband, Eddie, had died of brain cancer four years into our marriage. And even though I’d seen the lab results, I still eyed my cousins suspiciously. And while I’m fairly certain we haven’t figured out a way to cause cancer, with my family, you never know.

Roma, my daughter, had been born one month after Eddie died. I’d given her the traditional place name, but rebelled against the state thing. I called her Romi. I smiled, thinking about picking her up from kindergarten in a few hours. She was my whole life. All arms and legs, skinny as a stick, with straight, brown hair and big blue eyes, Romi had given me back my laughter when Ed passed.

My heart sank with a cartoon boing when it hit my stomach. Romi was five. This would be her first reunion. She would have to be drawn into that nest of vipers that is the Bombay Family. Her training would begin immediately after. And in a couple of weeks, she’d go from playing with Bratz dolls, to “icing” them. Shit.

CHAPTER TWO

“We are all dead men on leave.” –Eugene Levine, comedian

The doorbell rang and I automatically checked the monitor in the kitchen. Yes, I had surveillance monitors. Hello? Family hunts us down! Remember?

“Hey, little brother.” Despite my weary voice I gave Dakota a vigorous hug.

“You alright?” he asked more with mischief than concern.

“You’re joking, right?” And I knew he was. Dak loved Romi almost as much as I did. He just found the whole family of assassins thing amusing most of the time.

“Well, we went through it and survived. Besides, the training is pretty harmless for the first few years.”

“Harmless? That’s an interesting way to describe turning your kindergartner into a cold-blooded killer.”

“Maybe you could write the guidebook! The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Turning Your Kindergartner into an Assassin.” Dak laughed in that easy way he had about him. Single and thirty-seven, he was handsome and funny. And I should mention that he was single by choice. Dak, like most of the people in my family, had “commitment issues.” Personally, I thought they took the family motto a little too seriously.

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah. That would work.” Hey! Was he calling me a complete idiot?

“Look, Ginny, it’s not like you can refuse to go.” He looked sideways at me. “You are going, right?”

“Duh! Do you think I’m stupid? Like I’d let you raise and train Romi!”

I loved my brother. We were close. We even collaborated on jobs. He had taken this whole Prizzi’s Honor lifestyle in stride. After three millennia of contracted kills, the family was extremely wealthy and we all lived off of huge trust funds. In the past seventy-five years, after some smart investing, no one has had to do more than one or two hits a year. So we all lived comfortably. And we got Blue Cross and dental.

Dak eased back in the kitchen chair, rudely devouring my Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. Bastard.

“Look Ginny, it’ll be fine. Romi can handle it.”

I shook my head, “That’s not all I’m worried about.”

He stopped eating and for a moment I thought I might have a few cookies left. “Oh. The other thing. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. You hear anything?”

Dak shook his head, “I heard Uncle Troy almost got busted in Malaysia last year. But he’s on the Council and they don’t bust you for almost fucking up.”

I snatched the Milano bag from him. There was only one left. “Yeah, I haven’t heard anything either.”

“I guess we just see who shows up and. . .” He gave a dramatic pause a la Christopher Walken, “ . . . who doesn’t.” (Insert creepy, “dun, dun, dun,” music here.)

I looked at him, and not just as treacherous cookie thief. “How can you be so cold? We’re talking about our family here!”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it until it happens. I just hope it isn’t someone we like.”

Dak was right. If it had to be someone, I hoped it would be one of the more assholish relations. Everyone has someone like that in their family. Right? There are definitely some folks I wouldn’t miss too much.

I picked up my cup of coffee. “We didn’t mess up in Chicago, did we?” My mind raced to remember the details.

Dakota shook his head, but seemed disturbed, “No. It was a clean kill. Nice work, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Our hit had been screwing so many married women that there were plenty of suspects in his death, of course, we’d done such a good job, the police didn’t even consider murder. I smiled, remembering painting the inside of the chain smoking son-of-a-bitch’s condoms with pure nicotine (which of course, killed him). That was fun. Rolling each condom up and putting them in the bags so they didn’t look “tampered with” on the other hand, was not.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” I murmured. “Maybe they’re going to give us an earlier retirement age.” Who was I kidding? Bombays are allowed to retire at fifty-five, although most don’t. I mean, Grandma’s pushing eighty, and just last week she rubbed out a made man in the Sicilian mob. There’s definitely something to be said for loving what you do.

Dak laughed. Pushing a stray lock of sand-colored hair off his forehead, he replied, “Could be Uncle Lou has found a new poison.”

I perked up. Poison was my specialty. Everyone in the family had a favorite way of killing people, even though we were required to cross-train. With my brother, it was asphyxiation and/or strangulation. And while I should probably worry about that, it made us a good team because we both liked to make each job resemble death by natural cause. Of course, occasionally we ran out of time and had to leave the scene of the crime with a plastic bag still on the victim’s head, but that happened only once when I’d been running late from picking up Romi from preschool. And Romi always came first. I had to have my priorities straight, after all.

Most gigs took place in other parts of the country. We had to maintain discretion. But occasionally, the job had to be local. We were supposed to get more time to plan those. Oh well, Murphy’s Law, blah, blah, blah.

“I haven’t heard any gossip,” I said absently.

“Maybe with Delhi turning fifteen, and Alta and Romi turning five, they just want to focus on the ritual?” Dak offered, albeit not helpfully.

“I don’t know. . . they’ve never done that before.” And there it was. My baby would learn about the family. She’d start practicing with the chemistry set and sniper rifle that came standard with the blood oath. Ooooh, I hoped she would get the new, tricked-out Remington with laser sites! What? It wasn’t different from First Communion, a Bat Mitzvah or Quinceañera. Right?

Dak slapped the table, startling me into spilling my coffee. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it until we get there.” He rose and kissed me on the cheek. “I gotta run. I need a new swimsuit for the trip.” He punched me in the arm and left with a wink.

I guess I’d have to start packing soon. The reunions were always held at Santa Muerta, a private island the Bombays owned off the coast of Ecuador. Hmmm, the weather would be hot. And as beautiful as it was there, I wasn’t sure I wanted the family to see me in a swimsuit.

Who was I kidding? Everyone was going to be way too paranoid to notice I’d put on a few pounds. And then, I thought about Romi.

Picking up the phone, I called my cousin Liv (short for Liverpool, if you’re keeping tabs on the place-name thingy. And if anyone had a right to hate her name, Liv took first prize). She answered on the first ring. The Bombays practically invented caller ID.

“You got it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yup. You?”

“Yeah. I’ll be over in five.” On that, she hung up.

Actually, she made it in four minutes flat. Assassins really know how to kill time. (Sorry. I couldn’t resist.)  I let her in and we went into the kitchen, where I poured her an iced tea.

I loved my kitchen. I hated cooking, but I loved the kitchen. Considering that I dealt in death so much, I had filled the room with bright, cheery colors. The paint was yellow, and the curtains and potholders were citrus green. It was the room of my denial. And for me, sometimes denial was better than most orgasms. Not that I had been on the receiving end of an orgasm in a while. Try years. . .

Liv sipped her tea, then set it down, “I hate this.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“I’d say it’s not fair, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well, we went through it and survived,” I mused, realizing I was parroting Dak’s words.

Liv shook her head. “I never wanted this for Alta.”

“Woody took it in stride . . .” I started.

She raised her right eyebrow. “I know, but he’s a boy. I don’t mean to sound sexist, but they’re different.” She wisely avoided looking at me (I hated that “boys are different” crap). “So you’re okay with it?”

“Not really. But there’s no alternative.”

And there wasn’t. Things are pretty black and white when your options are either live or die. And as far as I knew, no one had ever tried to get their kid out of the ritual.

Liv tapped her fingers on the counter, her eyes a million miles away. She was gorgeous, kind of in an earth mother/cold-blooded assassiny sort of way with long, black hair, soft brown Bambi eyes (that could turn you into stone when she was pissed off), and no makeup necessary. Who else would name her kids Woodstock and Altamont? She specialized in political kills. Especially neoconservatives. I kind of envied her that. Lately, I’d just been getting crooked lobbyists and tobacco execs. Booooorrring.

Liv and I had always been close. Being the same age will do that. Her husband, Todd, was one of my best friends. He was a great guy, funny and smart. He was laid back, not minding the “family business” at all. Marrying a Bombay hadn’t changed him.

“What does Todd think?”

Liv smiled, “He’s spent years preparing for this day - the day his baby girl becomes a professionally trained killer. He’s more interested in her survival than anything else.”

I nodded, “Since we have to do it anyway, maybe we can train them together. . .you know. . .ease them into it gently?”

She perked up. “Okay. Maybe we can work something out.”

While most women sitting in a kitchen might discuss the weather, local schools and Oprah, we chatted for about an hour about a new garrote Liv had come up with that didn’t leave telltale lines on the victim’s throat. Earth-mother beauty or not, that girl was as strong as an ox when it came to throttling someone. We avoided the “other issue” of which family member had a target painted over his or her picture in the Portrait Hall of Santa Muerta. It wasn’t really coffee klatch material.

“Let’s have lunch tomorrow,” she suggested as she ran out the door.

Sure, I thought as I rinsed the glasses in the sink, she had a husband to help ease the guilt. I had to make the decision myself.

What was I thinking? Of course Romi would go and take the blood oath. I wasn’t going to risk her life for a simple bloodletting and do-it-yourself murder kit. (Especially if it included the new Remington S-2000. Yum.)  Besides, it would be ten years ’til her first kill. So I had some leeway there. I shoved these thoughts aside.

I had something more important to worry about. The reason for the quickie reunion, basically. I did a mental head-count of the thirty-five blooded members of the Bombay clan. But nothing remotely resembling an idea came to me, so I gave up.

I resigned myself to waiting. Well, and mapping out the basement to prepare for Romi’s training. I made a list of things I would need; fifty-pound heavy bag, strong piano wire, archery set, mannequins, and night-vision goggles. They were put on the shopping list next to potatoes and milk. I could stash the chemistry set in the corner, near the windows for ventilation. But I didn’t have a room long enough to shoot a .22 sniper rifle.

With a sigh, I opened the phone book to find shooting ranges. I had a lot to do today, and finding a swimsuit that would take off twenty pounds simply wasn’t on the list.

CHAPTER THREE

“You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”

- Vladimir Nabokov

Borders Books was, as usual, crowded. I tried the search computers to find a book in the children’s area on assassination, but came up blank. I guess that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. What did I expect? Titles like, Harold and the Purple Silencer, Good Night Moon. . .Sleep with the Fishes, or Dick & Jane Poison the Federal Witness?

I ducked into political science and scanned the titles, looking for something simple, like a pictorial guide to assassination. I found one book, but it was all amateur hits like John Lennon, President Ford, and Abraham Lincoln. Oh well, I guess that would have to do. The photos weren’t too gory, and they had the Rasputin story (one of my personal faves) in there, so I thought it might work.

“Excuse me,” purred a male voice with a thick Australian accent.

“Oh, sorry. I’m in the way.” I turned to see who had the delectable, come-hither voice and found myself face to face with the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on.

“No, you’re okay. I just wondered what time it was.” He smiled, and I melted into an embarrassing, oozing puddle.

“Um,” I looked at my wrist, “Eleven-thirty.” How’s that for sparkling conversation?

He grinned, his eyes wrinkling in the outer corners, and I thought I was gonna die. “Thanks.”

Look for a ring! Look for a ring! I had the ability to observe things so discreetly no one knew I existed. Unfortunately, hot Aussies tripped up my mojo. I was convinced he saw me look at the ring finger of his left hand.

“Sure. Anytime.” Anytime? What the hell does that mean? I wouldn’t mind running into him anytime, but I was making no sense. Mental note – don’t accept jobs where you have to hit men who have accents.

The God-Among-Men (I had the habit of giving people names with a Navajo kind of ring to them) laughed and walked away. I just stared with my jaw open until he disappeared. Grace Kelly, I was not.

An hour later, nestled in the corner of the café with a huge slice of Death by Chocolate cheesecake (I love that name) and a large mocha latte, I found myself wondering if I really could kill someone with chocolate cheesecake. No, that would be a waste of perfectly good chocolate. Most of my hits didn’t deserve to die so richly.

“Interesting books you have there.” The Aussie was back.

I looked around. No, he was definitely talking to me!

“May I join you?” he asked, “There are no other open tables, and I’m intrigued by your reading list.”

I nodded like a bobble-head doll, and he pulled up a chair.

“Diego Jones.” He held out his right hand, and I took it.

“Ginny Bombay.” I returned his shake, and felt my cheeks go hot as he examined my boobs. . .I mean books.

“Political Assassination, Assassination through History, Encyclopedia of Assassins,” he read through the titles casually, “and Assassination Vacation?” He held up one book.

“Oh, that’s by Sarah Vowell. She’s one of my favorite writers.” It was true. I’d loaned my copy to Dak, and he promptly lost it. It was a very funny book about her pilgrimages to presidential assassination locales. I liked funny.

“So,” Diego began, “Ginny Bombay?”

I braced myself to hear the same joke I’d heard for the past. . . well hell, all my life.

“Would that be short for Virginia?”

What? A real conversation with no joke regarding the implied alcoholic content of my name? I should jump him before he realized what an idiot I was.

“Wow. You’re good. Most people come up with something far more lame when I introduce myself.”

Diego laughed again. “Not me. My mum was eccentric in choosing her kids’ names too.”

“Oh, really?” I tried to act casual as I unwittingly sprinkled salt into my latte.

Diego raised one eyebrow. I casually set down the salt shaker as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Mum was an artist back in Sydney. She had a thing for the Mexican muralist, Diego Rivera. My sister got it worse. She’s Frida Kahlo Jones.”

I laughed. “My family is hung up on place names. My brother is Dakota and my mom is Carolina.”

He chuckled, with those delightful wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyelids. I tried very hard not to swoon. At least, not obviously. He was perfection. Dark, wavy hair, cool James Dean sideburn slivers, smiling blue eyes and the most gorgeous white teeth.

Diego took a forkful of salad and I fantasized about being that fork – especially having his tongue slide over my tines.

“So why this particular subject?” He gestured toward my tower-o-terror.

Fortunately, I wasn’t too distracted. I went into cover mode, telling the story I’d used for years. “I’m in executive protection. Just occupational curiosity, I guess.” Claiming to be a bodyguard had worked well for me over the years. It explained my bizarre reading habits and chaotic work schedule. Yep, my cover had always been 100% reliable and unshakeable.

“No kidding? That’s what I do!” Diego grinned.

Okay, not so unshakeable. “Really?” I asked, hoping he was teasing me. I’d never met any bodyguards in person before. I usually just had to slip around them unnoticed. Well, there had been that one time when Dak and I had gotten jobs protecting our hit. That had been hysterically ironic.

Diego nodded. “Absolutely. Who do you work for?”

Calm down, Gin. Just use the patented answer. “A motivational speaker on the East Coast. You?” Nice transition.

“I’ve worked for political clients mostly.” He went on to name a number of senators, mayors of major cities, and the like. He seemed legit. I was just grateful none of the names had been on my list in previous years. “So I understand your area of interest.” He pointed to the books. “I’m kind of an assassination nut myself.”

I leaned back in my chair, appraising the situation. That was what we did, by the way – appraise situations. You didn’t think we just barged in and gunned people down, did you? No, that’d be soooo Squeaky Fromme. I decided that Diego was definitely safe to talk to, and certainly a candidate for some killer sex.

“So what’s your favorite assassination in history?” I asked. I never got to ask civilians this question. This could be fun.

Diego looked to his right, deep in thought. “I guess it would have to be Kennedy. All that conspiracy stuff is pretty interesting.”

I smiled. I knew who had been on the grassy knoll that day. Assassination tales had been my bedtime stories.

“Too recent for me,” I responded. “I like the questionable cases too, but further back. I prefer Philip of Macedon.”

“Ah.” His gravelly accent sent shivers down my spine. “Murdered at his daughter’s wedding reception. I thought they knew who did that.”

No one knew that. Well, except the thirty-five members of the Bombay family. It had been on a test we had to take when we turned ten. Let’s just say that another guy took the fall for that particular assassination. Rule #1:  If you can make it look like someone else did it, go for it.

“That’s what some historians think.”

“And you know the truth?” Diego-My-Love responded. I pictured myself licking every square inch of his body.

“Of course not,” I said. “That’s what makes it my favorite.”

“I like you, Ginny Bombay.” Diego leaned back in his seat, “You’re not like other women.”

You have no idea. “Sure I am,” I said. “Just like all the other female bodyguards you meet at Borders.”

Diego shook his head. “No. You actually eat.” He pointed to my dessert. “And I’ve never seen anyone salt their latte before.”

My mind scrambled for purchase on slippery thoughts, “Oh, that. I do that to counter all the sweet stuff.” Nice try. But the latte was terrible with salt in it. Really, don’t try it. Assassin fun fact #1:  Did you know you could kill someone with a simple overdose of table salt?

“I hate it when women eat only salads and fruit. It’s not right,” Darling Diego continued.

“Well, you know what Erma Bombeck said,” I responded. “Never turn down dessert. Think of those poor women on the Titanic who waved away the dessert cart.”

Diego laughed. It was amazing. I made him laugh. It was the most incredible feeling of euphoria, and I wondered how I could get him to do it again.

“Just one thing,” he asked. “Who’s Erma Bombeck?”

I rolled my eyes. “A woman writer. She was very funny.”

“I don’t care who she is,” he said, “I’m just happy to see a woman who enjoys her cake.”

I chose not to be offended by the remarks of the future Mr. Ginny Bombay. “Good. Now prove you’re not a hypocrite and go get yourself one.” I pointed to his salad and whole grain bagel with veggie cream cheese. “Cuz that is not food.”

He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Only if you will wait for me.” I think I nodded or something because he laughed and walked to the counter. I’m pretty sure it took all my faculties not to be naked when he returned.

And so for the next two hours, Diego and I had a great time. We talked about nothing really, and yet the conversation seemed so profound. At least, I think it was. It was all I could do not to hit him over the head and drag his unconscious body to the nearest hotel. Not that I’d ever done that.

Imagine my horror when I looked up at the clock (the only time I took my eyes off him, I might add) and saw I had only ten minutes to pick up Romi from school.

“Shit! I’ve gotta run!” I said gracefully, as I shoved my books back into the bag.

“Wait,” Diego protested. “Here’s my card. Call me and I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Deal!” I shouted behind me as I ran from the store. I slipped the card into my pocket, threw my things into the minivan and raced to Kennedy Elementary.

Romi ran from the door of the building into my arms. She weighed next to nothing but always managed to knock me back a few steps. I didn’t mind. In fact, her strength would be a benefit to her training. Did I really just think that?

“Virginia!” A booming contralto filled the air. I watched as the other parents scattered as soon as they heard the woman’s voice. Cowards.

Great. Vivian Marcy. I really hated that bitch. President of the PTA, member of the School Board, and for some reason, Romi’s Room Mom. I had grown up with Vivian Marcy. We’d been in the same class in school, she’d been an evil witch there too. For YEARS I’d prayed she would turn up on my hit list.

Unfortunately, Vivian still hadn’t pissed off anyone enough to warrant a death contract. On several occasions, I thought of taking one out on her myself, but figured I’d get busted. Bombays aren’t allowed to come up with the targets, unless it’s family. Still, hope springs eternal.

I knew I wasn’t the only one who hated her. Since childhood she had spread her withering gaze like a thick layer of rancid mayonnaise. (Hey! That kinda rhymes!)  The bitch dominated everyone around her. I had stood up to her once, early in my elementary school years. She’d managed to spread the rumor that I had syphilis cooties. None of the other second graders had known what that was, but they were convinced they’d catch it if they talked to me. So I’d punched Vivian in the nose at recess. The next day, she came down with a raging case of chicken pox, or as my classmates insisted – syphilis cooties.

While I’d enjoyed the fact that kids had been afraid of me, let’s just say I didn’t get a lot of play dates. Fortunately, I’d had Dak and Liv.

My dream hit would be to give Vivian syphilis cooties. A real mean, permanently scarring kind that would give her eternal body odor and halitosis. Of course it doesn’t exist, but I keep the candle of hope burning.

“Well,” Vivian said as she closed in, “if it isn’t Virginia. Just who I was looking for.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Martha:  Well, dear, for a gallon of elderberry wine, I take one teaspoonful of arsenic, and add a half a teaspoonful of strychnine, and then just a pinch of cyanide.

-Joseph Kesselring, Arsenic and Old Lace

No one, and I mean no one, called me “Virginia.” Even my family respected that. Well, except for Mom. And if you saw her practicing with her throwing knives, you’d let it slide too. Somehow, Vivian had zeroed in on this when we were kids and did it just to piss me off.

“What do you want, Vivian,” I said in clipped tones, hoping she would get the point.

She didn’t. “I need you to bring four dozen cookies to the Halloween party.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Outwardly, I think I smiled, kind of like a dog when you can’t tell if it’s smiling or snarling. “But that’s six weeks away. Why not tell me later?”

Vivian arched her right, perfectly waxed eyebrow. “I just wanted to make sure you bring home-baked cookies, not just something you pick up at the last minute at Hy-Vee.”

“What?” My fingernails carved into my palms. I toyed with hitting her in the nose again. Maybe she would get chicken pox this time too.

Vivian Marcy crossed her arms over her St. John velvet jogging suit. “It just seems more homey and personal when you actually put in the work, that’s all.”

Put in the work? “Vivian, they’re five. They don’t know or care if the cookies are homemade.”

“Really, Virginia.” She actually rolled her eyes, “I’m not asking for much. Just some cookies decorated like ghosts. That’s all!” She glanced down at Romi, who was eyeing her with suspicion. Good girl. “I have to go. The PTA’s executive officers are meeting in a few minutes. Don’t forget. Homemade cookies.” With a departing smirk, she turned on the heels of her Prada sneakers and headed back into the school.

“Mommy?” Romi asked. “Is it okay if I don’t like her?”

I took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Yes, honey. In fact, I think that’s just fine.” Okay, maybe not the most mature response, but I didn’t care.

Back at home, my super-intuitive daughter and I had our snack, followed by work on a shoebox she had to decorate for school. By five o’clock, she was happily watching her favorite cartoons, and I was whipping up a gourmet batch of frozen chicken nuggets and french fries for dinner.

You might think that being a stay-at-home mom, I’d be a little more conscientious when it came to dinner. Not me. I hated cooking. Really. In fact, Vivian’s request - no, demand - that I make and decorate four dozen cookies really set me off. Of course, I would buy them from a grocery store. Just because she ordered me to do something didn’t mean I’d do it. I had my dignity after all. Plus, thinking of Vivian’s words would be “inspiration” during my next hit. That made me smile.

“Mommy?” Romi asked while we snuggled on the couch to watch Survivor, Arctic Circle. I suppose you think it’s bad to allow your kid to watch TV, but I found this particular show educational.

“What?”

“Alta said we’re going on vacation soon. Where are we going?”

“Well,” I said slowly, “we’re going to an island in the ocean for a family reunion.”

“Oh.” Romi turned her attention back to Survivor, laughing as the contestants tried to start a fire in the snow. I mean, it wasn’t as sexy as the more tropical versions of the show. It’s kind of hard to get a tan and run around scantily clad in the snow and ice. I was hoping they’d have to dodge a hungry polar bear or at least a rabid harp seal before the season ended.

Later that night, as I collapsed on the couch, ignoring the dirty dishes and baskets of unfolded laundry, I felt a wave of relief that Romi didn’t ask more about our upcoming trip.

What should I tell her? Eddie had always been good at this kind of thing. A stab of guilt hit my stomach when I realized I’d never told him the truth. He had accepted taking on the family name with no problem. I guess when your name was “Johnson,” anything else looked good.

Damn. Much as I’d like to avoid it, I’d have to tell Romi something. But what? What had mom told me? I had no memory of that. It was as if I’d been born knowing that nun-chucks and plastique were in my future.

There were parenting books on potty-training, raising polite children, and so on, but nothing for this problem. Maybe I could manage somehow. For thousands of years, my family had transferred our history to each new generation. What did they do?

Looking at the clock, I saw it was too late to call Mom, Liv or Dak. I turned off the TV and took a book up to bed. Light reading would take my mind off it until tomorrow when I could actually do something. Once curled up with a pillow and blankets, I opened my book and within minutes I was laughing my way through The Dead Zone by Stephen King. I loved that book.

CHAPTER FIVE

[A grenade lands at his feet]

“And everything seemed to be going so well.”

-Dwight, Sin City

If you were to stand in front of my house, you would; a) not see my secret attic, and b) draw the attention of my surveillance monitors, making me very, VERY nervous. But let’s go with the first thing, shall we?

I had a lovely, Victorian house in the Queen Anne style. Behind the low-pitch, center gabled roof was a hidden dormer room, my secret workshop.

When I’d bought the house, I’d been single and fresh out of college. (I had majored in Russian Lit and minored in botany. More on that later.)  Because of my unusual family business, I had hired a carpenter/electrician from Chicago to put in a “special room” for me.

Bombays are supposed to be extremely discreet. So I’d thrown an insane amount of cash at the guy I picked for the job. After exhaustive research to discover that he worked alone and moved around a lot with no family commitments, I’d hired him and sent a limo to pick him up to bring him to the house. Of course, the limo driver had been Dak, who’d given him a cup of coffee laced with one of my special knockout drugs. Robby Carmichael hadn’t known what hit him. He had woken up in St. Louis. . .or rather. . . he thought he’d awoken in St. Louis.

Instead, he’d been here. I’d put him up in the guest room, and he’d begun work immediately. My cover story had been that as a single woman, I was incredibly paranoid and wanted a secret “safe room.” Robby hadn’t watched TV, listened to the radio or gone out. He simply ate, worked and slept. Those had been the conditions of his job, and I paid him well.

The whole time he’d been here, I wore a wig, fat suit, brown contact lenses, and several facial warts. I’m sure he’d wondered why I needed a “safe room,” considering my appearance, but to his credit, he had never asked. Once he’d been done, I killed him so no one would know I even had this room.

Just kidding. Bet you thought I really iced him, eh? Nah. I had just rendered him unconscious and had Dak deliver him home. He had woken up in his bed, none the wiser and a whole lot wealthier.

The secret room was completely white, with a ceramic, tile floor. The ceiling had skylights disguised as solar panels. There were ten different surveillance monitors on the wall opposite the door.

Metal bookshelves took up the rest of the space, filled with jars labeled with numbers. This system made sense only to me. There was a small desk with a laptop computer and one of those really cool, ergonomic task chairs from Levenger.

Bolted to the floor, in the middle of the room, were two lab tables and a sink littered with beakers, test tubes, a microscope and slides. There were no personal effects, except for a poster with a kitten dangling from a branch saying “hang in there.” My mom had given it to me when I started training.

Anyway, my daughter didn’t know about my workshop yet. Why not introduce her? (Romi, this is Mommy’s death lab. Death lab, Romi. Actually, she’d probably like the kitten poster.)  I don’t know. She thought of me as her mother; bedtime storyteller, owie-kisser, cuddler. I wasn’t ready to reveal that side to her. It was schizophrenic, but that’s what made it tolerable. There were two Gins; one who was a model mother, perfect daughter, etc. And one who could hogtie a man in such a way that the slightest release of tension in the rope could break his neck. That had taken all of my sixth grade year to learn, by the way. And there were NO merit badges for that kind of knot-tying in Girl Scouts. Believe me. I checked.

My lab was so well-concealed that my late husband hadn’t even known it was there. Of course it helped that he had been oblivious to anything outside of his den. He had once gone three weeks without noticing that I bought all new furniture for the living room. In fact, I’d had to tell him. Compare it to the day I had borrowed his letter opener (not for a job, but to actually open letters) and laid it on his desk instead of placing it back in his cup. The man had freaked out.

Of course, I had loved that about him. I had loved everything about Ed. He’d been smart, quirky, funny, and he had the loveliest blue eyes. And when he had laughed at one of my jokes, I swear I levitated off the ground with euphoria.

Where was I? Right. My lab. Anyway, the laptop was my entire office. Grandma Mary would kill me (if I have to explain it at this point, you haven’t been paying attention) if she knew how much stuff I had in there, including files on every member of the family.

That was where I found myself the next morning, sitting at my desk, checking up on the Bombays. I thought if I could figure out who was going down, I might have an edge. Even with family, you can never have too much leverage. And I have to admit I was a little worried for my own immediate family. Common sense told me none of us were in danger. At least I think that’s what common sense was telling me. Either that, or I was hungry.

Deciding not to take chances, I locked up and hit the kitchen. Two Ding Dongs and a half can of Pringles later, I threw on a jacket, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or on edge, there was one place I could go to relax.

“Hey, Ginny!” Vera looked up from the register.

“Anything new, Vera?” I asked, hopefully.

The old woman threw her thumb over her shoulder. “Yup. In the back. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” I headed to the back of the shop. Vera always had something special for me when I came in, which was often. She ran the best pet store in town.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Dak’s sudden appearance made me jump.

I made a face. “You know me so well.”

He knelt down beside me. “Maybe, but I’ll never know why you come here so often.”

“Well.” I sighed, peering into the large, glass case. “It’s therapy really. Calms me down.”

Dak tapped on the glass. “Why don’t you just get one of these guys?”

Good question, I thought as the puppies raced over to inspect Dakota’s finger. Why didn’t I get a dog? I love dogs! And I would achieve godlike status in Romi’s eyes.

I rose and lifted the lid of the box, carefully scooping up a Pug puppy. Vera always let me handle them. Not many people were allowed to. But I came regularly, and once I had roughed up two goons who were bothering her, so I guess that made her trust me.

In spite of what I do, I would never, ever, hurt an animal. Not that I’ve ever been asked to. No Bombay has ever killed an animal, as far as I know. (Well, there was that gorilla, but he had known sign language and we just couldn’t leave witnesses behind, could we?)  Of course, it may have something to do with the fact animals don’t sell guns, drugs, or spill their guts to the wrong people. Unless you’re a signing gorilla. And trust me, he’d had it coming.

“I don’t know,” I said in response to Dak’s question. “It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“And being a single mother isn’t?”

I shook my head. “Look, I can manage to keep myself, a child and a backyard full of plants alive. I don’t think I can add one more life form to that equation.”

“Okay, Mr. Spock.” he laughed and took the squirming pup from me.

“You’re right, I guess.” I sounded like an idiot. There was really no reason not to get a dog. The Pug struggled in my brother’s arms, trying to get back to me. I lifted her to my face and a licking frenzy commenced.

“You know what?” I said more to myself than anyone else, “I’m gonna buy you. Right now!”

And that was just what I did. Dakota helped me fill a shopping cart full of puppy food, toys, a small crate, etc. I handed Vera my credit card, and she smiled.

“Finally! After all these years, I never thought you’d do it!” she teased.

“Well, I had to do something at some point or you’d ban me from the place. Besides,” I looked at the snoring pup in my arms, “how can I resist a girl who snores?”

Back at the house, I felt a spring in my step. I was happy, giddy really. Dak and I set up all of Poppy’s stuff. That’s what I named her, Poppy. It was kind of a sentimental botanist/assassin thing. Soon we were sitting in the living room, my newest purchase happily sleeping in my lap.

“So,” I finally asked, “why’d you come looking for me, anyway?”

Dak’s smile faded a bit as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a large, manila envelope.

My mouth dropped open. “I have an assignment? Now?”

He nodded. “Yup. Mom dropped it off this morning.”

“DAK!” I screamed. “I don’t have time for that now! With the reunion coming up, having to tell Romi about everything and four dozen ghost-shaped cookies to bake! Why did you let me buy this dog?” I felt more than a little betrayed.

He raised his hands against my outrage. “Whoa! Don’t shoot the messenger! It’s just a job. I thought maybe getting Poppy would help relax you, is all.”

“WHAT?!” I seriously considered shooting him. “How can I relax now? Oh my God! I wonder if Vera will take her back?”

I looked at the little dog, curled up in my lap, oblivious to my rantings. She was awfully damn cute. What the hell was I going to do with her? And the reunion was coming up! What was I thinking?

“Calm down, Gin!” Dak smiled that big, toothy smile that peeled clothing off young blondes. “You need some sort of break. You don’t have to do the job right now. You know that.”

He was right. I had at least a two-week window. But with that damned reunion coming up, there wasn’t much time to prepare.

“And you know Dad or Todd will watch her. They never go to Santa Muerta.” He looked at his watch. “Ooh. Gotta run, Sis. I’ve got a date tonight.”

I nodded weakly as he let himself out. Oh sure, he has a date. I’ve got an untrained, narcoleptic puppy and an oblivious kindergartner. Dak was probably meeting some hot chick for dinner somewhere nice. Bastard. I never get to do that. And while I didn’t necessarily mean I wanted a hot chick, anything would be an improvement over my current celibacy situation.

Something clicked in my frazzled brain. I gently placed Poppy on the couch and retrieved my purse. It was still there! I walked to the phone and dialed the number on the card.

“Hello?” that hot Aussie accent purred in the receiver.

“Um, hey, is this Diego?” Who else would it be, moron?

“That’s right. Who’s this?”

“Gin. . . Ginny Bombay. We met at Borders, remember?”

A warm, luscious laugh filled my right ear. “Of course! I don’t easily forget a woman who salts her latte.”

I laughed nervously. “Well, I was calling to take you up on your offer for dinner. If it still stands, that is.”

“I’d like that!” He sounded sincere, and my naughty bits became warm and tingly. “How about tonight?”

“Um, sure! Where can I meet you?” It wouldn’t do for him to see my assassin’s lair. Not on the first date, anyway.

“How about Antonio’s at seven?”

Italian food? Did he know that was the way to my bed. . . I mean heart? “Great. See you then.”

I hung up and immediately dialed Liv.

“Sure, I’ll babysit for Romi and Poppy! I love dogs!” she effused.

“So why don’t you have one?” I thought Dak’s question was fair, even though he didn’t have so much as a houseplant.

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “It just seemed like too much of a responsibility.”

Obviously I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. “Well, enjoy your time with Poppy, then. Maybe she’ll change your mind. I’ll drop them off at six-thirty.”

“Great. See you later.” Liv said before hanging up.

Okay. Dak had said I needed to relax. And that’s what I would do tonight. Relax while mentally undressing Diego. Actually, I wasn’t going to wait to do that. My imagination was just getting to the part where I tear off his boxers with my teeth, when I saw Poppy squatting on the carpet. And it wasn’t because she was doing lunges. Terrific.

CHAPTER SIX

“Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.”

–Oscar Wilde

It was kind of funny. I mean, I’d killed lots of men. Some of them had been really scary, intimidating types. And yet, here I was, at Antonio’s, waiting for Diego and I was terrified. I guess it had just been a long time since I’d had a real date. And by real, I meant a date that could end up with me and a man naked in a bedroom.

Anyway, he wasn’t late, I was early. Which I know you aren’t supposed to do. I was supposed to show up after him, making a clothes-melting entrance. Instead, I was early. Damn my training! Mom always said, “Never arrive late for a job. Or you give opportunity to your victim.” Was I thinking of Diego as a victim? That made me sound a bit predatory, didn’t it?

At least I looked okay. . . I thought. In trying to give the appearance that I could casually throw anything on and walk out the door, I tried on seven different outfits. Two hours later, I settled on dark blue wide-legged dress jeans, a red V-neck cashmere sweater with a white camisole, and my PRADA kitten heels. Now all I had to do was stop sweating, not wet myself and somehow keep my heart from bursting out of my chest a la Alien.

“You want anything to drink while you wait?” The waiter stood in front of me expectantly. Great. He managed to point out that I was alone, which in food server speak meant “loser.”

“Um, how abut a glass of shiraz?” I managed weakly. Way to project those killer instincts.

The waiter nodded and left. I looked at my watch. Again. Not much had changed since the last time I checked. So I concentrated on behaving normally. By the way, that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Remember the latte dilemma at the book store?

“You look fantastic.” Diego pulled out his chair and joined me.

“Thanks,” I replied, “you do too.” Breathe Gin, breathe. No need to be nervous. After all, you’ve killed men for doing less than dating you.

The waiter appeared with my wine, and Diego ordered a beer. Now we actually had to come up with something to say.

He really did look amazing. A simple shirt, opened to the third button blazed brilliant white against his bronzed skin. A black blazer and khaki chinos just looked perfect on his body.

“Come here often?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. I like this place.”

“My first time.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I haven’t been in town long enough to try everything.”

Did I just imagine it, or was he implying that I was one of the things he should try?

“Did you just move here?”

“Temporarily,” he answered. “I’m in town for a couple of months with a client. The company’s headquarters are located here, and he’s been reassigned to the area for about six months.”

He could leave me in six months? I began to mourn for a relationship that hadn’t even begun yet.

“I see,” I said sagely. At least, I hoped it sounded like sage wisdom. With me, you could never tell. “Then where will you go?”

Diego put down his beer and smiled again, “Probably back to Europe. That’s where he was stationed before.”

Already, in my mind, I had married Diego, only to lose him to Belgium! “Have you ever been to the Midwest before?”

Diego laughed. “No. This is my first time.”

Oooh, the conversation was scintillating, wasn’t it? “What do you think?”

“Not bad. I must say that I find the natives intriguing.”

“I’ll give you the tour sometime.” Ending in my bedroom, of course.

I had to get it together, but it wasn’t easy. In my mind, Diego wasn’t human, but a gorgeous fantasy. We scanned the menus and ordered dinner. The waiter left us with bread, extra virgin olive oil and parmesan cheese. I thought about using the olive oil on Diego.

“So, Ginny, why do you live here?”

Huh? Was that a slam? “I like it here. It’s quiet, there are four seasons, and most of my family lives here.” I might have sounded a tad defensive.

Diego held up his hands and laughed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just curious. Most executive protection specialists live in New York, D.C. or L.A.”

Oh riiiiiiight. The bodyguard cover.

“We have an airport. And my client only works a couple of months a year. So I can live wherever, really. Besides, you live here now. And I don’t recall you mentioning living in New York, D.C. or L.A.”

Diego nodded. “True.” He changed the subject. “So tell me about your family. You’re not married – ” he pointed to my hand “ –  at least, I don’t think you are.”

“I’m widowed, actually.”

“My condolences,” he said with concern. “I hope I didn’t upset you by asking.”

“It’s alright. Ed died a couple of years ago. . .cancer. I have a little girl who’s five. My parents, brother and some of my cousins live here too.” I watched him carefully to see if my having a kid bothered him. This date could be over pretty quickly. Hunk be damned, I couldn’t tolerate a man who didn’t love kids.

I looked into his eyes. He wasn’t kidding. And he didn’t race out of the restaurant when I mentioned Romi.

“If your daughter is anything like you, I imagine she’s quite delightful.” Diego smiled, completely relaxed. I took it as a good sign. Make that a very good sign.

“She’s wonderful. Funny, smart and independent. I couldn’t live without her.” Okay, now I was spending too much time talking about it. He might think that I’m one of those freaks who lives vicariously through her children.

“I’d very much like to meet her.” He said. And I adored him for that.

“Another time, maybe,” I needed to change the subject and fast. “So tell me about you.” Nice save.

“Not much to tell, really. Grew up in Sydney, went to university there, and moved here. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in our field in Australia. A friend of mine told me there were jobs here in the States, so I moved here ten years ago and have been in and out of your hemisphere ever since.” Ooooh! He said “in and out!”

“Do you ever go home?” I couldn’t imagine being away from my family. They were pretty cool. Violent, sure, but whose family wasn’t dysfunctional?

Diego ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair and I started to melt. “Oh yeah. Sure. I go back a couple of times a year to see Mum and Frida. Dad passed away a while back, and Sis has a couple of kids now. I’m crazy about my niece and nephews.”

So he loved kids! And his family! I did a lewd end-zone dance in my mind.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know anyone to talk about the murders of famous people with.”

He laughed, by God, and I went all woozy inside, “Right! By the way, I went back and picked up Assassination Vacation. You’re right. It is funny.”

“Well, maybe we could trace her steps someday and have our own assassination vacation.” I choked on my wine – or more accurately, my words. What the hell was I doing making vacation plans with him?

“I’d like that,” he said.

The food arrived, giving me a few minutes to think as I crammed a forkful of pasta into my mouth. For some reason, I didn’t feel that the date was going very well. On the one hand, he was still as gorgeous as I remembered, and he liked kids. On the other hand, I felt like a complete idiot. And that’s never good, according to those quizzes in Cosmo.

“This lasagna is great,” Diego said. “I haven’t had Italian this good since Venice last year.”

“So your client travels a lot?” I managed while twirling my fettuccini onto my fork. He was right. The food was excellent. I could survive on the bread alone. And you could stand a fork up in the alfredo sauce, it was so thick. After all, who needs arteries?

“Yes.” He paused to take a sip of his beer before continuing, “When he was stationed in Europe, we went everywhere.”

“Do you miss that here?”

“Not at all. I’d like to see more of America sometime. But that will have to wait until I retire. I don’t have much time of my own.” He dug his fork into his dinner, “Fortunately, my client doesn’t need me at night back here.”

Don’t blow it! Don’t blow it! “Good. Then I’ll take you out to dinner more often.” Had I really said that? Wasn’t he supposed to ask for a second date? I did the Jonny Quest “Aaayyiiiiiii” scream in my head.

Diego grinned. “I’d like that, Ginny.”

We must have stayed at Antonio’s for three hours. I couldn’t remember having so much fun with someone other than Ed. Diego was charming, smart and funny. It was like he stepped out of a book. No man could possibly be this perfect.

“Ginny?” I froze. Uh-oh. I knew that voice.

“Ginny!” mom said even louder.

I looked up. There they were. My parents.

“Mom! Dad! What’re you doing here?” I said with genuine surprise. Please don’t embarrass me, I prayed silently.

Carolina Bombay drew herself up to her full height of 5 feet, 1 inch, and looked from me to Diego, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone!”

My prayers didn’t work. I guess there really is no God. I looked frantically to my father for support. Dad winked at me and extended his hand. “Larry Bombay, Gin’s dad. Please ignore my wife. I’m working to have her institutionalized.”

Diego laughed as Mom glared at Dad. Then she turned and offered Diego her hand. “I’m Ginny’s mom, Carolina.”

“Diego Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” I saw my mother’s eyebrows go up when she heard the accent.

I would have intervened, but I was completely paralyzed by humiliation. You know, I always thought that if there were a way to kill someone with shame, it would be very effective. Mental note – give that idea some thought some other time.

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?” I repeated with a little force.

“Oh!” Mom looked back at me. “Sorry. We were shopping and decided to get some dinner.” She reached into her bag and pulled something out. “Look what I found for you!”

You know what? It was possible to die of shame. I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating at the sight of what was in her hand. I may have been thirty-nine, but for years my mother had been under the delusion that I was ten years old. She had a habit of picking up the goofiest junk at whatever branch of Hell’s Mall she shops. This happened several times a year. Usually it was crap shaped like the state of Virginia, mostly with my name on it. Other times it was stationary with kittens and my name on it. But now, my mother held out a pair of barrettes with Pugs on them and the name “Ginny” written in puffy paint. Dak had probably called her the minute we left the pet store. Bastard.

I was no psychologist, but I was fairly certain that Mom did this to pretend I was still her innocent baby, in spite of what I did for a living. No excuse. Not this time.

Diego looked at the barrettes, then at me, his right eyebrow arched in what I hoped was amusement.

“Um, thanks, Mom.” I grabbed the barrettes and shoved them in my purse. For some reason, I could never throw this stuff away. It occupied a dusty box in the darkest corner of my attic. The only thing she had ever given me that I did use, was a coffee mug that said Virginia is for Lovers. I really liked that.

At the moment, I was pretty sure I looked shell-shocked. Dad gave me a look, then grabbed Mom by the arm.

“Come on, honey, we should get a table.”

“Maybe we could join them?” She pointed at the two other chairs.

My eyes flew wide open and I sent my father the following message, telepathically, Get her out of here before I tell Diego I’m adopted! Dad immediately dragged Mom away.

“Oh my God, Diego! I’m so sorry.” I could feel the blush all over my face.

Diego waved it off. “No worries. Remember my sister? Mum doesn’t even have to be around to embarrass her. All anyone has to do is ask her for her name.”

In spite of his sincerity, I still was shaken from the great barrette incident. I mean, did she really think I’d wear them? I had short hair, for Christ sake! Really short hair!

Diego leaned closer. “Gin, really, don’t fret about it. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.” But I was convinced Mom had blown my chances of getting to second base with Diego tonight.

We would’ve stayed longer, but the waiter forced us out. I  considered killing him for ending my date before I could reduce the damage Mom had done. But it wouldn’t do to murder someone in front of my future husband.

Diego walked me to my car. He was just starting to make his move and kiss me, when he froze, a frown crossing his lickable features. He reached for his belt, pulling out a cell phone.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “It’s my client. I have to take this.” Diego looked at me as if to see if that was okay. I nodded, and he answered his phone.

I could’ve heard what he said, but I was easily hypnotized by his eyes, which were on mine in spite of his conversation. He had this dark, hungry look. I recognized that. That was a good look! As soon as he snapped off the phone, I reached up and kissed him.

Diego kissed back. Yaaaaaayyyyyy! His lips were soft, needy. He tasted like the mint he’d gotten from the waiter. Diego pulled me to him, his lips against mine. I seriously considered swooning.

“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, his forehead against mine. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll make plans, okay?”

I nodded like a puppet.  His kiss totally threw my mojo off.  He waited until I got in the car and drove away.  I only hoped that in my blissed-out, aroused state I wouldn't drive into a house on the way home.

CHAPTER SEVEN

John Smith:  What's new?

Eddie:  Same old, same old. People need killing.

-Mr. & Mrs. Smith

“Alright, we want details!” Liv and Dak faced me with their arms crossed. I had just gotten back from taking Romi to school and found them on my doorstep. Apparently, Liv had told Dak about my date last night. Assassins are such nosy bastards.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?” Dak asked.

“Because I made the decision to call him after you left.”

“Well?” Liv asked. “Who is he?” She enunciated each word as if I were three years old.

I sighed and took another drink of my coffee. I had a mild headache from the two bottles of wine I consumed. “His name is Diego. He’s Australian. I met him at the bookstore.”

“Ooooh! A man with an accent!” Liv squealed.

Dak rolled his eyes. “And?”

I shrugged. “What?” I knew I was pissing him off, and it amused me.

Dak sighed with frustration. “Details! I want details!”

I pointed at him. “Do I ever ask you for details of your dates?”

“No. But they don’t seem to be as important to me as this guy is to you.”

I arched my right eyebrow. “How can you tell?”

Dak counted on his fingers. “One, you haven’t dated since Eddie died. Two, Liv said you were out for four hours. . .on a weeknight. And three, you’re hiding something.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You’re an idiot. I’m not hiding anything. I’m just not telling you everything.”

“And there’s a difference?” Dak asked.

“Yeah, there is.”

“Do I have to put you both in time out?” Liv pushed us apart. She turned to me. “We’re just curious. And we’re happy for you. That’s all, Gin.”

Liv knew which buttons to push. But I was afraid to tell them too much. It wasn’t real yet. At least not to me.

“What do you want to know?” I offered my olive branch.

“How about his name, Social Security number and mother’s maiden name?” Dak asked.

“Right. Like I’d let you do a background check on him.” And he would too.

“How about just a little info?” Liv asked gently.

“Okay. He’s probably our age, gorgeous as all get out in that tall-dark-handsome kind of way. He’s very funny and smart and likes kids. Happy?”

“What does he do for a living?” Dak asked.

And there it was. The thing I didn’t want to tell them. Why? Because there was a teensy, weensy chance that there could be, in the way distant future, a slight conflict of interest there.

“He’s a bodyguard.” I couldn’t lie to them. Dak and Liv knew me too well.

“A what? Gin! Are you crazy?” Dak jumped in.

“Now, Dak, we don’t know that it’ll be a problem,” Liv said.

Dak rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. Won’t be a problem! He just happens to be a bodyguard in a small city where my immediate family of assassins lives! I’m sure there won’t be any conflict of interest there.” Wow. He was pissed!

“I didn’t know that when I met him! It’s just what he does. It’s not like he’s FBI or a cop.”

Okay, I’d admit to that one time I’d had a date with a Fed by mistake. But it had never come back to haunt me, and there’d been no second date. (Relax. I didn’t kill him.)

“At least she had a date!” Liv interjected.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Now, that doesn’t make me sound pathetic at all!”

Poppy padded into the room and looked at us. Apparently, we’d woken her up. Finding nothing interesting, she waddled to her food dish and began eating.

“See what you did? You woke the baby!” I yelled at Dak.

Dak waved his hands in the air. “Okay, fine. I’m overreacting. I’m glad you’re seeing someone. Even if he is body armor.” Body armor was what we called bodyguards. They usually slowed the process of hitting our target with bullets.

“I accept your apology,” I said rather magnanimously.

“So.” Liv popped a Hostess mini-muffin in her mouth. (The girl never, ever gained weight.) “Are you going to see him again?”

“Did you get laid?” Dak cut in.

I threw my hands into the air. “Yes,” I said to Liv. Then I  turned to Dak. “Not yet, not that it’s any of your business. Besides, he’s only here for six months, then it’s back to Europe with his client. I can’t imagine us having a long distance thing after - goddamnit! It’s only been one date! Why am I telling you all this?”

Liv looked to Dak. “She’s a little defensive, isn’t she?”

“No shit,” he responded. “She needs to get laid.”

“I’m right HERE!” I shouted. I hated being ignored. “And there’s nothing to discuss!”

I scooped up the fat pug puppy, walked out the back door, and set Poppy down in the yard. I followed her while she used my lawn as her personal toilet, then brought her back in. Liv and Dak were waiting for me.

“Okay, we’ll change the subject.” Dak smiled. “What’s the job?”

I blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The job! Who’s Vic?”

“What?” I had no clue.

Dak stared at me, “The envelope I gave you yesterday! Who’s Vic?”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten about that. Vic was the name we gave our victims, kind of like a secret code. Not the most difficult code to crack, but we’re kind of lazy. “I didn’t open it.” I had forgotten about the hit. I’d been too wrapped up in Diego’s eyes - I mean, Romi’s (and Poppy’s) training.

“I’ll open it later.” We had a couple of weeks. And I needed to focus on other things first.

“You have to do it before the reunion,” Dak pressed.

“I know.” I scratched between Poppy’s ears. “I’ll get to it. When have you ever known me to screw up a job?”

“Never,” Dak mused, “but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Out.” I pointed to the door.

Liv fondled the pug’s ears, then smiled as she grabbed Dak by the arm and pulled him out of my house.

“Now, you, I like,” I said in a baby voice to Poppy. She wiggled in my arms. “You don’t ask any questions.” I set her on the floor and walked into the living room. The pup trailed me, trying clumsily to climb onto the couch next to me. I lifted her up, and she snuggled onto my lap, promptly falling asleep.

The envelope sat on the end table, unopened. I supposed I shouldn’t leave it there, but I was getting careless these days. I picked it up and turned it around in my hands, giving myself one nasty paper cut.

“That’s enough for you,” I said as I set it down and sucked on my finger. There was a lot to think about. A hit that had to be taken care of, the family reunion, training Romi, housetraining Poppy, and an impending second date with the delectable Diego.

I thought about the kiss he had given me last night. It had been perfect in every way. I wanted more. When would he call? Oh yes, he had said today sometime.

Now, assassins don’t usually sit by the phone waiting for Australian bodyguards to call them for a date. Okay, so I was breaking that rule. I knew there would be a second date, followed by a third, fourth, all the way to 100 if I could make it happen. How many days are there in six months? Something like 180-186, I would imagine. Minus the reunion time and, of course, I’d be working some of the time too. Hmmm. . . this relationship had to move fast in order for first date plus consecutive dates to equal mind-blowing sex.

Okay, so I’d break with convention and wait by the phone today. Poppy snored loudly on my lap. It wasn’t like I could move anyway.

And that’s where I sat for four hours, waiting for the phone to ring and my bladder to explode. Funny business, this dating thing. Finally, I had to get up to pick up Romi from school. Diego hadn’t called. Bastard.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mr. Newberry: I visualized you in a haze as one of those slacksters, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes I've been seeing in Newsweek.

Marty:  No, no, no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with lead pipe cruelty, mercenary sensibility. You know... sports, sex, no real relationships. How about you - how have the years been treating you?

Mr. Newberry:  Well you know me Martin - still the same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed...

-Grosse Pointe Blank

Dak had been right. I’d spent all day waiting for Diego to call. And I hadn’t given up yet, as evidenced by the cordless phone sitting next to me. However, I had a job to do and that monkey would be on my back until I did it.

Now, with Romi in bed and Poppy curled up with her, I had some time to check out the hit. It was just an ordinary manila envelope, nothing special, no scary seal in blood red wax. You weren’t expecting that, right?

Jobs were handed down through the family, assigned by the Council to the assassin, based on location, specialty, etc. The Council consisted of the oldest Bombay generation, which in this case was Grandma Mary, her brother Lou, sister Dela (as in Delaware) and cousins Troy and Florence, who headed up the European branch of the Bombays. You might think that sounds efficient to have American and European branches. But basically it goes back 150 years when only part of the family wanted to come to America. The other snobs refused to leave The Continent.

It was useful to have us working internationally. And I got along well with my European counterparts. It also gave me a place to crash when in England or France. Anyway, the Council met quarterly, handing down assignments to their children (Mom’s generation), who were divided into subsets with Greek letter codes – a tradition going back to our Greek heritage. Mom was the head of the Alpha group, the group to which Dak and I belonged. Liv and her brother, Paris, were in the Beta subset. Mom’s sister, Virginia, hadn’t lived long enough to have kids, so she had zip. It was a small but lethal family. I wouldn’t cross us.

So, I sat in the living room with the drapes drawn and security system on. Technically, I should be in the lab to do this, but I was feeling pretty lazy. That’s right, I was a lazy assassin.

“Let’s see who our bad guy is today, Gin!” I announced in my game-show voice to no one in particular. (Insert embarrassed assassin here.)

Leonard Burns’ forgettable face glowered at me. Soon, it would be a dead face, if I had anything to do with it. Let’s see, busted for selling military secrets to Iran. Who’s been a bad boy? You have, you have!

Apparently, Leonard, now to be referred to as “Vic,” had turned federal witness and got away with screwing over his country. For some reason, Leonard cheated death through the federal witness protection program by hiding out in my backyard. It took a while to find him, but Grandma had tracked him down. Mental note; appreciate Grandma more. Maybe send a card or flowers – just because.

Hmmm, currently employed with our local farm implement manufacturer as an engineer. Nice. Didn’t live far from me either, only two blocks away.

So, the next morning, after taking Romi to school, I set my evil (dun dun dun!) plan in motion.

“Come on, Poppy,” I said cheerfully as I wrestled her into a harness, “we’re going for a walk!” By the way, have you ever tried to put one of those things on a dog? I swear they were designed by the sadist who came up with the straight jacket. And if you’ve ever had to put a straight jacket on someone – you know what I mean. If you haven’t, um, well just take my word for it.

It was a gorgeous day for surveillance work. With the address memorized, my mirrored aviator sunglasses and baseball cap (I had other clothes on too), I’d look like anyone else taking a two-month-old pug for a walk. Poppy bounced beside me, seemingly happy with this particular interruption in her intensive napping schedule.

It only took a few minutes to find Vic’s house – without looking like I was trying to find his house, that is. It was probably not called a house as much as a palace.

In fact, I didn’t realize I lived in such a nice neighborhood. The large, brick, neoclassical monstrosity loomed three stories above me. Four fluted columns rose in front of the entrance to the top floor. The trim was oddly eclectic. How did you hide out in something that begged for attention?

Okay, I had to check the grounds. If he had a garden, I might get lucky and find rhubarb or rhododendron to poison him with and make it look like Lil’ Ol’ Leo just had an accidental hankerin’ to eat from his garden. But how did I explain snooping around?

A whimper at my feet gave me an idea. I bent down to scratch Poppy, surreptitiously unhooking her leash. There was no better excuse than chasing a runaway puppy.

There was one problem with that, however. I hadn’t factored in the complete lack of interest my dog had in doing anything more than sitting on the sidewalk.

“Go, Poppy! Go on, girl!” I whispered, nudging her gently with my foot.  She lay down.

“Come on!” I whispered a little loudly, “This is your big chance! Make a break for it!” Poppy lifted her head to stare at me, eyes bulging, lips permanently etched in a sour look. She sneezed, then wiggled her curled-up tail.

Maybe I was getting somewhere. “That’s it! Go on! Check out the house! Look at those bushes! I’ll bet there’s a dead bird or something just as gross over there!”

Poppy rose to her feet, then yawned while stretching her front legs. I was impressed. I’d never seen her do more than one thing at a time before. She remained standing, looking to me for more encouragement.

“Good girl!” I said as she finally waddled off toward the house. We would need to work on that. I wondered if there was a disobedience class I could take?  While Poppy traveled at speeds where a paralyzed snail could catch her, I pretended to be fascinated by my watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her lying down beneath a shrub in front of the house. Okay, so not in the backyard, but I could still pull it off.

“Ginny!” Diego’s voice called out behind me, and I turned to see him get out of a black Town Car and walk toward me.

You would be glad to know I didn’t panic. I may have vomited a little in my mouth, but no trace of panic. “Diego? What are you doing here?”

“My client lives on this street.” He looked at the empty leash in my hands. “Did you lose your dog?”

“What? Oh! Yes! I was just looking for her.” To make it appear more realistic, I shouted, “Here Poppy! Poppy! Come here, girl!” I prayed that she wouldn’t hear me.

“What a darling pug!” Diego exclaimed as the puppy betrayed me by running up to us. Oh sure, now she ran.

Poppy wagged her rear end, no doubt delighted to be fondled by this gorgeous alpha male. Wish I knew what that was like. How pathetic was it that my dog got more action than I did? Before my brain registered what was happening, Diego scooped Poppy up in his arms.

“You’re so cute!” The little traitor squirmed with glee. “You say her name’s Poppy?”

“Yeah. I just got her.” Okay, I’d admit I was more than a little jealous of my dog. I snapped the leash onto her harness and retrieved her from his arms.

Diego smiled. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier. We had a death threat come in yesterday. You know, the usual stuff.”

“Oh. No problem. I’ve been too busy to notice,” I lied. Badly.

“So you live around here?” Diego smiled. He saw right through my clothes . . . I mean lies.

“Um, yes. Two blocks away, actually.”

Diego squinted into the distance. “I can walk you home.”

“No,” I may have said a little too quickly. “Poppy hasn’t, you know, done what we set out to do.” Nice save. I still wanted to get a little surveillance done, and I wasn’t ready for him to see my house. My bed, yes. My house, no. Of course, I wasn’t exactly sure how to pull that off.

He looked down, then at me with a smile. “Seems she just took care of business.”

Damn. Poppy wagged her curly tail as best she could, next to a steaming pile of “business.”

So that’s how Diego ended up in my kitchen, with a diet pop and a smile. Under normal circumstances, I would have been thrilled. But somehow, it was too soon to have him in my house. Instead of lust, all I felt was weird. And not good weird either, but the kind where you walk-in-on-your-father-naked weird.

Diego looked at his watch. “I lost track of the time. Gotta run!” He stood, and I walked him to the door. Before I opened it, he kissed me lightly on the lips. Okay. The weird feeling was replaced with lust again. All circuits were back to normal.

“It was nice meeting you, Poppy.” He crouched to pet the wriggling, delighted pug. The whore. Diego stood. “How about I bring a pizza over one night and meet your daughter?”

“Um, okay.” I was still a little fogged up over the kiss.

“Tomorrow night alright?” Diego punctuated his question with a more passionate kiss.

“Yeah. Sure,” I think I responded.

Diego left and I slumped against the closed door, sliding down to the floor with my new competition for the Australian bodyguard’s affections. Poppy licked my hand, then curled up in my lap and promptly fell asleep.

I stroked her ears until she started snoring. “You know, I should pop a cap in your ass. After all, you blew every assignment I gave you today, and then you shamelessly threw yourself at my man.”

In her sleepy state, Poppy stretched and rolled over, exposing her fat belly to me, waiting for a scratch.

“I guess it’s a good thing I have a policy against killing animals.”

Poppy ignored me, clearly getting her beauty sleep so she could seduce my new boyfriend tomorrow night. For a two-month-old puppy, she seemed to have it all figured out.

CHAPTER NINE

“If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.”

-Martin Blank, Grosse Pointe Blank

After a much-needed cold shower and lunch, I plopped Poppy in her crate and headed out for a quick, two-block jog. I figured the neighbors might get suspicious if they saw me again with the puppy, so I altered my “disguise” a bit and left to make it look like a different woman in the throes of exercising.

Maybe I should mention that I hate jogging. I only ever did it once, at Ed’s request. He was a runner and wanted me to join him. After one minute, I nearly passed out. I just wasn’t cut out for it. I can sprint like an axe-toting maniac in a hockey mask, but I just can’t jog.

Which is why I was completely out of breath when I got to Vic’s place (only two blocks away). After passing in front of it, I went around the block, looking for an alley or way to his backyard. No alley. And the foliage was too thick to see the back of the house from the yard behind. So I came around and crossed to the other side of the street, pausing across the street from Vic’s mansion.

Pretending to stop and answer my cell phone, I managed to use it to take a few pictures of the front of the house. I’d have to come up with a way to check the grounds out later. Maybe Dak would come over to watch Romi for me so I could do a little recon under the cover of darkness.

The driveway was clear, but the garage door was shut. There might be a Mrs. Vic at home, for all I knew. Glancing up and down the street, I tried to find a neighbor I might know. None of the houses or addresses looked familiar. What now?

There is a fine art to assassination. It isn’t like the movies where the hit man busts in, guns-a-blazing. That just doesn’t work in real life. I try to learn as much as possible before I even begin. I know, booooring. What do you expect? This is reality, not some movie.

Back at home, an Internet search yielded some good stuff. Through his company’s website, I discovered that Vic was on the Chamber of Commerce and Rotary Club. That made me smile. I almost enjoyed hitting Rotarians as much as I enjoyed waxing Junior Leaguers. Something about those stupid clubs makes me itch.

On Google, I found out that Vic has no Mrs. Vic and no little Vics. That’s good. Oooh! He doesn’t give to charity either! Score! I love that! If he gave to the Humane Society or something, that would bother me. Unless he left it in his will. You know, I always thought it would be a good idea for these foundations to set up a contract with us. That way, shortly after naming a charity in their wills, we could pop them. Everybody wins!

Okay, so I had a little information. I still needed to know more personal stuff. I went to my next professional source – the Kennedy Elementary Student Directory. The school district would probably disapprove of the directory’s use for this purpose, but Vic lived in the neighborhood, and maybe one of Romi’s friends lived nearby. I could pump the parents for info and no one would be the wiser.

I scanned the directory, looking at addresses first. I figured I could come up with just about any excuse to visit a fellow Kennedy parent, even if they had no connection to Romi.

Voila! I found one. And right next door, nonetheless. Yay! Looking at the header, I saw that it was even someone in Romi’s class. Bonus!

Damn. The victory was short-lived. Guess who the neighbor was? That’s right. Vivian Marcy. For once in my life, that woman had something I needed. I hoped the gods were whooping it up in Valhalla over that one.

Get over it, Gin. You have a job to do. Hey! Maybe you can find a way to make it look like Vivian killed him! My day just got a little brighter. Now, I needed a pretext. Vivian would get suspicious if I just showed up on her doorstep.

What I needed was a very good excuse.

“Mommy!” Romi cried as she plowed into me after school.

I chatted with my daughter about her day as we walked back to the car. At home we went through our ritual, snack and backpack review. I pulled out a large envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked Romi.

“Oh. We’re s’posed to sell stuff. It’s for the playground.” Romi sputtered through a mouthful of cookies.

Great. School started two weeks ago and already we had to sell junk. I flipped through the booklet: candy, candles, calendars – all the “c” words were there. Was it just my imagination, or did kids have to sell a lot of crap (hey, another “c” word!) these days? The only thing I remembered selling in school was Girl Scout cookies. And I think in high school, the Future Farmers of America had sold oranges or something. Last year, Romi’s preschool had peddled junk in the fall and spring. I didn’t want to mess with it, so I just walked into the office and handed them a check for $100. It seemed a lot easier than. . .

That was it! I grabbed the phone and dialed Vivian’s number.

“Hello?” Vivian sounded bored. Must be rough to break up a day of polishing your Tiffany jewelry by answering the phone.

“Vivian? It’s Ginny.”

“Who?” said the bored voice again.

I clenched my teeth. She knew damn well who it was, “Ginny Bombay.”

“Oh, Virginia,” she responded, with my full name, just to piss me off. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

I dug my fingernails into my palms. “Really? I want to talk to you too. Are you free tomorrow morning? I could stop by?” I cringed at the thought of entering her home. Maybe I should take some holy water with me, just to be safe.

“Fine,” she replied. “I’ll see you at ten.” She hung up before I could confirm. I figured I’d better pack a mirror too. Just in case she was really a gorgon underneath all that Chanel makeup.

The next morning found me doing something I would never have imagined in a million years. I was walking to Vivian Marcy’s house. And chances were, we would have a cup of coffee. Just the thought of accepting hospitality from that woman made me nervous. I couldn’t remember whether she wore any large rings that might conceal poison.

My fingers flew up to the heart-shaped locket around my neck. Inside, behind a photo of my daughter, was my mandatory cyanide pill (death before captivity). Dak kept his in his watch. Liv had hers in her medical alert bracelet – she was allergic to bee stings.

Vivian’s house was almost a complete replica of Tara. I rang the doorbell. It even played the theme song from Gone with the Wind. Yeesh. What an ego.

“Come in, Virginia.” She stood in the doorway, this time in a pink Juicy Couture jogging suit. I followed her down the hall to a three-season room in the back of the house. It had a perfect view of Vic’s yard. Despite being in Vivian’s sinister lair, this was a definite bonus.

“Thanks,” I said, accepting a cup of coffee from my hostess. “You have a lovely yard.” My teeth were clenched, but I believed I sounded sincere.

Vivian waved me off. “Oh it’s nothing. My gardener does it. I don’t even know what’s all out there.”

Trying not to appear too eager, I responded, “I was a botany minor in college. . .mind if I look around?” I was out the door before she could stop me.

Damn. It really was a gorgeous spread. Early autumn hadn’t yet touched her flowers, and they bloomed brightly against the well-manicured lawn. Vivian walked alongside me, saying nothing as I “oohed” and “ahhhed” over her assortment of lilies, wildflowers and hostas.

From time to time, my eyes crossed over into Vic’s yard, but I didn’t see any toxic plants. No rhododendron, lily of the valley or black-eyed Susans. Not even a stray mushroom. Obviously, the FBI took its witness protection program seriously.

“Is that an elderberry bush?” I walked toward a shrub filled with berries at the edge of Vivian and Leonard’s property. It was! Hmmm. . . maybe I had found something useful after all.

“I don’t know,” Vivian said tersely. “Let’s go back inside. I’m not that fond of the outdoors.”

I rolled my eyes and followed her inside. Now I had to make her forget we were ever out there.

“Vivian, I see the PTA has sent home a fundraising brochure.”

“Yes, for playground equipment.” She sounded bored again.

“Well, there are so many fundraisers this time of the year, I had an idea for raising money.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened, as if she seemed surprised I was capable of intelligent thought.

I ignored her expression. “I was thinking: I’d rather just write a check to the school and be done with it. That way, all the money goes directly to the project, not just a percentage. And there’s no work involved with taking orders, delivering orders and collecting money.”

“Good for you. But how does that help?” I could see she didn’t think I had an idea.

“If I would rather do that, my guess is other parents would rather do that too. The school could make a lot more money and the parents would be happier they didn’t have to sell junk to everyone they know.”

Vivian leaned back and took a sip of her coffee. She was frowning, which probably meant that she was pissed she hadn’t come up with the idea herself. Even though this idea was just a pretext to scope Vic’s yard, I thought it had real merit. I didn’t need any pumpkin spice candles or tins full of cashews any more than the next guy.

“I like that,” Vivian responded with a frown. Only she could make a good idea feel bad. “Of course, we’ve already started the fundraiser, but maybe I could turn your little idea” –  she waved her hand at me, dismissively –  “into a real, workable project for the spring.”

I suppressed a rising tide of fury. It didn’t matter what she thought, or that she was planning to put her name on it and reap the glory. I had done what I wanted to do. Vivian would do everything she could to forget I even stopped by so she could claim the idea as her own. Mission accomplished.

“Now, Virginia, there is something I wanted to talk to you about as well.”

I’m pretty sure my expression registered fear and surprise. “What?”

“I want you to start a Daisy troop for the kindergarten class.” She looked like Cleopatra handing down an edict. I wished I had an asp handy, but they’re not native to this area.

“I don’t have time for that. I don’t even know what that is!” I protested.

Vivian continued, “I’m sure you don’t. In our day, we started Girl Scouts with Brownies. Now, it starts with Daisy Scouts in kindergarten. It’s very easy. Even you can do this.”

For a moment, I thought about holding her down and shoving handfuls of raw elderberries down her throat. It would take quite a few, but it would be worth it to watch her go through the stages of dizziness, headache, nausea, vomiting, gastroenteritis, respiratory difficulty, convulsions, and if I was really lucky, death. I imagined sitting there, calmly, drinking my coffee and watching her body convulse on the floor. Of course, I’d wipe everything down before leaving. Because she was completely ignorant of what was in her backyard the coroner would probably rule the death “accidental.”

“You’re not listening to me, Virginia!” She snapped.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. I’m just imagining your painful death.

“Look, it’s very simple. You aren’t allowed to go camping or sell cookies. Just have a meeting or two each month.”

“I don’t think so, Vivian. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”

She raised her hand to silence me. “It’s very easy. Romi can even join.”

Again, I fought back the urge to race to her backyard with a bowl to begin collecting berries. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t mean anything by it. Really, Virginia. You are so touchy.” She handed me a piece of paper with a list of names and dates for training. “Call Sarah Wendt. I’ll let the three kindergarten teachers know you’re recruiting.”

Before I knew it, I was standing on the other side of her closed front door, holding a piece of paper and wondering what happened.

I barely made it home when the phone rang. The caller ID said it was none other than Sarah Wendt.

“Hi, Ginny! I’m so glad you’re going to lead our troop!” The bubbly blonde on the other end of the line started before I could say so much as “hello.”

“But Sarah, I don’t know anything about running a Girl Scout troop! I didn’t even tell Vivian I would do it!”

“No problem. I scheduled your troop for a meeting next week. You’re gonna love it! See you Wednesday!” She hung up before I could answer.

“Okay,” I said to Liv ten minutes later in my kitchen, “all I wanted to do was get a look at Vic’s yard. Now I’m leading a Daisy Scout troop?”

Liv laughed, “You’ve done some bizarre things before, Gin. But I think this is my favorite.”

Only Liv could get away with that. “I guess I should’ve expected that when I went over there, huh?”

Liv nodded. “Duh! You delivered yourself into her evil clutches. Willingly, I might add.”

“Now my to-do list is really fucked up. How am I going to pull it all together? The reunion, Diego, Romi’s training, the job, cookies shaped like whatever and now starting a Girl Scout troop?”

“Maybe you could make witch cookies that resemble Vivian?” Liv suggested.

Hmmm. . . not a bad idea. “I’m serious!”

“Okay,” Liv began, “I’ll help you with the troop. I’d like to get Alta into scouting anyway. We can do the training together and be co-leaders. It’ll be a way to spend time with the girls.”

I rubbed my chin. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Liv continued, “And I’ll help with the job, and we’ll train the girls together. We’ll be together at the reunion too. The only thing I can’t help you with is your sex life. I have to draw the line there.”

“I don’t think you should rule it out,” I teased. “You’d like him. He’s really hot.”

She shook her head. “No threesomes. That’s my policy.”

“I’ll bet Todd hates that,” I murmured.

“Do you feel better about this?” Liv asked, ignoring my comment.

I nodded, “Well, yeah, since you’re holding my hand on everything else.”

She stayed for a couple of hours and we reviewed the file I started on Vic. When Liv left, she told me she would try to find out more about him.

As I put the dishes in the dishwasher, I realized that even with Liv’s help, I was in way over my head. As if that were a first for me.

CHAPTER TEN

“It’s not that I’m afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

-Woody Allen

I stood in the doorway, my mouth hanging open. Which, by the way, was not a good look for me.

Diego grinned, a large pizza in his hands. “Hope you like pepperoni.”

I nodded. “It’s my favorite. How did you know?”

“You just struck me as a pepperoni type.”

“Really?” I asked, wondering what made me seem like a long, hard, red Italian salami.

“No. I just called Pizza Hut and asked what you usually get.”

“They tell you that?” Hmmm, that might be a useful tool in the future. Maybe I could get poisonous mushrooms on a Vic’s pizza.

Diego nodded. “Hard to believe, I know. I’ll have to make sure my client doesn’t use Pizza Hut.”

Damn, there went my brilliant idea.

“Gin?” Diego’s smoky voice slid into my thoughts. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yeah!” I stumbled backward to let him in.

“Mommy?” Romi appeared as soon as I closed the door behind Diego.

“Honey,” I replied, “this is my friend Diego.”

Diego knelt down to make eye contact. “You must be Romi. I’ve heard a lot about you. And you are just as lovely as your mum said.”

I’d like to note that If we were playing “strip date,” I would have already removed my pants.

“Okay,” Romi responded, “you can be my friend too.” Good girl.

I watched in amazement as Diego and Romi charmed each other throughout dinner. She listened to every word he said, and he acted as though she was the only person in the world. I just sat there like a lump, with a goofy smile pasted on my face.

“Mommy hasn’t had a boyfriend before. Not since Dad died, I think.”

I froze in my seat, smile fading rapidly. “Romi!”

Diego shook his head, “It’s alright, really.”

“How about some ice cream?” I said, jumping to my feet.

“Yay!” Romi cried out.

In just a few minutes, I managed to keep her little, over-active mouth busy with three scoops of chocolate ice cream. Maybe three scoops was a little excessive, but I had to make sure she wouldn’t say anything like that again. Maybe I should have thrown in some gooey marshmallow topping.

I wasn’t angry with her, just a little embarrassed. But why should I be? It was the truth. Being a widow was nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, it’s not like I killed him.

“She’s a great kid,” Diego whispered as we shut the door to her bedroom. Okay, so I used her little comment to impose a slightly early bedtime. She can’t tell time yet.

“Thanks. She comes from good breeding stock.” Yikes! I could not believe I said that. Trying to make him forget I hinted at sex, I settled us on the couch in the family room with a bottle of red wine.

“You’re pretty fantastic with kids,” I said.

“I love them. I think I told you about my niece and nephews on our last date.”

“Oh, so this is a date?”

Diego grinned, winning my shirt in the aforementioned imaginary strip game. “That’s what I thought.”

I smiled smugly as he put his arm around me. Damn, he smelled good. It had been so long since a gorgeous man touched me – without fighting for his life, that is.

“Okay,” I replied, “if this is a date, I expect you to tell me more about yourself.”

Diego squeezed me gently. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“Well,” I responded, leaning against him, “I guess I should know the usual stuff – what trips your trigger. . . do I trip your trigger. . . that kind of thing.”

“Ah. Well, I can answer the second question first. You do. I think you are the most unusual woman I’ve ever met.”

“Uh, is that good or bad? ‘Cuz I can see it taken either way.”

“Unusual is good. In your case, very, very good.”

I was blushing. So I changed the subject slightly (I don’t want to lose that train of thought just yet) “How about the first question?”

Diego’s fingers started to stroke my shoulder, and I was afraid of losing consciousness. “I like piña coladas. And getting caught in the rain. I’m not much into health food. . .”

“Okay,” I protested, “you’re not gonna cough it up. Fine.”

Diego laughed, “Actually, that’s not too far off. I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I like all kinds of food, have no favorite color, and while I enjoy virtually every kind of music, I prefer jazz and Spanish guitar.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s pretty specific.”

“And you?”

“I’m kind of the same. I love Italian food, everything but rap in the music area, orange is my favorite color, and you trip my trigger too.”

Diego leaned in and kissed me. That shut me up. Oh-my-god did he have wonderful lips! Every movement felt like a caress, and my lips pulsed in time to my flamenco heartbeat. After a few moments, he pulled back. As he looked into my eyes, I realized that this conversation was over. Before I could figure out if it was wise to do this without making sure Romi was passed out, I pulled his lips to mine and kissed him ferociously.

Diego moaned and the sound did all sorts of naughty things to me. His voice was so raw, so warm, I couldn’t focus on anything more than the moment. My living room dissolved around me and the only thing in the universe was Diego’s lips on mine.

Gently, he parted my lips with his tongue, slipping in slightly to stroke my mouth. I moaned deeply and Diego pulled me onto his lap.

I don’t know how long we kissed, maybe hours, maybe weeks. At first I wanted to get right to the meat of the sex, but then I realized that I’d never kissed anyone like this before. It was amazing. Sensual. Liberating. Wait, liberating? What the hell did that mean?

“Gin?” Diego had pulled away and was staring at me. “Are you alright?”

“Um, sure. Why?” Hormones fogged my brain. What did I do?

“You weren’t breathing.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll remember that,” I said, pressing my lips to his again.

A voice spoke up, and I responded, “I’m breathing! Trust me, air is going in and out of my lungs.”

Laughter followed. Shit. I recognized that voice.

“Dak!” I scrambled off Diego’s lap. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dak grinned, his whole face lighting up with amusement, “Just checking on you. You said you wanted me to watch Romi while you did some work.”

I did ask my dumbass brother to baby-sit. But tomorrow night! Not tonight!

Diego rose from the sofa and extended his right hand cautiously. “Diego Jones. And you are?”

Dak responded with reserve. “Dakota, Gin’s brother.” Why do men have to act so weird all the time?

Diego relaxed and smiled. I, on the other hand, glared at my brother.

“Dak, that was for tomorrow night. Not tonight.”

He slapped his forehead, “Oh, right. Sorry about that.” Then the bastard took a seat. I toyed with the idea of poisoning him. No, that would just piss Mom off.

“Out!” I found my voice. “Or I’ll kill you.” Okay, so I was only half kidding.

Dak held up his hands. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow night it is.” He turned to Diego. “It was nice meeting you.” Diego responded the same and my asshole brother left.

“He seems alright,” Diego mused. “I think I’ve met everyone now.”

That was sad but true. Once again, my family had invaded my personal space. From my neurotic mother, good-natured father and bastard brother, Diego had met them all within the same week I met him. Oy vey.

“I’m sorry. He’s just a little. . .” I couldn’t think of the appropriate adjective. “I guess my family had me followed.”

“It’s alright, really. In fact, I think it’s rather nice.”

I arched my right eyebrow. “Really?”

Diego laughed. “Really. Charming actually.”

“Charming? Are you insane? This is the kind of stuff that usually drives men away! A single mother approaching forty, whose mother acts like she’s twelve, whose brother stalks her on dates? Do you go out with women like me a lot?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “It’s just nice to see a family who is so close. My father died when I was at university. And Mum is, well, colorful.”

Oooh! I’d forgotten his father was dead. I wanted to comfort him. Something about being an orphan screamed, Let me make it all go away.

“Sorry about that. Your father, I mean.”

“It’s okay. I just learned to appreciate family more, that’s all.”

Okay, now he had my underwear. If only this game of strip date were real. . .

Poppy padded into the room, sniffing the floor and indicating that she wanted to go outside.

“I have to take her out,” I said to Diego, “I’ll be right back.” Oh, and feel free to remove any constrictive articles of clothing while I’m gone.

Once outside, I took a deep breath. Poppy waddled around the yard, looking for the perfect spot to kill my grass. This thing with Diego was going fast. Not that I minded. I wasn’t exactly the pillar of moral turpitude, myself. Mentally, I had convinced myself this was just a fling. Why not just have sex and move on?

Wow. I hadn’t even had sex for a while. What if I did something wrong? How could you do something wrong? It was pretty simple, really, stick-plug-into-socket technology at best.

Obviously the attraction was there. Was it ever! And I was pretty sure he wanted me too. Okay! That’s it! I’m gonna go in there and have mind-altering sex!

I walked confidently into the kitchen, announcing triumphantly, “I’m ready!” Then my jaw went slack. Diego was putting on his coat! Why in the hell was he doing that?

“Sorry, Gin.” He had the grace to look a little crushed. “My client just got a suspicious phone call. I have to check it out.”

“What?” WHAT? How could this happen? I was ready, dammit!

Diego kissed me on the lips. “At least you’re in the business and know what I’m dealing with. Most women wouldn’t be so understanding.”

“Oh sure, I understand,” I said weakly. Okay, so I didn’t mean it. But what could I do? I’d told him I was a bodyguard. It was my own damn fault.

After he left, I settled on the couch with my knitting. I tortured the yarn for about four rows before taking a cold shower. As I emerged from the bathroom, shivering, I realized that I could channel this energy for good. I was ready to kill someone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Death. The eternal blink. The capricious dance of Now You Stop Moving Forever. Well, contrary to popular belief, death isn’t just for dead people. It can happen to anyone.”

-The Tick

All this sexual frustration needed to be flushed from my system, and I knew just how to do it. I would project it onto my job. At least, that’s what I told myself as I crawled through the hedges behind Vic’s house.

Dak had made good on his offer, so here I was, at 10 p.m. – on a school night, nonetheless – trying to find a way to off Leonard. There was no sign of life anywhere on the grounds. Even the evil Vivian wasn’t home. But these hedges were scratching me something awful. Oh well, can’t complain. Assassin Rule #2 – If your hit is stupid enough to plant shrubbery, use it to your advantage. Of course the rule said nothing about how hot it was or how badly my arms were getting scraped. I guess that particular rule is up to your own personal interpretation.

I found the back door without incident. Wouldn’t you know the dumbass had a spare key under the doormat? His Witness Protection contact must have had a screw loose. I pulled the egg of Silly Putty (Assassin Fun Fact #2:  You can use everyday things to your advantage) out of my purse and imprinted the key on both sides of it, then slid the putty back into my purse. After looking both ways, (always look both ways – it works for more than crossing the street) I gingerly inserted the key into the doorknob and turned it.

A doorknob lock! Puhhhhleeeease. For a moment, I wondered if it wouldn’t be more lucrative to hire on as this idiot’s security.

I slipped into the house after replacing the key and locked the door behind me. My hands were sweating inside the latex gloves, but I knew better than to take them off. I remained crouched until my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. I was in the kitchen. And it was a mess. Now, I’m not the best housekeeper, but this was ridiculous. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, the funk of sour food wafted from the disposal and garbage. Apparently, it was the maid’s week off.

The bathroom was always the best place to begin – especially if it was Vic’s personal bathroom. I found it on the second floor. I adjusted my LED flashlight to red and searched his medicine cabinet. There was only one prescription bottle, for heart medication. So Leo had heart trouble, eh? That’s good. I slipped one of the capsules out of the bottle and into my pocket, carefully replacing the lid.

From there, I quickly scanned each room in the house for entrances and exits, making a mental map. On the first floor, I found Leo’s study. Bullseye. And there, on the desk, was his appointment book – conveniently opened to tomorrow’s activities. Hmmmm. Doctor’s appointment in the morning. I was pretty sure Dr. Anwar was a cardiologist.

I checked out the kitchen before leaving. Vic had a proclivity for drinking. Woo hoo! Drinking and heart medication don’t mix. Looks like it would be an easy job after all.

Later, after sending my brother home and crawling into bed, I picked up a notebook and recorded everything I had seen. Once the job was done, the paper would be burned in the fireplace. No point in leaving any clues, eh?

I yawned and stretched. Not that I’d be considered a suspect. Nothing connected him to me. Of course, that would all depend on whether I could make it look like natural causes. I slid the notebook into the bottom drawer of my nightstand and locked it. I could work on it some more tomorrow.

“Hey, Mom,” I said as I approached her in her backyard. According to the city’s ordinance, homeowners could only have six-foot-high privacy fences. But Carolina Bombay’s were eight feet tall. Funny story, that. Seems the city clerk used to date her in high school.

Mom turned around, brushing the honey blonde hair from her eyes. In her hand was a Gil Hibben knife. Twenty feet behind her was a tall piece of plywood, sharp knives dotting it’s surface in a tight little group, dead center.

“Gin! I wasn’t expecting you!” She gave me a warm hug, then collected her blades from the plywood. “How about some iced tea?”

We settled at the glass table on the patio just as Dad walked out with two tall glasses of iced tea. Blackberry Sage, no doubt. Mom was a creature of habit.

“You shouldn’t drink loose tea,” I started. “It would be easy for Uncle Lou to poison.”

Mom arched her right eyebrow. “Not likely. The teaspoon and kettle are rigged to my and your father’s biometrics. The wrong fingerprints and spikes plunge into your fingers.”

That was Mom, always practical.

“Besides, I’m not a target,” she added.

“And who is? Are you saying you know who’s getting spanked at the family reunion?”

She shook her head. “You know I’m not privy to that information, Ginny. Only the Council knows.”

I set my tea down. “Mom, why the meeting? What’s going on?”

Carolina frowned, deep creases forming in the middle of her forehead. “I don’t know. I really don’t. And your grandmother isn’t very forthcoming either.”

That would fit. Grandma believed in the system. She believed in the Council and its work. It would be impossible to get the info from her. And to be frank, she scared me shitless. Two years ago, I saw her throw a man forty years younger and three feet taller out a seventh story window. No, it wouldn’t be in my best interest to ask.

“Any theories?”

“None. Sorry, honey. I wish I knew.” Mom chewed her lip, and I could see she was worried. Every time there was a reunion, any one of us could be marked for termination. And I don’t mean with a pink slip.

“So how’s the job?” she asked, blithely changing the subject.

“Oh, easy. Shouldn’t take any time.” Vic had a doctor’s appointment in two hours, and I wasn’t going to miss it.

“Just see that you get it done before the trip. You don’t want that hanging over your head.”

She was right. The Council often used these occasions to interview members of the family to check up on their work. This was one performance evaluation everyone wanted to get right.

“I don’t suppose it could be Richie who’s in trouble?”

Mom laughed. “Wishful thinking, I’m afraid. Besides, Lou is his biggest fan. Nothing will happen to him.”

Damn. You know how in every family there’s one annoying cousin? One who has the most abrasive personality? Well, that was my cousin Richie. Arrogant, drooling, and I was quite sure, mentally retarded Richie. All my life the brat had tried to one-up me. He looked like Jabba the Hutt – but without the brains. Yet he thought he was God’s gift to assassins.

I only had to see him once a year. Too bad it always ruined Christmas. He would follow me around, asking me questions with that nasal, high-pitched voice of his. Stuff like, “What are you driving?”

I’d tell him about my minivan and he’d tell me the results of every gruesome accident there ever was in that particular vehicle. Then he’d call me an idiot and laugh.

Usually, I could ignore him. He was just so goddamned obnoxious. For some reason, he never did this to anyone in the family but me. Why? I’m not sure. I must be a target for people like him and Vivian to toy with.

Every five years, I hoped the Council would get sick of Richie, but they never did. As much of an asshole as he was, he never screwed up a job.

I caught my mom eyeing me. “No one knows the reason for the reunion, Ginny, so give it up.”

“Fine.” I slumped in my seat like a teenager. “It’s just so weird.”

Mom shook her head. “It’s not that strange. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

But I knew she was lying. The last time the Council had called an early meeting, Lou took out my Aunt Virginia. Mom had to remember that.

“Are you ready for Romi’s induction?” Mom asked.

“No. I have no idea what to do. How did you handle it when I was five?”

Mom smiled faintly. “Well, I just took you to the reunion and let the family explain it. You had no questions. Actually, you took the training rather well.”

“You must have told me something.”

She shook her head. “Not really. Once we got home, I started training you. You never once questioned it.”

“And Dad was okay with it?” I asked.

“No. Did you expect him to be? But he got used to the idea.”

I picked up my glass. “Don’t they all.”

“Aren’t you glad you never told Eddie?”

The question stunned me. I’d never talked about it with her.

“Yes and no. I don’t think it’s easy to marry into the Bombay family and all of our perfectly normal ‘traditions.’”

Mom laughed. “Enough of this. How did your date go with the Australian?”

I entered Dr. Anwar’s office fifteen minutes before Vic was supposed to show up. I walked up to the receptionist and told her I was waiting for someone. She nodded without looking at me. The room was full of people, all busy ignoring me. I found the only two open seats and took one, placing my tote bag in the other. The mousey brown wig itched, but I didn’t want to scratch it and risk moving it. I reached into my bag and pulled out a knitting project, waiting for good old Leonard to enter.

I loved knitting. When I say that, I didn’t mean I enjoyed completing projects like sweaters and such. I just loved working with my hands on something less lethal. It was very calming. They say knitting is the new yoga.

A teenage boy with a Mohawk sat across from me, sneering. I’d seen that look before. Why was it a problem to knit in public?

“My grandma knits.”

I ignored him.

“So what are you making, Grandma?” Mohawk’s voice was ugly.

I arched my eyebrow. “A cashmere cock ring. Your grandma ever knit one of those?”

The kid’s eyes grew wide, and he suddenly became very interested in a four-year-old issue of Teen Vogue.

As I said before, I loved knitting. I guess you could call me a knitting assassin. The tools were very useful. Once, I had to strangle a man with my circular needles. It hadn’t even messed up the 15 rows of stitches I had on them. A solid pair of metal needles can be plunged into the eyes and brain. Remember Fun Fact #2? Everyday objects have so many uses.

The door opened and in walked Leonard. He checked in with the receptionist, then scanned the room. I gave him a brief smile and took my bag out of the chair next to me. It worked. He joined me.

“I hate waiting rooms,” he grumbled to no one in particular. I didn’t think I was in danger of liking him too much to kill him.

“Me too,” I responded, my eyes still on my circular needles as the second row of stitches began to take shape.

“You can get sick from being here,” he continued. “Too many people, too many germs.”

I looked around, wondering how you could catch heart disease as an airborne virus. Now that would really be cool.

“Goddamned doctors,” Vic mumbled. Oh, he was a winner.

“Mr. Burns?” A petite blonde nurse stood in the open doorway with a clipboard. I watched as Leonard followed her into the back.

I was on my ninth row of stitches when he came back. I listened (without looking like I listened, of course) as the receptionist reminded him to fill his prescription. I waited a full twenty minutes before leaving the waiting room and heading to my car.

So what did I know? Vic had heart trouble and a lousy personality. This was enough information for me to finish the job. On my way home, I stopped at the health food store to pick up clear, empty gelatin capsules. The long-haired kid at the counter called me “dude” six times while ringing me up. That must’ve been a personal best for him. Usually I only got “dude” once. I didn’t mind. As long as he didn’t call me “Virginia.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

(Mr. Furious tries to balance a hammer on his head)

Mr. Furious:  Why am I doing this?

The Sphinx:  If you can balance a tack hammer on your head, you will head off your foes with a balanced attack.

Mr. Furious:  And why am I wearing the watermelon on my feet?

The Sphinx:  (looks at the watermelon on Mr. Furious’ feet) I don’t remember telling you to do that.

- Mystery Men

Setting up my plans for Vic’s demise really helped calm me down. There’s kind of a green tea - Zen feeling to it all. Calgon, take me away and all that crap.

I needed to relax. After all, hell awaited me that afternoon. And it had nothing to do with my family. . .for once.

“Mrs. Bombay?” Emily O’Toole raised her hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” Suddenly, all ten little girls raised their hands. Only five minutes into my first-ever Girl Scout meeting and I was already in over my head.

I looked through some papers they gave me down at the Council. “Um, yeah, just, er . . . take a buddy with you.” They were gone before I looked up. Liv shrugged. Fat lot of help she was.

The screams from the girls’ bathroom told me they weren’t necessarily limiting their activities to the hygienic. Ten minutes later, I wrangled several soaking wet Daisy Scouts back into Romi’s classroom.

“Okay,” I began, “now that we know what NOT to do, I guess we can get started.” I nodded to Liv and she proceeded to pass out the uniforms and handbooks.

“Here’s your Daisy tunic and book. Remember to bring them to every meeting. Yes, Hannah?”

The tiny little girl put her hand down. “When are the meetings?”

“Oh, um. . .” I shuffled through the papers again in an attempt to look like I knew what I was doing. “Every other Tuesday, in here, right after school.”

A discordant chorus of squeals pierced my eardrums. Apparently, they approved. Yipee.

Somehow, we managed to make daisies out of pipe cleaners before their moms came to get them. There I sat, covered in pipe cleaner fuzz and glue – which was really weird because we didn’t even use glue. Liv took over at that point, handing out the application forms and giving instruction to the parents. I just sat there, like a lump, until it was over.

Liv flopped down into one of the teeny tiny chairs next to the teeny tiny table. “Jesus. I’m glad that’s over.”

I looked at her. “Yeah. I didn’t really expect that. How did it go?”

Liv rolled her eyes. “You led the meeting!”

“Oh, right,” I responded. “Can we call that a meeting? I mean, it was more like a riot.” I pictured Liv and myself in Riot Squad gear, approaching the kindergartners with Plasticine shields and rubber bullets. For a moment, the idea appealed to me.

Liv frowned at the handbook. “It says here we have to teach them the Girl Scout Promise and they earn the petals for their daisy insignia through the meetings.”

“You’re just now reading the Leader’s Guide?” I asked while pulling a clump of glue (and hair) off my head.

She looked alarmed. “It also says we’re supposed to have training.”

I perked up. “Maybe that’s it. We should’ve done that first.”

“Well, there’s a training session for Daisy Leaders tomorrow night at the Lutheran church down the street from you. I’ll call and sign us up.”

I nodded, finally brave enough to rise from my itty, bitty chair. My muscles threatened to assassinate me. “Ok.”

We gathered our things, straightened the room and left. As I walked to my car I realized that for once I had no clue what in the hell I was doing. I could kill a man with my thighs, but I couldn’t control a bunch of five-year-old girls. I think terrorist organizations would learn a lot from this kind of experience.

“Mommy?” Romi squeezed my hand, reminding me she was there, “that didn’t go very well, did it?”

I slid open the passenger door and lifted her to her seat, “No. I guess not. But Liv and I are going to a workshop tomorrow night. We’ll be okay.”

The dubious look in my daughter’s eyes made me realize she had little faith in me. Great. How can I train her to kill when I can’t keep kindergarteners from trashing the bathroom? And how do you get wet toilet paper off of the ceiling? Maybe they’d cover that tomorrow night.

The following evening at the Lutheran church, Liv and I sat up straight, eager to find out what we did wrong. I was convinced that some hip, young Council professional would give us all the tools we needed to succeed.

Ergo, I wasn’t prepared for the obese, elderly, wheezing woman who sat down across from us, reeking of beer and cigarettes. Wow, I guess Scouting hadn’t changed much since I was in it. All she needed to do now was tell me how great the handheld shower massage was for masturbation and I’d be right back in middle school.

“You two here for the workshop?” Eldamae Haskell eyed us with disdain.

“Um, is this for Daisy Scouts?” I spoke up. Hope refused to wane. Maybe we were in the wrong room?

“Yeah,” she sputtered, coughing loudly. “Fill out these forms.”

“A test?” I couldn’t believe it. It was a test! How could we take a test on something we didn’t know yet?

“It’s to see what you know. You’ll take the same test when we’re through.”

Liv asked, “And how long is the workshop?”

Eldamae gave a heavy, wet, rasping cough, “An hour. . . hour and a half at most.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all the time it takes to teach us everything we need to know?”

“Yup,” our teacher replied. She tossed us the papers and probably left for a smoke break.

Actually, the test was pathetically easy. Upon Eldamae’s return, we watched a videotape, possibly made in the early ‘90’s. The scene opened on some lovely, mythical mansion in a perfect world at the beginning of a scout meeting. A tight -lipped, professional, middle-aged woman with perfectly coiffed, glossy blonde hair told the camera how she ran her meetings.

“First,” she said with perfect diction, “you greet each girl at the door personally, discussing the subjects that interest her the most, and then guide them to a simple, yet engaging activity to keep them busy until the other girls have arrived.”

These Stepford children wore immaculate clothes, and quietly colored pictures promoting world peace and multi-cultural diversity. During the meeting, the kids quietly listened to everything the leader said, raising their hands if they wanted to speak.

Following that, they commenced learning activities worthy of a post-graduate science seminar. Somehow, and without making a mess, they measured barometric pressure using Saran Wrap, an empty two-liter bottle of pop, and fingernail polish. Of course, the experiment opened their eager, young eyes to the possibilities and later in the meeting, they went on to cure cancer.

The problem of a disruptive child was addressed when a well-dressed Daisy in a clean tunic told another girl, “No, Darwin didn’t favor Intelligent Design.” This child was deemed rude and the tight-lipped leader whisked her aside to two chintz-covered wingback chairs for a gentle chat. The girl, realizing the error of her ways, promised to move to India and take up Mother Theresa’s mantle in ridding society of poverty. She was then allowed to rejoin the group.

By the time parents arrived in the video to pick up their angels, Liv and I were completely slack jawed. The leader had time to talk to each set of parents (that’s right, both mom and dad, dressed in suits, came to pick up their darling) about their daughter’s progress. Once the meeting ended, Tight-Lips told us that the most important thing was to have control of the meeting at all times. And her hair was still perfect. Really. No pipe cleaner fuzz or glue anywhere. Bitch.

Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but it was the most idiotic thing I’d ever seen. . .and believe me, I’d seen stupid things in my line of work.

Eldamae rejoined us, handing us blank copies of the same test we took prior to the meeting. I barely filled in my answers when she presented us with two cards, signed by her.

“Keep these. Anytime you get training, we’ll add to it. Thanks for becoming a volunteer.” She packed up and was out the door before I could say anything.

“That’s all we need to know?” Liv asked in shock.

“Uh, I, er,” I mumbled.

Neither one of us moved for maybe twenty minutes. We kept thinking someone would burst through the door, saying, “Just kidding!” This wonderful someone would hand over thick, colorful volumes that answered every question we had, and give us sage words of advice and an arsenal of Jedi mind tricks to use on our troop.

Instead, a thin, waspish woman poked her head in and told us to leave. The bridge club needed the room.

I wanted to kill her and Eldamae. And I probably could’ve gotten away with it too, if Liv hadn’t dragged me out to the car.

“We are so screwed,” I finally said after my fourth consecutive cup of coffee.

Liv nodded. “No shit. This is worse than the Falconi hit. Remember that?”

My turn to nod. How could I forget? Liv and I had just turned twenty-one and decided to take out this mob guy together. You know how it is when you’re in your twenties – you think you’re bullet proof?

Of course, we had done all the research, etc. But while we were throttling him in his upstairs bedroom, a couple of mafia- endorsed hit men were climbing the stairs to teach him the “forever lesson.” We dove into a closet just before the door opened. Those bastards spent TWO HOURS in that room before leaving. Several times, they approached had the closet, but something stopped them. I was pretty sure my heart gave out three times that night. To this day, I still had an irrational hatred of closets.

“And those bastards took credit for the hit too! I’ve never seen Grandma that pissed off.” I poured another cup of coffee in an attempt to drown that memory.

“Well, Gin, we’ll just have to get through it.” Liv slapped the table decisively.

“Great. At least we don’t have another meeting for a while.”

“Two weeks, right?” Liv asked.

“Yeah.” Why was everything in two weeks?

“Shit, Gin! That’s when we’ll be in Santa Muerta!” Liv’s eyes grew wide.

“We could always take them with us, like a camping trip.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, that would work.”

“I’ll send out a memo rescheduling the meeting. Besides, Santa Muerta looks better to me than that classroom.”

Liv nodded, looked at her watch, said goodbye and fled.

As I locked up, I realized postponing the meeting was a pretty easy decision. Hmmm. . .watching a family member die or spending an hour with the Daisies, who by the way had NOT seen the video.

I drifted off to sleep, fantasizing about the many uses of duct tape and psychotropic drugs.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mr. Pugh, Here is your arsenic, dear.

And your weedkiller biscuit. . .

-Dylan Thomas, Under Milkwood

I was running out of time. I had to get rid of Vic before the reunion. My to-do list had grown to epic proportions:

1) The Job

2) The Reunion

3) Begin Romi’s Training

4) Begin Poppy’s Training (or put carpet cleaner on speed     dial)

5) Learn to Run Daisy Meetings (without stun guns)

6)  Order 4 Dozen Scary Halloween Cookies

As you can see, I have my priorities. If I can get the job done before the trip, I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever gets tossed at me, with the possible exception of #5. Oh, and the stun guns would be for the girls.

I had everything I needed. I managed to whip up a lethal look-a-like heart medication and fill the empty gel caplets I bought at the health food store. With just one dose, Vic would find his blood pressure boiling and his heart beating in time to a calypso death spiral. To a bored coroner on a Friday night before quittin’ time, it would look as though there was a simple (albeit deadly) screw up at the pharmacy. Now, all I had to do was break back into the house and “refill” Vic’s prescription bottle.

A couple of days ago, I’d taken the Silly Putty out of its shell, carefully slicing it in half so I had the two sides of the key impression facing up. Once it hardened, I poured in a special resin I invented (all this and good looks too – can you believe it?) and allowed it to set. After joining the two resin key sides together, I used the key grinder to fine tune it for one-time use. That’s all the resin would hold up for, but it was all I really needed.

         Bulk order of Silly Putty. . . $20.00

         Key grinder purchased from E-bay. . . $55.00

         Seeing Vic’s obituary in the paper and easing any family conflict in the process. . . Priceless.

Dad agreed to come over and watch Romi and Poppy since it was a school night. I waited until she was asleep, then took a shower with unscented soap, put on unscented deodorant (the invisible kind of course) then slipped out of the house dressed in black yoga pants, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, black socks and shoes, carrying a bag with, you guessed it, a black stocking cap and latex gloves.

I really hate latex gloves. It’s like when you pump gas and get some on your hands and you smell those chemical fumes all day. I hate that.

Where was I? Oh yeah, in the hedges behind Vic’s house. And no, I didn’t just go over there cold. According to Liv’s research, Vic was going to the annual meeting for his company. It was my only opportunity. The bastard didn’t give to charity or make appearances at public events. Creep.

The key turned noiselessly in the lock, and I shut the door behind me. Ugh, the kitchen again. Apparently, Vic had attempted some minor cleaning. This guy is a slob. Good for me in that he would be careless with his medication and probably would ignore the symptoms of his heart attack. Bad for me because it smelled like he had some prehistoric eggs rotting in the sink.

I moved quickly up the stairs to his private bathroom. It only took me a few seconds to dump his meds into my bag and refill it with my own, personal painkiller.

I was just about to head down the stairs (and perform a little celebratory dance in my head), when I heard the clink of glass breaking in the kitchen. I froze in mid-step. Did Vic have a cat? There’d been no evidence of that. And the way this guy kept house, I would have smelled a neglected litter box.

For a moment, I wondered if he had mice. With the condition of the kitchen, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had dog-sized cockroaches. I backed away from the staircase slowly, leaning against the wall and waited impatiently. That’s right, I’m an impatient assassin. Several minutes passed without incident. Okay, mice it is, I thought as I gently slipped down the stairs, careful not to tread on the usually squeaky middle part of each step.

My eyes were adjusting to the darkness somewhat, and I was just about to pass the study when I saw it: the obvious silhouette of a man. The back of him actually, standing at Vic’s desk. Shit. I slipped to the other side of the doorway unnoticed, I thought. After a few scary seconds of crawling through the disgusting kitchen, I slipped out the open door. And into the shrubs.

The brick wall snagged my clothes. Who the hell was that? Was it Vic? No, a man turns on the lights when he enters his own home and definitely shuts and locks the door behind him. A burglar? Maybe. It was a pretty ostentatious house. I could call 911. But that would be stupid, on the remote chance they might check his meds. Okay, Gin, just go home.

Was I being followed? The idea froze inside me as a lump in my throat. Something was up with the family. Was I under suspicion? I slid further down the wall, remaining in the shrubbery. If anyone was checking up on me, they might have left someone outside to watch for my retreat. I kind of hoped it was Evil Cousin Richie so I could kill him once and for all.

I waited for the shadow to exit the house and followed him as he walked around to the front yard. From my vantage point in the hedge, I watched until he disappeared down the street.

“And you say he was dressed like you?” Dad asked me once I got back to the house. We were sharing a bottle of wine in the kitchen, and I told him what happened. I was boiling down Vic’s meds in a pot on the stove. Once dissolved, I’d flush the water and stick the pot in the dishwasher on “high.”

I nodded. “Yup. All in black.”

Dad leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully. I, however, just started to notice a particular odor souring the room.

“Burnt popcorn? Dad!” Was there any smell more obnoxious than burnt popcorn? Even worse, it was done on purpose. Dad’s favorite snack was seriously charred popcorn. Mom couldn’t get him to give it up. I had a popcorn ban on my house because of it, but apparently he ignored that and smuggled some in.

“What?” He feigned innocence, “Romi wanted some.”

“Dad! You promised!” I whined.

He smiled. “Okay, never again.”

“You know what will happen to you if you go back on that promise!” I threatened as I rummaged under the sink for a can of Ozium. Of course, my threats bore all the weight of a feather. Mom had threatened him for years with all kinds of nasty shit and he never listened.

I sprayed the air liberally. Just a word of advice, never spray it in an enclosed car while you’re sitting there. It displaces oxygen, I think. Bad trip, that was. Great, now all of a sudden I sounded like Yoda.

“So, you don’t think it’s family.” Dad resumed our previous discussion.

“I have no idea.” I squinted at him, “You don’t know something, do you?”

He laughed. “No, I stay out of the family stuff. Life’s a little saner if you forget who the Bombays are.”

I chewed my lip. “I guess it must be weird for an outsider, huh?” I wondered about people who married in. They received their Bombay Wake-Up Call when they were adults. But we had it spoon fed like it was a normal thing at the tender age of five.

“It was, at first. Now I just ignore it and spend the money. Scruples are for suckers anyway,” he said with a wink.

“I’m really proud of you, honey.”

I responded to this Kodak moment by rolling my eyes. “Oh, great. My dad’s proud of me ‘cuz I can kill people real good.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he continued, “I mean it’s hard to take on the family legacy and find a way to live with it.”

“So . . . you’re not proud of the fact I can fling an ice pick 50 yards into a man’s eye socket?” After all, I was proud of that.

“Well, I guess there’s that too.” Dad rubbed his chin, “But you’ve made a good life out of what was given to you. You’re raising a daughter alone. And you managed to get through 16 years of education without killing any of your bullies.”

“Sure, when you put it that way,” I refilled his wine glass, then my own. “I’d like to think Eddie would’ve taken the news as well as you did.”

Dad looked at me, “Don’t get me wrong, Ginny, I really liked Ed. But there was a part of me that was a little relieved that he died before you told him. I don’t know how he would’ve handled it.”

For some reason, that made sense. In a sick, thank-God-your-husband-got-cancer-before-you-had-to-tell-him-you’re-a-killer sort of way. But speculation about Eddie wasn’t the problem in front of me.

“Look,” Dad said, “why don’t you get in the car and drive around Vic’s neighborhood. See if there are cops or something else. I can see you aren’t going to sleep until you know what’s going on.”

So that’s what I did. First I changed my clothes; then I went to the convenience store to pick up a half-gallon of milk (as my alibi for what I was doing out so late). I cruised slowly past Vic’s house and circled it once. Nothing. With a sigh of relief I drove two blocks back to my house, dismissed my father and chucked the milk into the fridge. I began the ritual cleaning of my break-in gear, scraping all dirt from my shoes into the disposal and rinsing the soles, throwing the clothes into the washer and wrapping the gloves inside of what appeared to be a used maxi pad (doctored with red food coloring, of course). You know, the usual stuff.

It was past midnight when I finished my shower, checked my arms and legs for telltale scrapes from the shrubs, and crawled into bed. Hopefully, Vic’s death would take place within twenty-four hours and all would be well. Just another random day in the life of Gin Bombay, All American Assassin-Next-Door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Forgiveness is between them and God. It’s my job to arrange the meeting.”

- Creasy, Man on Fire

I usually give my “concoctions” a few days to work. Sometimes, Vic is the type who doesn’t take his medication regularly. So I decided to put my worries on the shelf and focus on prepping the house for Romi and Alta’s training. Liv and I worked to set up the basement in my house for “Little Girls Gone Lethal.”

For an entire day (Dak picked up the girls after school and kept them occupied), we unpacked the new stuff and organized it. I installed locked wooden cabinets to hold the garrotes, dummies and knives. Liv bought a kids’ chemistry set so it would look amateurish (unlike the primo stuff in my workshop). When we were done, we sat back and admired our work.

Liv handed me a bottle of beer and sat on the new sofa I put downstairs.

“Wow,” I noted, “looks like a deranged playroom.”

Liv nodded. “It does, doesn’t it? Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with the Disney Princess theme?”

“Well, it does give it a certain childlike atmosphere. It just looks like this is the part of Cinderella’s Castle she didn’t visit so much.”

“The torture room?” Liv asked.

“At least there’s no Iron Maiden.” I took a swallow of beer.

“True.” Liv rubbed her chin. But I think it’s safe to say that we should have the Daisy Troop Christmas Party at my house.”

“Deal. By the way, where’s Dak?” I looked at my watch. “It’s getting late.”

As if on cue, peals of giggling laughter erupted above us. Liv and I moved up the stairs quickly. I was just plugging in the combination code to lock the door when the girls came running in.

“I don’t think they’ll want dinner.” Dak smiled.

“We had LOTS of ice cream!” Romi yelped.

“I can see that,” I said as I took the dishtowel to her face.

“Uncle Dak ROCKS!” Alta shouted, and the two danced circles around their hero.

“Great. Thanks, little brother.” I wasn’t smiling.

“No problem. Let me know if you guys want me to unfairly overdose your kids with sugar again.” Dak grinned, then fled before I could kill him.

Liv and I did the only thing we could do : We took our beer bottles and two squealing kids into the backyard to burn off some steam.

“When should we tell them?” Liv asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to do it before the reunion. Romi already tells her teacher too much stuff. The other day, she told her that I gave birth to a puppy.”

Poppy opened one bulging eye, then went back to snoring on Liv’s lap.

“Okaaay. So, when?” Liv stroked the pup between the ears.

“What did our parents do with us?”

“You know,” Liv said.

“Uh, no, I can’t remember. Seriously. How did they break us in?”

She looked at me for a minute, probably wondering if I was teasing her. “They just had us attend the ritual. Then my dad and your mom took us to the bungalows overnight to explain things to us. You really don’t remember?”

Actually, I didn’t. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little more than alarmed by that.

I took a swig of beer. The girls were swinging so high I thought they might go over the top any minute now. Thanks Dak.

“Let’s do the same thing, then. That way, we can keep all discussion about it on the island until we return.”

Liv smiled. “I’ll reserve one of the bungalows. We can make pizza. Like a little sleepover!”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, eyes still on the girls. “The sleepover where instead of using the Ouija board or giving ourselves pedicures, we get to tell the girls how to kill a man using just your index finger.”

“Well, that’s a little more advanced. We might want to save that nugget until at least second grade,” Liv responded.

“Good point.” I drained my beer. “We probably shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”

We sat outside until dusk, making plans for the training when we returned from Santa Muerta. Eventually, I wrestled my little sugar junkie into the tub, then into bed.

I was just picking up my knitting when the doorbell rang. With a frown, I hoisted the comatose Poppy from my lap and checked the security cameras.

“Diego!” I cried out, surprised. Pleasantly surprised to see the hunky Australian on my doorstep. Swooning when I saw the bouquet of yellow roses in his right hand. Of course, I would have been just as happy with a bouquet of condoms. Maybe even happier.

“Sorry to show up unannounced like this.” He kissed my lips gently as I ushered him into the house. “But I just wanted to see you, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.”

I put the flowers in water and returned to the couch. Diego scooped up Poppy and placed her on his lap. The little whore went crazy.

“You knit?” He pointed at my needles.

“Yeah. Just rectangles really.”

Diego raised his eyebrows, “Rectangles?”

“Well, I don’t have the ambition to try socks or sweaters. I really just enjoy the mechanics of it. So I stick to the easy stuff . . . scarves and afghans.” I suppose that made me sound like an idiot. But if he were smart, Diego wouldn’t make fun of a woman holding potentially lethal needles.

“Is Romi asleep?” he ventured.

I nodded. “Flat out like a lizard drinking.”

Diego laughed. “Where did you hear that? I thought only Aussies said that.”

I couldn’t tell him I once had to “take care” of an Australian gun runner, so I lied. “I had a friend in college from Perth.”

Diego gently pushed Poppy aside, then pulled me onto his lap and kissed me.

Somehow I knew that this was going further than before. Diego didn’t seem to be that confident, in fact, he seemed like he’d be perfectly happy just kissing.

But I wanted more. I wanted to make love to him. We’d kept the relationship shallow so far, but now I interpreted his restraint as Diego treading lightly on my feelings. He never pressured me, and was careful, as if he thought this was my first time since Ed died.

I felt the pressure of his lips against mine and my stomach ached. It was my first time since Ed. For a moment, I almost pulled away. My heart fluttered, and my head panicked (thanks a lot, guys) and I questioned myself. What in the hell was I doing?

Sure, we had a lot in common and there was all that volcanic chemistry. Was I ready for this? Sex had always been with someone I cared about. But I cared about Diego.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Diego began to gently stroke my back. Damn he was good. No, he was great. He was perfect. And I wanted him.

So that’s it then, eh? I just decide to go for it? Yes! No more celibacy for me! Although it gave me the tension I needed for my job, it sucked. I didn’t just want to make out with Diego, I wanted to make love to him.

I needed to feel alive, not just pretend I was. I craved the things that used to make me feel like a woman: the heart palpations, tingling flesh, stomach spinning and rubbery knees that all lead to the hard knot of arousal. What if I got hit by a delivery truck tomorrow? I knew that sounded cliché, but hell, my family couldn’t take longevity for granted.

A flood of warmth filled my body like hot water. I guess that was the physical side of me saying, Duh! I needed more from Diego than just hot sex. And he was waiting for me to let him know that.

I started to unbutton his shirt. Diego pulled back, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Are you okay with this? We don’t have to...” His voice trailed off.

“I know. I want to,” I murmured. Inside I felt all squishy. How could I let this guy walk out of here without a ‘happy ending’?

Diego smiled and pulled me toward him, his lips trailing down my neck. Our clothes pretty much disintegrated at that point, and a flood of raw emotion seemed to make all of my senses tingle.

Diego pulled back. “I know it’s been a long time for you. We can take it slowly...”

“No.” I shook my head, “I don’t want to waste time.”

He laughed, and I started to get nervous. His body was lean, hard (in all the right places). Mine was not. Childbirth had given me stretch marks that everyone lied about in saying they would fade in time. I didn’t have washboard abs or flawless skin. Hell, I couldn’t even remember when I’d last shaved my legs!

“You are so beautiful, Gin.” Diego’s eyes seemed to glow as he appraised my body.

I made a vain attempt to suck in my stomach, and he smiled, pulling my arms open. “I mean it. You’re lovely.”

With that simple statement, all my worries flew away. He didn’t care what I looked like! Maybe he was into soccer moms. It didn’t matter. He could have spoken Klingon and I would’ve loved it.

It goes without saying that he was AMAZING! I didn’t know if Australians had some special sexual know-how, or if bodyguards learned a few extra moves in their training, but DAMN! I refused to believe it was because it had been so long for me.

Remember how it felt when you were a teenager in the back of your dad’s car? The excitement of discovering your body and exploring his? It was like that. Except without the fumbling as he tried to undo my bra. Diego definitely had no trouble with that. In fact, every move he made was sure, desperate, as if his survival depended upon it. I could relate a little to that.

I was pretty sure my body exploded. I knew my heart did. I didn’t realize how much I had been missing. As an added bonus, the orgasm produced this feeling of euphoria I hadn’t felt in a long time. Well, at least not since I’d that Godiva Belgian Chocolate ice cream a few months ago. There was a fleeting thought of Ed, and I realized that while I had lost part of what had been “us,” I’d found part of me. Somehow, I knew he would’ve approved.

As we lay, naked and panting on the couch, Diego ran his forefinger down the middle of my nose. His smile told me the sex meant something to him too. His smile was softer, warmer. It delivered a gut-twisting impact.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I think I should be the one thanking you,” he responded. “But I do have a question.”

I arched my right eyebrow. Please don’t ask me anything personal and ruin the moment! I wasn’t ready for an in-depth conversation on our feelings.

“Do you even have a bedroom?”

I looked at him curiously. “Yes, of course I do. Why?”

Diego grinned. “Well, it’s just that we’ve fooled around twice, both times in your living room. I just wondered if you had a bed.”

I frowned. “You don’t like my couch?”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t care if we had sex on a tractor. I just wondered if there was a reason why we didn’t utilize a more comfortable place. Somewhere I wouldn’t get rug burns on my knees.”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s a good point. I just hadn’t thought about it.”

“Maybe it has something to do with your late husband? I can completely understand if that’s it.”

Hmmm. . . it would be easy to tell him that I wasn’t ready to share my late husband’s bed with him. But was that really the case? Or was I just into living room sex?

“Honestly, Diego, it never occurred to me. That’s all.”

He looked at me for a moment before responding, “Okay. I’ll buy that.” Diego shook his finger at me mockingly. “But next time, let’s use it.” He rubbed his back. “I’m not as young as I used to be. These Kama Sutra positions don’t work on a loveseat.”

“Why do you think they call it a loveseat?” I punched him in the arm playfully.

Diego responded by pulling me in for a kiss. “Who cares. Next time, let’s use your bed.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, snuggling against him. I made a mental note to wash the sheets and clean the bedroom. I was just happy there would be a “next time.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Julian Noble: I need a break. There's no retirement home for assassins is there? Archery at four. Riflery at five?

- The Matador

Leonard Burns’ obituary was small, with an accompanying photo (I guess the witness protection program gives up when their clients die) but it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling to think that monkey was off of my back. Of course, I didn’t attend the funeral. That would be stupid. Police statistics show that murderers almost always attend the funeral of his or her victim.

I’d been searching the news for the past two days for any sign of an investigation. Usually, though, the Feds don’t like bad publicity.

On the other hand, the big red “X” on my calendar marking the trip to the family island was getting closer. Actually, there wasn’t much time before we’d have to leave. I’d spent the last few days packing for Romi and me, securing our airline tickets to L.A., where we’d board the family’s private jet to the island.

Romi’s teacher was okay with pulling her out of school. Teachers always seem to melt when the words “Disney World” are mentioned. What was I supposed to do? Tell her the truth? Actually, Liv and I are taking our daughters to begin their training as assassins. If I were you, I’d make my seating arrangements carefully in the future. Liv and I had arranged to travel together - more to provide a united front than anything else.

The hardest part was finding a swimsuit that took off twenty pounds, reduced wrinkles in my face and made the color of my eyes pop. The only people who’d see me in it were Liv and the girls when we had our sleepover at the bungalows, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

Diego had to go out of town on business with his client for a few days and my body was going through sex withdrawal. Oh well. I’d waited this long, I could wait some more. He would get back two days before I left for Santa Muerta. At least that was something.

All in all, I guess things were going very well. I checked a few things off my list: the job, ordering the Halloween cookies way in advance (thereby annoying the bakery) and things were going well with Diego. So I celebrated with lunch at my favorite outdoor bistro. I soaked up the early autumn sunshine, juicy half-pound cheeseburger with cross-cut fries and a bottle of beer, while engrossed in a new book.

This is probably why I didn’t notice that I was no longer alone, at first.

“Jesus, Dak! You know better than to sneak up on me!” I was a little concerned that he always seemed to know where I was.

The bastard helped himself to my fries, his hand moving out of my reach before I could put a fork through it.

“Well, I have been doing it all my life, you know. I have a lot of experience.”

The waitress appeared immediately. Something about Dak’s pheromones usually brought every woman within a one-mile radius. It was like a dog whistle or something. I waited as he ordered the same thing I had. In spite of my mother’s excellent cooking and firm belief in the food pyramid, my brother and I had a connoisseur-like devotion to greasy meat.

“So what’s up?” I slid my book into my purse.

Dak feigned incredulity. “Can’t a man just want to have lunch with his big sister? Honestly, Gin, you’re too paranoid.”

I laughed, “Okay. But you have to split a dessert with me.”

Dak took another handful of my fries. “It’s a deal.”

Actually, it was nice. My brother and I always enjoyed each other’s company. Not that we hadn’t fought as kids – even normal siblings do that. We’re just very close. There’s something about dealing in death that brings out the maternal in me.

I put the last forkful of chocolate cheesecake in my mouth and savored it. Damn, that was good. Dak had graciously allowed me the last bite. Maybe he wasn’t such a bastard after all.

“Oh,” Dak said, wiping his mouth, “I almost forgot this.” He pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket and handed it to me.

I didn’t have to examine it to know what it was. “You’re kidding,” I managed weakly. He was kidding, right?

Dak shook his head, no smile on his face this time. “Sorry. The Council wants you to handle it.”

“I never get two jobs in the same month! No one does!”

Dak studied me. “Well, this time you do. And they want it done before the reunion.”

“WHAT?” I shrieked. “Wait a minute! This is a joke, right? You’re just messing with me. That’s it!”

“Nope. Believe me, Gin, I’d do it for you if I could. But Mom said I can’t.”

That’s it. She is sooooo not getting a Mother’s Day card this year.

“Just get it over with and you won’t have to worry about it at the reunion. In fact,” Dak rubbed his chin, “you probably don’t have to worry about anything at all with the family. No one’s ever been handed two jobs like this before.”

The faraway look in his eyes made me wonder what he was thinking, but then I snapped back to reality. As I drove home, I couldn’t help thinking he was right. Obviously, the Council trusted me to take care of two jobs in a very short period of time. I suppose in some twisted way, this was my chance at an excellent job performance review.

Once back at home, I tore open the envelope, glancing nervously at the surveillance cameras. I only had four days to complete this mission. Dak had agreed to watch Romi for me so I could do surveillance tonight.

“That’s weird,” I thought aloud. This Vic lived in the same neighborhood as the last one. That almost. . .no that never happened. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever had two jobs in the same county before.

According to the dossier, Vic Jr. lived across the street from the other Vic.  He was an executive of the same company, for Christ sake! Bob Turner ranked very high on the corporate ladder on an international level. And he’d been very naughty – using company profits to support terrorists in South America. I didn’t know if the contract came from the corporation, the government or a combination of both. And I didn’t care. I just wanted to knock him off and get it over with. In fact, I kind of missed the days when the only thing I avoided was Vivian.

Oh well, let’s get on with it, Gin. I shoved a baseball cap on my head, showed my keys into my pocket and drove off to check out Vic Jr.’s house.

I only had one opportunity to drive past it. This neighborhood had seen a lot of me in the last week, so the jogging pretext was out. Visiting Vivian twice in one month, considering I’d avoided her all of my life, would raise suspicion. In fact, my car had been on this street one too many times already.

The house was small. A one-story, brick Tudor. This guy outranked the first job, but he had a tiny house. Go figure. People are weird. I was surprised to see that the house was the same one I stopped in front of to take a picture of Burns’ house.

While Vic Jr.’s proximity might be seen as an advantage, and I was getting to know the neighborhood really well, it screwed me too. Everything I did would have to be under the cover of darkness. I couldn’t have any questions as to why, after ten years, I started hanging out on this particular block. In fact, I was pretty sure it was risky just driving by once.

Back at home, as I turned on the computer, I sketched the house on paper. One-story houses were awesome to break into. And you didn’t have to worry about escaping out of the second -  or third-story windows. On the other hand, small houses sucked because there were few places to hide if my target came home suddenly.

There wasn’t much about Vic Jr. on the Internet. He’d been posted in virtually every international office his company had. I couldn’t find anything about extracurricular activities. No presence on any boards of directors, no civic clubs, no wife and no kids. This guy was just a loner who preferred not to draw any attention to himself.

Okay. He kept a low profile. That was perfect for his racket. But it also meant he was probably very careful with his security. And while I was grateful not to have to worry about a wife, kids or pets, there was the even greater risk that this guy played things close to the vest. Chances are, he had an excellent security system and knew how to use it.

In other words, this gig would NOT be easy. And while I appreciated the Council’s confidence in me, there was no room for error and little time for planning. Fantastic.

Dak arrived as promised, looking sheepish. I knew he felt bad about being the messenger – well, of death, actually. I gave him instructions, donned my assassin gear and slipped out to “go to work.”

Vic Jr.’s house was quiet. As I approached from the side, I threw a pinecone next to the house. Motion sensitive lights snapped on immediately, flooding the area with bright white light. Shit. And this guy didn’t have shrubs anywhere either. I waited to see if someone would investigate, but no one did.

After a few minutes, lights came on inside the house. I recognized they were on a timer. I’d seen too many of these things in my line of work. So no one was home, but they wanted me to think they were. Okay.

I sidled up to the back door, lock picks in hand. Not to brag, but I was really good at picking locks. And I knitted these cute little cozies for each tool to keep them from jangling together and making noise. It took a few, well-lit moments to unlock the deadbolt, and I slipped into the house. Obviously, this guy was serious about security. That deadbolt was a real bitch.

I only had a few seconds to locate and dismantle any alarm system. Most systems allowed a ten-second leeway for the owner to get in the door and to the system before it went off. I was pretty sure this guy had one. Fortunately, I had something better.

A couple of years back, one of my cousins invented an ultrasonic frequency blocker. It took a long time, but she managed to come up with a device that could eliminate alarm noise by masking it in the air. It’s kind of the same technology that air fresheners use when they destroy the odor instead of masking it. Plus, it took out any signal to 911 or the security company. We Bombays were nothing if not thorough.

Okay, I was inside and had taken out the alarm. I began my search of the house. Damn. This bastard was clean. Unlike his unfortunate neighbor across the street, Vic Jr. kept his house spotless. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone really lived here at all. No garbage, no dirty dishes, no dust, no personal knick-knacks. The fridge was full of hermetically sealed health food.

The bathroom was even worse. This son-of-a-bitch was so healthy he wasn’t on any medication. I couldn’t even find a bottle of aspirin. Panic started to rise, but I fought it. After thirty minutes in the house, I couldn’t find one single way to poison this guy. He even drank bottled water! There was no unopened food I could tamper with, the surfaces were too clean to leave toxic residue anywhere, and he had no health problems.

Shit. I locked up the house and headed home. Looked like I’ll be doing this one the old-fashioned way. Barging in and plugging him in person. At least when they investigated, the police might discover his links to terrorism. That would send them on all kinds of wild goose chases, leaving me virtually clear.

“Nothing? There was nothing?” Dak raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Absolutely. I couldn’t find a goddamned thing I could use to make it look natural.”

Dak fidgeted with his coffee cup. “What are you going to do?”

“Do it a la Arnold Schwarzenegger, I guess. I’ll probably have to use a ski mask and leave behind something to incriminate the Shining Path terrorists or something.”

Dak looked at me. “I know you don’t like doing things that way. Can I help?”

“I’d love to say yes, but I don’t think so. Obviously, the family wanted me to do it myself.”

My brother gave me a hug and we said our good-byes. I sat down on the couch and picked up my knitting. It helps me think sometimes. Poppy rolled lazily onto her back, but upon receiving no belly scratch, she rolled back over and went to sleep. She didn’t have to kill anything but time.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Longbaugh:  There's always free cheese in a mousetrap.

- The Way of the Gun

I spent the next morning researching South American terrorists on the Internet. I had a few ideas of how to implicate them at the scene of the crime, but nothing else. I called Vic Jr.’s company from a pay phone, asking for Turner and was told he was out of the office until tomorrow. Great. That meant I had only one day to hit him and hop the plane to L.A. with Romi.

By the afternoon, I had nothing. Not even a shred of confidence that I could do this. I’d only gunned down my prey once. And that was very, very messy. It all worked out in the end, but it was so much easier when you didn’t have to witness the Vic’s demise in person. That and it’s impossible to get brain matter out of cashmere. I’d had to burn a perfectly good sweater.

The next morning, I dropped Romi off at school. Bye, honey. Mommy’s off to kill a man, and tomorrow after school we’ll hop on a plane for the reunion. Okay?

I had just gotten home when the doorbell rang. I checked my surveillance monitors, and my heart nearly stopped beating.

“Um, hello?” I said to Vic Jr., as he stood on my porch. This was too weird. Funny, I didn’t remember using a hallucinogenic inhalant this morning.

“May I come in, Ms. Bombay?” Vic Jr. asked.

I nodded and ushered him in, looking to see if anyone saw us. Normally, I didn’t let strange men in the house, but this was too good to be true. As I closed the door, my heart bounced back to life. This was it! My hit came to my house! I could rub him out here!

“Can I help you, Mr. . . ?” I fished for his name to confirm it was really him.

“Turner. And yes you can. May we sit down?”

Where were my manners? Well, I could offer him coffee, but that would leave DNA evidence that he was in my house.

I nodded and led him to the family room. Vic Jr. sat on the couch.

“How did you know my name, and what can I do for you?” I asked.

Turner laughed. It was a hard, cold laugh. Killing this bastard was going to be no problem.

“Let’s just say we both have colleagues within the government.”

My mind scrambled to process this. Was he threatening me? Did he know about the Bombays? How?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, but you show up at my house unannounced, and presume to have some connection to me?”

He leaned closer. “I know who you are and what you are.”

I stiffened. “I don’t think so. You’re going to have to explain to me what you’re doing here.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You and I have a common connection. I wanted to let you know.”

Okay, obviously he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, standing, “But it feels like you’re threatening me.”

Turner remained seated. “No, not at all. I just think someone like you could be useful to me in the future.”

Did he really know something? Was he blackmailing me? Because I hated that!

“How about I get us some coffee and we can discuss it, then?” I waited for his approval, and once he nodded, I walked around the couch, behind him. After all, he didn’t know where the kitchen was.

He was just sitting there, probably considering evil corporate thoughts, when I looped my set of circular knitting needles around his neck, twisted the ends together and pulled.

Vic Jr. struggled immediately, but I’d done this too many times not to succeed. I could feel him panic as he clawed at the cord around his neck. He pulled out several rows of stitches in a vain attempt to remove the garrote. I put my knee into the back of the couch and used my weight to pull harder while pushing him down to hold him in place. He was at a complete disadvantage. It took only about twenty seconds before he was unconscious, but I kept up the pressure for two or three more minutes until I was sure he was dead.

I pushed his body onto the floor and checked for a pulse. There was no heartbeat. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to use CPR to revive him. Vic Jr. had walked into my house, trying to surprise and trap me. Stupid man, underestimating his opponent like that.

I looked at my knitting. The yarn was stretched out in several places. Damn. I’d really liked that scarf. Oh well, I’d have to destroy it now. Chances are there were skin cells in the fibers that would match his DNA.

I’d never done a job in my own house before. The job was over and I was free, but I was pissed that he had the opportunity to choose the time and place.

Damn, now I had to dispose of the body too. That would be a problem. Well, the Council said I couldn’t have help killing the guy, but it said nothing about help getting rid of his remains. I was just about to dial the phone, when the doorbell rang.

What the hell? This would be an inopportune moment for the Avon lady to visit. I looked into the monitors and this time, my heart stopped beating for real.

“Diego!” I tried to say happily. I still couldn’t believe I’d answered the door.

He kissed me. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a social call. My client ditched me while I was in the shower, left a note about going for a walk. I’m looking for him and thought I’d kill two birds with one stone by checking on you.”

“Um, your client?” I said uneasily.

“Yeah. His name’s Turner.” He pulled out a picture. “Have you seen him around?”

Sure, he’s dead in my living room. I just got done strangling him. Why?

I stared at the photo. “No, haven’t seen anyone like him.”

“I’ll find him. It’s just weird. He’s never done that before.”

So this was what real panic felt like. I’d just killed my boyfriend’s client. Diego’s supposed to protect Vic Jr. from assassins like me. I was pretty sure if he found out, our relationship would be over.

“Yeah, well, you know clients. Sometimes they just want a little alone time.” I managed.

Diego kissed me once more, then set out to see if the dead man in my house was wandering the neighborhood. I locked the door and called Dak and Liv.

I watched as my baby brother walked slowly around the dead guy. Liv stood with her hands on her hips, brows furrowed as if she were trying to decide which wallpaper should go in here. I failed to mention that Turner was Diego’s client.

“What about the river?” Liv suggested.

Dak shook his head. “No, I think we use that too much already. We could take him out to a cornfield somewhere.”

Liv snorted. “Sure, if you want to leave tire tracks in the mud.”

I, at least, was grateful to have an attached garage so we could put him in my trunk, sight unseen.

“How about the limestone quarry?” Liv offered.

“We’ll have to wait until late tonight,” Dak said.

I shook my head vigorously. “No way. He’s getting out of here right now!”

My brother and cousin looked startled at my reaction. But none of us had ever taken out a Vic in our own home before.

“Okay,” Dak started slowly, “let’s put him in the trunk of your sedan. I’ll take him now, and dump him later tonight.”

“Fine!” I was actually shaking. Everything seemed to go to hell. I’d killed Diego’s client in my house! That couldn’t be good.

Liv and I rolled Turner’s body into a plain white blanket. We wore gloves to avoid leaving anything on him. Dak and I carried him to the trunk, laying him out on a plain, blue tarp. I didn’t want any evidence in the car.

After Dak left, Liv and I vacuumed the living room –   carpet, furniture and all –  emptied the canister into an empty garbage bag, and cleaned the canister with bleach. I just needed to get the garbage out and everything would be fine.

I poured myself a glass of wine while Liv settled for a beer.

“Gin, why was Vic in your house?” Liv asked.

“I don’t know. He just showed up. Maybe I have good karma or something.”

“Right.” She frowned. “So why was he here?”

I drained my wineglass and poured another. Why had he been here? Oh yeah. “He said something about knowing who I was and finding that useful.”

“You’ve been made?” Liv cried out.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, he didn’t really come right out and say that.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true!”

“I know. He said something about us having a connection in common.”

“What does that mean?” Liv looked alarmed.

“I don’t know! I don’t understand any of it!” I shouted.

“Maybe the Council set it up to make the job easier for you?” Liv said quietly.

Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe that’s what happened. The Council somehow lured him to me. That had to be it!

“I’ll buy that.”

Liv frowned. “It has to be the answer. I can’t think of any other reason.” She pulled the stitches off my circular needles and sighed. “I really liked this scarf.” Liv frogged it until it was completely unraveled. She then shredded the yarn into a pile of threads and we took them out to the patio and burned them.

It seemed to me like the yarn was a metaphor for my relationship, or soon to be lack thereof, with Diego. Either that or I was getting drunk at 10:15a.m.  Not good either way.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Agent Sands:  Wanna know the secret to winning? Creative sportsmanship. In other words, one has to rig the game.

- Once Upon A Time In Mexico

I was having this really weird dream where Vivian Marcy could talk to tuna fish sandwiches and Diego was a mad scientist and I was a giant rutabaga, when the phone rang.

Caller ID said, “Dakota Bombay.” “Yes?” I croaked into the phone.

“Check the news on channel eight,” my brother said before hanging up.

I sat up, reached for the remote to the TV and clicked it on.

“The victim, whose face and neck were mauled beyond recognition” –  that woke me up –  “was found in the tiger’s exhibit at the zoo. The police have no idea who he is, how he got there or how he died.” The reporter went on about similar cases at other zoos where drunks tried to climb in with animals only to be found dead the next morning. She made some reference to bestiality, but I shut off the TV.

The zoo? Wow. Dak had never been that creative before. Usually, he ditched the corpse and ran. But if the head and neck were mauled, chances are they wouldn’t find out he’d been strangled. What the hell did Dak do? Smear Vic’s head with A-1 sauce?

The phone rang again. This time it was Liv. “Impressive,” she giggled. “He called me too. Apparently, he’s pretty proud of it.”

I sighed with relief more than anything else. “Looks like it’ll be hard to trace.” We talked for a few minutes more before realizing we had to get the kids to school.

Today was the big trip. Everything was packed. It would just be a matter of getting to the island. But I had another problem.

I’d planned to call Diego and let him know I was going out of town. But how could I do that when he had his hands full with a missing client who was currently resting, partially digested in a tiger’s stomach?

After taking Romi to school, I cowboy-ed up and called him. The phone rang five times before going into voice mail.

“Diego?” of course idiot! Who else would it be? I was so bad leaving voice messages. “It’s Gin. I have to go out of town for a few days to a family reunion. I’ll call you when I get back.” I left my cell phone number and hung up with a sigh of relief. There was a little tug at my stomach when I realized that I would really miss him.

Shit, Gin, what are you going to do when he leaves town for good? After all, you took out the only reason he had to be here!

The strange side of me who answers when I talk to myself was right. In making my family happy, I screwed myself. Well, that was nothing new. Besides, it was a bad idea to get involved with a bodyguard.

There was that twinge again. Apparently, I had allowed myself to get more involved with him than I thought. It would be so easy to fall in love with Diego. But that couldn’t happen. I needed to find a relationship with a clueless guy. Maybe someone who would be more into sports or NASCAR than worrying about what I did for a living.

The twinge ignited into a fireball as I realized I didn’t want anyone else. What was going on here? Was I falling for Diego? I picked up the phone and called again.

“Diego, it’s Gin.” Stupid voice mail. “Let’s plan to get together as soon as I return from the reunion. I’ll call you.”

Now I sounded like a stalker. And while that’s acceptable behavior for my job, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work too well with relationships.

Throughout the day, as I deposited Poppy at Dad’s, picked up a few more things for the trip and prepared to pick up Romi, all I could think about was Diego. It would appear that I was already starting to fall for him. Great.

At 3 p.m., Liv and I picked up the girls from school and drove straight to the airport. We chatted during the flight about our trip. Alta and Romi were thrilled. They loved flying. It was fun actually watching them crammed together, fogging up the little window. Once we arrived at LAX, we retrieved our bags and found our way to the private hangar that housed the Bombay jet.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw we were the only ones on the manifest.

“Hey Joey.” I called out to our pilot.

Joey nodded his reply and continued checking everything in the cockpit. He was a nice guy, in his sixties. Joey was the family’s full-time pilot. Which meant he got paid a lot of money to make just a few flights a year. He never asked questions and was as silent as a rock. Good man.

Liv and I got the girls strapped into their seats and were working on our own seatbelts when Joey came back.

“We’re leaving. Got everything?” was all he said. He was a man of very few words.

Liv and I nodded, and in a few minutes we were heading down the runway toward Santa Muerta . . . and far away from Diego.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lee:  Yes. The final supreme idiocy. Coming here to hide. The deserter hiding out in the middle of a battlefield.

- The Magnificent Seven

Santa Muerta. Yes, I knew it meant “Saint Death.” Ironically enough, we didn’t name it. Legend has it that in the eighteenth century, an English ship crashed on the rocks, shipwrecking thirty-three sailors. No one ever came to rescue them. The captain kept a log of their “visit.” The screeching monkeys, complete lack of women and rum and the burly first mate’s penchant for bestiality (not with the monkeys, I’ll bet) and they started to kill each other off, a la-Agatha Christie meets the Donner Party. While Captain Smythe only hinted at the murderous motives, he described each murder until his own (of course) in grisly detail.

A few years later, I guess some Portuguese sailors found the shipwreck and investigated. All they found were thirty-two skulls stacked like a canned –  goods display and the Captain’s log book. They traveled to the mainland and explained what happened to the fishermen there. The natives dubbed the island Santa Muerta.

Originally, the Bombays met at private residences. But after a few millennia of this, everyone was too nervous about “having the family over,” so they bought this island.

My Great Aunt Dela(ware) and her daughter Cali(fornia) and granddaughter Missi(ssippi) live on Santa Muerta year-round. This is to maintain control over our hideaway. They employ twenty non-English speaking natives, who actually run the place. Over the years, Dela and Cali have really turned the island into something nice.

If you visited Santa Muerta, you’d think you landed at a Beaches Resort. (Of course, you’d be killed on the spot for trespassing, so your joy would be rather short-lived.) White sand surrounds the perimeter of a large jungle.

In the center, is the main house. Well, it’s more like a mansion, really, with forty guest rooms, a large meeting room with comfy, tiered seating and the latest multi-media presentation stuff, a ballroom for parties, and an outdoor courtyard with swimming pool complete with cabana boys.

The manse sits beside a beautiful, freshwater lake. Beyond the lake is a small range of mountains with a high- and low-ropes course for team-building exercises. I am NOT kidding. We have to do this every reunion. Try to picture thirty-five professional killers, ranging in age from five to eighty-five, trying to do a “trust” fall backwards into the arms of the LAST group of people on earth you would trust.

To the north of the mansion is the airstrip and dock. To the south are the private bungalows. There are five of them, more like luxury homes than rustic cabins. These buildings are hidden in the tree line, just off the beach.

The only rules on the island are not to give the staff any information on who we are or what we really do. (Seriously – you think it’s hard to find good help now? Try it when the maids know you might kill them if the sheets aren’t soft enough.) And at 4 p.m. every day, we have to be inside one of the buildings until 5. Why? Because that’s when the various government satellites are overhead, taking pictures.

Liv and I checked in at the Airstrip, and Paco (a.k.a. yummy cabana boy) took us by Jeep to the house. By the way, since women are in charge of the island, they hire the most gorgeous men to work there. All of us speak Spanish, so we made small talk until we arrive at the house. Paco winked at me as he carried our bags to the rooms.

“Mommy! I love this place!” Romi shrieked. Alta joined her and they raced around the lobby to check things out.

“Hey! There’s a pool!” Alta shouted and Romi ran over to her.

Liv and I couldn’t help smiling. We loved Santa Muerta too. If we weren’t so exhausted from all the travel, we’d probably jump into the pool fully clothed while Paco brought us margaritas.

“Nap time first,” I answered.

“Noooooooooo!” they screamed in unison.

Liv nodded. “Girls, we’ve been traveling all day. We need to take a break. Then we’ll swim.”

Both girls crossed their skinny arms over their chests and sullenly followed us to our rooms. We didn’t need keys because the room locks were configured to our fingerprints. I hated dragging around keys or worse, those stupid plastic cards.

Liv and I had adjoining rooms. We opened the door between them and the girls bounced around, exploring. I opened the balcony doors just in time for a small, orange monkey to leap onto the rail and shriek at me. Romi and Alta stared at the creature until it howled and dove into the fauna.

Somehow, we managed to get the girls to sleep (I believe we threatened them with one of the tarantulas on the patio. What?). I passed out almost immediately.

The phone rang, waking me from a deep sleep. For a moment, I forgot where I was. That is, until the Toucan bird outside the window “cawed,” or did whatever in the hell they do.

“Hello?” No caller ID on these phones. Why was that?

“Hello, Virginia.” Grandma’s deep voice was gruff, but she sounded happy to hear me.

“Hey, Grandma! What’s up?” I managed.

“Why don’t you and Liv bring your girls to my room for tea?”

“Um, okay. When’s that?”

“Now. See you in five.” And she hung up.

I shook Liv’s shoulder. “Grandma beckons.”

Liv pushed her thick dark hair from her eyes, looking amazing even after sleeping. I hated her.

We scrambled to wake the girls, brush our teeth and head up to the penthouse floor. The five Council members had their own penthouse in the building. Liv and I exchanged glances as I knocked on Grandma Mary’s door.

The peephole darkened, and I rolled my eyes. We’re on a secure island, surrounded by assassins, and Grandma had to check to see who was there. And you thought your family had trust issues.

The door opened and Grandma stood there with a broad smile and open arms. Alta and Romi rushed into her embrace, covering her wizened face with kisses. Liv and I each gave her a hug and kiss, then followed her into her rooms.

“Adios, Juan,” Grandma said briskly, dismissing the young man setting up the tea service.

I plopped down into a chair and began buttering a scone. Liv was already gulping down tea. The girls, on the other hand, were too busy checking out all the souvenirs from Grandma’s travels. Totem poles from Alaska, a couple of shrunken heads from New Guinea (I’d been meaning to ask her if she did them herself), masks and spears from Africa, a mantilla and bullfighter’s cape from Spain, Celtic knots carved from stone and for some reason, a stuffed armadillo from Texas. And those were just part of the bizarre collection.

“Well, girls.” Grandma sat and helped herself to a biscuit. “Did you have a nice trip?”

We chattered about nothing really. Grandma always seemed so gruff with everyone, but she was really a sweetie on the inside. One of my favorite relatives, she was a tiny woman, with soft, crêpe skin, long white hair rolled up in a chignon, and piercing blue eyes, wearing a caftan, and acting like a typical grandmother. And family was the most important thing to her. But I knew her dedication ran even deeper. She was completely committed to the Bombay way of life. And as much as I loved her, that was a little scary.

“I suppose you’re ready for the girls to take the oath?” she asked as if she wanted to know what their favorite movie is.

“I guess so. As ready as you can be for that sort of thing,” I replied, watching the girls play.

Grandma nodded as if she understood. “Where’s Woody?”

Liv smiled. “Oh, he’s coming with Dad. They stopped at the Alamo on the way.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how Dad is. San Antonio is practically a religious pilgrimage.”

“Well, he did wear that damned coonskin cap for four years until it fell apart,” Grandma said.

I smiled too. Uncle Pete(rsburg) and his grandson were very close. They spent one weekend a month together doing something worthy of a sweat lodge bonding ritual. I had to admit, it was nice being around family. Liv and I were the only ones to give Grandma great-grandchildren, and I think that made us special. Not that she didn’t dote on our brothers, too. She spoiled them rotten.

“It’s nice to have some time with my girls before the reunion starts,” Grandma said. “And don’t worry, Romi and Alta will do just fine. I understand you two reserved the Charlotte Corday Bungalow?”

“Yeah,” I started.

“Did you say ‘yeah’?” Grandma frowned at me.

I sighed. “I mean ‘yes.’” She was a stickler for grammar and would have made one terrifying (and lethal) English teacher. “But Grandma, I’m more interested in the reason for the reunion.”

Her eyebrows arched before she answered. “What do you mean, Ginny? Of course it’s because Romi and Alta are ready for the oath.”

“Liar, liar, pants-on-fire,” I responded. Liv frowned.

Grandma changed her tactics. “Now girls, you know I can’t reveal anything else until the Council announces it.”

Liv put on her best pouty face. “Please? Just give us a hint.”

Grandma’s eyes flickered for a second, almost undone by Liv’s big brown eyes. “Sorry. You’ll have to do better than that. Your parents didn’t even try to pry it out of me.”

Just then, Alta, followed closely by Romi, tackled her and she laughed as she tickled them into an eruption of giggles.

“Fine,” I said. “Don’t tell us. And we won’t warn you when you retire and Mom’s on the Council.”

Grandma laughed. “Nice try. But the only way I’m going off the council is by dying. If I have a debilitating stroke, I’ve always got my cyanide pill.”

I had no doubt she’d use it too. As far as I knew, no Bombay ever did time in a nursing home. Too risky.

Grandma looked at her watch, then frowned. “Speaking of the Council, I’d better go. We have a meeting in five.”

And that was it. She stood and herded us out of her apartment, leaving me to wonder why she’d called us up in the first place. Were Liv or I in trouble? I shuddered and thought of something more pleasant, like screaming monkeys.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Miss Winter:  With your ideas, I'm surprised you're shocked at the thought of war.

Ivan Dragomiloff:  Not at all. It's purely a matter of business. How can we charge our sort of prices with everybody happily killing each other for a shilling a day?

- The Assassination Bureau

Dela and Cali run the island and handle the occasional South American job. The most interesting member of that family is my cousin Missi. If Richie was my nemesis, then Missi was my favorite relative (except for Liv, of course).

You know those wacky people you come across every now and then? The really colorful kind who don’t care what others think? That was Missi. A little older than me, but also widowed with two sons, Missi cracked me up.

I’m sure you’ve seen the James Bond movies, the ones with Q, who’s the inventor of 007’s lethal gadgets. Missi is our Q. When she wasn’t using poison frog darts on a Peruvian terrorist or some corrupt Colombian official, she was here at Santa Muerta, coming up with some really cool stuff.

Let’s see, what had she come up with that I could tell you about? Well, there was the special car bomb that ignited through the cigarette lighter. That had been cool because the authorities didn’t catch it, and a major auto manufacturer recalled 100,000 cars thinking the explosion was their fault. One of my favorites was the remote-control icicle release mechanism. It might not sound like much, but she could actually create, then release lethal icicles into the unsuspecting skull of a target. All the police would find was a wet spot. Brilliant!

“Monkeypops,” I said into the small speaker outside Missi’s workshop. The door sprang open and in I went. Did I mention her love of unusual passwords?

“Ginny!” Missi rose from her seat to hug me. Her magnifying goggles were still on her face, giving her a weird, eye-bulging effect.

“How are you? And Monty(gomery) and Jack(son)?” I asked.

“Hell as usual. Monty made his first kill last week.” She moved to wipe away a nostalgic tear. “I can’t believe it.”

“The twins are fifteen already?” I couldn’t believe it either. Had it been that long since I’d seen her?

Missi nodded, then pushed a stool toward me. I sat, and we caught up on what was going on.

Her workshop was one of my favorite places on Earth. Unlike my sterile place, Missi filled every inch with really weird stuff. Sometimes I thought she spent her free time Dumpster diving in Chile. But everything there made sense to her. I guess that was what counted.

“So what’s new?” I asked, hardly able to contain myself.

She smiled slowly. “What do you want?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any harmless nerve agent,” (that I could use on, say, a Girl Scout troop?) “or something like that?”

Missi rolled her eyes. “Harmless? Hello! Assassin.” She looked around the room. “Mostly I’ve been working on stuff for the new line.”

My eyebrows shot up. “New line?”

She nodded. “The Council’s asked me to look into another avenue of work for the family. It could be more lucrative.”

“What are you talking about? We kill people. Or are we going to sell AmWay now?”

“Actually, nothing as horrible as that. I’m working on some tech stuff to develop character assassination.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” she replied, “and I think it’s gonna be big. Probably a fate worse than death, if you think about it.”

“Huh.” But you know what? Living with a horrible scandal and spending the rest of your life being punished for a crime actually did sound worse.

“The Council’s really excited about it.”

I sat up. “Hey! Is that why we’re meeting so early?” Yay! That’s it! No one. . . well in the family, anyway. . . bites it!

“No. That’s not it.” Missi shot me down. “We’re about two years away from getting everyone started with this.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Well, then what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Missi said, looking wistful. “No one tells me anything. It’s always, ‘Missi, can you come up with a hairdryer to incinerate my hit,’ or ‘I need another contact lens case that shoots the poisonous needles into the eyes.’  They only come to me when they want something.”

“You made a hairdryer that incinerates the user?” I was stunned. This family needed a newsletter or something because that was way cool.

Missi waved me off. “It was nothing. You just have to get the heat right.”

I sighed. “Alright, so you don’t know anything.”

She grinned at me. “Nope. But I do have a surprise for you.” She crooked her finger and rose from her stool. I followed her out into the garden to a patch of lilies. My love of botany made me giddy with expectation.

“There they are!” She pointed proudly. The white lilies were gorgeous, but what was the deal?

“I’ve seen white lilies before. What can they do?”

She actually rolled her eyes at me. “Not like these, you haven’t. I don’t have to tell you how plants take carbon dioxide from the air and turn it into oxygen.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “Duh.”

“Well, this will give FTD a run for its money. These babies do the reverse. They emit a gas to stun the Vic, then suck oxygen from the air and turn it into carbon dioxide.”

I felt like she’d slapped me. “Are you serious?”

She nodded proudly. “I’ve been working on it for years. I’ve managed to come up with the perfect hybrid. All you do is pot several of these together and deliver them. Of course, they have to be inside to work effectively.”

My excitement waned a bit. “So, how do you know they’ll work?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Gin! I tried it! It can take out a man in a small apartment in a couple of days.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who she tried it on, but I was really thrilled over this. Unfortunately, it would never make Botany Today Magazine for, well, obvious reasons. Missi’s genius would once more go unrecognized by the rest of the world.

“Can we send some of these to Richie’s room?” I asked only slightly jokingly.

“I wish,” Missi said, “but I don’t want him to know I even have this stuff.” She shuddered. “In fact, I always hope he forgets I’m here. That dumbass takes credit for my gadgets. Remember the personal groomer debacle?”

Did I ever. Missi had created a nose-hair trimmer that when activated, fired a laser into the victim’s skull via the nasal passages. Richie told the Council he invented it. Only he set the frequency too high and it blew Vic’s head clean off. When he learned the Council was pissed about it, he recanted and pointed the finger at Missi. See? I wasn’t the only one who hated the son of a bitch.

I looked around. “You’re still working on the Richinator, right?”

Missi nodded and grinned. Her dream invention would take Richie out completely during a hit. There were hundreds of prototypes, but nothing satisfactory yet. I lived for that day.

“Have you seen him yet?”

“No. Hey! Maybe he won’t come and I can hunt him down or something.”

Missi shot me a look. “Do you really want to get that close to him?”

We laughed and spent another hour talking about work. When I left her workshop, I had this renewed sense of purpose. Missi always motivated me.

“Family meeting at four,” Liv told me as I walked into our rooms.

“Already?” I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, they always did this. First comes registration and an ice breaker, then keynote/dinner and chocolate reception. At least we didn’t have to wear nametags.

Tomorrow would be our individual evaluations with the Council, and the last day would be all about the rituals. Alta and Romi would have a sitter tonight – kids were excluded because they were usually bored to death. They would be involved in the ritual, then Liv and I would have our bungalow slumber party and we’d all go home.

At 3:30, Luis arrived to baby-sit, and Liv and I went down to the conference center to check in. Mom and Uncle Pete were running the registration table. That meant Dak and Woody were around somewhere.

“Dad!” Liv called out. “Where’s Woody?”

Uncle Pete winked at her. “Dak took him up to your room. We just got in, and Mom stuck us with this job.”

My mother looked less enthusiastic. “I think we did this last time too.” She handed me a large brown envelope. “Ginny, your meeting time with the Council is 9 a.m. tomorrow. You won’t be late, will you?” Her eyes were full of worry.

“Mom! I’m almost forty! Quit treating me like a kid!” I spun on my heel and walked away. You might think this was some big act of defiance, but in reality, we went through this ritual once a week.

“You know what?” Liv said once we were settled in our seats in the auditorium. We always tried to sit in the back. Actually, everyone tried to sit in the back. No one wanted anyone behind them in this room. “It feels like we were just here.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s only been a year since the last meeting.”

Liv looked at me for a moment. “That must be it.”

The room filled up quickly, with most of my relatives sitting near their immediate family. Mom, Pete and Dak slipped into the three seats we’d been saving for them.

The Council assembled on the stage at a long table. Grandma was flanked by her brother Lou on the left and cousin Dela on the right. Her other cousins, Troy and Florence, represented the European branch of the family and sat farther down. All I could think of was that they looked old.

I wondered how long it would be before Mom and Pete joined their cousins to form the Council. Now that would be creepy. I’m not going to let Mom slide with any of that Council secrecy bullshit either.

Everyone in the room stood up to identify themselves, but we knew everybody already. Then came announcements. No icebreaker –- which I was happy with because it was idiotic, and there was an announcement that the ropes course was being repaired. Hey! I might actually enjoy this trip! Once again we were reminded to go inside from 4 p.m. – 5 p.m. every day to avoid the satellites. Blah, blah, blah.

The one thing missing from the announcements was why the hell we were all here. Uncle Lou stood and dismissed us to the dining room for dinner. Sounded like a normal business conference, didn’t it? It was, right down to the rubber chicken on the plate in front of me.

Liv munched on her vegetarian lasagna and we settled into a simple conversation of pleasantries with the family. Mom, Pete, Liv, me, Dak and Paris – your average family of assassins at an average family reunion.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tom Stall:  In this family, we do not solve problems by hitting people!

Jack Stall:  No, in this family we shoot them!

- A History of Violence

Grandma stepped up to the microphone to start the keynote. Unlike normal conferences or conventions where you have an interesting speaker from outside the organization, our speaker was almost always a member of the Council. And they were all awful speakers. I groaned inwardly.

“Family is the most important thing we have,” Grandma began. I started to tune out until her words sounded like the adults on Charlie Brown cartoons.

Instead, I focused on the tables around me. Actually, there weren’t that many, only four in fact. And we were dead center.

To our right was Uncle Lou’s family, with Mom’s cousins York and Georgia and their kids, Sydney, Coney (Island) and Rich(mond)ie. Sydney’s son, Clinton, and daughter, Savannah, were adults now, just starting their careers. Richie hadn’t procreated (or wasn’t allowed to).

On our left was Dela’s family, with Cali, Missi, and Missi’s twin sons – Monty and Jack. They sat with Cali’s brother, Montana, and his unmarried children Lon(don) and Phil(adelphia). They reminded me of Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd, the gay assassins from the James Bond flick Diamonds Are Forever.

The last table had the Europeans. Troy’s daughter, Burma : her daughter, India ; and granddaughter, Delhi (who was fifteen and would be making her first hit soon). Flo’s daughter, Asia ; granddaughter, Holland ; and nineteen-year-old great-granddaughter, Madrid joined them.

The European branch of the family only ever had one child each. I didn’t know why that was, but it didn’t really matter. I liked them. They seemed so mature. Or maybe it was just the accents.

Actually, I liked pretty much everyone. When we’d been in college, Liv and I would visit other family members during the summer breaks. Our brothers, Dakota and Paris, usually spent more time with the Europeans –- especially at the family chalet in Switzerland. They skied constantly, always new Scandinavian girls on their arms. And everyone doted on them. Bastards.

Grandma was on stage, wrapping up her speech. I should’ve been a little ashamed that I didn’t hear it, but from the looks on my family’s faces, it was a real yawner.

The chocolate reception was the only thing I liked about these reunions. Every possible use you could think of for chocolate was there. And everything was in theme.

For instance, there were chocolate licorice garrotes, milk chocolate handguns, white chocolate asps, M & M’s with skulls and crossbones on them, dark chocolate stilettos (and I don’t mean shoes) and chocolate mousse “poisons” in edible glass candy test tubes. And milk. Lots of milk. That was the best part. Who can drink anything but milk with chocolate?

Anyway, I was at the fondue table drowning spongecake bodies in the melted chocolate, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hey, Gin,” Richie’s asthmatic voice wheezed.

I ignored him.

The finger tapped harder, probably leaving bruises. “Gin!”

I turned with a sigh. I had to get this over with. “Oh, hi, Richie.”

“So how are ya?” he asked with a slimy smile. Just looking at him made me lose my appetite. I should’ve kill him just for that.

“Just fine. How about you?” I had to force these words through my teeth.

Richie shrugged. “I’m training to be a ninja. Took out four guys last month.”

This was all bullshit. He had to know I knew that. “Really? Were you supposed to do that?” I asked innocently.

Richie’s fat cheeks flamed red. “Yes. I was. The Council knows I can handle it and so they’ve been stepping up the assignments.” He started to cool down, waving his hand nonchalantly. “And the ninja thing is mainly for the chicks.”

Now I wanted to vomit. “Is that right?” I managed.

He nodded “Well, I’ve always had a natural talent with the martial arts,” he paused dramatically, “and with the ladies.”

I started to laugh and milk came out of my nose. I assumed when he said “ladies,” he meant the latex, blow-up kind.

“I suppose I should settle down someday,” he mused, ignoring my giggle fit. “But it really wouldn’t be fair to just choose one woman.”

I guffawed. I wanted to say something very sarcastic about his so-called way with women, but instead I shoved two or three pieces of cake victims in my mouth to stop myself. Of course, this caused me to choke violently.

Before I knew what was happening, Richie yelped, “I’ll save you!” The son-of-a-bitch wrapped his arms around me, trying to crush my ribs to get the food out. I couldn’t breathe, but I was thinking nothing could be worse than having that dumbass save my life.

The food remained lodged in my windpipe as Richie squeezed me again and again. He wasn’t doing it right, and I had the feeling I was turning blue. I brought my arms up, forcing Richie to release me and threw myself onto my own fist on the back of the chair. The pressure on my sternum popped the slimy chunk of cake out of my mouth and I slipped to the floor.

“You saved her, Richie!” “You’re a hero, boy!” Voices praised Richie all around me and I thought, That’s it. I’ve died and gone to hell.

No such luck. Apparently, no one saw me save myself. Everyone in the whole goddamned family thought Richie saved me. It was my worst nightmare come true. Now I really wanted to kill him.

“Gin was eating so fast, stuffing it in like a pig.” Richie’s voice floated down to the floor where I lay. “I tried to stop her, but it’s obvious she has an eating problem. I’d say she’s put on thirty pounds since last year.”

It’s just twenty pounds, you moron! I struggled to get to my feet and looked at the room of amazed family members. Liv and Dak grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the room.

“Let me go!” I fought them. “I have to go in there and kill him!”

But Liv and Dak wouldn’t give up until I was outside by the pool.

“What were you thinking in there?” Dak asked incredulously.

“Nothing! I just crammed food into my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything stupid!” I protested weakly.

“Well, now you’ve made him a hero!” Liv cried out.

“He didn’t save me! I did!” I yelled.

Dak and Liv studied me for a moment, then exchanged arched eyebrows with each other. Great. They thought Richie really did save me. Hell, the whole Bombay family thought that!

“Focus!” Liv snapped.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t go back in there.”

Dak grinned. “We know Richie didn’t do anything. Probably everyone else does too. He’s not worth it, Gin.”

Liv folded her arms across her chest and nodded in agreement.

“Alright, then let’s go to the bar. I need a triple.”

“Triple what?” Liv asked.

“A triple anything.”

Which is how I ended up at 8:30 in the morning, gulping down coffee and feeling like I was dead. Great, my appointment with the Council was in half an hour and I was grotesquely hung over. My skin was clammy, and it felt like there were beetles crawling around underneath. Even my hair follicles hurt. If my family wasn’t trying to kill me with humiliation, they were doing so with alcohol poisoning.

I made it to the Brutus Conference Room just in time.

“Sit down, Virginia, please,” Grandma ordered.

Lou, Dela, Troy and Florence all nodded.

The Council members sat in high, leather-backed seats on a platform in a semi-circle around me. I sat in a simple, leather chair below them, which meant psychologically I was at a disadvantage. The walls were dark with mahogany paneling. It would make a great room for a war tribunal.

Lou spoke up first. “Virginia, you have done very well with all of your assignments in the last year.”

What? Praise from Lou? I was sure I had a shocked look on my face.

Troy added in his clipped, English accent, “Especially your last two assignments. And while I think the methods were a bit . . .” He paused to think of the right word, “extreme, you managed it.”

“My brother is understating what we all feel was a job well done,” Florence said.

I sat up a little straighter in my chair. But I said nothing. You weren’t allowed to speak until the Council invited you to.

Dela spoke next and I wondered if they’d all rehearsed taking turns. “Which is why this isn’t an ordinary evaluation.”

Troy frowned at her, before turning to me. “I’m sure you have wondered why the reunion is taking place so soon. It is because we have a rather serious dilemma and we need you to take care of it.”

My mouth dropped open at that point, only adding to my look of hungover moron. But I still didn’t speak – even though I damn well wanted to. They needed my help?

Grandma folded her hands. “The last two jobs were tests, Ginny. We wanted to see how you could handle the stress. The real job is what you are here for.” She waved her arms around her. “What we are all here for.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, I opened my mouth, then closed it. The Council was going to tell me what the job was, right? Or were we going to play charades? And let me tell you, I sucked at charades.

“There is a mole in the family,” Lou said. “We need you to find out who it is and take care of it.”

Okay, now I was stunned. It was hard enough to get over the complimentpalooza earlier, but a mole? In our family? Who’d be that stupid?

“We’ve learned through our sources,” Dela explained, “that one of the Bombays has been providing information to the FBI and Scotland Yard. We don’t believe at this time that the information is damaging, but we want it stopped.”

Well, duh! Can I talk now?

“We are trusting you to find out who the traitor is and dispatch them,” Troy said. “Any questions?”

“Yeah!” I shouted, earning a stern look from Grandma. “I mean, yes. I have several. First, are you convinced it’s blooded family?” The Council nodded (rather creepily) in unison. “Okay, how do you know that? What do you have? What information will you give me? What is my timeline? Do I really have to kill them, or do I just turn them over to you?” Actually, it would be a more merciful death if I just killed whoever it was.

Lou held up his hand. “I know this is a tough assignment. I once had to take out a family member, as you well know. But it’s the way we do things. It’s what has made our enterprise successful all these thousands of years.”

“No one else here will know what we’ve told you,” Grandma said. “We are announcing that it has to do with the children who have reached ritual age. You are, under no circumstances, to talk to anyone about this.” She waved her finger at me. “Not your mother. Not your brother or your cousin. No one.”

Troy made a face. “It could even be one of them, Virginia. That is why we must tread lightly.”

I really, really wanted to roll my eyes.

Grandma slapped the table, startling me. “I mean it! Tell no one!”

Dang, she was touchy. Well, I guess she did watch her brother kill her daughter. Okay, fine. Geez.

“Dela will be your contact,” Lou added. “You’ll meet with her tonight at 5 pm in her room. Don’t talk about that either.”

Flo smiled, trying to lighten the situation. “Just tell everyone we are pleased with your work. Dela will be your handler in all matters relating to this. Any other questions?”

“Yea . . . I mean yes. Why only Dela?” I had many more questions but this one popped out first.

Troy glared. “Because it will be easier for you and for us. This way we know the situation is being handled competently and you only need to go to one person to report.”

A rap at the door told me my evaluation was over. Someone else waited outside. I rose and nodded to the Council, letting myself out.

Richie sneered at me on his way in. I smiled back because he might be the mole. Well, he could be, right?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. Sometimes I just want it to stay saved! You know, for a little bit? I feel like the maid; I just cleaned up this mess! Can we keep it clean for . . . for ten minutes?”

- Mr. Incredible, The Incredibles

A mole. In the Bombay family. I kid you not – these were the two sentences that went through my mind over and over again as I sat by the pool, watching Liv and Dak play with the kids. I told everyone I got a good review, but they seemed doubtful. Gee, maybe it was the cartoon thundercloud over my head, or the fact I only responded in monosyllabic grunts.

Okay, so I wasn’t much of an actress. I twirled my straw in the lemonade Paco brought me. He kept asking if I wanted something stronger in it, but I said no. The hangover was long forgotten, but the worry had set in. And I needed to be sober to meet with Dela.

My eyes searched the pool, scanning every family member nearby. One of these 35 people was ratting out the family. Again I thought of Richie, but then realized I had to be more practical. The only things that condemned him were 1) he was an idiot, and 2) I wanted it to be him.

I cleared my throat in hopes of clearing my thoughts. No. This was serious. And it wasn’t going to be easy. Even though I fantasized that Aunt Dela would give me a complete dossier with the traitor’s photo and schedule for the next week, I knew better. If they had even the slightest idea who it was, that person would be made an example of at the reunion. Not good.

So I would have to find out who it was. But how? I wasn’t a detective. I guess the only good thing about this was that the Council felt certain it wasn’t me. I was not a suspect. Well, that and the fact that I knew I wasn’t talking to the Feds. And I knew it couldn’t be Mom, Dak or Liv. Okay. That’s four people out of thirty-five. Only thirty-one more suspects to go.

What was the first thing to look at? I thought about all those Agatha Christie novels I read in high school. Now, what was that “m” word thingy that every murderer had to have?

Motion . . . motor . . . motel . . . motive! That’s it! If I could figure out the motivation behind the treason, I might be able to find the fink.

I shifted in my rattan seat, causing my sunglasses slip to the end of my nose. I pushed them back up. Somehow, they felt like protection. A barrier between me and disaster.

What would it take to betray the family? Money was out. We were all filthy rich. And it’s not like the government could tempt us with more than we already had. Maybe the mole got caught? Perhaps it was some kind of blackmail?

In spite of the hot weather, I shivered. The entire Bombay family could be put in prison for the things we’d done. And right or wrong, what we’d been doing for millennia (although I was pretty sure the statute of limitations had run out on historical assassinations) really boiled down to murder, plain and simple. Shit.

If it was blackmail, then we were all in danger. Hell, if Scotland Yard was involved, the European branch was in trouble too. I felt my frown lines deepen. Wouldn’t that be ironic? The government imprisoning assassins they hired regularly? Of course, I wasn’t supposed to know about that, but I’m not an idiot.

Okay, blackmail was bad. It meant the mole could be anyone. Not good. How about revenge? No, that wouldn’t be it. Anyone implicating the family would turn up implicated as well. That left stupidity.

Stupidity as a motive was highly underrated in this family. Look at Richie. I shook my head, looking a little insane to those around me. I couldn’t count on it being Richie. But who else could it be?

I spent the rest of the day like this, excusing myself as hung over. At 4:30 I showered and dressed, and at 5, I knocked on Dela’s door.

“Come in, Gin!” I heard the door locks pop and went into the penthouse. I’d never been in Dela’s rooms before. Oooh. She was a wicker chick. Every piece of furniture was wicker or rattan. Large ceiling fans hung in each room, lazily spinning the humid air about. Tropical potted plants and a tiled floor made me feel like I was in Mexico. And in a bizarre twist, every wall was covered with paintings of matadors on black velvet.

“Sit down,” Dela said, directing me to a table laid out with dinner for two. “We’re eating in here tonight.”

The enchiladas and fried plantains made my mouth water. I joined her at the table and began to eat, waiting for her to speak first.

She waited until we were done with our first glass of wine. A Chilean shiraz, I think.

“So what do you think of our little problem?”

Little problem? “Um, well, I don’t know yet,” I responded brilliantly.

Dela nodded. “Of course you don’t. And I’ll bet you were hoping I would have a complete dossier, right?”

I swallowed my wine before answering. “That’s right. But I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

“No. I don’t have much to give you in fact.”

“So how do you know about the FBI and the Yard?” I asked.

Dela sighed. “For years we’ve had connections in certain government departments. Our contacts tipped us off just recently.”

“I suppose Interpol and the CIA are next?” Alright, I probably didn’t have to be such a smartass about it.

“No, they aren’t involved. But the agencies that are could jeopardize our family.”

That part, I’d guessed. “So, What have our contacts told us?”

Dela poured me another glass of wine. “Please understand, Gin, our contacts are just as upset as we are.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure. But they won’t go to prison, now, will they? Or have their entire family put away? No, that risk is exclusively ours.”

Dela frowned. “I understand that you’re upset and am pleased you are concerned about the family’s interests.”

“I don’t give a damn about the family’s interests but I do care a lot about the family members.”

“Okay. Fine.” Dela said. “I agree with that. But let me tell you that the risk is minor right now. The mole has only promised information, but hasn’t yet delivered it yet.”

“What are they asking for? What’s the motivation?”

Dela leaned back. “I don’t know. The only thing we can rule out is blackmail. Apparently the mole is not under suspicion.”

“Do we know if it’s male or female? Do we have anything to go on whatsoever?” My voice got louder.

“I know you’re upset, Gin. But don’t take it out on me. I volunteered to be your handler. Just think how Lou, Troy or your own grandmother would take your attitude.”

She had me there. I was behaving badly. “Sorry. I’m just a little freaked out.”

“I know. We are too. This isn’t an easy or pleasant assignment. But that’s why we picked you.”

“Because I’m difficult? Or unpleasant?” I smiled.

Dela laughed. “Both. But also because you’re one of our sharpest employees.”

I winced at her words. I never thought of myself as anything more than bungling. And calling me an employee instead of a member of the family was weird too.

“So where do we start?” I asked, polishing off another glass of wine.

“Well, we know it’s someone in your generation. Both contacts describe the individual as male. They refused to give us more information, perhaps because it’s too sensitive, or maybe they don’t know anything else.”

“A young male? Well, that does narrow it down somewhat.” I ticked them off on my fingers, “Coney, Richie, Lon and Phil.”

“And Dak and Paris,” Dela added.

I shook my head. “No way. Dak and Paris wouldn’t do anything that stupid.”

She frowned. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Gin. Dak and Paris are to be investigated just as vigorously as the others.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I know neither of them are the mole.”

“Do you?” Dela’s blue eyes went cold and I realized that even though I felt confident of Dak’s and Paris’s innocence, the Council did not.

“Fine. Just to make you happy, I’ll look into them too.”

“This is very serious, Gin. You have to treat all six men as equal suspects, or this won’t work.”

“Sorry. I will.” But I knew Dak and Paris weren’t involved. Meaning I really had only four suspects. “What else can you tell me?”

“Only that you have two weeks to find and take care of him.”

“That’s it? Two weeks? Fourteen days? That’s all I have?” I protested.

“In two weeks, the snitch is meeting with his contacts from both agencies at the same time. We need to neutralize the problem before that meeting happens.”

“Wait, you know that much, but you don’t know who it is or why he’s doing it?”

She nodded. “We even know the meeting will take place at a Starbucks in Washington, D.C., at 5 p.m. But we don’t know who it is.”

I loved Starbucks. I really did. I even took offense when comedians made fun of them. For one of my cousins to besmirch the company’s name for a Bombay family take-down was over the top, in my humble opinion.

“Since I know it’s a male, does that mean I can enlist help from my female cousins?” Liv was smarter than I was. I’d bet she could have the info to the Council in one week.

“Absolutely not. If you’re talking about Liv, her brother is a suspect, don’t forget. Even your mother isn’t to know because of Dak.”

“So why didn’t you use one of the female cousins who don’t have brothers for this job?”

Dela narrowed her eyes at me. “Because we wanted you. Remember, under no circumstances are you to involve anyone else. Especially Liv.”

“Is this a joke?” Liv’s big brown eyes pleaded with me two hours later when I, of course, told her everything. Hey, I wasn’t smart enough to do this alone. Sue me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I’ve decided what I want to do with my life. I wanna be a cleaner.”

- Mathilda, The Professional

I waited a moment for the information to sink in. I mean, it took me about twenty hours. Of course my timing isn’t perfect. We were just getting ready to take the girls down to the conference center for their ritual. The way I saw it, Liv could think about it for a while, and then when we got to the bungalows we could discuss it intelligently.

“I don’t believe it!” Liv looked pretty upset. Maybe I had figured it wrong.

“Well, I don’t believe it either. That is, that Dak or Paris could be involved. I mean, I definitely believe it about the mole,” I fumbled.

“We’ll discuss this later!” she hissed and I got the distinct impression she was pissed off. Not good. Not now, at least.

An hour later, after the older kids went through their ceremonies, I felt my insides bunch up into my throat as Grandma (wearing a goat skull for some ungodly reason – I never did get that part of the ritual; Frankly, I think she just liked wearing it.) called Romi and Alta to the front of the candlelit room.

“Now, we open our arms to the youngest members of the family,” Grandma intoned dramatically. I couldn’t help do the old eye roll in Liv’s direction. She shot me a fierce look that pierced my spleen. Okay, she was still pissed.

Romi and Alta looked doubtfully at Grandma, but nodded when she asked them if they were ready. Ready for what? To start killing people? To hunt down errant family members if necessary?

Romi looked back at me with a cocked eyebrow. My darling little cynic. She thought we’d all lost our minds. That was so cute! And they looked darling in their little white dresses.

Uncle Lou stepped forward, droning on and on about loyalty to family, blah, blah, blah. Then he asked them to hold out their arms.

Shit! I forgot to tell them about this part! Romi freaks out when she gets a shot. Liv grabbed my hand, and I realized she was thinking the same thing. I started thinking that it would be cool if we really had telepathic abilities. I bet we could really kick some ass.

An angry shout brought my attention back where it belonged. Uncle Lou had drawn the ceremonial dagger (which, personally I think should have been replaced two millennia ago –  I mean, seriously, we could get tetanus from that old thing!) across Romi’s palm, drawing blood. And my daughter responded by clocking him in the nose with a pretty impressive right cross. I couldn’t help smiling.

I was about to go up there when Grandma pulled her aside, whispering something into her ear. Alta stood there stoically (or maybe it was in shock) as Lou did the same to her. Romi still looked angry as they were led to a table and signed their names to the family book in their own blood. Nice. Too bad Hallmark doesn’t make a card to mark that sort of occasion.

“Mommy!” I heard Romi yell. “I do NOT like this!” My older relatives gasped in shock while I saw Dak smothering a grin. He flashed me the thumbs-up sign.

It was even worse when Grandma tried to get them to wipe their bloodstained hands on their snow white gowns. It was part of the thing. Innocence lost - crap like that. Unfortunately for her, the girls fought hard. Ruining a “princess dress” as they called it earlier that evening, was out of the question. Romi kicked her in the shins while Alta ran in zigzag, evasive maneuvers. It was pretty funny. Even Liv joined me in laughing, which was inappropriate, I guess.

Grandma and Lou gave up, finally, and our daughters, in their pristine gowns and completely disheveled hair, marched like queens back to us. Liv and I carefully bandaged their hands, but they only glared at us. Okay, so not preparing them for it was a bad idea. It was clearly going to be a very long night in the bungalow.

“I’m NEVER going to forget this, Mommy!” Romi said for the fifteenth (or was it fiftieth?) time. She shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth and chewed angrily (if that’s possible).

“Yeah!” Alta added, looking mournfully at her bandaged hand.

“I told you, I’m sorry!” I said again, hoping it would sink in this time.

Alta glanced sideways at her mother. “Did you really do that when you were a kid?” Liv had tried empathy, pleading that the same thing happened to her, Woody, even Grandpa Pete, but Alta didn’t seem to believe it.

Okay, we blew it. All I could see was failure. Hell, I’d probably blow the sex talk in a few years too.

“Look,” Liv pleaded, “it’s getting late and we’ve had a long day.”

I nodded. “Yes! Good idea! We can talk about it more tomorrow.” Something in Romi’s glare told me that it would be an unpleasant discussion. “At the beach,” I added as a bribe.

The girls glared at us one more time, then curled up in their beds and closed their eyes. Liv and I waited until we were sure they were asleep, and we had a couple of beers. Then she asked me to tell her the whole mole story again. I tried to throw in a few dramatic flairs to make it seem more interesting, but my heart just wasn’t in it.

“Well,” she sniffed, “I think it’s safe to assume that Dak and Paris are clear.”

“I tried to tell Dela that. But she insists we investigate them just as thoroughly.”

“And we only have two weeks?” Liv asked again.

I brightened. She said “we”! I nodded like a bobble head doll.

“Well then, let’s start with Dak and Paris so we can write them off immediately.”

“Brilliant!” I opened another beer, “Then the Council will see that I did what I was asked. And don’t forget, you know nothing about this.”

She nodded. “But, Gin, two weeks isn’t enough time to investigate one hit, let alone six men. Maybe they’ll give you more time?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. The mole squeals in a Starbucks to two different governments in two weeks. I have to have him hog tied and bleeding before then.” Why did I sound like an extra from Deliverance?

Liv opened another beer. “I guess we’ll just have to get started immediately. How are we going to do this, by the way?”

I gaped. “I thought you knew! Hell, that’s why I brought you into this mess!”

She shook her head. “I’ve had too much to drink and apologizing for the last two hours has given me a migraine. Let’s work on it tomorrow.”

“Another great idea! I knew filling you in was the right thing to do!” I slurred rather drunkenly. Yes! We would think about it tomorrow! After all . . . tomorrow is another day! And we don’t even have to make clothes out of the drapes! Woo hoo!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Death is life’s way of telling you you’re fired.”

- Author Unknown

You know, I was getting pretty drunk on this stupid island. But, can you blame me? I had been “rescued” by the one person I loathed more than Vivian Marcy, given an impossible job by the Council (but they did give me a good evaluation, so I guess that counts for something), and watched my baby take the blood oath that would bind her to the Bombay merchant o’ death machine and begin her training as an assassin.

It’s funny how many people I met in college who were going into the “family business” after school. Some were proud to - others dreaded it. I never realized how much like them I was before now. Romi had just started her education last night, and I was going to be killing off one of my cousins soon.

Hell, I couldn’t even get relationships right! I seriously doubted that anyone had killed off her lover’s client and managed to make the relationship work. I hadn’t heard from Diego. I didn’t even know whether he had found out about his boss. For all I knew, he could’ve been on a flight back to Australia as I was thinking this!

Liv was in the shower and the girls were putting on their swimsuits. I slipped out of the bungalow and pulled out my cell phone.

“Diego Jones speaking.” His voice was as rough and warm as good scotch.

“Gin?” asked the voice, “is that you?”

Shit. He had caller ID. “Um, hey, Diego. How’s things?”

“I’ve been trying to call you.” His voice sounded urgent, “The shit’s hit the fan here. I lost my client.” There was an awful pause. I knew it wasn’t easy for him to admit that.

“Diego, I’m so sorry. What happened?” Like I didn’t know.

“I’ll tell you when you get back. We have a lot to talk about.”

Uh oh. What did that mean? “Um, good. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Why don’t you come over the next day at nine, after I take Romi to school?” So we can have sex and I can make you forget your terrorist-funding client, who, by the way, I happened to have killed.

Liv stepped out onto the porch, her arms crossed over her chest, smiling at me.

“Sounds good,” Diego said. “And Gin? I really miss you,” he said before hanging up.

HE MISSED ME! I leaned against the doorway to keep from swooning.

“Lover Boy from Down Under doesn’t connect you to the hit, does he?” Liv teased.

“God, I hope not. That might negatively impact our romance.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

The girls bounced out the door and down the steps to the beach. Liv and I scooped up the cooler and lounge chairs and followed their tiny footprints in the sand.

The girls, we discovered, were way more interested in chasing fiddler crabs and wading into the surf than hearing from us about their future careers. Liv and I found an isolated shady spot and set up our stuff.

“So,” I started, “I investigate our brothers first.”

Liv looked at me over her sunglasses. “Actually, you should investigate Dak first.”

I nodded. “Right. So how do I do that?”

Liv peered at the lame dossier Dela had given me. “I don’t know.”

“I could check on his whereabouts on the dates the mole met with the two agencies. How hard could that be? He never goes anywhere without telling me or Mom.”

She nodded. “And he has no motive, really. Dak loves his playboy-with-a-trust-fund lifestyle. In fact, I’m curious what the motivation is at all.”

“I’ll check with him about those dates first. Then I’ll hack into the bank’s computer and confirm that his accounts haven’t suddenly become larger. Do you think that will do?”

“I guess,” she replied absently. “I mean, what else is there? You only have two weeks.”

“You check out your brother. Gather the same evidence. That will save us some time. Oh! And we should search their homes too. That way, we can prove we had nothing to go on.”

Liv sipped her margarita. “So who do you think it is?”

I leaned back. “I hope it’s Richie. But it could be Lon and Phil. I’m sure it’s not Coney.”

“How can you know that?” Liv asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve always gotten along, and I just don’t see him doing that. Lon and Phil are weird, though.”

“Yes they are, but that doesn’t mean they would turn the whole family in.”

“Well, why not?” I argued. “After all, they don’t have wives or kids to worry about. If they get some kind of deal, it’s only their mom who goes to prison.”

“And their father, grandmother, and so on. I don’t think we can count on that. Whoever the mole is, he obviously has selfish motives.”

We sat there quietly for a moment, turning the idea over in our heads. And while I appreciated a good mind-bender like anyone else, I hated this.

“Well, let’s just start on Paris and Dak and figure it out as we go,” Liv finally said.

“Fine.”

The day went very well as we sat there, watching the girls playing while we made small talk. Liv suggested I keep Diego at a distance . . . at least until this mole issue was taken care of.

And maybe she was right. Diego and I had issues it would take years of therapy to work out. And I wasn’t so sure he was ready to become Diego Bombay. And at this point, I wasn’t so sure I still wanted to be a Bombay. The girls were avoiding any conversation on last night’s fiasco, and I had a sticky job to do.

I outlined in my head (while Liv napped in her chaise beside me) what I needed to do to get Dak off the hook when we got home. That made me feel a little better. Well, that and the fact that I would see Diego soon.

Later that afternoon, we went back to the manse. Liv and I had given up talking to the kids about the family. They formed a tiny but impenetrable wall of defiance we couldn’t breach. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t relieved to be failures.

After dinner, Liv and Dak took the kids to the pool while I slipped out to visit Missi again. I couldn’t tell her what was up, but I had to see if she had any good surveillance stuff. And maybe I could get a little intel on her cousins Lon and Phil.

I came bearing kiwi daiquiris (Missi’s favorite), and she seemed pleased to see me. I felt like I should whisper “I’m in” to some electronic device on my person.

“Surveillance equipment, eh?” Missi chewed on her lip. She turned and led me to a corner of her workshop. “I have the usual stuff, x-ray binoculars, mini-cameras hidden inside souvenir snow globes, Chia Pets with supersonic listening devices

and . . .”

“Chia Pets?” I interrupted.

She shrugged. “Weird as it may sound, nearly everyone gets one as a gift at some point in their lives. Works really well too.” She pointed at the photo on the box with the plants forming an afro on the terracotta head. “I’ve created plants where half the leaves are fiber optic microphones.”

I wondered if my cousins would throw them away the minute I gave them out. What reason would I have to send these guys a Chia Pet anyway? I’d have Liv think about that one. She’d come up with some good reason.

“I’ll take six.” I said.

Missi grabbed a basket. “Any preferences? I’ve got everything from human heads, to hedgehogs, to Scooby Doo.”

“Just give me one of everything.” I had no idea what I was doing. When in doubt, always go with an assortment. That’s what I always said. At least starting right now, that’s what I always said.

“Oh! I’ve got a new phone tap that’s really cool!” She grinned. I loved her enthusiasm.

“Has anyone else been by to utilize your talents? I mean, you are such an asset to the family, I can’t imagine that no one else has raided your stash.” I had to know if I sent someone a Chia Pet that they wouldn’t already have one.

“Not this trip. You’re it. I think the others only come to me when they’re stuck.”

“Tell me about the phone taps.” I held out my basket.

“It’s some of my best work, really!” She handed me a small machine that looked suspiciously like an iPod. “You type in the phone numbers you want – up to six – and hit ‘record.’  Plug the thing that looks like a charger into your phone jack. The device works through the phone line and holds up to 48 hours for each phone. And it’s a 10-gigabyte MP3 player too.”

That’s funny. I had six numbers to tap and it holds six. What a coincidence. Missi showed me how to program it and threw in a purple, ostrich-skin case and 50 free music downloads.

We were halfway through the cocktails when I decided to ask about her cousins.

“How’s the family?” I hoped that sounded natural. The squeak in my voice might have given me away.

“Okay. Nothin’ much going on.” She ran down her immediate family. Ordinary stuff, but nothing about her cousins.

“I saw Lon and Phil this morning. I still can’t tell them apart.”

Missi laughed. “Yeah, those two are strange. Most twins want to be individuals. But those two try to find ways to look even more like each other.”

“I’m close to my cousins, Paris and Liv. Are you guys close?” Did that sound too obvious?”

She shook her head, “I don’t see them very much. And they keep to themselves. They even live together, if you can believe that.”

That was weird. But it would make my phone tap a lot easier.

“Any sign of girlfriends . . . or maybe boyfriends?” I was on eggshells here.

Missi cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing that I can see. They’re probably androgynous.” She shook her head. “No, I never really knew them. Even as kids they were a pair of loners. I think that’s why they like living in New York City. Pretty anonymous there I would think.”

I sensed the conversation was over, so I thanked her for the gadgets and left. We were heading back tomorrow and I had to pack, pick up the latest edition of the family directory, get my complimentary family reunion photo and fill in Liv on my progress. But first, I had to download some killer tunes to my new toy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.”

- P. J. O’Rourke

In every family, there’s a black sheep. Someone who doesn’t quite fit in. You might think that would be everyone in my family, but you’d be wrong. Other than having The Grim Reaper as a job title, most of us are fairly normal.

Well, not everyone. Our family’s black sheep was Coney Bombay. I was always drawn to the stranger relatives. I didn’t know why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that we all have the same job – every last one of us. Not much interesting conversation when you were in a room full of people with the same occupation. Granted, this was the only place I could talk shop with a bunch of people. But dull nonetheless. Anyway, Coney, named for that trashy little island of thrills in New York, is a carnival entertainment technician.

Which means, you guessed it . . . Coney was a carnie. Actually, he preferred the term carnie. And did he dress the part. Most people would avoid him because of his shaved head, long beard and many tattoos. But I was one of the few people who knew he had a Ph.D. in philosophy. So, why did he do the carnival thing? Probably something in that brainy head of his made it all even out in the end. When I’d been younger, I thought he was cool because he was rebelling against the family. But I’d seen his tricked out RV, and he hadn’t avoided the trust fund. His transient lifestyle made it easier for the wet work.

Coney was the same age as my brother, and we actually got along great. The rest of the family looked down their noses at him, but he was really quite cool. If you met him in a dark alley, even without knowing what he did for a living, you’d be scared. At 6 foot 7 inches, with a powerful frame, he’s a big guy.

He favored muscle T-shirts, probably so you could see the tattoos that covered every inch of his arms, shoulders and torso. But if you looked closer (and believe me, no one ever did) you would notice that each tattoo had a story steeped in mythology or philosophy. Which would lead to the tatty paperback book by John Stuart Mill or Ayn Rand or whoever he was reading at the time. Of course, his outward appearance usually dictated that no one would look closer.

I admired Coney. Why? I guess because he loved what he did. He actually liked stuffing sticky brats onto a thrill ride of questionable safety. And the gig was great for his cover. Since he lived out of an RV, there was no personal address. He lived pretty much off the grid. Unlike the rest of us who basically did things like other people – got married, had kids, paid taxes, etc. –  Coney had a freedom most of us only dream of.

I found him sitting by the pool when I got back from Missi’s lab. It was dark, and he was the only one there, nose deep in a book by Jean-Paul Sartre . . . in French, nonetheless.

I flung myself down beside him. He looked up and smiled.

“Hey, Ginny.” Coney looked like hell but smelled like that new very expensive Armani cologne.

“Hey, Coney!” I leaned over and hugged him, realizing how weird that would look in the real world.

“How’re they hanging?”

I shook my head. “Don’t try slumming it with me. I was there when you graduated magna cum laude from Yale.”

“Sure, but right now I wish I were back in my sweet RV in Florida.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder. “I hate this crap.”

“Me too. But it keeps you in your posh lifestyle and me from having to put Romi in daycare.”

Coney smiled, revealing two new gold embellishments on his teeth. “Oh, man. She was hilarious at the ritual. How’re you handlin’ that?”

“As well as any soccer mom could, I guess.”

“Yeah, but how many soccer moms do you know who can poison a captain of industry and still make a mean Twinkie cake in time for the bake sale?”

“Are you teasing me?”

“Duh.”

“Well stop it or I’ll send you a Twinkie cake that will give you diarrhea for a month.”

He laughed, lightly punching me in the arm. “Okay, then let’s switch subjects. How’s the love life?”

“What love life?” I countered, feeling a little guilty for lying.

“Bullshit. Dak told me about the Australian.”

“Remind me why we aren’t allowed to kill members of the family again?”

“I don’t know, but if anything changes, they’ll find my brother Richie dead in a freak bumper cars accident.”

“I thought you handled the roller coaster?”

Coney winked. “I got promoted.”

“Well, cousin, you’ll have to beat me to the punch on that hit.”

“So what else’s up?” It’s amazing that someone who could read difficult French philosophers in their native tongue could have such a limited vocabulary.

“Not much. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Me too. Gotta show in Truckee.”

I laughed. “I wish we could’ve had more time together. You know how much I love your stories.”

Coney smiled and tucked a bookmark into the book. “Yeah. These reunions aren’t very social, are they?”

“Nope. We’re not even one of those families that gets together for weddings and funerals.” And there aren’t many of those, I might add. “Maybe we can grab a few beers when you head through the Midwest again?”

He scratched his beard. “Well, I guess I’ll be in Peoria in a couple of months. You’re in the directory, right?”

We both laughed at this. Coney was the one person with whom I could enjoy the irony about our family and its business.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you?” he asked quietly, changing tone.

I nodded.

“But you can’t talk about it, huh?”

I shook my head.

Coney leaned back and sighed. “I knew something was up. You involved?”

“I am now.” Was all I said.

He didn’t speak for a moment. If he wanted to ask me about it, he kept it to himself. He knew the rules.

“You know you gotta do what the Council wants you to, right?”

I nodded slowly.

Leaning forward, he spoke softly. “Don’t do anything that’ll jeopardize you or that great kid of yours. Do whatever the Council wants. Promise?”

My jaw dropped in shock. Did he know something? Was he warning me? Or did he just guess there was something serious on the line?

“I mean it, Gin. Promise me.” His voice was sharp.

“Okay,” I responded.

Coney leaned back and relaxed his shoulders. “You have a great thing going there. Romi’s awesome. Take good care of her because right now, she’s the only one you can truly trust.” With that, my cousin squeezed my hand and left.

Liv and the girls were asleep when I got back to the room. I climbed into bed. Coney wasn’t entirely right. I trusted Liv and Dak. Maybe he’d been through some stuff with his family. . . maybe that’s why he lived on the road. But my family was different. I always knew there were trust issues with other relatives. I mean, come on! With Richie for a brother and Lou for a grandfather. Who wouldn’t be a little paranoid?

I looked at the open door between my room and Liv’s. Isn’t it funny how in the dark your eyes see things in pixilated shadows? I trusted Dak. He’d never fail me. And Liv, well there was no question. If anyone could get me out of this mess, she could.

My mind wandered to my mother. I trusted her, but she was old school. Almost like Grandma – who, by the way, I didn’t trust. Then I thought about Romi. I smiled involuntarily at the way she’d acted at the induction. It startled me to think that she might see me like I see my own mother someday. No, she had to trust me. There could never be any doubt. I’d have to find a way to make her see that. She was already pissed off at what she saw as my betrayal at the ceremony. I didn’t want her to grow up looking over her shoulder every five minutes.

And then Diego popped into my mind. He might think he trusted me, but when he found out I fed his client to a tiger, he’d probably change his mind.

Shit. I was already screwing everything up! I was starting to doubt the people I used to trust and had lost the trust of the two people I cared most about. If I got through this alive, I was seriously going to consider pursuing a career as a mystery novelist.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“You met me at a very strange time in my life.”

- The Narrator, Fight Club

I used the free time on the flights home the next day to think. I snagged one of the legal pads from the resort (with the family crest and motto on them and the Bombay name as watermark) and started scribbling notes on the private jet. Once again, it was just Liv, me and the girls, so we had some privacy.

I made up a page for each of the six cousins, starting with Dak and ending with Richie. Each page had their name, age, address and basic statistics. What struck me right away was that none of my male cousins were married or had children. I’d never thought about that before. That was weird.

From there, I made a list of my modus operandi. I would tap their phones and search their homes. Liv would hack into their bank accounts, credit card statements – all that stuff. I hoped this would give me enough information so I wouldn’t have to come up with a reason to interview each of them.

Once I had the backgrounds all filled in –  if I were lucky and the planets were in perfect, harmonious alignment, I could figure out their movements and compare them to the dates listed in the dossier of when the mole met with his confessors in D.C. and London.

Silently, I cursed the Council. I mean, it didn’t make sense that they knew the dates Mole Man had coffee with the feds, knew that it was a male from my age group, yet had no idea where to even start.

Okay, I’d get through it. I hoped I could at least cover this much territory in two weeks and give the Council what I knew. I had serious doubts I would have Mole Man in custody by then.

We sat in first class from L.A. to Chicago. That gave me a little time to think, but not much. I eventually put my notebook away and picked up my knitting needles. I’d scored some bamboo yarn in L.A. and was eager to get started.

I was halfway through this cute, skinny scarf when we landed at O’Hare. Liv and I dragged two tired girls to our connecting flight, and within an hour and a half we were back home, trying to find our car in the airport parking lot.

When I dropped Liv and Alta at their house, we made plans to meet up the next afternoon. By the time I got home, wrestled Romi into the shower and bed and unpacked, I was too exhausted to pick up Poppy. Dad called and offered to keep her another day. And I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The alarm tore me from my sleep the next morning. I managed to get Romi dressed, fed and to school, making it back in time to jump through the shower before Diego arrived. As I skipped into my clothes on the way to the front door, I remembered that I’d forgotten to wash the sheets on my bed. Damn. And Diego wanted to use the bed this time. I briefly wondered if I could come up with some excuse before opening the door.

“Hey!” Diego pulled me against him for a mind-flattening kiss. My hair was still damp from the shower and I had no makeup on, but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. I pulled him inside and closed the door.

“Do that again.” I sighed, flinging my arms around his neck. Diego laughed and kissed me again. He smelled like soap, which was now my new favorite smell. His skin was smooth from what I assumed was a recent shave. His breath was warm and tasted like peppermint. For a brief moment, I thought about flinging him over my shoulder and carrying him up to the bedroom like a cavewoman.

“I guess you missed me too,” he said as he paused for a breath.

“Mmmmm, you have no idea.” I kissed him again. I didn’t want to talk about dead clients and I wasn’t ready to find out about an upcoming trip to Australia. I would just have to distract him with sex.

We groped each other all the way upstairs to my bedroom. I panicked for a moment when I realized I hadn’t washed the sheets or picked up the baskets of folded laundry (not that I ever did, really). But Diego’s kisses were urgent and the warmth of his hands unfastening my bra pretty much took care of that.

I pulled off his shirt and pants and pretty soon the bed looked like we’d messed it up ourselves. In fact, I decided to tell him it was made originally.

Diego’s touch turned my legs to jelly and my heart into a jackhammer. I craved every sound he made, every inch of his skin, especially when it met mine.

Obviously I was losing my mind, which is easy to do when a gorgeous man is licking your most sensitive parts. I decided to just go with the flow, before I exploded into a lovely, tingly orgasm. Then I climbed on top of that Australian bodyguard and rode him until he came.

We didn’t talk, just laid there tangled in the sheets. I was tired, spent and blissfully happy. It didn’t matter what bad news Diego had for me. The sex was a Band-Aid. There was nothing he could say to make me feel bad.

“Damn. I’ll miss you, Gin.”

Except that! “What? When will you miss me? Why will you miss me?”

Diego leaned up on his arm and said, “My job is done here. Dead clients don’t pay, or so the saying goes.”

I sat up. “Do you have another job somewhere else?”

“Well, no. Not yet. But I doubt if I could find something here.”

“Stay,” I said. No, demanded.

“You’re very important to me, Gin. There’s nothing I’d like more than to settle down somewhere and have a home and family.”

“So stay!” I tried not to sound pathetic, which was hard because I was naked in a messy room. “Here! With us!”

“I’d love to. But we really should talk about it first.”

I was beginning to sound hysterical. “Why? What’s there to talk about? Romi loves you! I . . .” I closed my mouth. Did I love Diego? How was that possible? No. I was just lonely and infatuated. That was all.

Diego politely ignored my outburst. “I’ll stay for a little while so we can talk about this. I don’t want it to go too fast. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”

You have no idea. “Okay. That’s a start.”

“But I can’t stay here. I’ll check into a hotel.”

“You can stay here!” I wanted to punch myself. How could I take care of this job and train Romi if Diego lived here? And what was I doing anyway? What kind of example was I setting for my daughter if I just let a strange foreigner move in?

“No.” Diego reached for his pants. (Why was he reaching for his pants?) “It has to be a hotel. I don’t want Romi to freak out. She’s a great kid.” He started to get dressed, so I did too.

“Okay, it’s settled,” I said once we’d installed ourselves in the kitchen with coffee.

“It’s far from settled,” Diego began, “and honestly, I don’t know what is going on in my head, but you’ve bewitched me. I can’t even think of leaving.”

Oooooh. That was so chauvinistic. Wasn’t that always the way men put it? They didn’t fall in love ; the evil woman cast a spell over him.

“I hate that analogy,” I muttered.

Diego looked surprised, and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. “What? Oh. The bewitched thing? It’s just a phrase.”

Ohmygod! We were just about to have our first fight! “It also assumes that women are witches and men fall under their power.” Way to go, feminist Gin!

He laughed. “I never thought about it that way. Sorry. I’ll say it correctly then.” He paused for what seemed like two years, “I’m falling for you. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“YAAAAAYYYYYY!” I jumped up and down, punching my fists into the air. I kept up this action until I realized I wasn’t actually doing it in my head, like I thought I was. Damn.

Diego laughed so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks. “I’ve never gotten a reaction like that before!”

I forgot my embarrassment and folded my arms over my chest. “Do you tell many women that you’re falling in love with them?”

He brought his hands up in protest. “No! That’s not what I meant! You’re the first since high school. But I love your reaction.”

I grabbed his hands across the counter. “Diego, I think I’m in love with you too.” I waited. “What? No little end-zone dance for me?”

Diego walked around to my side of the counter, lifting me onto it. I wrapped my arms and legs around him.

“Would you settle for a touchdown instead?” His voice was deep and I could feel him swelling between my thighs.

“Are we talking about football or soccer here?”

He closed his eyes and kissed me. “Football is soccer. And now I’m going to give you another lesson Down Under.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“We’re going to have to redo every conversation we’ve ever had.”

- John Smith, Mr. & Mrs. Smith

After some kitchen counter noogie and the promise to talk more that evening, Diego left to finish up some loose ends and check into a hotel. I should have felt guilty that I’d given him the reason for the loose ends, but I didn’t. My demented mind told me that had I not knocked him off, Diego’s client, would be making plans to go back to his own hemisphere soon – Talking Diego with him. Always look on the bright side!

I spent the afternoon installing my phone taps and setting my workshop for some serious chemistry. I’d decided to use a simple poison for the mole. It was colorless, odorless and instantaneous. Kind of like a sodium pentothal shot for when you put down your pet. After all, Mole Man was family. And I at least owed it to Richie, Lon or Phil to make it somewhat quick.

I’d ruled out Coney, Dak and Paris. Coney may be odd and frightening to children, but I just didn’t feel in my gut that he’d turn in the family. No, it was definitely the creepy cousins.

The phone tap/iPod was set up in my lab and plugged into my laptop. It would remotely cover all six phone lines, recording the data on my computer. Okay, that was done. Liv was going to need a few days to get the financial information, so I went to pick up Romi from school.

After plunking her in front of cartoons with cookies and milk, I decided to wash my sheets. Diego was coming by for dinner, and I wanted the bedroom to look a little better than it had earlier.

I grinned, thinking of how the two of us had managed to get all the sheets and mattress pad off the bed without really trying. It was a good thing my cousins weren’t surveilling me, because I bet I looked pretty stupid standing in the laundry room with my face buried in the sheets, trying to pick up Diego’s scent.

Romi barely made it through dinner. She was so tired from all the travel and a full day of school that she actually excused herself to go to bed. I tucked her in then joined Diego in the kitchen where he was putting dishes in the dishwasher. My dishwasher! He looked like he lived here already. I tried to calm myself down. Slowly. He wants to take it slowly, Gin.

“You pay for dinner and clean up too? You’re too good to be true!” I said, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Mum raised me that way. Can’t really help it, I guess.”

Diego smiled.

“See?” I said, “You’d be a great asset around here. Not to mention a good role model for Romi.”

“Hmmm.” he laughed. “Are you pressuring me?”

“Absolutely. I want you here. What reason could you have for leaving?”

Diego frowned. “I don’t want to leave, but there are reasons. I don’t have a job, for one thing.”

I wanted to scream, But I’m rich! I have a huge trust fund! You’ll never have to work again! But I didn’t.

“Money isn’t an issue,” was all I said.

“It is to me. Of course, maybe I could work with you. Or we could start our own company together.”

I froze. I’d forgotten that he thought we were in the same line of work. While the feelings we had for each other were solid, I’d lied to Diego about my job and my family, and that was enough to screw everything up.

“Diego, I have to tell you something.” I looked him right in the eye to see how he would handle it. “I’m not a bodyguard.” He arched his right eyebrow, and I completely chickened out. “Not . . . anymore, that is. I haven’t worked in a while.” Lies filled my head where the old lies used to be, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Ed left me a lot of money. I don’t have to work.”

Diego smiled again. “I don’t care about that. I wouldn’t care if you were an axe murderer . . . that’s not why I feel the way I do.”

I was pretty sure I flinched. No, I wasn’t technically an axe murderer. Well, there had been that one time with a claw hammer, but I really didn’t care for blades too much. Of course, Diego said he wouldn’t care if I were an axe murderer, so maybe we’d have something to work with here.

How would he handle the news I was an assassin? If I got down on my knees and confessed everything to him, would he connect me to his client? And what if he really liked his client? I was pretty sure I’d be screwed.

“Whew!” I feigned wiping a sweaty brow. “It’s good to get that off my chest.”

The kitchen was cleaned up, so we grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and went into the living room.

“Have you ever lost a client?” Diego asked me.

“How are you holding up?” I dodged.

He took a long drink from the bottle, then turned toward me. “Reasonable, I suppose. It was quite a shock.”

I put my hand on his thigh, “Tell me what happened.”

Diego began with the day he came by, looking for Vic Jr. He stepped out of the shower to find a note saying his client had taken a walk. Diego tried Turner’s cell, but got no answer. He’d waited twenty minutes to see if his client would return. Then, he drove around the neighborhood and thought of stopping by my house.  After leaving me, he searched the neighborhood but came up with nothing. He spent the rest of the day calling work contacts, anyone connected to Turner. He ended with confirming his client’s identity at the morgue.

“The zoo?” I lied, feigning shock.

Diego nodded. “I just had this weird feeling when I watched the news that morning. So I went to the police department and later identified the body.

I remembered that the body’s head and neck had been mauled, “How did you identify him?”

“He had a Rolex with a personal engraving that was still on the body when they found him.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment or two. It had to be very, very hard to admit he’d lost a client. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t make him feel any better.

For the first time in a long time, I felt remorseful for a death I’d caused. It wasn’t like I was a psychopath or anything. I had a conscience. I just didn’t usually feel bad about the lives I’d taken. They were all assholes, hurting innocent people for profit. But I never thought of them as having family, friends or colleagues who’d miss them after. I never really saw the impact my work had on other people’s lives.

Granted, Diego wasn’t a perfect bodyguard, or this wouldn’t have happened. And I was merely a lucky assassin in that Turner had showed up unannounced . . . hell, practically gift-wrapped. But I’d done something that had hurt Diego, made him feel bad about himself. A reputation isn’t a tangible thing, but when messed with, it can really screw you up.

“It’s all right, Gin.” Diego seemed to be reading my thoughts. “It was a freak thing. I can’t protect my client if he sneaks off to do whatever it is he had to do.”

“Does the company expect you to resolve the situation?” I had to know if Diego was going to hunt me down.

“No. Turns out he was laundering their money for terrorists. He never told me about his secret life. If he had, I would’ve resigned.”

“Oh, come on. Aren’t they all bad?” I joked.

Diego’s smile faded just enough to let me know I’d screwed up. “I don’t do the bad guys. I kind of have a thing about that.”

Uh oh. “What do you mean?”

“I try to screen my clients. I’m not religious or anything, but I draw the line at those who have connections to killers, terrorists, that kind of thing.”

A cold wash swept over me. People like me. “Not all killers are bad guys. What about soldiers, SWAT snipers, stuff like that?” Damn. The question popped out before I could think about it!

He laughed. “Oh, I concede there are reasons to kill on a rare occasion. I just think of the others as nothing more than assassins. Killing for money. They’re bad for business.” Nothing more than assassins? I knew what I did was wrong on many levels. But it was a time-honored tradition in our family. We kept things level. Maintained the balance for the circle of life and all that shit. Weeded out the wheat from the chaff. The scum from the good guys. Didn’t we? Nothing more than assassins? He said it like it was a bad thing.

I couldn’t focus. I’d go crazy trying to decipher things, but it appeared that my relationship with Diego could never work unless he warmed up to the idea that assassination wasn’t necessarily bad.

“Come on, Gin,” he swept a stray curl from my eyes, “I won’t have a philosophical discussion on this.”

He was right. “So what now?”

Diego relaxed, “I figured I’d give us a go. I’m not in any hurry to find another job.”

I arched my eyebrow. “Give us a go?”

He responded by taking me into his arms and kissing me. After a few minutes, I came up deliriously for air.

“I’ve never felt this way before, Ginny. You’re different from any woman I’ve ever known.”

I nodded, pulling him by the arm toward the stairs. After all, I had clean sheets and everything this time. I checked to make sure Romi was dead asleep, before pushing him into my (newly cleaned) bedroom and locking the door.

Diego kissed me as he lowered me to the bed, “That’s why I’m staying. At least for two weeks, that is.”

Even though I was drowning in pleasure, this phrase hammered through my head. Why the hell did everything have to happen in two weeks?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Contracts . . . neckties . . . high voltage! Done Dirt Cheap!”

- AC/DC, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

I tried to put Diego’s negative juju out of my mind when I woke up the next morning, alone, in my now-not-so-clean bed. After dropping Romi off at school, I decided to put my head where it should have been all along and get with the assassination program.

I was delighted to discover that Missi’s phone bug really worked. Lon, Phil, Coney, Dak, Paris and Richie had all made calls or answered the phone in the last 12 hours.

Unfortunately, none of the conversations had the words, “I’m talking to the FBI and the Yard.” And one of Richie’s calls was to a 1-900 number for transsexual dwarves (I’d need a lot of beer to scrape that from my brain – shudder) but I figured something would turn up.

I called Liv, but she was neck deep into some serious computer hacking, so I let her go with the promise we would get together for lunch the next day. That left the old standby – breaking and entering.

I guess it wasn’t really breaking and entering when you already had a key to your brother’s condo. But I didn’t want the Council to think I’d slacked off on anything where my brother was concerned. Dak had called in the morning to tell me he was going to Chicago for an overnight with a blonde something or other. Isn’t that cute? As backup, we always let each other know when we were going to be out of town.

Anyway, I let myself in, waving at the old lady next door. She probably thought I was picking up his mail. She actually was a great neighbor for my brother. Completely deaf with an obsession for baking, Estelle took good care of him. I guess his charm was intergenerational.

I put the mail on the hall table and headed inside. Dak was surprisingly neat. He’d always been that way. Maybe to keep the bachelor pad looking good for the ladies. I walked through the apartment, checking for anything out of place.

Seriously. How did one go about looking for something incriminating on her brother? Especially when I didn’t think he had anything to do with this mole thing. After a little floundering, I told myself to just search it like a regular hit, convincing myself that this would be excellent practice for when I searched my other cousins’ places.

Carefully, I went through all the drawers in his room, pulling them all the way out to see if there were hidden panels or something taped to the bottom. Grandma would have been proud of me.

I tackled his closet, going through every pocket and shoe, looking for something I was convinced I wasn’t going to find. The bed came next, as did the nightstand and the floorboards beneath the expensive Oriental rug.

I was relieved to have found nothing, which surprised me because I didn’t expect to find anything. The bathroom and office were next. I went through each file meticulously. Nothing there but his diplomas, insurance, and health information. The living room and dining room were also clean. The sofa yielded only thirty-two cents and a stash of condoms.

All this clandestine searching made me hungry. No wonder! It was one-thirty. I found a Diet Coke and leftover pizza in the fridge. Hell, he wouldn’t notice it was missing. I nuked two slices and opened his spice cupboard to find the garlic salt.

Odd. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Dak hated parmesan cheese. So why were there two large jars of it in the cupboard?

I snickered out loud. “Duh, Gin! Maybe it’s for his guests.” For some reason, I looked around. “Well,” I said to absolutely no one, “I’m a guest.”

I opened the first container and shook. It was very light, which normally would have told me it was empty, except for the weird rattling sound inside. Hmmm. Unless I was wrong, parmesan cheese rarely made a clunkety-clunk sound.

Maybe it had clumped up and hardened after sitting there for so long. I pried off the cap and looked inside. A small memory stick was all that was in there.

Okay. Lots of people backed up stuff. Family photos, important documents, that kind of thing. And hell, everyone in the family had secret hiding places, so it made sense Dak kept it hidden in the cheese can.

After convincing myself that was indeed the situation, I grabbed the other can from the shelf. After all, I still wanted parmesan cheese. My heart sunk as I realized this can was also hiding something. A very thin cell phone popped out. It wasn’t his standard phone, but hey, it was always good to have access to a wireless phone in an emergency. I replaced both items in their containers and sat down to eat the pizza.

The phone and memory stick stayed in the top right hand corner of my head – like a weird computer icon. Even after I’d left Dak’s house to pick up Romi, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And that was starting to piss me off.

Goddamned Council. They’d messed me up with this assignment. Believe me, there was nothing worse than an assassin who’d lost her nerve. They’d turned me into a suspicious, nervous wreck! If anyone searched my house . . . and I mean really searched it . . . they’d find some weird shit too. It was just the way we Bombays operated. For two years, I’d kept Romi’s baby photos on microfiche hidden in a fireproof vault in the garden. Eventually, I’d come to my senses and stopped doing that, but it was a perfect example of how nuts my family was.

After picking up Romi, we collected Poppy from Dad. He seemed sad to let her go. But I missed her, and Romi needed her. We’re not a normal family. So I reasoned we should do things that seemed normal. Like having a dog.

Diego came back for dinner again, this time bringing Italian carry out. Romi squealed with glee. Spaghetti was her favorite food. She’d eat it for every meal if given the chance. During dinner, I thought I saw Diego wink at her. Ahhhh. It worked. He’d achieved godlike status in her eyes.

I dropped the assassin subject from the night before because, well, because I didn’t want to think about it. I loved everything about Diego. He was perfect! And we clicked. Same sense of humor, perfect chemistry in bed, and he loved Romi. He even read her a book at bedtime.

“She’s a great kid,” he said as he joined me in the kitchen a half hour later. Diego wrapped his arms around me from behind. He smelled wonderful. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I could really get used to this.

“Thanks. And nice job with dinner. How did you know it was her favorite?” I turned around and grinned.

Diego laughed. “Oh, she might have mentioned it at some point.”

“So you’re trying to win me by bribing my daughter?”

He shook his head. “I want to win her too. Remember, I love kids.”

This time, we sat in the living room and talked for a couple of hours instead of going straight to my bed. We slipped into conversation comfortably. As we talked about hometowns and family, I realized how much I missed having someone to end the day with. With a start, I remembered that Ed and I had ended every night this way. Diego easily filled that role. The conversation steered to Romi and her school and I was thrilled that he was so attentive. Apparently, Diego was just as interested in joining the family as I’d hoped he would be.

Of course, there was that rather sinister side of joining the family. But for now I focused only on the three of us.

“I’d love to take your family out to dinner some time.”

“I’m sure Romi would love that.”

He laughed. “No, I mean yes. You and Romi, but also your mum, dad and brother.”

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself.

“Well, the circumstances I’ve met them under weren’t exactly ideal. I’d like to get to know them. What do you think?”

Whoa. I guess he hadn’t been kidding about the two weeks. Okay, why was this bothering me? He’d already met them. And I was pretty sure he would charm them to death. Hmmm. That might be worth exploring. I wondered if you really could charm someone to death. What a pleasant way to die.

I forced myself back on topic. “Alright,” I said, “How about tomorrow night?”

“Great! What’s your mum’s favorite place?”

I loved him hard right there. “Taschetta’s. On Third and 22nd.”

“What is it with your family and Italian food?” he teased.

“I don’t know. We’re Greek originally. Go figure.”

Of course, the night ended in the bedroom. It’s hard to describe how incredible Diego was in bed. Every time he touched me, I felt like the most desirable woman on earth. Our bodies moved together as if they’d been made to do just that one thing.

But while the sex was great, I found him even more mouth-watering because he loved my kid. He wanted to impress my mother. He wanted to meet my family. And he knew his way around a dishwasher. I wondered if I could wait for the two weeks to be over before I proposed.

As I watched him walk out to his car at 3:30 in the morning, I mentally wrote (in really girly handwriting) Gin & Diego Bombay, 4-ever. I bet I could get the Council to give me a year off after this assignment. Then I could take my time and tell my future husband everything. And we’d live happily ever after in a castle far, far away. Romi would be a princess, Diego would be the king, and I would be the queen of death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.”

- Guy Fawlkes

Dak called in the morning just as Romi and I were running out the door. He was staying a little longer in Chicago due to complications with a German stewardess. Could I take the mail in again?

In my typical mom-iform of yoga pants, T-shirt and jacket, I popped into his house and stacked the new copies of Soldier of Fortune, Handgunner, and a plain brown package from Good Vibrations on top of the old mail. I was just about to leave, when I remembered the cell phone and memory card. It occurred to me that the Council might frown on the fact that I hadn’t checked them out, so I grabbed them and headed home.

I had a few hours until meeting Liv for lunch, so I hit the secret workshop and plugged the network card in to my laptop.

“If I download a virus, Dak, you’re so dead,” I said to myself. My mind wandered a little, setting up different scenarios on how I would kill him if he messed up my laptop.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw that all the files were photos. I’m not sure what I was expecting – a list of undercover CIA operatives, the Dead Sea Scrolls, architectural plans for the Empire’s Death Star? Photos I could deal with. Who knew the kid was so sentimental? I mean, he took millions of shots of my daughter every time he was around her. I clicked on the first file folder and opened it.

Here I was, thinking these were pictures of my precious little girl. So you can imagine how shocked I was to find a photographic record of my little brother’s love life. Each folder was from a different conquest. And honestly? I had no idea there were so many uses for peanut butter and fishing line.

I didn’t want to go any further, but I had to check them all out. I’d definitely have to use Lysol on my keyboard (and maybe my eyes) when I was done. And while I was impressed by how limber my brother really was, I didn’t need to see these.

At least there was only one more folder left. Then I could take a shower and don a hair shirt to punish myself. I clicked on the next file while squinting through one eye. But this file was different. There were no naked brunettes, acrobatic blondes or multi-orgasmic redheads. Had I hit the family pictures at last?

The first photo had Grandma in it. Only this wasn’t your typical family album stuff. Grandma was kneeling over a man. A dead man, from the looks of red blood splashed all over the room. In her left hand (I didn’t know she was a lefty) was a .45 semiautomatic pistol.

I clicked on the next picture and saw a photo of Uncle Lou tossing a knife into the chest of a large, blonde man in a suit. This couldn’t be right! Each photo depicted a family member making a hit! Why would he even have these? How could he have gotten them? Granted, we all wanted a little back up, but this was downright terrifying.

There it was, in full color – my family’s profession. Nearly every member was featured except for Dak, Mom, Paris, Liv and me. Was this some sort of insurance policy? I definitely needed to talk to my brother when he got home. This kind of shit was way too dangerous to have lying around . . . even if it was carefully hidden in a dried cheese can.

I tossed the memory stick into an envelope and stashed it in my safe. I hoped no one would ever find it there. I threw the cell phone in my pocket and headed to Liv’s for lunch. Maybe she’d have some kind of explanation for what I’d seen.

“Obviously,” Liv rolled her eyes as she handed me a sandwich, “he gets turned on looking at pictures of his liaisons.”

I made a face. “Not that! The other file. And by the way, why aren’t you freaked out? You’d be totally grossed out if you found something like that at Paris’ place!”

“Get over it. Your brother has sex with lots of women. Big deal.” She took a bite of her tuna melt and chewed thoughtfully. I didn’t even want to know what she was thinking.

“Okay, fine! Let’s forget about those and focus on the –  I looked around and whispered –  “family photos.”

“I’d guess it’s his insurance policy.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Didn’t you say you found a phone too?” Liv asked.

I nodded and pulled it out of my pocket.

“Oooh!” Liv cooed as I handed it to her, “I love these! I’ve been trying to get one, but there are waiting lists for this model.”

I arched my right eyebrow. “Waiting lists? For a cell phone? What? Like for a Hermes Birken bag?” I’d been on a wait list for that damned purse for two years! Who do I have to kill to get that bag?

Liv nodded, oblivious to my rant. “Yup.” She flipped it open. “These things are really rare. Top of the line too. I wonder why he’d hide it from us? Seems like Dak would want to show it off.”

She had me there. My brother always liked to flaunt his new toys. Why wouldn’t he especially want Liv to know he had this phone, knowing her interest in all things technical?

“Hmmmm.” She punched a few buttons, “that’s weird. No numbers stored. I can’t even find the number for this phone.”

As if on cue, it rang. Liv and I froze, staring at each other. I didn’t want to answer it, especially if it was some weird sex line he had. I shuddered thinking there were women out there calling 1-900-DAKOTA. I really needed to talk to him. In spite of my mental meanderings, I did manage to jot down the number before it disappeared.

“Mind if I keep this a couple of days?” Liv asked. “Just for research, of course.”

I nodded. “Any news on Dak’s finances?”

Liv pulled her laptop over and logged on. “I went into Dak and Paris’ accounts, but didn’t find anything unusual. Of course, if they had a Swiss bank account or something off shore, I wouldn’t have it yet. I went ahead and checked on the others and there’s no suspicious activity. You find anything?”

“No. Nothing.” I rested my chin in my hand. This was very frustrating.

“So all we have is the memory stick and phone for Dak?” Liv asked. After I nodded she continued, “I’ll see what my brother has at his place. He goes to the gym from 10 am to noon every day.”

I loved Liv’s brother as if he were my own. Paris and Dak were very close. They bragged about their bachelor lifestyle to me and Liv all the time. While my brother was of average height and fair, Paris had Liv’s dark hair and eyes. Paris was not as much of a skirt-chaser as my brother, but he was very attractive and could really pour on the charm. He didn’t have a specialty as far as the assassin thing goes. Paris didn’t like the idea of getting bored with too much repetition at work.

“Okay. Tell me what you find. I’ll head home and see if I can get anything more on the phone tap. If not, I guess I’ll be sending off the Chia Pets.”

“I saw those in your suitcase,” Liv replied, “but I thought maybe you ordered those from the home shopping network that night Richie saved your life. You were pretty drunk.”

“Richie did NOT save my life!” Maybe I shouted that a little too loudly. I tried to look wounded as Liv erupted in giggle fits. “And those happen to be state-of-the-art listening devices from Missi!”

Liv wiped tears from her cheeks. “Fine. I’m sure the guys will love them.”

I muttered obscenities all the way to my car. Richie did not save my life, I wrote on the imaginary chalk board in my head 100 times all the way home. Bastard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“I guess it was just being in the wrong place at the right time. That’s what assassination is all about.”

- Andy Warhol

By the time Romi went to bed that night, I was in a full- blown panic. Dak wasn’t answering his cell or home phone. I stopped by the condo with Romi after dinner, but there was no sign of him. Something was wrong. He always checked in. I even called Mom to see if she’d heard from him but only succeeded in worrying her. Fantastic.

The pictures of my family in the midst of “working” played through my mind like a twisted slide show. And here we have Maryland in high productivity mode. Her output was exceptional in the last fiscal.

There was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. And Liv wouldn’t have any news on Paris’ place, nor would she have been able to run down any bank accounts in the Grand Caymans.

I found myself wandering into my lab. The light on the phone tap was blinking. I picked up my headphones and hit the replay key.

Coney had five messages from women in Truckee, all wanting to make “appointments.” I had to smile. He told me how in virtually every city there are wealthy, married women who want to sleep with him. There’s something taboo about a one-night stand with a carnie, he told me. I figured they picked him because he had all his own teeth.

“Master” Lon and “Master” Phil had a conversation with the NYC Order of Jedi Knights regarding an upcoming meeting of the Jedi Council in someone named Irving’s basement. They were reminded to bring their action figures and not make too much noise so they wouldn’t wake Irving’s mom. There was also a message from, if I heard this correctly, female Klingon twins wondering if they were still on for their date to the Star Trek convention. Okay, so they weren’t gay. But this was totally gross. It seemed to me that they were far too juvenile to be moles. And they’d need the trust funds to continue their Anakin Skywalker/Captain Kirk fetish. Ick.

I checked Paris’ phone next. Nothing but a reminder from the dry cleaner. That left Richie and Dak. All my bets were on Richie. I took a deep cleansing breath, and hoped I wouldn’t hear another conversation with a gender and height-challenged sex worker.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. The man hadn’t even had a phone conversation in the last 24 hours. As I’d always suspected, he was socially retarded. What a surprise. Oh well. Something was bound to turn up. I checked Dak’s phone.

After listening to a couple of messages from myself and a worried threat from Mom (my bad on that one), I actually got a recorded conversation.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Dak’s voice came through clearly.

“It’s too late to back down now.” A gruff, raspy voice sounding suspiciously like Eldamae Haskell (are the Girl Scouts involved?) replied.

“Do you have the stuff?” the voice growled.

There was a heavy sigh from Dak. “Yes. We’re still on. I’ll see you in D.C.”

I sat in my chair for a long, long time. Forget panic – I was on the verge of full-blown hysteria. Dak couldn’t be the mole! I looked at the memory card in my hand, the phone tap, and I would have looked at the cell phone if Liv hadn’t confiscated it. No! There must be another explanation. But if so, why did everything I had in my possession say otherwise?

I examined the photos over and over – but all I came up with was that Grandma must have had highlights recently; killing tall, blonde men gave Uncle Lou a boner (my God, why did I have to see that?); and that Lon and Phil liked to wear Yoda masks when they did a job. Grandma’s highlights shocked me more than anything. Why try to look younger? It wasn’t like there was any age discrimination in our profession.

I listened to the recorded phone conversation five times. I even tried calling his home and cell phone again. But nothing worked. The only thing left to do was go to bed.

Of course, once in bed, I stared at the ceiling. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to sleep, but it didn’t work. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Dak enjoying a mocha frappachino with Bob from the FBI and Nigel from the Yard. Here are the photos of my family killing people, old chums. Could you please pass the chocolate-pecan biscotti? Finally, a few hours and three sleeping pills later, I passed out.

I rang Liv’s doorbell at 8:30 am after taking Romi to school. The door opened, and Liv yanked me inside.

“I was just about to call you,” she said, sounding out of breath. Liv led me to the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. My body was dragging after little sleep and an overdose of sleep agent. I needed the charge. Which was why I was surprised to taste rum in it.

“I found something,” Liv said hurriedly, dismissing my arched eyebrow over the spiked coffee. “It looks bad, Gin. Have you heard from Dak?”

That was it. My heart unplugged itself from the arteries around it and fell into my feet.

“Did you check out the others?” I squeaked.

Liv nodded. “Your brother has an offshore bank account.”

“Swiss? Caymans?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Mongolia.”

“Mongolia? There are banks in Mongolia?”

“Yeah. In Ulaanbaatar.”

I stared at her. “Ulaanbaatar? Who hides money in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia?”

Liv ignored me and continued. “Last month, someone from the D.C. area and from London deposited a total of five million dollars in Dak’s account.”

“That’s got to be a lot of money for Ulaanbaatar,” I replied.

“Will you give it up?” Liv shouted.

I gulped my drink and poured myself a mug full of rum, lightly laced with coffee. You ever have one of those days? Like when you find out your brother is working to put Grandma in jail and hoarding money in a bank in Mongolia? Well, I was having one of those days.

“Gin, none of the other guys have anything like this. Can you think of any reason he might have gotten so much money?” Her eyes pleaded with me, but I had no hope to give.

“Are you kidding? I can’t figure out why he picked Mongolia!” Liv shot me a look that told me she would have me drawn and quartered if I mentioned it again. So I wisely dropped the whole Ulaanbaatar thing. Come on! Ulaanbaatar?

“That’s not all,” I started. I told her about the conversation I’d taped. “This looks really, really bad.”

Liv shook her head, “No. I don’t believe it. Dak wouldn’t do this! He wouldn’t sell us out.”

I hated to be the voice of reason. I mean I REALLY hated it. But I had to reply. “Liv, you, Paris, me and Mom weren’t among his little ‘Assassins Gone Wild’ collection. He’s not selling us out, just everyone else.” At least there wasn’t a photo of Grandma baring her wizened breasts and shouting “Woooooo!”

Her eyes grew wide. “Are you telling me you think your brother is Mole Man? Are you joking? Gin! This is Dak! He would never do this. Not in a million years!”

I looked at her with envy. I wished I could be so sure of his innocence. But doubt had installed itself firmly in my brain, and I couldn’t ignore it.

“And what would be his motive?” Liv continued shouting, tears beginning to stream from her lovely eyes. “There isn’t one! He adores living on the family trust fund! And he likes the job! There’s no way you can convince me he’s guilty!” She punctuated her rant by crossing her arms over her chest.

“Liv,” I said wearily, running my fingers through my hair, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to believe it either. He’s my baby brother, for Christ sake! I baby-sat him! Taught him how to throw a football and zero the sights on a sniper rifle!” Misty, water color memories. Of the way, we were . . .

My cell phone went off, chiming AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. It was the ring tone I’d selected for the Council back when I’d been optimistic about my life in the Bombay family. Of course, the deeds weren’t done dirt cheap, but it seemed appropriate at the time.

“Hello?” I said warily.

“Gin. It’s Dela. What do you have?”

“Nothing yet. I still have a week, right?”

Dela sighed. “We need to know as soon as possible, Gin. We can’t wait to the last minute. Do you know anything?”

Sure. It’s my kid brother. I’ll deliver him hog-tied and bleeding tomorrow. Any particular appendages you want me to cut off and send you? “No. I’m still working on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I learn something.” I clicked the off the cell. Liv looked at me expectantly.

“It’s the Council. We’re running out of time,” I told her.

Liv wiped her eyes on a dishtowel and poured us both a glass of rum. We sat in silence for a moment.

“I haven’t heard from Dak in two days. He’s not answering his cell or home phone.”

Liv’s gaze drifted out the kitchen window. “I just find it so hard to believe. Are you sure you’re not holding out?”

“Yeah. I’m protecting Richie. Jesus, Liv! How could you think that?” I shoved my rum aside. “What are we going to do?”

“We need to find him and confront him.”

“Good idea. Of course, we can’t find him, so that defeats plan.” Did I sound a little too sarcastic?

Liv threw her hands up in the air. “Well, I don’t know! But we can’t turn him in without talking to him about it first!”

“I don’t even want to tell Mom. She would kill him. Of course, that would solve the problem.”

“Okay. We need to take care of this right now.” She picked up the phone and dialed. “Aunt Carolina? It’s Liv. Gin’s helping me with a job. Yes, it’s in Chicago. Could you pick up the girls and Woody from school today? Thanks!”

I stared at her, my mouth open (which isn’t really a good look for me). “How’d you get her to do that? I can’t get her to do that!” Don’t get me wrong – Mom loved the kids, but she was protective of her free time.

“I know. I figured she wouldn’t be able to say no to me. So now that I’ve freed up the rest of the day, what should we do?”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Martyrdom covers a multitude of sins.”

- Mark Twain

Dak’s condo looked exactly the same as it had when I left it. Liv figured that we needed to take a closer look at his place in an attempt to figure out what was going on. I hoped he’d come home and explain himself before I had to turn him in. So that’s where we spent the afternoon – searching through my brother’s things and getting drunk on the bottle of rum we brought from Liv’s. We had given up the pretense of adding coffee hours ago.

“Maybe the Feds ‘re using the photos of him with all those women as blackmail?” Liv slurred as she rummaged through his sock drawer.

“I dunno,” I slurred back, trying to ignore the KY warming gel I found in his night stand. “Why would he be afraid of those pictures? He’s single. I can’t think why they’d hold some sway over him.”

“Oh my god! I’ve got it!” Liv rose to her feet so fast she lost her balance and fell onto the floor. I saw her hands appear on the top of the bed as she pulled herself up. “That’s the reason you and I aren’t on there! He’s doing it to protect us!”

The room was starting to spin so much I had to lay down on the bed to keep from throwing up. “I don’t gollow . . .fellow . . . follow.”

Liv steadied herself against the headboard. “They approached him for evidence on the Bombays. They agreed to look the other way on us so Dak would do it!” Her crooked smile told me she was proud of herself for that theory.

I shook my head, making the room spin faster. “Whoa. The Council told me Mole Man approached the Feds. Not the other way ‘round.”

We lay on the bed for a while, trying to get the room to slow down and wrap our liquefied brains around this idea. I think we even fell asleep because when I started moving around next, it was dark outside.

My skull felt like it was filled with cement and someone was trying to jackhammer through my forehead. I stumbled to the bathroom and found a spare toothbrush, then scrubbed for what seemed like an hour. I staggered back to bed and pulled the covers up over me and Liv, then turned over and fell asleep.

“I don’t even know what to make of this,” a man’s voice rumbled.

Was I dreaming? It felt like it. My body had the sensation of being weightless and spinning counter clockwise.

“Gin? Liv?” the voice asked. I began to laugh.

“Shoot him!” Liv cried out in her sleep. This made me laugh even harder.

“What the hell is going on?” The man’s voice was stronger now. And boy, did he sound pissed.

I opened my eyes slowly, willing my body to stop spinning. It did. I thought. Liv and I were snuggled up against each other, foreheads touching. The bedspread was pulled up to our chins, and we were fully dressed underneath. I tossed back the blanket and sat up. The digital alarm clock burned blazing red numbers into my brain. An empty bottle of rum lay on its side. And standing at the foot of the bed, with his arms folded, was my brother, Dak.

“Tractor!” I screamed at him.

Liv sat straight up. “What? Where?”

I pointed a finger at Dak. “There!”

She followed my finger with hooded eyes, which widened when they landed on Dak. “Tractor?”

I shook my head. “Yes! Traitor! That’s what I said!”

Dak laughed. “You called me a tractor.”

Liv and I scrambled to get to our feet, succeeding only in tangling our legs in the bedspread and falling, together, face first onto the floor.

“No. I said traitor,” I declared once I righted myself.

“What are you doing here?” Dak waved his arms across the room. “I get home to find you two drunk and in my bed, only to be called a tractor.”

“I meant traitor.” I glared at him as I tried to brush what felt like rhinoceros hair out of my teeth. “You’re a regular Eggs Benedict!”

“Yeah!” Liv cried out. She had my back. Atta girl.

“So I’ve gone from being a farm implement to a breakfast food?”

“Huh?” He wasn’t making any sense at all. But he wasn’t gonna weasel out of this one. “Dak! You’re the Mole Man!”

“Yeah!” Liv yelled, making my head hurt. “And you’ve been digging in the Bombay garden!”

I was getting confused, and Dak was as slippery as . . . well, something slippery. I stood straighter in a vain attempt to sober up.

“Dahhhkotahhh?” A female German voice trilled from the hallway.

“Ohmygod!” I screamed. “The Germans are in on this too?”

Liv assumed a defensive stance by raising her fists in front of her face. But something went wrong and instead she fell over, hitting her head on the footboard. She was out cold.

“Liv!” I shouted, climbing over the bed. Somehow I managed to snag my foot in the covers and ended up diving to the floor. At least, that’s what I remembered before the world went dark.

I awoke in my bedroom, without a clue as to how I got there. My body felt like shit, my head hurt, my tongue had been recently carpeted and there were some really strange bruises on my arms and legs. After hitting the ibuprofen pretty hard and gulping down two glasses of water, I took a shower and climbed into a pair of jeans and T-shirt.

Obviously, I wasn’t dead. My brain thumped hard against my skull as if trying to get out. I don’t think I’d mind if it did. Romi wasn’t in her room and it was 10 am, according to the clock in the kitchen. After my third cup of coffee, the head pain began to subside and I noticed a note on the counter. It was from Dad. Apparently, Liv and I had made spectacles of ourselves at Dak’s last night and so Dad had taken Liv home to her family and brought me here, while Mom kept Romi and took her to school this morning. Dad left one more note saying he was confiscating Poppy. Something about this being an unhealthy environment for a puppy.

Shit. The whole Dak betrayal flooded back and tears started coursing down my cheeks. How could he do this? I didn’t even care what motivated him. It didn’t really matter. My brother – my best friend – had sold his family down the river for . . . for what? Like I said earlier, it didn’t even matter. I was pretty sure he didn’t have an alibi that included anything like saving the lives of fluffy, homeless kittens or curing leprosy.

How ironic that I should be the one to turn him in. Maybe the Council had even known it was him and this was another goddamned test! I shuddered in spite of the warmth of my sunny kitchen. That idea hadn’t occurred to me earlier. It would make sense (at least it would in my family) if the Council knew Dak was the traitor and sent me after him. Maybe they realized I was wary of training my daughter, or thought I’d lost my nerve.

That would seriously piss me off. I mean, I killed my lover’s client – not only humiliating Diego, but putting him out of a job! Wasn’t that enough? Now those octogenaric assholes were getting cheap thrills imagining me frog-marching my brother into the Brutus conference room at Santa Muerta.

My body started shaking. Too much anger and leftover alcohol was coursing through my veins. But if the Council put me through this, I’d have to take them out. All of them. Even Grandma. Maybe especially Grandma.

Whoa, Gin! Is that what you’re considering? Killing off the leaders of the Bombay Family? That’s just crazy talk! My schizophrenic side kicked in, responding appropriately. Is it? Wouldn’t it be worth it to be rid of this family curse, once and for all? I was pretty sure my cousins would be happy with it. Our trust funds exceeded 100 million dollars . . . each. We’d all live pretty comfortably for the rest of our days.

My hands shook as I held my coffee cup. Why hadn’t anyone thought of this sooner? I mean, wasn’t Grandma pissed when her brother took out her daughter all those years ago? Wasn’t it reasonable to assume that someone, somewhere down the line had tried at some point to put their foot down?

Maybe we were all genetically deprived of rebellious thoughts. Could be the family had found a way to remove whatever DNA strain exists that would make us question authority.

I set the coffee mug down. I had to. My hands had lost control, and I wasn’t fond of third-degree burns. I forced myself to sit. All of these thoughts swirled around in my head, making me nauseated. Or was that the hangover? Standing up, I went to the fridge and got out some bacon to fry. Greasy food always helped me think.

By my second plate of bacon, I started to relax. By the third, I felt better. Rational thought was what I needed. Bear in mind, I consumed half a pound of bacon in order to realize this. I revisited the conspiracy theories. It hurt to think that my family could knowingly cause me so much pain. Diabolical as they were, I still loved them. Well, all but Richie. I couldn’t even like that bastard.

Was it really possible that I’d been set up to do this shit job? It sucked that I couldn’t tell anyone, because I could use some advice from Mom or Dak.

Dak. Dakota Bombay. He was questioning authority, wasn’t he? He’d found a way to rebel. And his carefree attitude showed he could still sleep at night. But why?

I shook my head. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. Dirty Deeds chimed from my cell phone. It was the Council, or at least, Dela. How long could I stall her? I answered it – mainly because a small part of me wondered if they had implanted an explosive device in my brain and could set it off at will.

“Gin.” Dela’s usually calm voice sounded frantic. “What do you know?”

“Nothing more than yesterday.” Okay, so I lied. Sue me.

She sighed into the phone. “We’re running out of time, Gin. The Council thought you’d come through before now.”

Was that a threat? Or was my conspiracy-addled brain thinking it was a threat? If a family conspiracy happens, but all of the Bombays are dead, is it really a family conspiracy?

“I’m using some high-speed stuff Missi gave me,” I stalled. “I should have something for you in a couple of days.”

“I don’t know if we can wait that long,” Dela replied.

“What do you mean?” I shouted. “You guys gave me two weeks! Why did you give me two weeks if you really wanted it in one?” Okay, cross me off for an appointment in the diplomatic corps, but I was pissed.

“I know we said two, Gin. But what we meant was immediately. The Council’s afraid the mole will bump things up.”

I adopted a very juvenile posture (good thing she couldn’t see me). “Oh yeah? Well, how do I know that you don’t know who this guy is?”

There was a pause in the conversation and I thought that wasn’t good.

“Do you really think we’d set you up?” Dela was not exactly happy. “If we knew, we would’ve made a very public example of him at the reunion. Do you think we’re idiots, Gin?”

Time for some damage control. “I’m sorry. My mind’s just running wild over this whole thing.”

“I understand, Gin, but the fate of the Bombays rests on you. Find him!” Dela hung up.

I clicked off the phone thinking I’d made it to the most miserable point in my life. My attitude hadn’t helped. Oh well. Screw ’em. As long as they couldn’t tell I was stalling, I didn’t care what they thought. At least it would be another twenty-four hours before I heard from them again.

So, what did I know? I felt pretty sure they didn’t know Dak was the one. There had been only one time in our history – about three hundred years ago, I think, when an example had been made at a family reunion. I seem to recall it included thumbscrews, feral weasels and strategically placed raw meat. Ugh.

Okay, I had time on my side. And they didn’t know who the mole was. Maybe if I got Dak to convince them this was one big misunderstanding . . . But how could I do that? It’s not like he accidentally made an appointment with agents from D.C. and London, then accidentally kept the appointments and accidentally promised them information, then accidentally followed every Bombay until they made a hit and accidentally recorded it on a digital camera. No, I’d say they wouldn’t buy that.

I had to talk to Dak immediately. I needed to know why he did it. Maybe there was some miniscule, remote chance I could save him. I started to reach for the phone when I heard the doorbell. Checking the monitors, I saw it was Diego. Wow. Did he have bad timing or what?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Ita feri ut se mori sentiat.”

(“Strike him so that he can feel he is dying.”)

- Suetonius

“Hey, Gin,” Diego started then stepped back, scrutinizing me. “Are you alright?”

Damn. I’d been crying earlier. I must’ve looked like a depressed Hamburgler. Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the door.

Diego stepped inside, a worried look on his gorgeous face. I closed the door, then dove into his arms. It felt so good to be held. The tears came and I gave up all shreds of dignity as I sobbed against him. My life felt like it was coming apart at the seams. But now I had someone whose shoulder I could cry on. Horrified by my obsessive use of clichés, I squeezed Diego tighter.

“Shhh,” he whispered, “it’s alright. Everything will be okay.” His hands slid up and down the length of my back, and each stroke felt like a release. It had been too long since a man had comforted me. Diego took to it like he’d been born to support me. Most men would have behaved awkwardly, as if not sure they were doing the right thing. But somehow I knew Diego was genuinely concerned and wanted to help me. He never asked me what was wrong – he just knew he could help.

My sobbing slowed, but my tears came faster. That simple act of holding me had more meaning than anything else he could’ve done. This man cared about me. And I knew right there and then that I was in love with Diego Jones. The longer he caressed and cooed, the more fiercely I loved him. Like the Grinch, my heart felt like it grew three sizes larger in that one moment.

I squeezed my eyes closed. This was a defining moment in my life. I just learned that I was in love with this man and would do anything to make him happy. Dak may have broken my heart, but Diego was healing it without a word. How cool was that?

Dak. He was the reason I was so upset – and hung-over. My darling brother had betrayed us all. And I had to punish him. But how could I? My arms gripped Diego’s body as I realized that there was no way I could hurt Dak.

An idea started to grow. Maybe Diego could help me? Maybe I didn’t have to deal with this alone. Hope bubbled in my blood. It’s been a long time since I had help. I missed having a partner in my life. And Diego had potential to be the partner I never had with Ed. My chest inflated with hope. This was what I needed.

Diego continued soothing me until I choked off my last sob and pulled away.

“Thanks, Diego. You don’t know how much that meant to me.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, leaving black, inky trails on them.

“Would you like some tea?” I managed to squeak out. He nodded and followed me into the kitchen.

I knew I looked like hell. In the movies, women look beautiful when they cry. But the truth was clear to me when I saw my reflection in the kettle. Red, puffy eyes ringed with black, smeared mascara. Teenage Goth girls had nothing on me. I excused myself for a moment and raced to the bathroom to clean up my face.

“Diego, I’m so sorry . . .” I began when I returned.

He held up his hands to stop me. “It’s not necessary. I figured something was up when you and your family didn’t show last night.”

Last night? What the hell was he . . . oh no! I was supposed to invite my family to dinner with Diego last night! With everything else, I’d completely forgotten! I’d completely blown him off. In fact, he was probably over here to make sure I was alive. I didn’t think it was possible to feel so terrible.

So I did the mature thing. I started crying. The tea kettle whistled and there I was, weeping like an idiot.

Diego started toward me but I stopped him.

“I really screwed up. I forgot all about the dinner. I didn’t even ask my family. That’s the problem.”

Diego just nodded and I realized I wasn’t really making any sense.

“It’s my brother . . . Dak. He’s . . . he’s . . .” I couldn’t finish. What was I going to say? Dak betrayed the whole Bombay family, turning us in to the FBI and Scotland Yard. And he’s too old to spank. In fact, the Family wants me to kill him. How are you with an ice pick?

I looked at Diego. He smiled patiently. He wasn’t going to pressure me into telling him before I was ready. And I loved him even more for that. I was just getting to the part where I was mentally designing the wedding invitations when he spoke up.

“Is there something I can do?” He was sincere. Something in those simple words told me he would do all within his power to make the hurt go away. I had to trust him. I wanted to trust him. It was a low moment of complete insanity – but hey, I had nowhere to go but up.

“Diego, there’s something I have to tell you. I hope you don’t have any place to be for a while.” I sat down and pushed his cup of tea toward him.

Diego leaned back and relaxed, a smile on his face. “Gin, you can tell me anything. I want to help. I don’t have to be anywhere but here.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “I love you, Gin. I want you to know that before you tell me whatever it is.”

My body melted into a little puddle. “I love you too, Diego!” I would’ve shouted it from the floor, had I really melted.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to celebrate. “That means so much to me. What I have to tell you isn’t going to be easy to hear. In fact, I’m forbidden to tell you at all.” I took a deep breath. “But here goes.”

I paused dramatically before continuing. “Diego, I never was a bodyguard. It’s quite the opposite, really. I’m actually an assassin.” I waited for the words to sink in, which by the way his face fell into shock happened sooner than I thought.

“You’re an assassin? Is this a joke?” Diego frowned.

“No.” And so I began to tell him everything. About my family, our history and mission in life (and, I guess, in death). And let me tell you, the Icelandic Sagas weren’t this long. I would also hazard a guess that they weren’t this interesting either, judging by the way his mouth hung open. Then I launched into the family reunion and the quest for the mole. I finished with the evidence that pointed to Dak. The whole thing took two hours and would have been a lot easier to deliver with a snappy, multi-media presentation, but I only had so much to work with, and time was running out.

Diego sat there silently for a while, absorbing every word I said. I could tell at the beginning that he thought I was kidding. That made sense, though. Who would believe it? It’s a pretty weird story.

“Do you have anything stronger than tea?” Diego finally asked. I nodded and pulled a bottle of wine out of the cupboard, opened it and poured it into two glasses. The first sip gave me a high, stemming some of my hangover. I usually didn’t drink on a hangover. But then I usually didn’t get drunk either. But at this point, I really had to say that scruples were for suckers.

I watched impatiently as Diego drained his glass. This wasn’t something I could rush, even though it would’ve been nice if he said, That’s great! I’ll take on the Bombay name! Let’s get married and I’ll help you with your work!

Instead, he looked me right in the eye, “So you’re an assassin. And your whole family – your mum, your brother, are all assassins. And you have to turn Romi into one?”

I tried to read into his words as I nodded. “I know it sounds crazy.” I shrugged. “I just grew up with it. I haven’t really known it any other way.” Okay, I fibbed here. I knew it was wrong. But I needed some sympathy.

He sat back, filling his glass again. “Did you ever realize that it’s wrong to kill people?”

Whoa. I didn’t expect that. “Yes, I know it’s wrong to most people. But everyone I take out is really bad. Terrorists, spies, murderers . . .”

“People like you,” Diego said quietly.

“Um, I don’t, well, yeah. Sort of.” I was confused. “I mean, I’m not a terrorist or spy.”

“But you are a murderer, and have been since you were fifteen. Right?” Diego’s voice was very, very calm. Like, eye of the hurricane in the Bermuda Triangle on Friday the 13th with a black cat and ladder in your boat, calm.

My stomach flip-flopped. “I usually have only one job a year. This month was unusual in that I had two, but they were both bad guys. One was selling military secrets to the Chinese and the other used corporate money to support South American terrorists.”

Diego buried his face in his hands and I realized this was going to be a lot harder than I thought. All of a sudden, I started to panic. What had I done? I’d never even told Ed any of this! Aaaaahhhhrrrg! The jackhammer left my head and started on my heart. I was pretty sure that after this next glass of wine, it would go after my liver.

“Gin, I’m trying to wrap my mind around this.” Diego struggled and I knew it was the truth. “I want to believe there aren’t really people like you out there.”

“We just take care of people the government can’t. The U.S. doesn’t sanction assassination. We . . .”

“So you’re a patriot?” he asked doubtfully.

“I don’t know about that,” I answered.

“So you just do it for the money?” he countered.

I shook my head. “I’m not a profiteer! I’m not a mercenary! But I don’t necessarily do it for my country.” It hit me. I never really questioned what I did. Why was that?

“Dammit, Gin!” Diego stood and shoved the chair away. “I don’t know what to say! I want to buy in, but it’s against everything I ever believed!”

“I can understand that. It’s never easy to tell someone outside the family. I know it’s difficult to accept. And it was unfair of me to unload this on you.” The wine left a dry, tangy feeling in my mouth. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank.

“Do outsiders usually have problems dealing with this?” Diego asked.

“Yes. I guess. I don’t know. I never told Ed.” A small part of me felt like I was betraying his memory by telling Diego. How could I tell him when I never told my husband?

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You never told Ed? Why?”

I sat down. Why hadn’t I told him? “I guess I didn’t think he’d take it very well.”

“I can understand that,” Diego said quietly.

“So, I blew it with you, huh?”

“No, Gin. You didn’t blow it with me. I still want you. But I have to come to some kind of understanding with this. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want you to do it anymore.”

“You have no idea how much I agree with you.” I licked my lips. “It’s not like it’s easy. Granted, I’ve fostered a pretty cavalier attitude toward it my whole life. But it’s not an easy lifestyle to accept.” Dak was the main example of this.

“Well, first I guess we should deal with your problem. Then maybe we can take a long vacation and sort this out.”

My heart exploded! Diego was going to help me! And then there would be a vacation! Hopefully with lots of sex!

I ran over and climbed into Diego’s lap, kissing him frantically.

“I love you so much!” I said between kisses. “I never thought I’d find someone like you. Not in a million years!”

Diego pulled back. “Hold on there, Gin. Air must flow to my brain in order for me to think.”

I leaped off his lap and returned to my seat. “Right. Solution first, sex later.”

Diego laughed and I felt wonderful. Surely nothing could ever screw this up!

“You said you had two jobs this month? Anyone I know?” I was pretty sure he was joking.

I could feel my skin burning. Why did I say that? I was going to tell him, someday, about his client. Now was not that time.

So I lied to the love of my life. “No. No one you know.”

Diego’s eyes narrowed. My heart bounced around in my chest. Surely he couldn’t see my treachery. Damn. My hands were shaking.

I watched as his eyes grew wide with realization. “No! No! It can’t be!”

Diego was too smart to fall for my bullshit. My only hope was thinking that maybe he could handle it.

“Diego, I . . .”

“You killed my client?” His shock was pretty clear. “You murdered Turner?”

I stood up. “I had to! It’s not like we have a choice!” I was an idiot to think he would still love me after hearing the truth.

“You put me out of work! You set this up from the beginning! Oh my God!” He started pacing, running his hands through his hair. “You stalked me at the bookstore, lured me to your table. You seduced me in order to get Turner!”

What? “What? No! I didn’t know when I met you that I’d be assigned your client. It was just a weird coincidence. That’s all!”

Diego shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so stupid! Not only am I a failure at my job, I’m an idiot too!”

Uh oh. This was very, very bad. “No you’re not. You had no idea who I was. I didn’t get the assignment until after our first date. I didn’t trick you!”

Diego’s eyes betrayed his pain. “How could I be so stupid? I fell for you hook, line and sinker. I played right into your hands.”

“Now wait a minute. If I were really conning you, I wouldn’t have told you all this.”

“Turner was my client. You had to know that before you took him out.” He wasn’t shouting, but he might as well have.

“Honestly, Diego! I didn’t know he was your client until after I killed him – when you came looking for him that morning!” Oops. What was wrong with me? Can’t I keep my mouth shut for two minutes?

He turned a scary shade of pale. “I didn’t really believe it until you just now said it. You killed Turner. You lied to me when I came over. Why, he was probably on his way to the zoo at that very minute!”

I was mad now. “Well, that shows what you know! He was dead on my living room floor while I talked to you at the door.” I clapped both hands over my mouth, as if that would take back the words I shouldn’t have said.

“You’re nothing more than a murderer! A common killer!” Diego exploded. “I’ll bet you thought it was real funny – humiliating me like that.”

“Hypocrite! You had no idea who Turner was! You told me you don’t work for the bad guys. Ha! You didn’t even know he was funding terrorist activities south of the border. He was evil, and I did my job!”

Diego sneered. “Yeah. You were just doing your job. That of a hired killer. Some career path!”

“Oh yeah? Well at least I did my job well! My client didn’t die at the hand of my girlfriend!”

Everything suddenly went into slow motion, like we were walking through water. I knew I screwed up royally before the last word left my mouth. I had taken Diego’s humiliation and shoved it up his ass.

“Goodbye, Gin.” Diego said very quietly. He turned toward the door.

“Diego, wait! I’m sorry!” I ran after him, but he pushed me aside.

“It’s too late for that. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. But I never want to see you again.” And then, Diego Jones walked out of my door and out of my life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“That’s the key to our team. We have so many weapons. You can just pick your poison.”

- Steve Nash

So this was what it felt like to lose everything. Well, almost everything. I still had Romi, but from the looks of things, she was headed for the same trouble I was in, in about thirty years. Diego was and soon Dak would be out of my life forever. And it was all my fault.

Okay, so maybe I had nothing to do with Dak being the mole, but I would be responsible for his death. Can you even imagine what it’s like to go from absolute elation to complete despair? Diego had told me he loved me. He even was starting to accept me, and I had to mess it up beyond all recognition.

It was as if I’d forgotten how to breathe. Or maybe I didn’t want to anymore. In fact, if it wasn’t for Romi, I would have taken myself out right then. The pain was crushing – like being on the canyon floor when Road Runner drops an anvil-shaped boulder on you. Or at least, that was how I saw it.

I’d had love in the palm of my hand. And I’d willingly thrown it away. No. That was too soft. I’d given it a thousand paper cuts and pushed it into a lemon juice bath.

I probably would’ve spent several days lying on the floor by the front door, wallowing in self-pity. That is, if Liv hadn’t found me a couple of hours later.

“What the hell are you doing?” She cried.

“Oh, nothing. Just dying. Make sure I get cremated. And I want you to have that Hello Kitty lamp in my workshop.” The hard floor had numbed all feeling in my extremities, but I just stayed there, punishing myself. It kind of made sense, really. I’d caused Diego all kinds of pain. He thought I had conned him so I could get closer to his client and kill him. Diego believed I’d never loved him and knew I murdered Turner. He must have felt horrible. First he’d failed at his job; then he’d lost his heart to a heartless assassin who used him.

That wasn’t the case, but he believed it. In Diego’s mind, I had hurt him every way possible. And I hated myself for it.

“Are you going to get up and tell me what happened or do I have to lay down there too?” Liv looked down at me.

“You could speed things up by putting a bullet in my brain. Or I have a lovely colorless, odorless, fast-acting poison that tastes like Godiva chocolate,” I responded.

“What happened, Gin?” Liv sat next to me, legs crossed.

I told her everything. Why not? Soon I’d kill my own brother, then I’d have to raise my little girl to follow in my evil footsteps. I couldn’t hate myself any more than I already did.

“Wow. You’re evil,” Liv replied. She threw in a whistle for emphasis. “Poor Diego. I can’t imagine what hell he’s going through.”

I nodded in agreement, even though it hurt my head to do so.

“So, aren’t you going to go after him?”

I shook my head. “I can’t. He’s right. I’m such death-dealing bitch. Diego deserves better than me.” I switched to an Australian accent, “Maybe he’ll move back to Australia. Marry a sheila and settle down to raise a bunch of bruces.”

Liv grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up. “You are so pathetic.”

I pulled my arm away. “Easy for you to say. You’re happily married to a wonderful man and you didn’t have to kill his boss. And let’s not forget you don’t have to hunt down your own brother.”

Liv responded by dragging me to the kitchen and making me a cup of coffee. Then she called Mom and asked her to pick up the kids from school. I sat and listened while she got Todd to pick up their kids and called Dak, asking him to come over.

I said nothing throughout. I just sat there, drinking coffee and picking at all my emotional scabs over and over again.

Liv sat down. “Dak’s on his way. I think we should focus on this problem first. Then, hopefully, you can talk to Diego and explain things. You fell pretty hard for him, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “He told me he loved me. So, I told him I killed his client and ruined his life. Pretty much par for the course for me.”

“Well, channel that frustration into something useful.” She  nodded in the direction of the doorway as Dak came into the kitchen.

She was right. I’d saved up a lot of anger and now I had a place to spend it. For now, I needed to focus. Diego was still alive. But Dak might not be for much longer. One thing at a time.

My older sister mode kicked in. “Sit,” I told Dak, pointing to a chair. He looked at me with a mix of confusion and fear. Good. Feel my wrath.

“What is your problem? Liv and I know what you’re doing. Now we have to find a solution so I don’t have to kill you,” I said levelly.

“Gin, what the hell are you talking about?” Dak asked, his eyes wide open.

“You’re talking to the FBI and Scotland Yard. You’re getting ready to turn the Bombay Family in! And I’ve been assigned to kill you.” I was now channeling Dirty Harry. I tried to do that little Clint Eastwood squinty thing. I could go upstairs and get my .44 magnum, but the pause would detract from my dramatic approach.

Dak looked from me to Liv, eyes widened even further in shock. “What? There’s a mole in the family?”

Liv crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t play games with us, Dak. You have some serious explaining to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m no traitor.” Recognition sprang into his expression. “Hey! You called me a tractor last night! Is this what that was all about? Helga was pretty freaked out.”

I nodded.

Dak rose from his chair. “I didn’t do it! Why would I try to take down the family?”

Liv chewed her lip, looking at me. I could see her faith was faltering.

“Wait here!” I raced to my workshop, grabbed the memory stick and laptop. I hoped Liv had brought the cell phone. I joined them in the kitchen.

“Look what I found at your house!” I plugged in the stick and ran the photos. Liv cocked her head to the side, eyebrows arched at the pictures of Dak’s conquests. When it got to the family photos, Dak just stared.

“And how do you explain the cell phone?” I demanded. As if on cue, Liv handed Dak the phone. He looked at it as though it might sprout teeth and bite him.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.” Dak had gone pale. I had him.

“Why, Dak? Why did you do it?” Liv pleaded.

He turned toward her. “I didn’t do anything! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I never took those pictures! I don’t know how the hell anyone got a camera in my bedroom.” Dak pressed a button and went back through the photos, “Or the kitchen, and living room. . .and garage.” And I don’t know anything about this!” He held up the phone. “Really, Liv! If I had one of these – I would have showed it to you!”

Liv and I looked at each other. I guess we just expected him to admit he did it. It hadn’t occurred to us that he’d deny it all.

I rubbed my forehead. “Dak. Just admit it so we can figure out how to save you.”

His face turned red. “But I didn’t do it! Why don’t you believe me?”

Liv said, “It’s too late for that. Don’t deny it. That’s just wasting time. The Council’s been calling Gin every day – harassing her into producing the mole.”

“We have to deal with this, Dak. There’s no time to pretend it’s not you. Let’s just move on.”

“I didn’t do it!” Dak protested. “I swear, I’ve never seen this shit before.”

“So I suppose you’ve been framed. Is that it?” I said rather sarcastically.

“Yes! That must be the answer!” Dak nodded furiously. “Someone is setting me up. Probably the guy who really did this.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle into my bones. Dak was sticking to his story. Liv and I were frustrated. We either had to tie him to a chair and get a confession out of him, or I had to render him unconscious and deliver him to Dela. Either way, we were going to be here a while. I sighed again and picked up the phone to order pizza. What? I never had lunch! Remember – I was lying on the floor for hours?

I hung up the phone after ordering. No specials today. Dammit. “Okay, we have thirty minutes to work this out. Then we eat. After that, we stay here until we have a plan. Okay?”

By the time the pizza arrived, Dak was still maintaining his innocence. Liv and I were exhausted from pleading and threatening him. So we spent twenty minutes in silence, eating pizza and drinking beer. I looked at the clock. Was it really evening already? Finally, I went to my studio and grabbed my iPod phone tap device, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I brought it into the kitchen, attached speakers and plugged it in.

“Alright,” I began, “how about this?” I played Dak’s conversation. Twice.

Dak slapped his hand against the table, “That’s not me!”

I rolled my eyes. “For Christ sake, Dakota! It’s your voice on your phone! Who the hell else would it be?”

Liv leveled her eyes at him. “You have to admit, we’ve got you on this one.”

Dak buried his face in his hands, reminding me of Diego’s similar action that same morning. I brushed the thought from my mind.

“I swear, Gin,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t home when that call was made! I am not the mole! I know it looks really bad, but I didn’t do it!”

Something in the way his voice cracked on the last word caught me off guard. It opened the door slightly and a little bit of doubt slipped in. I rubbed my temples. Either I was terrible at getting a confession (I’m not really trained for that), or Dak was telling the truth and I was wasting precious time. If I hadn’t driven Diego away, maybe he would know what to do. A piercing pain shot through me and I rejected thinking about Diego again. At least for the time being.

I looked at Dak. Did I really not trust him? Was he telling the truth? I was completely clueless and after glancing at Liv, realized that she was too.

“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. As if saying it out loud would make an answer miraculously appear. In that moment, I longed for the days when all I had to worry about was Vivian Marcy and my little Daisy Scout troop.

Dak reached across the table and took our hands in his. “I swear that I am innocent.” The exhaustion and worry in his eyes convinced me. He wasn’t the mole.

The phone rang, caller ID said it was Mom. I sighed again, realizing she wanted to know when I’d pick up Romi.

“Hey, Mom,” I answered.

“Gin! Thank God! I tried your cell, but it wasn’t working. I tried Dak and Liv, but couldn’t get them either.” Had Mom been hitting the coffee a little too hard? She said this so fast I could barely keep up.

“Sorry. I’ll be by to pick up Romi in an hour or so.”

“No!” she shouted. “You can’t! She’s not here!”

And just when I thought I couldn’t panic any more. “What? Where is she?”

“The Council took her! Gin! What are you involved in? Lou said you weren’t cooperating, so they were taking her to Santa Muerta until you did!”

I sat down on the floor. Dak and Liv looked at each other. Dak, hearing Mom screaming from the phone, pried it from my grip and talked to her.

All I heard was “blah, blah, blah.” Romi! My little Romi. First Diego, now Dak, now Romi! What had I done to deserve this? The Council had gone too far this time.

I stood up, grabbed my cell and called the Council’s hotline. And yes, their phone is red.

“Hello, Gin,” Troy answered in his snooty accent. “You must have received our message.”

“Troy, you limey peasant-fucker!” Limey peasant-fucker? “What have you done with her?” I screamed.

“Gin, calm down. We won’t hurt her as long as you turn over the mole.”

“You touch her, and you die!” I shouted. And I meant it. This time the Council had gone too far. Maybe it was time I ended the Bombay Family business – once and for all. “I’ll see you real soon.” I hung up.

Dak’s face was twisted with worry. “Mom says they’re taking her to Santa Muerta. I told her not to come over. She wants to go with us, but I think we should handle it.”

“My God, Gin! I can’t believe they took her!” Liv whispered, hugging herself. I could see in her eyes that she was afraid this might happen to her someday.

“Well,” I pulled myself up to my full height. It was time to channel the cowboy Clint Eastwood. “We’re going to Santa Muerta. We’re getting Romi back. And then I’m gonna kill each and every one of them.”

“I’m in. But what about the mole?” Dak asked.

“Screw the mole! Hey! Let’s bag Richie and deliver him!” I was losing it, laughing maniacally.

“Gin?” Liv said. “The light is blinking on your thingy.” She pointed at the faux iPod. I thought of flinging it against the wall, but something deep inside told me to give Missi’s invention one more chance.

I pushed the button and we listened. It was Richie’s line. And he was in mid-conversation.

“It was so easy. That bitch Gin is so stupid. She didn’t even know I was following her.” My mind rewound to that night in Vic’s house when I saw a man in the den. “It was so easy to tell Turner she was an assassin and convince him to go to her house.” I thought about Diego. “But setting up Dak was the best idea I’ve had yet!”

Liv pushed the save button and stopped it. “We need this, Gin. To play for the Council.” She was right thinking I was about to destroy the damned thing.

“It was Richie?” I squeaked. “How could I be so stupid?” How did I get so lucky?

“Dak, delete the photos of you from the memory card but keep the family pictures. In fact, download them onto my laptop. Liv, you don’t have to go with us. You have your own family to think about.”

Liv shook her head violently as Dak plugged the stick into the computer. “I’m going with you. How do I know they won’t do this to me next time?”

I looked at her. It was a wonderful sentiment, but I didn’t want anything to happen to her. Besides, if I failed, I needed someone to finish the job – you know, avenge me and all that crap. I was about to protest when she nodded at me defiantly. Fine. There would be three of us. That would be enough for the punishment I would mete out to Richie and the Council. Now I just needed a plan.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Assassination has never changed the history of the world.”

- Benjamin Disraeli

The doorbell rang. I didn’t have to even look at the monitors to know that Carolina Bombay was standing on my porch. Why is it I could always sense when she was going to call, or show up, or embarrass me in an Italian restaurant?

“Mom.” I swung the door open. “Go home.”

She pushed past me. “Like hell I will! It’s my fault Romi’s gone!”

Okay. She had me there. Not that I think she willingly served Romi up with a smile and even offered gas money to the kidnappers, but I did want to know what happened.

So, Mom and I joined Liv and Dak in the kitchen.

“It was Lou,” Mom started. “I always hated that son-of-a-bitch.” This kind of salty language raised my eyebrows, but I didn’t interrupt.

She took a long drink of beer, and I thought that hell must truly have frozen over, but I still didn’t interrupt. “I answered the door and he came in, telling me you were in trouble with the Council, Gin. Your father was out walking Poppy, and Romi and I were making Halloween cookies – she said she needed them for school.” I winced, silently vowing to stop Vivian once and for all when this was over.

“I shouldn’t have turned my back on him,” she continued. “That’s when he got me. He always was a backstabber. Never could look you in the face, the slimy old fart.” She took another drink of beer, draining the bottle. “When I came to, Romi was gone and there was a note saying the Council was taking her. So what I want to know is, what the hell is going on and when are we leaving to get my granddaughter?”

I looked at my mother. In her white blouse with Peter Pan collar and long denim jumper, she looked like she belonged in a Hallmark ad. No one would ever suspect she was the woman who once had taken out a whole drug cartel in Colombia. In one sitting, no less.

“Mom,” I said, “you can’t go with us. Dak, Liv and I are going.”

Liv piped up, “I’m going to call Paris. That’ll be four of us.”

Dak nodded. “Really, Mom. You need to stay here.”

Suddenly, the Hallmark ad got scary as Mom’s face turned grim. “Tell me what’s going on.”

So we told her. Come on. You can’t lie to your mother about a thing like this. And we really didn’t want her to go.

“If Richie’s behind this, I’ll bet Lou’s involved too.” Carolina said quietly. “No one takes my granddaughter and lives.”

I shuddered. My own mom creeped me out. Even with the Mary Engelbreit wardrobe. Or maybe, because of the Mary Engelbreit wardrobe.

“I don’t care if anyone else is involved. You’re staying here.” Have you ever tried to go up against your mother? Well, it ain’t easy. But I put on my Sunday best steely resolve and stared her down.

Carolina looked at each of us for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I’m taking them all out. Painfully. Slowly. Real Spanish Inquisition like.” Something in her voice gave me involuntary shivers. But I nodded and Mom finally left.

She wasn’t gone ten minutes before the doorbell rang again. I rolled my eyes, but Liv caught me.

“It’s Paris.” She answered the door and then there were four of us.

Granted, we weren’t the Magnificent Seven, but I thought we’d do alright. After all, we were younger and stronger than the Council. And a 5-to-4 ratio was pretty good odds. We sat down and started working out our plan.

An hour later, we took a break, and the others went home to get their gear, flashlights, guns and anything else they would need for the trip. Liv arranged for a private jet out of St. Louis so we wouldn’t be tracked. Troy had hacked into all of the airlines’ systems a few years back, so they’d be watching for us. And something told me that airport security would be a bit concerned to see four of us dressed ninja style and armed to the gills with more weapons than you’d find at a Hezbollah-Hamas ice cream social.

I got dressed quickly, then hit my lab to get my Glock .45. As I closed the door, I looked down the hall at Romi’s room and my blood chilled. I took one look inside, taking in the pink and purple room, filled with stuffed animals, toys and books. On her dresser, I spotted an old picture of Ed. My throat closed up and started to ache. She had been just a baby when he died. It would’ve killed him to know who I was and what Romi was supposed to become.

Romi had never known her father. But this photo had a place of honor in her room. I blinked back the tears and looked at the ceiling wondering how in the hell I was going to pull this off. As I closed the door, I hoped that Ed would forgive me for all I’d done and for what I was about to do.

The doorbell rang as I hit the first floor and I answered it without checking the monitors, figuring it was Dak, Liv or Paris. Imagine my shock when I found Diego standing there.

He looked me up and down. I must have been a weird sight, decked out in black from head to toe.

“Going somewhere?” he asked calmly, but I thought I detected something else in his voice.

“Diego, if you’ve come back to put more salt in the wound, I’d tell you I deserved it and open another vein for you to use. But this is a bad time.”

He pushed past me into the hallway. “No, Gin. I just wanted to talk.”

I was at a loss for words. It never occurred to me I’d see him again.

“I’m sorry, Diego, for everything. I never should have said those rotten things. I really didn’t set you up. I would never do that to you. I meant it when I said I love you. But I completely understand how you must feel.” My words came out Gatling-Gun style.

“I didn’t come here to yell at you or lecture you,” he said slowly. “I came back because I want to try to understand this. I didn’t think you really meant what you said.”

The tears started, and I couldn’t stop them. That’s right, I was a crybaby assassin. And this was the right conversation, just at the wrong time. My relationship with Diego had to take a backseat to the life of my daughter.

“Diego, it’s Romi. The Council has her at Santa Muerta. They won’t hurt her if I turn Dak over to them.” I ran my fingers through my hair as if that would make any of this easier. Actually, all it did was mess up my hair.

He stopped sharply, his face stony and hard. “What do you mean, they took Romi?”

I managed to fill him in before the others arrived. Once they saw Diego, Liv and Dak waved sheepishly at him, fumbling out a greeting. There were some awkward introductions once Paris arrived.

“So, you’re all assassins?” he asked solemnly. Not knowing what else to do, Liv, Paris and Dak nodded.

Diego looked at our clothes. “I’m going with you.”

I wanted him to. I mean, I really, really wanted him to. But it didn’t seem right for an outsider to get mixed up in the Bombay mess.

I shook my head. “No. You can’t. You’re not even supposed to know any of this stuff. They’ll kill you just for being an outsider.”

Diego placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I’m going with you. No one messes with my family.”

Had he just said we were his family? I toyed with swooning, but there was no time.

“I’m going,” he repeated. “Don’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“Okay,” I finally agreed.

The five of us piled into my minivan (sounds like the beginning of a joke, Four assassins and a bodyguard get into a minivan . . .) and drove to Diego’s hotel, where he changed into dark clothing. The others accepted Diego’s presence with a sort of awe. I figured it was hard for them to imagine an outsider wanting to get involved. And it brought the ratio to 1 to 1.

It took us a couple of hours to get to St. Louis. During that time, Dak filled Diego in on the island, the Council, and the most embarrassing stories he could think of regarding my childhood. You’d think there’d be a statute of limitations on how much mileage you can get out of a story where I ran naked through the streets at age six with a cereal bowl on my head.

Somehow, during this trip, we managed to come up with a cunning plan. We boarded our private jet – freaking out the pilot. We were delayed a few moments while we reassured him we weren’t terrorists, ninjas, monochromatic mimes or anarchist beatnik poets. We knew what we had to do. But best of all, Diego was there, rushing into the fray alongside us, to save a little girl he considered family. Sigh.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“I’ve got a cunning plan. . .”

- Baldric, Blackadder

We landed in Ecuador at 8 am. It didn’t take long to find a speedboat to take us to Santa Muerta. We didn’t rent it, just bought it outright, as there was the slight chance it might be destroyed in the rescue. I still wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t an explosive device implanted inside of me. With my family, you could never be too paranoid.

The trick to landing at Santa Muerta was to enter the island where they wouldn’t expect us. I mean, I knew they were expecting us, but it would be in our best interest to hide from the Council for as long as possible. Paris claimed he knew of a hidden cove near the bungalows, and after we all looked at him curiously, we set out.

By this point, Diego and Dak had become mates, as they say in Australia. I watched the two of them together, marveling at the differences and similarities. Diego was taller and more muscular than my brother. His wavy dark hair stood in contrast to Dak’s blonde, prep-school haircut. Diego moved like he’d seen combat, while Dak had a young, cocky, self-assurance about him.

And yet, the two got along like twins. Before I started to compare them and feel icky that maybe I was dating a type like my brother, I turned my attention to the island in the distance.

It occurred to me that I’ve never tried to enter Santa Muerta clandestinely before. The island was strewn with booby traps, but as kids, we played in and around them. Getting past security wasn’t my main concern. It was how we’d pull it off when we got to the main building.

I didn’t want to risk anything to happen to Romi. I didn’t think the Council would use her as a human shield, but then I never thought they’d use her as bait either. What did I learn from this mess? Never underestimate your family. Good advice.

I also didn’t want anything to happen to Diego. He was an outsider, and this wasn’t even his fight. Plus, I wanted a future with him. The Council would be much harder on his presence than ours. No one from the outside had ever set foot on the island before. I was breaking every family rule.

Screw the rules. I came here to punish these bastards once and for all. But when it came down to it, would I really kill my own family? Yeah. I could do that. And in my mind’s eye, they asked for it when they took an innocent little girl.

The wind ruffled my hair and the engine roared like it was desperate to see some action too. All five of us stared ahead, with frowns of grim determination on our faces.

The family in this boat was what family was about. People who’d lay down their lives for you and yours. People who take care of each other. Not people who plot against each other. Maybe Richie knew a little about what he was doing. I patted my backpack, reassuring myself of the evidence lodged there.

Whoa. What was I thinking? Richie was a good guy? No. He had set up Dak and me to take a fall. He’d plotted to turn the family over to the authorities. But something in his thinking wasn’t so foreign. While I doubted his motive was altruistic in any way, he wanted (for whatever reasons) to break up the family’s vocation of dealing in death.

I shook my head to clear it. Don’t worry. Richie was going down in a big way. But I started to recognize that I wasn’t interested in being part of the Bombay Family anymore. I wanted the people in the boat to be my family, but not those I was rushing to meet.

I caught Diego looking at me with what I assumed was curiosity. I sent him a weak smile and he rewarded me with a full, warm, genuine one. Diego didn’t know it, but he was already a part of me. He loved Romi, and he loved me. No matter what, I vowed I would make it all up to him.

Paris slowed the engine and I could see we were coasting to a small, vine-covered cove about 200 yards to the west of the bungalows. As we pulled in, we lifted the veil of green and managed to tie up the boat behind a canopy of foliage.

“There’s a small cave over there,” Paris pointed, “where I used to hide out.”

We all slowly turned to look at him.

Paris blushed. “I just needed a spot to be alone sometimes.”

Dak asked, “Why?”

“To write poetry, okay? I always wanted to be a poet!” Paris blustered, then looked away.

“Leave him alone, Dak!” I smacked my brother up one side of the head. “Where does the cave go?”

Paris regained some of his composure, but now I imagined him in a white, billowy tunic, a jerkin and long boots.

“The cave actually lets out by the ropes course. I’m pretty sure no one knows about it. It’s always filled with undisturbed cobwebs and I’ve never seen any footprints in the mud. Not even last week. The best part is, we’ll by-pass the booby traps.”

Liv and I looked at each other. She shrugged as if to say she had no idea her brother moonlighted as a bard.

“Sounds great.” I took the lead. “It’s a small island. But this should help us advance unannounced. Let’s go.”

The sun was up but soon we ventured into complete darkness. We switched on our flashlights and followed Paris through a dark, dank tunnel covered in bat shit. I have no idea how long we walked.

No one spoke while we moved, just in case there was an echo. If the Council had other family members doing recon or was using some of Missi’s devices to find us, we weren’t going to make it easier.

Eventually, we emerged through a hole in the side of a cliff. Gulping as much fresh air as we could, we slowly made our way to the jungle floor. If Paris were right, the main building was a fifteen-minute hike to the east.

Paris was wrong. It took only ten minutes, tripping us up when we suddenly walked out of the fauna and into the pool area. The sun was directly above us, and we stood out like, well like assassins in black at a tropical pool party. No one was there, but I knew that security cameras were picking us up. They suddenly knew where we were. We had to act quickly to keep the Council off guard.

I ran to the door and opened it. Well, I guess there are no surprises now. And the five of us burst into the Brutus Conference room, guns a blazin’.

The Council Members sat in their seats on the dais, looking serenely at us as if we were scheduled to join them for tea. Not one of them reacted to the weapons in our hands. That kind of freaked me out, because we looked pretty scary, or so I thought.

“You’re early,” Grandma said tersely.

“Are you surprised?” I stepped in front of everyone else.

“Who’s he?” Lou barked, pointing at Diego.

“Where’s Romi?” I replied.

“I said, who is he?” Lou roared.

I leveled my gun, sights lining up in the middle of Lou’s forehead. “He’s my boyfriend. You got a problem with that?”

The Council exchanged looks, but still failed to fall to their knees in terror, begging for mercy. Damn.

“Where the hell is my daughter, Grandma?” I repeated.

“Where the hell is the mole, Virginia?” she responded. Damn. I hated it that she sounded cooler swearing than I did.

“I’m sure Richie is around here somewhere. He’s next on my list. But age before beauty. Right?”

I heard the other pistols come up, each leveled at the forehead of a different Council member. I felt a surge of adrenaline. Now this was more like it!

“Richie is the mole?” Dela asked, her voice full of doubt.

I nodded. “Yes. Oh. Are you surprised, Aunt Dela?”

Lou stood and snorted. “Richie isn’t the mole! He’s saved us. Just like he saved you at the reunion.”

Okay, so I lost a little of my composure. “He didn’t save me! It’s his fault I choked on the sponge cake! He wasn’t even doing the Heimlich maneuver right!” I waved my gun around while I spoke. Behind me came noises of movement and I realized I’d left the agreed upon course of action.

“Dak is the mole. And it’s a good thing you brought him, or Romi wouldn’t be going home with you.” Lou sneered. I swear. He actually sneered.

“No, Uncle Lou. It’s Richie. We have proof. But please excuse me if we don’t set up a little Power Point presentation for you right now. You’ll just have to take our word for it.”

I looked at Dak, whose pistol was pointed at Lou. “I think you should sit down and shut up before my brother blows your head off.”

Lou sat down, glowering at me. Something was wrong. None of them were armed, nor were they making a move to defend themselves. Why? We could kill them all right now and there was nothing they could do about it. I’d already instructed everyone to aim for the head – just in case they had body armor on.  What was going on?

“We know the truth, Gin,” Troy said coldly. “Richie told us that the four of you were plotting against the family. He said you had incriminating photos of us. Is that true?”

Well, he had me there on the incriminating photos. In fact, they were in my backpack as we spoke. “No.” Hello? Why weren’t Liv or Dak speaking up? Hearing nothing from them, I continued, “That’s not true. Richie took the pictures. He planted evidence on Dak in order to frame him. I want the mole dead as much as you do. But that mole is Richie, not us.”

“I don’t think so, Gin.” Richie’s voice came over the PA system. I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him. He must have been in the multimedia booth. I fired a shot at the window.

“She shot me!” Richie screamed. “That bitch shot me!”

I got him? Huh. Didn’t expect that. I really didn’t think he’d be that stupid. Oh well. Yay me!

To my surprise, Diego walked to the control booth, kicked in the door (looking soooooo cool when he did that) and dragged my slimy little cousin out. By George, I had shot him! Just in the right thigh, but I finally got to shoot Richie!

I re-trained my gun on Grandma as Diego dropped my bleeding cousin in front of me, then returned to his position of targeting Troy.

“Thanks, hon!” I whispered as he walked past me. Diego grinned with amusement.

Time to get a confession out of Richie. “Tell them, dickhead. Tell them what you did before I shoot your balls off.” I trained my gun on an area of Richie I didn’t even want to think about.

“Owwwww!” Richie screamed. “She shot me!”

I rolled my eyes and kicked him, then pressed my boot down on his throat. “Tell them!”

“That’s enough, Virginia!” Grandma barked. She rose and reached behind her chair, pulling my gagged-and-bound five-year-old forward in front of her. Romi’s eyes grew wide as she saw her mother, aunt and uncles dressed like a SWAT team with guns aimed in her direction.

“You can have your daughter when you turn Dak over to us. Give us the evidence and we will sort it out to decide what is going on.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. “Gin, I’ll go. They’ll see. You have to get Romi back. They won’t hurt me.” Dak’s voice pleaded behind me.

I turned to look at him in amazement. He loved Romi – that was never in doubt. And this was such an unselfish act, I wanted to hug him.

“Not a chance, Grandma,” I shouted back. “Not much of a grandmother, are you? Kidnapping your great-granddaughter in order to kill your grandson. I don’t think you should look for any more cards from us on Mother’s Day.”

Liv said, “We’ve seen the evidence. You’ll just have to take our word for it. Now hand over Romi or this will be your last day on the Council.”

Woo. Tough words. I liked it.

“Hell,” Dak responded, “this will be your last day on the planet.”

Grandma’s jaw dropped. “You. My own grandchildren, would actually shoot me?”

We nodded in unison. “That’s what you’ve trained us to do, isn’t it?”

Grandma stamped her foot. “Fine.” She began to untie Romi. “I wasn’t really going to hurt her.” Maryland walked my daughter over to me. “Let’s see this evidence.”

I lowered my gun and Romi kicked her great grandmother in the shins. Hard. Twice. And while most children would be punished for something like that, I figured it was time to raise her allowance and give her a later bedtime. Good girl. I pulled her behind me and she climbed into Diego’s arms.

I sighed wistfully, then tossed my backpack to Liv. “See if you can get this running in the media booth.” I watched as she lowered her gun from Florence, who had remained strangely silent throughout this, and walked over to the booth.

Grandma returned to her spot on the stage, and I took my foot off Richie’s throat. I trained my gun on him. I’m not completely hopeless.

Liv popped up in the window, frowning. Through the PA system she announced, “It doesn’t work. I’ve got nothing on the memory stick or the recording device.”

Richie wheezed out a laugh. “Of course not. We set up a strong electro-magnetic pulse in all the doorways. Your evidence was deleted the minute you entered the building.” He started to laugh again, so I kicked him in the thigh, causing an impressive blood spurt.

Dela folded her arms. “How convenient that you don’t actually have any proof. Are we just supposed to believe you now?” As if on cue, all five Council members pulled pistols from behind their backs. Where the hell had they come from?

We held our guns in place. It was a classic Mexican standoff. And with my family’s marksmanship record, we could take each other out in one rapid burst.

Think, Gin, I pleaded with myself. No evidence. And we all have guns trained on each other. There was no way we could survive this. Sure, maybe one or two of us could, but not all of us. Liv came down from the booth, aiming at Florence.

“Drop them, Gin.” I heard Lou say. “We have a lot more experience than you do. Put down your weapons and we’ll talk about this like reasonable adults.”

“Reasonable adults?” I shouted. “What kind of reasonable adults do this kind of crap? I think this family went beyond reasonable about two thousand years ago.”

“Nonetheless, we will shoot you all, including Romi.” Troy said calmly. Limey peasant fucker. From now on – if we survived this – that’s what I’d call him at the family reunions.

“Yeah, but we have a little problem,” Liv said. “We don’t trust you and you don’t believe us. How are we going to work that one out? On the ropes course?”

I laughed. Even though we were in dire straits, it was pretty funny.

“How long do you think you can keep those guns on us?” Dela asked.

Grandma spoke up, “Lower your weapons and we’ll give you a chance to prove yourselves. If not, I guarantee that most of you won’t be going home.”

For some reason, that music from Final Jeopardy started playing in my head. Unfortunately, the wrong answer in this case wouldn’t just get us sent home with fabulous prizes.

I froze. Turning to look behind me would have given the Council the opportunity they needed. There was no way to consult with my troops. And Grandma was right. They would most likely take out at least three or four of us. The only advantage we had was that we were younger and could probably hold the guns up longer – at least that’s the way things were looking with the geriatric hit squad and their trembling triceps.

I didn’t trust them. But there was a chance they were telling the truth. Would they give us the opportunity to prove our innocence? I mean, it looked pretty bad with us in black, holding guns and all. But I could probably stand on Richie’s head until he confessed. I’d even enjoy it.

But what if we lowered our weapons and they shot us? Granted, I was pretty sure Mom and Uncle Pete would avenge us, but what good was that? I didn’t know if the Council could afford to take out four of its hitters. It would, at the very least, increase the retirement age.

The decision was an impossible one. It’s like I came to a fork in the road, and just sat down, unable to decide. Could I wait it out? Not likely, judging by the tremors in Uncle Lou’s hand. No, there was more of a chance that one of them would accidentally squeeze one off, launching quite a gun battle.

If we shot it out, some of us would die. If we did what they said, there was a slim chance we would all live. And I was starting to shake too. Where was a Magic 8 ball when you need one?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“You and I have unfinished business.”

- The Bride, Kill Bill

“All right,” I said, lowering my gun. “We’ll trust you.”

I turned and watched as Dak, Diego, Liv and Paris did the same. Romi stood behind Diego, looking really pissed off.

I took a deep breath. Here it was, our moment of truth. Would they keep their end of the agreement? Or was I about to join the family plot on the far side of the island.

Shit. The Council still had their guns trained on us. This was it. I was never going to marry Diego, see Romi grow up, or make those damned Halloween cookies. I closed my eyes, accepting my fate like a Bombay should.

I waited for the sound of the bullet that would soon be drilling through my head. Instead, there was a zzzzzzzt. Like the sound of a large bug hitting a bug zapper. I opened my eyes and saw Missi standing in front of the stage, holding a small remote with a large, red button. Why is it always a red button? Why not a blue one? Or yellow? Yellow would be good.

Even more amazing, the bodies of the Council members lay on the dais, twitching.

“You electrocuted them?” I asked Missi as Dak, Diego and Paris snatched up the Council’s weapons.

Missi looked at the remote a little distracted. “Oh yeah. I knew something like this might happen someday. So I implanted each of them with a device that sends a shock of electrical current. They’re not dead. Just stunned.”

“Huh. I always thought they had us implanted with explosives.”

Missi arched her eyebrow. “That’s paranoid.”

I pointed to the dais. “You did it to them!” I scratched my chin. “How’d you do it?”

Missi laughed. “I told them all I was taking their measurements for more biometric technology. I,” she lifted her hands to do finger quotes, “‘accidentally’ stuck them with a pin while taking their measurements. The pin released a mechanism into the elbow. They were totally clueless.” She sighed. “Well, until now, that is. Of course, I knew something like this would happen someday.”

I stared at her. “You knew this would happen?”

“I live here. I know how they think.” She scowled at the twitching body of her grandmother, Dela. “That really pisses me off. Pulling guns on my cousins.” She turned back to me. “We’re family. We have to stick together.”

Liv draped her arms around Missi and me. “Looks like Missi had our back.”

I turned to hug Romi, when I spied, with my little eye, Richie dragging himself toward the door. I picked him up by the hair and hauled him back. “You aren’t going anywhere.” I looked at Missi. “All of our evidence is screwed. How are we going to prove he did it?”

“Well,” Missi thought for a moment. “I think I can fix your stuff. If that doesn’t work, you could always pull his fingernails out with pliers until he confesses.” Her gaze turned to Richie. “Damn. I always hoped I’d be the one to nail him. Nice shootin’, Tex.”

Diego, Dak and Paris had revived the Council, helping them back into their chairs. We tied them up. I’m not a total moron.

It didn’t take long for Missi to get the bugs worked out of our equipment. We made the Council listen to the tape and look at the photos. In the end, they agreed that Richie had, in fact, been behind it all.

Once they were untied, the Council asked me to drag Richie to the front of the room.

“Virginia,” Grandma began, “the Council apologizes for putting you and Romi through this. We were wrong. You may not know this, but in such situations, the Council has to allow you certain concessions.” She looked at Richie, bleeding and whining on the stage. “One of them being, you get to take him out as your reward.”

I looked at my cousin, then back at the Council. I couldn’t tell you how long I’d wanted to kill him. Especially since he’d been responsible for terrorizing my family. Hell, if it had gone according to his plan, Dak or Romi and possibly I would be dead. He didn’t deserve to live. I finally had the satisfaction of showing the family what an ass he was.

“What kind of concessions?” I asked the Council.

“Well, ahem,” Lou sputtered. “You get one demand of your choosing.”

I turned and looked at my brother, my cousins, my daughter and the love of my life.

“I don’t want anything to happen to Diego. I brought him here. And I plan to make him part of the family. You cannot punish him for being an outsider.”

Liv, Dak and Paris nodded and Romi flung her arms around Diego. I turned back to the Council.

“Richie, as much as I’ve always wanted to take you out, I’m going to refuse this particular concession. I really don’t want to do this anymore. The Council can take care of you. But I don’t want any part of it.” I gave him a right cross to the jaw. “And you didn’t save my life at the reunion.” He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The members of the Council looked at each other in surprise. Our family had been so well-trained in the arts of “correcting” the black sheep, my refusal to kill Richie stunned them.

“Virginia,” Grandma spoke up again, nodding to the fellow Council members. “For your gesture and support, and the fact you didn’t kill us, the Council grants you early retirement from the family business. Effective immediately.”

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I waited to react, just in case the others didn’t agree. To my surprise, they all nodded.

I turned and ran into Diego’s arms. He crushed me in his embrace, then pulled Romi up into a group hug. I couldn’t believe it! I was retired! Which meant I got the guy! Which meant everything would be okay! Whew! Good thing I didn’t shoot Richie dead!

The others joined us in a huge embrace and we laughed until we cried. Even some of the Council members smiled a little. I turned to Missi and gave her the thumbs up. She was holding a gun on Richie with a blissed out look on her face. So she was going to get the prize. That’s great. She certainly earned it.

It only took a few hours to call our jet to pick us up from the island to take us home. I spent the whole time in Diego’s arms with Romi on my lap. Dak found some Moet and Chandon White Star champagne on board and we all drank ourselves silly.

“Diego?” Romi asked solemnly.

He pulled her onto his lap, “What is it, princess?”

“Will you marry us?”

Diego looked from me to her, then kissed her on the cheek, “Of course I will. If your mum will have me, that is.”

“Oh, I’ll have you,” I whispered amongst the cheers of my family, “again, and again, and again.”

EPILOGUE

“That was the best vacation ever! I love our family.”

- Dash, The Incredibles

“Mrs. Bombay?” Kaitlyn looked up at me. “Is this right?

“Pretty good.” I took her hand in mine and led her through the motions. “You need to release the knife a little bit later. That will help improve your aim.”

Kaitlyn did just as I asked and nailed the target, dead center. I was so proud of her.

“Girls!” Liv shouted. “Snack time!”

In seconds she was surrounded by ravenously hungry Daisies. While she doled out the cookies and milk, I pulled the knives out of the board that served as our target. After carefully wiping them off, I slid them back into their leather cases and stuck them on my belt.

Mom waved from the porch, and I walked over to take another tray of cookies to the girls. It was really sweet of her to let us use her yard.

Actually, the meetings had been going very well. There were no more incidents with pipe cleaners and glue. In fact, the girls had taken to their new training with a military precision that surprised me.

And while the Girl Scout Council (the only council I answer to these days – and much less lethal) thought they were too young for the archery training, throwing knives and using chemistry sets to make explosives, the Scouts were having one hell of a good time. I’m planning a trip next year to a survivalist camp. I think my Daisies will love it.

Vivian wasn’t saying much these days. Maybe because I came through with the Halloween cookies, or maybe because I had a new, hunky, Australian husband. I’d like to think that it was because her daughter (in my troop) now knew how to make a simple car bomb using hair gel, a cell phone and ammonia. I guess it didn’t really matter why she avoided me, just that she kept doing it.

And you heard me right. Diego Jones became Diego Bombay. We had to work through some things once we got back, but we managed. Now that I’d retired, he felt he could accept the past and had long since forgiven me for whacking Turner. In fact, Diego retired too and we’re living a good life off Bombay blood money. So everyone wins.

Diego and I had a simple, Justice of the Peace ceremony before Halloween and then he moved in officially. You might think our days were dull and quiet. What with taking Romi to school in the morning, coming back home and having sex until noon, taking a post-coital nap, picking up Romi, then doing family stuff until bedtime (when there’s more sex until we fall asleep). But so far, we aren’t bored yet. Poppy finally became housetrained – a major cause for celebration. Of course, the little slut spends all her time on Diego’s lap.

There were no plans to visit Santa Muerta in the near future, but we were going to Australia during the holidays to meet Diego’s family. As for my family, they held a more important place in my heart than ever. Liv and I were still training Romi and Alta (couldn’t get out of that one, unfortunately), and Grandma had sent each of her grandchildren an American Express Black Card with unlimited line of credit and a private concierge in each city, as a form of apology. I was definitely not too proud to use it. I even sent a nice thank-you note.

There were no secrets in my household anymore. I opened up the secret workshop and turned it into a room for all my knitting stuff. Of course, I still keep up on the family business. Romi will be joining it one day and I want to be on top of things. Oh, and I had Missi scan my body for hidden explosives, just to be sure.

I guess you could say that what began with an invitation to a family reunion of assassins ended with a new family of my own. A much happier ending, I think.

Of course, from time to time, my mind wandered to the safe in my new knitting room.  Where, in case you're wondering, I kept the photos.  They might prove useful someday.  With a family like the Bombays, I wasn't ruling anything out.

* * * * *

GUNS WILL KEEP US TOGETHER

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

* * * * *

ebook Edition

Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Langtry

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“The Addams Family credo. ‘Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc.’ We gladly feast on those who would subdue us. Not just pretty words.”

- Morticia Addams, The Addams Family

Getting a phone call can be a good thing. It could be someone calling to inform you of an inheritance, or that cute blonde you met last night begging for another round of “find the kielbasa.”

On the other hand, it could be the doctor calling to tell you that you did, indeed, pick up an intestinal parasite while in Uruguay or the husband of the aforementioned blonde saying he will be stopping by this evening with a baseball bat. It’s all a matter of where you are and what you’re doing that can turn a simple phone call into a bonus or disaster. This was one of the latter. I was in the middle of working when my cell rang.

Now, when I say I was working, I mean to say I had my foot on a man’s throat, slowly crushing his trachea. That’s my job. My name is Dakota Bombay, and I’m an assassin. Of course, the damn phone begins to ring, and the worst part was that it was playing Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

To be fair, I’d just gotten the phone and didn’t have time to change the ring tone. But how do you scare the hell out of your victim if some stupid shit like that is playing? My victim, or Vic, as we called them in the biz began to smirk. I scowled and pressed harder with my foot. The son-of-a-bitch was a serial pedophile and son of a diplomat – meaning he was untouchable to everyone. Everyone that is, but me.

Damn. The display showed that this was one call I had to take.

“Mom,” I said, never losing eye contact with the guy under my shoe. Did I imagine it or did he smirk again? “This is a bad time. I’m working here.” I pressed a little harder until I got that oh-so-satisfying gurgle.

“Fine.” Mom sniffled, and blew her nose into the phone. She was crying. “Call me in five.” And with that, Carolina Bombay hung up. Fantastic.

“Not your lucky day,” I said to Vic as I pulled out my silenced Glock .45. “Normally, I’d make this look like an accident. But Mom sounds upset; so we need to move this along.”

I pulled the trigger twice, and with a thffft thffft, it was over. In a few moments I’d retrieved the two spent casings, scanned the area for any evidence I might have left behind, then walked out of Vic’s life (or should I say, death?).

Mom crying was not a good thing. Not when you come from a family of professional killers. That’s right. The Bombay Family has been the first name in assassination since 2000 B.C.E. The legacy was handed down from parent to child, blood relatives only.

Four or five nightmare scenarios went through my mind, as I pulled onto the highway and flipped open my phone. It hadn’t been a banner year for the Bombays. Just six months ago, my sister, Gin, was forced into a messed up situation from the Council (the family elders who dole out assignments) and her daughter was kidnapped. It all ended up okay. Romi was fine and Gin was granted an unprecedented early retirement. But after shit like that, you tend to worry a little when Mom’s upset.

“Yeah, Mom. What is it?” I’d called her back within five minutes. I’m not a moron. In this family, you do what you’re told. Discipline comes in the form of an ice pick through the ear instead of the traditional spanking.

I heard a little sniffling and thought that was weird, because my mom is pretty tough. I mean she can take on five or six guys and walk away from their corpses without so much as a wrinkle in her denim jumper.

“Romi doesn’t want to cuddle anymore!” She screamed, locked in one long sob and pronouncing the sentence as a single word.

“What?” Maybe I didn’t hear her right. Important assassin alert number one: Always know what you heard. One of my great-great aunts once made a fatal error because she thought she heard, “Kill the Australian Prime Minister,” when what the Council said was, “Let’s get the Australian prime rib dinner.” As a result, Great-Great Aunt Orleans was made an example of at the 1965 Bombay Family Reunion. I guess the old family adage is true: You can’t pick your family, but you can pick them off.

Carolina Bombay repeated slowly, “Romi doesn’t want to cuddle anymore.”

“Uh, and this has what to do with me?” I considered asking for Dad to find out if she was going through menopause or toying with insanity. Of course, in this family, you couldn’t get a Section 8 to get out of the business. We kind of look at lunacy as a benefit to the job.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Dakota Bombay!” Ah. The voice was clearer now. “You need to get married and give me more grandchildren!”

Okay. She was definitely crazy. And crazy, I didn’t need. You know how creepy it is when your run-of-the-mill, average parent loses it? Well, it’s ten times worse when your mom is one of the best killers in the business.

“Okay, Mom. Calm down. Stop drinking, or take some pills, or something. Cuz it won’t happen anytime soon.”

And that was the truth. I might be thirty-seven, but I was having one hell of a good time. The Bombays lived the good life. Only one or two “assignments” a year, multi-million dollar trust funds and performance reviews only every five years. (Those aren’t bad. There really is no gray area in “well, did you kill him or not?”)  I was too busy jet-setting and sampling the international buffet of leggy blondes to settle down now. Maybe never.

“Dinner.” she said.

“Dinner?” Great, we were down to one-word sentences.

“Yes, dinner tomorrow night at seven.” It was amazing (and seriously scary) how quickly her voice went from hysterical to stone-cold professional.

“Um, okay. Why?”

“I’m fixing you up with a nice girl.”

“Whoa!” I pulled the car over to the curb, afraid to drive during this conversation. “No, you’re not. Every time you do that, it ends in disaster.”

“Nonsense.” Did Mom actually say nonsense? How very Charles Dickens. “It wasn’t Millie’s fault she had a hump.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing she could see me. I continued, “Remember Kelly? She was deathly afraid of trees. Trees! And how about Lacy? She wanted to have eight children and told me I’d be good breeding stock!” I left out Dora, the uber-perky Junior Leaguer who dressed like Jackie Onassis and asked if I had any political aspirations (which I thought was ironic). Oh, and Sasha, who passionately loved her job with the Illinois State Museum where she had devoted her life to studying molds and fungus. (Insert shudder here. She actually said, “You seem like a fun-gi! Get it?” Believe me. I got it.)

“Well, Nora is nothing like those other women. You’ll see.”

“No, Mom. I’m not coming.” I think I even stuck out my lower lip. That’s me. The Pouting Assassin. What? I am the baby of the family.

“You’ll be there if I have to get one of Gin’s knockout drugs and tie your unconscious body to one of the dining room chairs.”

Okay, she had me there. Mainly because my petite, blonde mother was strong as an ox run amok on an adrenalin high and as stubborn as a pit bull when you tried to take meat away from it.

“Fine. But no guarantees I’ll stay.” I made a quick mental note to start carrying a sharp pocket knife with me at all times.

“You’ll stay and like it!” With that, Mom hung up on me.

So, Dakota Bombay, debonair assassin and sophisticated world traveler, was going to Mommy’s house tomorrow to meet a girl she hoped I’d marry on the spot, and possibly begin pro-creating with on the dining room table before desert.

I did the only thing I could think of. I stopped by my sister’s house to complain.

Gin, short for Virginia, is two years older than me. Once widowed with a five-year-old daughter, my big sister is now married to a retired Australian bodyguard.

You might be wondering about all these names; Carolina, Dakota, Virginia. . .well, the Bombay Family has a lot of weird traditions, including the of assigning geographic names to their progeny. I know. I think it’s totally stupid too.

I rang the doorbell and grinned into the security cameras. Bombays are nothing if not security conscious.

“Hey, Dak!” Diego (my brother-in-law from Down Under) answered the door and ushered me in with a clap on the back.

“Dude,” I replied. “How’s it going?”

Diego smiled and led me into the kitchen, “Great and quiet. And with your family, that’s just the way I like it. Want a beer?” He’d already opened the fridge door and was holding a large can of Fosters Lager.

“Yeah,” I ran my fingers through my hair, “I just finished a job and Mom called. So I could use one.”

Diego laughed and sat down at the table. It still amazed me that he was part of the family now. I mean, Gin’s okay, but she’s my sister. I don’t know how she scored a great guy like this. Especially since she killed his client right out from under him. Oh well, they say opposites attract.

“Uncle Dak!” Romi and Gin burst into the room and my little niece climbed up into my lap, fiercely hugging me. Maybe the reason I couldn’t commit was that my heart already belonged to this little brat.

“Hey, kid.” I squeezed her back. “What’s this about you not cuddling with Grandma anymore?”

Gin arched her right eyebrow. “Oh. You heard about that.”

“Yeah. Mom called in the middle of my hit, sobbing that I need to give her more grandkids. Of course, I blame you.”

Gin snatched a bag of Milano cookies from my hands.   Sure, they were her cookies, but she could’ve asked. After all, I was a guest.

“Romi just told Mom she was too old to cuddle all the time.” Gin explained.

“Well, thanks to you, I have to have dinner with them and some chick named Nora tomorrow.”

Gin and Diego exchanged looks. Uh oh.

“Hey!” I protested, “I saw that. What?”

Gin plucked a cookie out of the bag and pushed the rest to me. Double Uh oh.

“Nothing.” She said.

Oh shit. “What? Who is Nora? And why are you looking at me like that?”

Gin shrugged. “She’s nice. Pretty, even. And blonde. You’d like her.”

I rubbed my chin. “Okay. So what’s wrong with her?”

Gin looked at Diego, who threw up his hands in protest. She turned back to me. “Well, she’s – um – Dad’s doctor.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I could do Dad’s doctor. As long as she didn’t “accidentally” screw up his meds when I dumped her.

“What is she? Heart doctor?” Gin shook her head, and I started to sweat. “Podiatrist?” Another no. “Proctologist?” Nope. I had a bad feeling about this. “Chiropractor?” I offered hopefully.

Gin shook her head one more time (and I have to admit, I was getting a little sick of that). “She’s his -” she hesitated for a moment - “E.D. specialist.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “What’s the E.D. for?”

The pause got me. I knew I was screwed because Gin started laughing.

“Erectile dysfunction.” Her laughter gained momentum until tears were flowing down her cheeks.

CHAPTER TWO

Lord Melchett:  Gray, I suspect, your Majesty.

Queen Elizabeth:  I think you'll find they were orange, Lord Melchett.

Lord Melchett:  Gray is more usual, Ma'am.

Queen Elizabeth:  Who's Queen?

Lord Melchett:  As you say, Majesty. There were these magnificent orange elephants...

- Blackadder II

Usually, I sleep in. When you only have to kill one or two people a year, your hours are pretty flexible. I’d say ninety-nine percent of the time I do whatever I want and one percent is work. It’s a damn good ratio. I’m more of a night guy anyway.

Which is why I was pissed off hearing the phone ring at 8:00 the next morning. This time it was my grandmother.

“Hey, Grandma.” I used my most endearing voice, the one that made her treat me like a sovereign prince all these years. Yes, I’m a spoiled assassin.

“Dakota, dear. How are you?” Grandma Mary replied cheerfully. Normally I’d be nervous about this, but she’s been sucking up to me even more lately since she almost had me terminated six months ago. I don’t hold a grudge but I’d be an idiot not to milk it.

“Fine. What’s up?” I answered, turning my charm all the way up to eleven.

“Well, the Council has some work for you and Paris. Meet me at the Hyatt in one hour,” she ordered.

“The Hyatt? Here in town?” Grandma’s here? Let the spoiling begin! Last time she showed up she gave me a black American Express card with an unlimited line of credit and a private concierge available 24/7. I can’t wait to see what she has for me this time! What?

“One hour. I’m calling Paris now.” She hung up.

I jumped out of bed and raced to the shower. Okay, so I had to wait for the blonde in there to finish first. I shoved Jill . . . Jenny . . . Judy (or whatever her name was) out the door, even turning down her offer to spoil me in a different way.

Fifty minutes later, I knocked at the Presidential Suite door, a bouquet of flowers in my hand, ridiculously hyper in anticipation of a spectacular gift.

Paris opened the door. He laughed when he saw the lilies and ushered me in, showing the ones he’d brought. Grandma gave me a rough kiss and hug and invited us to sit down. I put on my most charming smile and awaited my prize.

“Boys, I called you here because I need your help. The Bombay Family business is in trouble.”

What? I blinked a few times. The Bombays were in trouble . . . again? And no present?

“Over the years,” she continued, ignoring the blatant look of disappointment in my face, “we’ve grown the business, utilizing the latest technology and intelligence. But that’s not working anymore.” Her tone changed. “You’d think quality and craftsmanship would be enough these days, but nooooo.”

I looked at Paris and he shrugged back at me, assumingly pissed about not getting a present too.

“Grandma, what the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

She frowned. “No doubt you thought I was in town to spoil you?”

I stumbled over my denial, “No, ha, ha, ha. Why would you think that?”

Maryland Bombay (have I mentioned that everyone in the family is named after a city, state or nation?) narrowed her eyes. Uh oh. It was a look she reserved for her victims. “It’s time for you two to put your talents to the test for the family. Dakota, with your education in marketing and Paris’ M.B.A. from Wharton, I expect great things from you.”

Uh oh. “Grandma,” I protested, “I’m not really a marketing consultant. That’s just my cover.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Did we or did we not send you to Princeton to study marketing? Did you or did you not graduate ranked fifth in your class?”

I ran my fingers through my hair (maybe it wasn’t boyishly tousled enough to warrant a present). “Well, sure. But I’ve kind of been out of practice on that particular skill set. Now, if you want me to kill or seduce someone - that I can do.”

She shook her head. “Consider this one of the most important things you can do for the family.”

Paris sat there, nodding like a bobble-head dachshund, and I felt a little betrayed that he didn’t argue with her too.

I sighed. “When do you need us to start?”

“Now.” She smiled as she handed over two large black leather binders. “This is all the activity of the last five fiscals. You’ll find our annual reports in there too. I need you both to discover how we can better market our business.”

I flipped through the pages of pie charts, organizational flow charts, and statistics. Which is really weird when you consider that we kill people for money. Who knew the Council was so organized? I blame the European branch.

“We have annual reports?” I asked. Why do we have annual reports? Who in the hell would we file them with?

“So,” Paris interrupted, his eyes never leaving the binder on his lap, “you want branding, focus groups, the whole lot?”

How do you do focus groups for assassination? Find a cross-section of average citizens and ask them, “How do you feel about ice picks versus handguns in life termination?”

“Let me get this straight,” I piped up. “You want us to come up with logos and slogans and try them out on random people to find out which sells murder better?”

Grandma snapped, “Of course not! The public doesn’t know what we do! You’re to help the company find our target market!” Target market? Was she joking?

Paris winked at me, then rolled his eyes to Grandma, indicating he thought I was nuts. Bastard.

For a moment, I thought I might still be in bed, dreaming. I mean, come on! This isn’t the sort of business you create a marketing campaign for. That, and it would be a lot of work. I didn’t really have time. There were two new blondes at Gin’s spa I hadn’t gotten to yet.

Paris looked absorbed. Sure, he loved this stuff. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my wingman, but why would he take this seriously?

“Um, Grandma?” I hesitated, “Why would slogans and logos help us? Aren’t our main clients various government agencies? They don’t care about this crap. They just want results.” And unless I’m totally off base here, results means lifeless corpses - not a list of goals, objectives and action items.

Grandma leaned back with a sigh, “Well, we aren’t getting as much work as we used to.”

Paris spoke up (finally!), “So, the Council thinks a jazzed - up image will tell the CIA we are ready to take on more assignments?”

“Actually, boys, we just need to prove that like every other family business, we can adapt – change with progress.”

“Why don’t we just get out of the business entirely?” To be fair, this was a valid question. Our individual trust funds (from four millennia of wet work) exceeded $100 million dollars.

“Dammit, Dak!” Grandma sputtered, her face turning an alarming shade of mauve. “Get with the program! This is what Bombays do! It’s what we’ve always done! Why should we stop now when we’re the best in the business?”

Paris looked at me, then turned to her. “Maybe Dak is right, though.” I mentally made a note to cancel that body check I was going to give him in the hallway when we were done. “We’ve owned the assassination market for centuries. Why not quit while we’re ahead?”

I nodded in agreement, but it felt like I was in the movie Jackass and had just agreed to do something that would involve my testicles, jumper cables and a rusty WWII battery.

She shook her head. “Just because Gin has retired, doesn’t mean you can too. No. This is our family’s honor we’re talking about.” She stood, indicating that we should leave. “You have two weeks before you make your presentation to the Council. I’ll have Missi set up the multimedia equipment in the auditorium at Santa Muerta. I’ll expect at least Power Point 2007 for the presentation.” She herded us to the door and opened it. “That’s all. I want to see some real, outside-the -box thinking from you two.”

As the door shut on my stunned face, I couldn’t help wondering if the box she was referring to was my coffin.

CHAPTER THREE

“What do you get when you cross a cataclysm with a hellhole? A catastrofuck.”

– Jon Stewart, The Daily Show

I don’t know which freaked me out more. The new job, Dad seeing an Erectile Dysfunction specialist or Mom setting me up with his doctor. To tell the truth, I was a bit insulted. Did my family think I was dating a steady stream of blondes because I had a . . . um, problem? Or was this just sport for them?

I stomped around my condo for an hour, slamming doors and throwing a tantrum no one would see. For Christ’s sake! I have no problem getting it up. All of my guns are fully loaded! I don’t shoot blanks! I don’t run out of ammo at the wrong time either!

Okay, this is not a big deal. I’ll just go over to Mom’s, sit through dinner calmly, then make my excuses and leave.

Another thought occurred to me. Maybe I should bag Nora. Prove to her I don’t have a problem. That would solve it. I could wear that woman out with one of my all-night erections. That would show her. And when she called Mom the next day and said she was too exhausted to date me, my family would know too.

That sounded like a good plan. I spent more time getting ready than I ever had for a date before. From my perfectly tousled hair to the tips of my Bruno Magli loafers, I was ready. I just had to pick up an expensive bottle of wine and head to my parents’ house, and later I would make Nora see God.

The bottle of Bordeaux was expensive. I used the AmEx black card – that would show Grandma for not giving me a present. I pulled into my parents’ place and noticed the Lexus in the driveway. Promising. At least this Nora had her own money. I guess the hard cash is in soft dicks these days. Then I remembered that Dad was funding that Lexus and shuddered again.

“Hey, Mom.” I hugged her warmly as she ushered me in the house and I handed the bottle of wine to Dad. He rolled his eyes, and we had a father-son moment of silent communication.

“And this,” Mom said casually, “is Nora Adams.”

I unleashed my best smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. She was blonde. and cute, like Gin said. Short, curly hair, blue eyes and a decent smile. Not totally my type, but I could do her.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Oh . . . my . . . God. She had a man voice. Not a smoky, Kathleen Turner voice or a sultry, Demi Moore voice, but a deep, unabashed man voice. A thought terrified me. Maybe she was a man.

Mom pushed us toward the dining room, and I held out Nora’s chair for her. I sat opposite Dad, between Nora and Mom.

“So, Dakota,” Nora’s bass boomed, “your mom tells me you’re a consultant?”

I struggled to clear my head. I was really freaked out by her voice. “Um, yeah. I’m a marketing consultant.” That was somewhat true. It was my cover, but I didn’t actually do it. All I did was major in it in college. Bombays were encouraged to major in something practical and use it as their cover. I have cousins who majored in accounting, engineering and such, but never worked a day in their lives. That’s the beauty of the Bombay Family trust fund.

At this point, it’s usually customary to ask her what she did, but I didn’t want to let on that I knew. So I asked her where she was from, that kind of thing. As she droned on in a voice that would make a Green Beret feel girly, I caught Mom’s expression out of the corner of my eye. She was staring at me. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. My sweet and petite mother resembled a cobra trying to hypnotize its prey. Hey, no pressure here, right?

“And after I did a stint with the Merchant Marines in ’92,” Nora said and I forced myself to focus. So, I did the mature thing. I stuck out my tongue at Mom and turned to Nora.

“That sounds fascinating. Wow. You surf, participate in triathlons, ride rodeo and whittle. Where do you find time for a social life?” I tried my best to be charming, but at this point I was convinced she actually was a man. At least deep down inside.

Dinner was awkward. Very, very awkward. But I managed to charm a few boyish smiles out of Nora. I thanked my Mom for dinner, winked at Dad, and took Nora home to prove to her and everyone that I, Dakota Bombay, had no trouble in bed.

All night long, I made merciless, passionate love to this woman, pleasing her in ways she never imagined. She had more than 20 orgasms and finally, at 4:30 a.m., she begged me to stop and called me the greatest lover she’d ever been with. She was even considering writing an article about me for the Journal of the American Medical Association.

Well, at least that’s how I imagined it would go. If the truth must be told (and if this gets out to anyone in my family, I will hunt you down and kill you), it was a major disaster.

I’m going to say it was the man voice, the man hobbies, and the horrible pressure of trying to succeed under all the above circumstances. I refuse to believe I have a problem.

That’s right. I couldn’t get it up. Laugh if you want to, but I can kill anyone with nothing more than a pair of tweezers, so you make that choice.

We started making out, you know, the usual. I turned the lights out initially, but her voice was such a turn off I turned it back on because in the dark she seemed too masculine. Nora wasn’t a bad kisser, and we moved on to fondling. That seemed to help, except that I just couldn’t get hard. I figured all I had to do was get her clothes off. The sight of a naked woman always worked.

Then I saw the tattoos. What kind of woman has an anchor with the word “Mom” written on it? I swear, my dick actually receded into my body in revolt. The final insult? She handed me her card as she got dressed and left. Nora thought I’d benefit from an appointment.

I showered for a long, long time. I even gurgled for 30 minutes with Listerine. (The new whitening kind of course. I use every opportunity to work on my smile.) Even though I knew Nora was a woman, it still grossed me out.

As I lay on my bed, I began to lecture my penis. “You’re my Go-To guy! How could you let this happen? You’re immune to this shit!” That kind of stuff. I don’t know if other men yell at their penis, but I felt it let me down and therefore, should be punished.

Publicity Network was a group I’d joined after college. Made up of local public relations and marketing professionals, I thought it would be a great way to work my cover and pick up women. I was right on both parts.

The meetings took place once a month at a local hotel and featured lunch, a speaker, and networking opportunities. Ironically, the next day was one of those meetings.

As I stood in line, wearing my khakis, blue shirt and tie with navy blazer, of course, I scanned the room. The trick was to make people think I worked as a consultant in their field. They had to believe I was committed to a life of telling people how great some eczema cream was or why they should invest in their children’s education at a prep school. Actually, it wasn’t very hard. PR is mainly bullshit, and I was the king.

“Bernie!” I sat down with my plate full of food and thumped the one guy I did like on the back. He was the Director of Communications for the Boy Scouts and a really funny dude.

“Dakota! Good to see you! Have you met everyone?” He motioned around the table of all men. I nodded through the introductions. Some of them I’d met before – some were new. I didn’t really care. Maybe I’d glean something useful to take to Paris that afternoon.

Bernie and I chatted for a little while. He told me a funny story about a crisis at the council involving a leader who recently had his boy scouts use poison ivy for toilet paper. I could’ve listened to him all day, but we were interrupted.

“May I join you?” asked a tall woman with flaming red hair. She looked annoyed more than anything, and I watched as the other men at the table tried to figure out what they should do. It reminded me of lemmings on the edge of a cliff.

Bernie pointed at the only open chair. “Please.”

The woman turned to face me. For some reason, I was a little stunned. Tall and thin, she had long, curly red hair, light blue eyes, pale skin and freckles. Her features were elfin, with large eyes, a little, upturned nose with a cupid’s bow mouth. I was so startled, I didn’t know what to say next. Then I realized she was speaking.

“No other open seats,” she said as she placed her napkin on her lap.

“No problem,” Bernie smiled. He was the only one behaving like an adult. “My name’s Bernie Paulson. I work for the Boy Scouts. And this is Dakota Bombay. He’s a consultant.” He then went on to introduce the other stunned men at the table.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Leonie Doubtfire.”

“Seriously?” I asked before thinking (one of my less endearing traits).

Leonie looked right into my eyes, as if she was daring me to say something stupid. Something about those eyes made me start to sweat – and I never do that. No woman has ever made me nervous before. But this one was fascinating. I found myself admiring her fearlessness. In fact, I’m pretty sure I admired her throughout the presentation.

The lecture was “Finding Your Brand,” but I had a hard time keeping up with it. For some reason, I was completely focused on Ms. Doubtfire. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible.

Forcing my eyes away, I scanned the room. There were other women there – many blondes. I’d slept with a number of them. Of course, I would never work with them. Never bag a client – that’s what I would say if I ever had clients, which I didn’t.

Before I knew it, the lunch had concluded. Again, I tore my eyes away from Leonie to pretend I’d been paying attention. People were starting to get up and mingle before heading back to work. When I looked across the table, the redhead was gone.

“Good to see you again, Dak.” Bernie shook my hand.

“Where did she go?” I fumbled.

He smiled. “She probably thought you were stalking her – the way you kept staring at her like that.”

I winced, realizing he was right. I had been staring. And for some strange reason, I felt a little depressed that she was gone. I looked at the chair she sat in and spotted a small compact. Picking it up, I realized that Cinderella had left something at the ball. If I ever saw her again, I’d be able to return it. Of course, then she’d really think I was creepy.

I said my goodbyes and left, circling the parking lot twice to see if I could spot her. Shaking my head to clear it – I headed to Paris’ place. And then I remembered last night and all thoughts of Leonie Doubtfire vanished.

“You’re impotent?” Paris’s eyes grew wide with amazement.

I shhhshed him and looked around – a weird thing because we were in his apartment. Still, six months ago, Gin had bugged mine and Paris’s phone lines, so I didn’t put it past the family to have their ears and eyes on us at all times.

“No!” I shouted, a little too forcefully. “No. I couldn’t help it. She sounded like a man. And Mom was staring at me all through dinner. There was too much pressure to perform!”

Paris shook his head. “I don’t know, man. You’ve never had a problem like this before.”

“I know! It’s making me crazy! What do I do?”

Paris looked around his apartment, like the answer would automatically materialize in the blender, lampshade or ceiling fan. He had a great place. Paris was an artistic sort. I’d recently found out he wrote poetry. The apartment was filled with artwork – paintings, sculptures and architecturally designed furniture. I used to think he had one hell of an interior designer, but after the poetry revelation, I figured he did it himself.

“You have to sleep with the other women your mom set you up with,” he announced, looking pleased with himself.

“What?” My mind turned back to Dora and Millie. I shuddered again and realized I was doing that a lot. “Why can’t I just spend the weekend in the arms of a couple of Swedish twins?” That seemed more reasonable to me. And I could find ‘em too. Some people have “gaydar.” Some people have “beerdar.” I had “blondar.”

“No. You have to prove that you can screw anyone. Not just your type.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “Maybe blondes have ruined you. Maybe you can’t have sex with any woman who goes against your type?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. I can do any woman. Hair color and legginess doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. Right?

“What about that Kelly girl?” Paris asked.

“The one who’s afraid of trees?” Hmmm. Theoretically, there was nothing physically wrong with her. She was actually cute. A brunette, but cute. I’d just have to keep her in the bedroom and remove the bamboo plant in the corner, but I could do that.

“Okay. I’ll give her a call.” I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

You might think it’s strange that I had her number, but I had every woman’s number in my cell phone. Mom would text them to me, and I’d enter them before meeting them. I’ve never erased a single one. But I did code them. For example, Dora’s number came up with a photo of Lee Harvey Oswald. Millie’s had Quasimodo. Kelly had Woody Woodpecker. That kind of thing. What?

CHAPTER FOUR

The Criminologist:  I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.

– The Rocky Horror Picture Show

After Kelly agreed (a bit too eagerly) to my suggestion of dinner the next night, Paris and I got to work on the marketing plans for the Bombay Family business.

“Man, I can’t believe we did work for the Republicans four times this century.” Paris shook his head. “Although that kind of makes sense now that I think of it.”

I leafed through a few pages of my binder. “I can’t believe the Family actually wrote this shit down! I mean, look at this one!” I pointed at a high-profile hit of a politician in the nineteenth century. I’d tell you more, but I had to sign a confidentiality clause in my own blood when I was five. You might think we’d forget something that happened when we were little, but there’s something about a family blood ritual and Grandma in a goat skull headdress that sticks in your mind.

Paris nodded. “Yeah. Well, at least we have a record of who our main clients are.”

“Are you even surprised? I mean we always suspected the CIA, the Feds, Interpol and the Yard, and here it is in black and white.” And color too. Grandma did the pie charts as literal cherry pies and all the bullet points were little skulls.

“Okay,” Paris said, “where do we start?”

“I wonder if it’s hereditary,” I mused aloud.

“What?” Paris cocked his right eyebrow. Bastard. I’ve never been able to do that.

“You know. E.D. I mean, Dad has it, right?”

Paris stared at me. “Will you give it up and concentrate? This presentation is important!”

I sat back in my chair. “And you’re just eating it up, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Paris growled.

I stabbed my finger at him. “You love doing this. You’ve probably been waiting your whole life for this type of assignment.”

He slapped my hand away. “Oh for Christ’s sake. You’re pissed because I didn’t argue with Grandma about it.”

Damn. He nailed it. I never could get away with anything where Paris, Gin or Liv were concerned. And you can bet one of my dazzling smiles wasn’t going to get me out of this one.

“Fine.” I was behaving like an immature jerk, but losing access to your favorite appendage will do that to a man. “Let’s get this over with.”

We spent the afternoon going through the binders, ass-deep in reports on the financial history of the Bombay Clan’s Greatest Hits. And I’ll grudgingly admit it was kind of fascinating. I’m pretty sure no one but the Council had access to the history of a family of assassins spanning 4,000 years. You couldn’t find this stuff on geneology.com.

“All right.” I leaned back in my chair and pushed the binder to the middle of the table. “I’m done for today.” I looked at my Tag Heuer watch. “Got a hot date tonight with a tree hater.”

Paris and I agreed to meet up again tomorrow, but from the look on his face, he was going to keep working. Bastard. He’d probably get the bigger gift from Grandma too.

Back at home, I stashed the bamboo plant and anything with a tree motif in the shed. I had to succeed tonight. My next dilemma was more difficult. It took me two hours, but I finally managed to find a restaurant with no trees outside or in. I didn’t realize how hard it would be. After finding a route with the fewest trees from Kelly’s house to the Flaming Lemur, I jumped in the shower and got ready.

Kelly answered her door with a big smile and a little black dress. We drove to the restaurant with no incident and even made it to our table without a freak out.

“I’m so glad you called, Dakota,” she purred. “I was afraid you’d forgotten about me.”

“Impossible.” How do you forget about a woman who can’t even go outside? “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Not a lie! Of course, I was more looking forward to nailing her than talking to her, but first things first.

She took her napkin and placed it on her lap, “I suppose you’re still wondering if I’m still dendraphobic?”

It has a name? “Are you?” I asked.

“No. I have a great therapist. Actually, my fear of trees was related to a fear of sex.” Before I could stop it, I immediately pictured a forest full of erections.

“Did you conquer that fear?” I asked, hoping the desperation wasn’t obvious in my voice.

“Yes, I did.” She grinned wickedly and it was way cute. “In fact, I’m not afraid of sex anymore either.”

I lifted my glass of wine. “Well, then we have something to celebrate.” The glasses clinked and I watched as she drank, her gaze never left mine. The air was thick with sexual tension. Just the way I like it. This was going to be a breeze.

It was obvious that small talk wasn’t her thing. Kelly mainly leered at me through dinner, her foot sliding up and down my shin. Oh, she was up for it. I was gonna get laid tonight and prove it was just Nora’s masculinity that distracted me.

In fact, this chick was all over me while I drove home. Kelly kept kissing my neck, her hands on my groin the whole way. I guess I might have misjudged her. My tree was getting harder by the minute. Yay!

The door barely closed before she’d flung me against the closet, grinding her hips into mine, crushing my lips with hers. I did the only thing I could do: I carried her into my bedroom.

I unzipped her dress with great expectation and slid it to the floor. She was so hot and ready I thought I would burst.

“Hold on,” Kelly said, pushing me back. “I need to freshen up first.” She blew me a kiss; then in her adorable bra and panties took her purse into the bathroom.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten undressed faster in my life. I experimented with different lounging positions on the bed, keeping on my black silk boxer shorts. I was ready . . . beyond ready. I warned my dick not to fail me now as the bathroom door opened.

I can’t blame my dick for this one. Really. It went from hard to soft in a split second as Kelly stood in front of me. I was more terrified than anything.

Apparently, she had lost her fear of trees by channeling another neurosis. There she was, dressed in a diaper and baby bonnet with a pacifier in her mouth.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“Baby wants Dak,” Kelly pulled the pacifier from her lips and responded in a child-like voice, “Change Baby!” she demanded, tossing me a bottle of baby powder.

“What?” I repeated.

“Change Baby and powder Baby’s butt!” she roared.

I’d heard about infantilism. I’m not sheltered. I know there are people who get off on this. Hell, one of Gin’s college roommates wore footie jammies and carried a blankie. But I didn’t have sex with her.

“Change Baby!” Kelly shrieked. Then she went into a full, toddler temper tantrum. I kid you not.

I watched in horror for five minutes, then handed back her dress. There would be no erection tonight. “It’s past Baby’s bedtime.”

Kelly glared at me, then took the dress and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door. I waited in the hall, car keys in hand and tried to burn the image of what I’d just seen out of my mind.

“It’s completely healthy, you know!” Kelly lectured me all the way home, telling me about a group she belonged to where they get together at an pretend day care center, sleep in cribs, and get changed by large German Nannies. It didn’t matter. As I dropped her off at her house, I deleted her name and number from my cell phone – a first for me. I shuddered all the way home and showered for an hour.

Just before I fell asleep, I wondered if this was a setup by the Bombays. Maybe they were developing some new “Erection Assassination” program. For once, I felt like there was something worse than death.

CHAPTER FIVE

“And now for something completely different . . . “

- Announcer, Monty Python’s Flying Circus

The next morning I was having this dream where all the blondes in the world were trying to change my diaper when the doorbell rang.

I thought about letting it go. But then I remembered that I was meeting Paris and shrugged on pajamas and a bathrobe and answered the door.

“Dakota Bombay?” asked a tall, thin man in a cheap suit. Damn. I should have checked the security monitors. I’m getting too sloppy.

Oh well. Maybe he’d put me out of my misery. We always lived with the fear of being offed by the competition. So be it. Death would be welcome.

I sighed. “Yes.”

The man extended his hand. “Bob Riley from Child Welfare Services.”

Oh shit! Had Kelly called this guy for abuse of a minor? It sounded twisted, but my brain was outpacing rationale.

I shook his hand. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t alone. Standing next to Bob Riley was a little blonde kid with enormous blue eyes, staring at me.

“May we come in, Mr. Bombay?” Bob asked, and I ushered them into the living room.

“What’s this about?” I demanded. I couldn’t take my eyes off the kid, who suddenly grinned, revealing a crooked smile and a gap between his two front teeth.

“I realize this may come as somewhat of a shock, Mr. Bombay, but this is your son. Louis.”

That’s when I knew there was a conspiracy against me. “What . . . what did you say?” I gasped.

Bob frowned as if he disapproved of my response. “This is your son. His mother -” he looked at a clipboard - “Helga Torvald, died a month ago. In her will, she stipulated that her son live with his biological father. That’s you.”

My jaw hurt from being locked in an open expression. “My son? I don’t have any children.  There must be some mistake!” I looked at the kid and watched his smile vanish. Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that. It wasn’t this kid’s fault.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Bombay.” Bob handed me some paperwork that listed me as the father of Louis Torvald. There were photos of me and Helga together in a hot tub. But she looked just like all of the other women I’d dated.

Bob Riley stood up and took back the clipboard. Here is my number. Call me if you have any questions.” He turned and headed toward the door.

I raced after him. “Wait! You can’t just leave this kid here.”

Bob turned to face me, and I toyed with killing him. “His name is Louis, Mr. Bombay. And he’s your son. Where else would I leave him?” He was gone before I could respond.

I stared at the door for quite a while, trying to absorb this information. It couldn’t be true! The kid was like, five or six! Why didn’t this Helga tell me I’d fathered a child?

Then it hit me. It was a joke! Gin knew Mom was giving me a hard time about having kids. She obviously set this up! I gave Louis some cookies (what kid doesn’t love cookies? I love cookies) and called Gin, Liv and Paris, telling them to come over immediately. I was dressed before the doorbell rang.

My sister and two cousins arrived at the exact same time - proof that they were all in on this! I led them to the dining room where Louis was sitting at the table, his legs dangling a foot or so off the ground. He looked up with a smile. I knew it!

“A-ha!” I proclaimed, pointing at the boy. Actually, I was pretty proud of the fact I’d figured it out. It was a very good joke.

“A-ha what?” Gin asked, eyes bulging as she took in the kid. “Who’s this?”

Liv clapped her hands together. “He’s adorable! Are you babysitting?” Ever the maternal type, she ran over and hugged Louis.

Paris eyed me suspiciously. “Man, you went to a lot of trouble to get out of working today. I never thought you’d pull something like this.”

“What?” My triumphant face fell. “It’s a joke, right? You set me up with that Bob Riley from Child Services and Louis.” Right?

“Dak.” Gin stared at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”

I looked around the table and knew I was screwed. It wasn’t a joke. Shit.

Gin called Mom and Dad and there I was, explaining to the whole family about my new son, Louis. Who, by the way, hadn’t said a word the whole time.

Mom ran over and gathered the boy in her arms. Louis snuggled against her with a shy grin.

“I can’t believe this!” Gin sounded angry. “You are so irresponsible!”

“He’s absolutely wonderful!” Liv said, eyes shining.

Mom piped up, “He looks just like you did when you were . . . um, how old is Louis?”

Paris glared at me, presumably pissed because we weren’t going to work on his beloved project for the Council today. Dad gave me the thumbs up. Of course then I remembered that his thumbs were the only thing on him going up lately. I shuddered.

“Louis,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Grandma asked how old you are.”

The boy looked at me for a moment, then turned to Mom and threw his arms around her neck. He still hadn’t said a word, but Mom was in heaven.

“So,” Gin asked, “what are you going to do?”

I ran my hands through my hair. What was I going to do? “I have no idea.”

“I’d say he’s about Romi and Alta’s age,” she said quietly. “You’ll have to enroll him in their school so they can show him around.”

“And don’t forget to add him to your insurance,” Liv added.

“You’ll need a sitter for this afternoon,” Paris growled, still obviously fixated on work.

Dad just sat there and grinned. Thanks, Dad.

“You’ll need to turn the guest room into his room,” Mom said in a love-struck voice. “And we’ll have to go shopping for clothes and toys!” Clearly, I was now off the hook with her in the grandkid department. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel better.

“Hold on!” I brought my hands up in front of me to hold the maternal brigade off. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“Do?” Mom glared at me, “What do you mean? He’s your son, Dak! You have to take care of him. Raise him!”

“And being yours by blood,” Paris interrupted, “you’ll have to start training him.”

Gin would have said something if she wasn’t on the phone telling Diego to bring Romi over immediately to meet her new cousin.

The whole room erupted in discussion. I stumbled backwards, falling into a chair and slumped in defeat. We hadn’t even determined paternity, and everyone assumed Louis was part of the family.

I had to give it to the kid. He really glowed with all the praise and adoration. But he still hadn’t said anything. What was up with that? Plus, I realized that having a new son would put a serious crimp in my mission to prove my manhood.

My head hurt. Between the run of bad-women luck, the crazy assignment from the Council and the appearance of my “son,” I was pretty sure one of the arteries throbbing on my forehead would burst. Maybe I should get Gin and Diego to agree to be his guardians once I died from this.

“Well, I think that went rather well.” A small voice seemed to emanate from my alleged son. I peeked cautiously through the fingers that covered my eyes.

“Excuse me?” I asked, mouth agape (which, by the way, is not a good look for me).

Louis came over and sat at the table next to me, his chin resting in his hand. “I’m not saying it was perfect, but it was good. My new family is very nice.”

I stared at him. The damn kid hadn’t uttered a word the whole time! Now he sounded like. . .like an old Jewish comedian working in the Catskills.

“S’up Sheckie? Why are you talking now?” I asked.

The so-called fruit of my loins responded, “Sheckie? Come on, Dad. I can barely stand Louis. Mom thought it sounded intelligent.”

“How old are you?” I asked. Maybe he was a midget teenager. Then I wouldn’t need a sitter.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Not very good at this, are you? I’m six.”

“You’re shitting me!” I said before I could stop myself.

Louis frowned. “You’re not supposed to use that kind of language around me.” He looked around the room, “Actually, this place seems more like a bachelor pad than a home for a kid.”

He was right. I didn’t know what to do. This kid was freaking me out.

“So, what are the schools like here?” Louis continued. “Mom moved around a lot, so I’ve been exposed to several different curricula.”

I searched my mind for info on his mother. I don’t think I ever dated anyone as smart as this kid. Where did the brains come from?

“Romi seems nice. Although a little young. I’m used to older companions.”

Companions? What kind of six-year-old referred to other kids as companions? I rolled my eyes. “Used to spending time with physicists and philosophers, are you?”

Then Louis did something that made my heart sink. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. I’d seen that expression all my life on my grandmother’s, mother’s and sister’s faces. My god. He really was my son. The realization was too much. All the blood that should have been flowing to my cock (hear that, you stupid prick?) drained to my feet. Which was how I ended up in a clump on the floor.

CHAPTER SIX

“Blinded by the light. Remmed up like a docent in the humble of the might.”

- Paul, The Vacant Lot

Mom and Gin showed up later that night with shopping bags full of clothes, toys and more presents than I ever got. Of course, they were for Louis. While Mom bathed him and tucked him into my old guest room, Gin lectured me on what I needed to do to register him for school the next day.

“You should get to Kennedy Elementary early so they can show you around and he can even sit in on a class.” Gin was focused. This was her thing. Gin was even in the PTA.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of taking him to the hospital.”

My sister looked alarmed, “Why? Is he sick?”

“No. I just thought I’d get a head start on the paternity test.”

Gin frowned and narrowed her eyes. Just like Louis had. They could be mother and son. I gulped.

“Dak! That boy is your son.  His mother just died.  If you run him in for the tests tomorrow, he’ll think you don’t want him.”

“I don’t want him!” I cried.

Gin responded with a right cross to my jaw. She was good. That was going to leave a mark.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Uh oh. “You, little brother, are going to grow up, once and for all. You were stupid enough to ignore birth control, and now you’re gonna be a man or I will kill you.” I was pretty sure she meant it.

“What’s all the yelling out here?” Mom came out of my guest . . . um, Louis’s room, that same Louisy scowl on her face. “I just got him to sleep.  What is wrong with you two?”

Gin threw her arms up into the air and dropped into a chair. I thought that looked like a good idea, so I sat on the couch.

“I think you’d better stay the night, Mom.” I was pretty sure she’d turn me down. But I was way over my head here.

“Of course,” she responded. Apparently I’d underestimated her maternal instincts. I gave her a dazzling smile.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Dakota.” She sighed. “I’m doing this because I’m afraid if I don’t, you’ll sneak off to the bars tonight, leaving my grandson alone.”

She can read minds? You know, that explains so much.

“Well, thanks for that vote of confidence,” I responded.

“So. You’re a father now,” Gin said. “What are you going to do to take care of my nephew?”

I looked at the two most important women in my life. Mom, who coddled and spoiled me. Gin, who taught me how to sight a sniper rifle and used to beat up my bullies. And who very recently saved my life. Damn. I was totally screwed.

“I’ll take him to school tomorrow. Then, this weekend, I’ll find something for us to do together. Get to know him, that kind of thing.” I sounded mature, but really I was just saying what I thought they wanted to hear.

“I think this will be really good for you, Dak,” Gin said as she picked up her jacket from the back of the couch. “Maybe you’ll grow up.” She kissed Mom on the cheek and made it out the door before I could say something really cutting and witty. I don’t know what that would have been, but if I had something, I would’ve said it.

Mom brought her duffle bag in from the car and in minutes had changed into jammies. She took my room (it was closer to Louis), and I had the couch.

I’d bought the sofa for its make-outability. I’ve never had to sleep on it. Oh well. I had a son now. It was time to make sacrifices. As I lay there, uncomfortable as hell, I thought that at least I’d given Mom what she wants. Maybe she’d back off on the whole notion of me getting married. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. I got the kid without the work.

“When are you going to give Louis a mother?”

I woke up to find Carolina Bombay standing over me. I looked at the clock. 3:45 a.m.

“Jeez, Mom! Go to bed!” I was pissed. I’d been in the middle of this dream where I was being bathed by naked Nordic women. And they were giggling. A lot.

Mom sighed her eternal sigh of martyrdom (after forty years, she really had it down) and padded off to my room. Fortunately, I was able to pick up the dream again. Unfortunately, we’d apparently gotten past the sex and were all fully clothed. Thanks, Mom.

I got up a few hours later and sat in the kitchen with a cup of black coffee. It was way too early for Louis or Mom to be up but I couldn’t sleep.

My masculinity was in serious trouble and I knew it. In the last few days I’d had erectile dysfunction twice, fainted, and got socked on the jaw by my sister and bullied by Mom. My life was completely messed up and I didn’t have anyone I could kill . . . I mean blame. Now all I had was no sex life, actual marketing work for the family, and a son. What the hell?

It was obvious that Gin wouldn’t take Louis and raise him. She was my best shot. Maybe Mom would, but then she would’ve taken him home last night. I walked down the hall to my guest . . . I mean son’s room. The walls were covered with airplanes, trains and cars. How in the hell did they wallpaper that room without me knowing? That’s creepy.

My eyes rested on Louis. He looked pretty cute all curled up and sleeping. I know this will sound weird, but I do love kids. Romi has me wrapped around her cute little finger. I just thought I had more time for fatherhood. And I kind of expected a kid who talked like a kid, not Einstein.

Louis sighed and rolled over. He looked so small. I remembered that he was here because his mom was dead. The guilt hit me harder than Gin’s right cross. This little kid was holding up well, especially being with the dad he never knew. I should cut him some slack. He wasn’t really responsible for my problems.

I don’t know how long I stood there watching him, but it must have been a while because the doorbell rang. The Thomas the Train clock said 7 a.m.

Gin and Romi pushed past me through the doorway and raced off to Louis’s room. Obviously, they both thought I was completely useless. I followed them to find Mom fully dressed (how the hell did she do that in the time it took me to answer the door?) with Gin choosing Louis’s clothes. Louis and Romi were in the kitchen having cereal for breakfast. I must move in slow motion, I thought to myself. Either that or I was experiencing a blackout. How did these women move so damned fast?

So, being totally ignored, I showered and dressed. At 8 a.m. we rolled out like some Secret Service caravan – Gin’s black minivan, my black SUV and Mom’s black Town Car. In minutes we pulled up in front of Kennedy Elementary.

“Here are some forms that need to be filled out by the parent,” Mrs. White, the secretary, informed me. Mr. Steuland took Louis down to his new classroom. Gin had just returned from dropping Romi at her class, and Mom stared at me as if she thought I was about to sprout two new heads.

I turned toward the paperwork. How hard could this be?

Full name. Um. Louis Torvald-Bombay. Middle name? Shit. Tripped up by the second question. That couldn’t be good. I looked up at Gin and Mom, but they wouldn’t know either. I’d just skip that. Address – no problem. Parents’ information – easy. Date of birth. Uh oh. I could just make that up, I guess. But that would make me look stupid when Louis (and I was pretty sure he would) corrected me.

I tried to skip it, but the questions just got harder. Social Security number? Kids had those? I didn’t get one until I turned twelve. Physical ailments? Should I put overdeveloped brain? Medical history and shots? Dental exam? I was so screwed.

“Um -” I looked up at Mrs. White - “can I take this home with me and bring it back?” Mom and Gin looked at each other like they knew I couldn’t do it.

“Certainly, Mr. Bombay.” Mrs. White smiled. “Your sister explained the situation. I imagine you have paperwork on your son at home. Just bring it in tomorrow morning.”

Gin scolded me on the way out to the car, “You don’t know his middle name?” She stopped walking and looked back at the school. “They aren’t supposed to let him attend school without a physical.”

I was getting sick of her. “Don’t go back there and tell them that! I have five hours to myself today and I need it.”

She turned toward me. “This is not all about you!”

“Just shut up, Gin!” Oooh. Oscar Wilde I ain’t.

“I could just kill you for being so irresponsible!” she yelled.

“I should kill you just for hitting me yesterday!” I shouted back.

“Knock it off, or I’ll kill both of you,” Mom hissed. That worked. Mainly because we knew she could. And she’d make it hurt, too. There was no quarter given where Mom was concerned.

The three of us stormed off to our cars, agreeing to meet back at the school at 3 p.m. I went home and called that pencil neck who dropped off my son, wondering if the Council would allow me to kill him for not telling me my son’s middle name. Priorities, I told myself. Get the paperwork first – kill him later.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Have you ever tried to pick up your teeth with broken fingers?”

- Fergus, The Crying Game

The next thirty-six hours (that’s how assassins think – in hours, not days) were a blur. Bob Riley apologized profusely for not giving me the paperwork. Of course, you’ll do that when hanging upside down out of a window four stories above a concrete parking lot.

I had to give Helga credit. She’d kept medical records from the day (October 1, 2000) Louis was born. He didn’t have a middle name, though. How weird is that? While in Bob’s office, I filled out some paperwork (which he assured me would be processed immediately - turns out Bob’s a little scared of heights) to add my last name to his.

Louis and I settled into a sort of routine. I took him to school and picked him up afterwards. We’d chat about nothing serious – mostly because I couldn’t understand a word he said – get through dinner at a fast-food restaurant, then it would be bedtime and we’d do it all over again.

I think the kid and I were warming up to each other. But I hadn’t had sex in a week and that was a serious dry spell for me.

Since I couldn’t do much about the sex with Louis around, I agreed to meet Paris to go over the marketing project after dropping Junior off at school the next day.

“This is due in eight days,” Paris said.

I sighed. “I know. So let’s get to it.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Liv says you’re spending the weekend with Louis,” he scowled.

I slapped the table. “Listen! Do you want to do this or not? My life hasn’t exactly been a bunch of roses lately! Cut me some slack or do it yourself!”

Paris leaned back. “All right. I get it. Sorry I’ve been pushing it. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind with the kid and celibacy and all. Let’s talk about it now and get it over with.”

I shook my head. “Let’s not. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last four days. I’d rather be distracted by this crap.”

Paris studied me for a moment, then nodded. He’d been my best friend since we were little kids. Hell, we even trained together. So he knew when to give up.

“All right,” he said, “I’ve gone over this stuff and noticed that in the last two years, our assignments have decreased by twenty-five percent.”

I tapped my pencil. “Maybe there are fewer people to kill? Maybe they don’t have as many assignments to hand out anymore?”

“No, I don’t think so. Look at these figures.” He pushed his laptop toward me. “Our work load has been steady for four thousand years. This is the first time we’ve had a drop off.”

“Okay. So you think we need to work on our image?”

Paris nodded. “I’ve come up with some ideas. Nowadays, companies use branding to reinforce their status with consumers. I’ve been working on some logos.” He slid the laptop toward me again.

“Jesus, Paris!” The screen was filled with every image of death you could imagine but with a Madison Avenue-type spin. There were skulls, coffins and nooses superimposed over staplers, file folders and computers (staplers?). “I don’t know about this.”

“Okay.” Paris pushed another key on the laptop. “How about this?”

You might think that as an assassin, I’d seen everything. And up until this moment, I would have agreed with you. But we’d both be wrong. Dead wrong.

There, on the screen, in full color, was Grandma, dressed like the Orkin Man, holding an Uzi instead of bug spray or whatever the hell it is that they hold. She was smiling, standing next to the legs and feet of an apparently dead man. The caption read: “Bombay Pest Exterminators – Discreet and Efficient Disposal of Your Problems Since 2000 BCE.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked Paris. Maybe he was.

A hurt look crossed his face. “No. I’m not This is what I came up with.”

“Jesus, Par! You can’t do that.”

Paris threw his pen at the table. “Well, if you’d been here to help me, I could’ve come up with something better!”

“If you think for one minute I’d rather have a dick malfunction, dating problems and a new son, you’re more screwed up than I thought you were!” I shouted.

Paris sank his face into his hands. “Crap,” was all he said.

I took a few minutes to calm down. This wasn’t his fault. None of it was. “I’m sorry.” And I was, too. I’m not all bad. “You’ve got me all day. Let’s see if we can come up with something else.”

Paris looked at me, and after a moment he smiled. Good. Because this exterminator stuff had to go. Especially the hard hats. Chicks don’t dig hard-hat hair.

Two hours later, we’d come up with a sadistic play on Nike’s “Just Do It,” and a terrible rendition of the Vegas ads, “What happens with the Bombays stays with the Bombays.” Nothing clicked. We were just ripping off the big boys.

Apparently, my marketing skills were rusty. After promising Paris that I would spend the night thinking about our project, I called Gin and arranged for her to pick up Louis from school and keep him overnight (she was thrilled, by the way). Then I headed to my local public library to get some research materials.

You might think you could find anything at a library. But you’d be wrong. Apparently, no one writes books on marketing for mom-and-pop assassination corporations. I found stuff on selling your retail, non-profit, Internet, wholesale and general services companies. There was guerrilla marketing, viral marketing, and other crap, but nothing geared toward maintaining interest from the same clients, and certainly nothing on working with the CIA, Interpol, or others.

The closest I came was a book on the management of death. No kidding. It’s target readership seemed to be funeral homes, crematoriums, cemeteries, etc. Apparently, death was a growth industry. (Hmmm, death and erectile dysfunction. I wonder if there really is a conspiracy.)  Still, I’d been here three hours and came up with nothing, so I reached for the book.

A tall redhead snatched it before I could. She literally took the book out from under me, and it was the only copy.

“Hey!” I whined. “I was going to check that out!”

The woman turned to me. “So?” She frowned and began to walk away. Oh my god. It was Leonie Doubtfire!

“Hey!” I shouted. My vocabulary had apparently abandoned me. “Wait a minute.”

“Yes?” she asked a bit impatiently.

I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. She looked like a child or woodland fairy. All of my atoms were riveted to the spot, and I couldn’t move.

The redhead rolled her eyes and walked away. And I stood there, like an idiot, saying nothing.

After about two minutes, I uprooted myself and went back to the marketing section. I found myself in a daze, grabbing about five or six books at random and checking them out. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in my car trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

She didn’t remember me! Me! That had never happened before.  Nope. Every woman I’d ever met remembered me. I stood out of the crowd. Women wanted me, dammit! Why didn’t Leonie Doubtfire want me? And why hadn’t I said anything? Oh my god! I’ve lost it.  I’ve really lost it!

When I got home, I opened the yellow pages to physicians, therapists, stylists and priests. My mojo, sexuality and ego were AWOL. Obviously, I needed some help.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I bet it was that mouth that got you that nose.”

- The Boss, Lucky Number Slevin

Gin called the next morning, informing me (not asking, mind you) that she and Liv were taking all the kids to the zoo for the day. They must have turned me in to the Bombay Hotline, because Paris called within seconds, telling me I had one hour to get over there to work. I numbly agreed to all of the above and soon found myself back at my cousin’s apartment.

“Mr. Skeevy died,” Paris said as he opened the door.

“Who?” The name didn’t sound like someone I’d killed recently. I’d remember a name like that. Hell, in my opinion you’d kill someone just because he had a name like that.

“You know – our old gym teacher,” Paris replied with a frown. He was doing a lot of that lately.

“Wow. I thought he already was dead.” And I did too. Mr. Skeevy had been ancient when we were in school. I shuddered a little. He’d been a really weird dude. At more than six feet tall, Skeevy didn’t take a lot of crap. He’d put in a long tour as a sniper in ‘Nam and loved to bounce smart-ass boys off the lockers. Guess which kind of boy I was. I shuddered again, massaging my right shoulder.

He also had this unnerving habit of putting the starter pistol to his head, pulling the trigger and shouting, “Try again, motherfuckers!” Where normal physical education consisted of dodge ball, track and field and flag football, we played games like “Tet Offensive” and “Hanoi Hilton.” Of course, that was before corporal punishment (and Chinese water torture) was banned from schools.

So you were basically screwed. “The visitation’s tonight. Funeral tomorrow,” Paris continued.

“Don’t tell me you’re going!” I was kind of surprised. Skeevy was always harder on Paris. “Oh, I get it. You want to make sure he’s dead.”

“Yes, I’m going. But out of respect,” Paris sniffed.

“Who are you? And where is the pod that holds Paris’s body?”

He rolled his eyes. “Man, what is your problem? He wasn’t that bad.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Not that bad? He hated us!”

“No, he hated you. You teased him.”

I sat back. “He always chose you to be the prisoner at the Hanoi Hilton!”

Paris’s eyes flew open wide, and I wondered if I’d awakened a repressed memory. “God. Can you be serious for like, five minutes? You really are an ass these days!”

Okay, he had me there. I was a snarky bastard. Paris was my best friend, but I had the bad habit of pushing him too far lately. I needed him.

“I’ll go with you. Just don’t expect any tears. After all, I wanted to kill him all through junior high.”

We settled down to work, Paris on his laptop, me with the binders and pads of paper. That’s how I like to brainstorm. We only had a few days left to come up with something brilliant, and I had to focus.

“What about giveaways?” Paris asked. I looked down at the paper and to my shock realized I’d been drawing a picture of the redhead from the bookstore.

“What do you mean?” I asked, casually trying to scribble out the picture.

“You know, some companies give out pens. Some give out calendars. Others do those stress squeezy thingies.”

“You want us to give out calendars?” Now I knew the pod people had him. Wharton grads didn’t hand out junk like that. Although we could do it as a gag to piss off the Council. Maybe we could do chimps in black suits with silenced pistols.

“Not necessarily. Maybe we could do those stress thingies in different shapes?”

I could just picture that. We could give out squeezy Colt .45’s, or giant cyanide pills. Riiiiiiight.

I pushed back from the table. “Apparently, we’re not only out of ideas – we never had any to begin with.”

Paris sighed, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You’re right. Slogans, logos and promotional materials don’t sell what we do.”

“Results do. That’s the only thing people in our line understand.”

He nodded. “All right. So maybe instead of coming up with some slick campaign, we should find out why our results aren’t making as big an impact on our clients.”

“Yes. We could do some cost analysis and research into who our competition is.” Now we were getting somewhere.

“But how do we find out about the other agencies? It’s not like they’d run an ad in the yellow pages or have a website.”

Hmmmm. He had a point. But for once I felt like we were on top of this. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to figure it out. We still have a few connections. Let’s use them.”

“Will that be enough for the Council?” Undoubtedly he was still holding on to the idea of squeezy thingies shaped like ice picks.

“If we can provide the solution, they’ll be much happier. And we’ll throw in a chimpanzee calendar for fun.”

That night, we changed clothes and headed to Skeevy’s visitation. Mom had commandeered Louis from Gin, demanding grandma time, mumbling something about me not picking him up until Sunday night. To my surprise, I felt a little sad about not seeing the kid for so long, but I shook it off. After all, Paris and I could hit the bars after the visitation and maybe I’d score. Hell, maybe I could pick up a hot little relative at the funeral home.

In spite of Skeevy, I’d really dressed up. A navy Ralph Lauren blazer, gold shirt, red tie and khakis, my hair tousled, and I looked like a prep-school smoothie. Look out, ladies.

Now I don’t spend a lot of time at funeral homes (you probably think I would, wouldn’t you?) but I didn’t even know this one existed. I mean, the name Crummy’s Funeral Home would stand out. If any business needed a marketing plan, I’d think this one would. Although I thought it was perfect for Skeevy.

Why in the hell would anyone use a place called Crummy’s? Even engraved Mont Blanc pens and little squeezy caskets wouldn’t help sell this place. I laughed as we approached the door, realizing someone had bigger problems than Paris and I did.

The outside of the building was bland. It was just a one-story, brick building with no embellishments. Inside was, well, beige. The carpet, walls and furniture were beige. The art on the walls were different variations of beige. Even the morticians were dressed in taupe. Yeesh. I know it’s a death industry, but enliven things up already. The only person who didn’t look like a zombie was a beige-suited young woman with flaming red hair.

“Good evening,” said the redhead from the library somberly. Then she looked at me. “Oh, it’s you.”

I was completely stunned (and more than a little excited that she recognized me). Now I knew why she needed that book more than me.

Paris introduced himself with great charm, to my strange irritation.

“Leonie Doubtfire.” She shook Paris’s hand, then reached for mine. “And you are?”

I said nothing, just stared at her hand as if it were a cobra ready to strike. (I say cobra affectionately. It was Great-great Uncle Arkansas’ modus operandi – difficult to import, but very Cleopatra.)

Paris nudged me, and I clumsily grabbed her hand. “Bombay. Er . . . Dakota Bombay.” That was smooth. I’d never blown an introduction before.

“You must be with the Skeevy party,” she said, and I nodded like an idiot. “They’re in the Algonquin Room.” She gave us a forced smile, then moved on to another couple who had just entered the funeral home.

All I could do was stand there, staring after her. My heart was beating a violent tattoo. What was wrong with me?

Paris nudged me again, and I shook myself out of the trance. He looked concerned but said nothing about my reaction. We followed the signs to the Algonquin Room and saw Old Skeevy laid out in his coffin at the head of the room. His family had chosen to bury him in his old gym uniform. Creepy. Seeing his corpse made me shudder, and I felt a ghost pain in my right shoulder. The geezer still scared the shit out of me after all of these years, in spite of the fact that he was dead and I was now a professional killer.

I turned my thoughts to more pleasant things, like Leonie Doubtfire.  What a weird name. What a weird-looking chick. Why couldn’t I get her out of my head?

“Hey,” Paris whispered to me, “I’ve got two of Skeevy’s nieces willing to hit the clubs with us later.” I looked in the direction he pointed and saw two petite blondes (who obviously hadn’t inherited anything from the deceased) wiggle their fingers at us.

“Yeah. Sure,” I responded in a fog. I watched as he went over and told them I was in. They giggled with delight. It could be fun. As long as their idea of a drinking game wasn’t Russian Roulette, it might even be a good time.

For some reason, I took the opportunity to flee the room. I wandered the hallways of Crummy’s, looking for . . . for what? Maybe I just needed a break.

“So,” Leonie said from behind me. “Come here often?”

I turned to face her, somewhat pissed off. “How do you know I’m not a relative of the deceased and would find your comment inappropriate?”

She shrugged and walked away. I was just about to go after her and apologize when Paris grabbed my arm and steered me toward the door where the two Skeevy girls waited for us. As the four of us climbed into my car, I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe a little bamboo under the fingernails was what I deserved.

CHAPTER NINE

Prince Charmont: “You’re the first maiden who hasn’t swooned at the sight of me.”

Ella of Frell: “Then maybe I’ve done you some good.”

- Ella Enchanted

Saturday night was a total bust. Turns out the girls were Catholic (the real kind, not like the ones I knew in college who were Catholic only on Sundays) and didn’t believe in fooling around. It’s just as well. I wasn’t interested. All I could think of was Leonie Doubtfire.

But why? She was totally against my type. The willowy redhead obviously wasn’t blonde, didn’t fall all over me at first sight, and there was zero giggling. A little giggling always went a long way with me.

And that’s why I was at the funeral home again the next morning for Skeevy’s last hurrah.

“I don’t get it,” Paris whispered. “I thought it was nice to go to the visitation, but why are we back?”

An old woman in a lilac polyester suit seated in the pew ahead turned around to glare at us.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Paris persisted despite my attempts at ignoring him. He was pointing at Leonie.

“If you must know, yes. There’s something about her I can’t get out of my head.”

“You came to a funeral just to pick up a mortician?” Paris asked.

Angry Lady in front turned around again. Apparently, she disapproved. I ignored her.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”

“Jesus, Dak,” Paris replied.

Angry Lady turned around again, “Do you boys mind? This is a funeral!”

I stuck my tongue out at her while Paris apologized. Real mature, I know.

I caught up with the object of my confusion after the ceremony. Skeevy was being cremated – which seemed fitting – so there was no gravesite burial.

“Um, hey,” I said gallantly. “Would you like to go out and get a cup of coffee or something?”

Leonie frowned. Why was everyone frowning at me lately? “Why?” she asked, reducing me to the size of a castrated ant.

“Why not?” was all my lame brain could come up with.

She stared at me for a moment, her gray eyes sizing me up. I felt like I was being inspected for maggot infestation.

“Sure,” she said, and I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’ll meet you at the café on the corner in an hour.” Then she turned and walked away.

I pretty much dragged Paris to the car, drove him to his house at 80 mph, then returned to the café to wait for my coffee date. That left me with thirty minutes, most of which I spent finding the right casual pose in my chair.

Of course the minute she walked in, I realized I had a bigger problem. What was I going to say to her?

“It’s Dakota, right?” she asked as she sat. Her smile was fleeting, causing me some doubt. But I reminded myself that she was here, after all. And that could only be seen as a plus.

I nodded. “And you are Leonie.” Ooh. Smooth.

“Now that we have our names down, what should we talk about? I take it you didn’t want to meet me to discuss your future funeral arrangements.” Was that . . . did I see a flash of a smile?

The words came to me as if Paris were my Cyrano, feeding me lines via radio from his car in the parking lot. Then I cursed myself for not thinking of having him do just that. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was rude.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, that. No big. I figured you were just choked up.”

Oh. Right. About Skeevy. Of course she’d think that. I was torn here because I didn’t want any woman to think I was choked up over a creepy, geriatric gym teacher.

“Well, I also shouldn’t have yelled at you at the library.” And then, my inner Daniel Webster dried up. Cyrano failed me. Leonie had better come up with something to say or this would be a long coffee date.

“Oh, yeah.” She ran long, white fingers through her blazing red curls. “I need that book. When I bought the mortuary, I didn’t realize I had to keep the name. So I’ll take any help I can get.”

“You bought Crummy’s?”

“Just a few months ago. Moved here from Oregon. I thought I could make it work.” She sighed and shook her head. Her lips had this adorable little pout that made me want to nibble on them. I held myself back.

“So you really are a mortician, then?”

Leonie narrowed her eyes at me. “Not really. It’s just my cover. I’m trying to re-animate human life using parts of several dead people.”

A joke. I liked that. “I guess that was a stupid question.”

She nodded in agreement and I felt my stock go down twenty points. “It’s my family’s business. That and I have a morbid fascination with death.”

I could relate to that – carrying on the family business, working with dead people. (Actually, they weren’t dead when I started working with them, but that’s just plain nitpicking.)  “What brought you here?”

“I didn’t want to work at the family’s home. I thought I’d strike out on my own. I saw the ad for this place in our monthly industrial rag and just took a shot.”

The conversation was so different than any other I’d had with a woman I was interested in. (Actually, there usually was very little conversation at all.)  Leonie was serious, career-minded and intelligent. None of these were qualities I used to look for in a woman.

It took us two hours to get past the pleasantries: name, rank and Social Security Number. Which I know you shouldn’t give out these days. What surprised me was that I was having a good time.

Leonie looked at her watch. “Damn. I’ve got to run.”

“So soon?” I asked as if I didn’t know we’d been there over two hours.

She nodded, and then something miraculous happened. She smiled. And I felt my insides turn into primeval ooze. Nothing any woman had ever done before made me feel so good. Weird, eh?

“Tell you what.” She leaned forward and looked me in the eyes. “Why don’t I take you out for dinner two nights from now?”

I used every atom in my body to keep from jumping on the table and dancing lewdly. “Great! How about Taschetta’s at eight o’clock?”

Leonie smiled again. “I’ll meet you there.” And then she left.

I was so exhausted and spent I thought I’d just come from an all-night orgy. (Man, I missed those parties.)  Who knew women could be interesting? And a date. How cool is that? Maybe things were looking up!

After a few little Gene Kelly hops on the light posts outside (no rain though, which was good because it would have mussed my perfect hair), I finally made it to my car. I picked up Louis, a pizza, and the two of us watched X-Men movies until I realized it was way past his bedtime. Mom had told me to make it eight p.m., but it was well past ten already. I tucked my son into his bed, then collapsed into mine. My last thoughts before sleep claimed me were of Leonie and her pretty little pout.

“What’s this?” I asked Louis in regard to the yellow flier he handed me after school. Gin, Liv and I sat on benches at the school’s playground.

“It’s a notice from the principal.” Louis eyed me sternly. Romi and Alta shouted for him, and he ran off to play.

I scanned the note with a bit of awe. I was a parent now. I got important, goldenrod-colored memos from the school. How cool was that?

But something in the words made me read it again.

“What the hell?” I said aloud. Gin shushed me and I waved her off. “It says they’re banning the games of tag and flag football for being too violent.” I looked at my sister and cousin. “Did you see this?”

Gin and Liv had the contents of their children’s backpacks sprawled on the benches beside them. I made an effort to emulate them without really knowing why – other than that must be what all the cool parents do.

“Unbelievable,” Gin cried. “It says running has the potential to cause collisions. And pulling the flags off the belt can result in chafing.”

Liv nodded grimly. “I’ve heard of this. It’s already going on in other states. I’m afraid this is what we’re heading toward.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why? Does this make any sense?”

Gin replied, “Not to us. But the area schools have been getting more safety conscious lately.”

I made a face. “In thirty years, have you ever heard of anyone maimed on this playground?” Again they shook their heads. “I don’t remember anyone dying from playing tag. It would be all over the news.”

Gin cocked her head to the side. “It would be. Kid dies in bizarre tag collision. Children severed at the waist from tight flag football belts.”

“Pretty soon, the kids won’t even get to play on the playground,” Liv chimed in.  “All they’ll be allowed to do at recess is stand up against the building.”

“That’s screwed up- ” I ignored Gin’s shushing- “’cuz this stuff is safer than what we had. Now they have soft, rubber mats. We had skin-shredding gravel underneath.”

Gin nodded. “And all the equipment is molded plastic with no seams or edges. We had splintered wood and rusty, jagged metal.”

“Don’t forget the kind of equipment,” Liv added. “Merry-go-rounds that spun you into another county, two-story-tall slides with rickety ladders, butt-busting teeter-totters. None of those things even exist now.”

She had a point. “We didn’t even have helmets to ride our bikes with, elbow and knee pads for roller skating, car seats or use seat belts.”

Gin added, “And yet I don’t remember a single kid dying on any of those things when we were growing up.”

I snorted. “Too bad we didn’t have to take out any other kids back then. Apparently, playgrounds would’ve made very useful deathtraps, and we didn’t even know it.”

Liv and Gin shot me looks that burned through my skull, blowing a big, figurative hole out the back of my head.

“So what do we do about this?” I asked.

Gin shook her head. “I don’t know. What do you think, Liv?”

Liv squinted up at the sky. “Well, we are card-carrying members of the PTA. I guess we could attend the next meeting and protest?”

That sounded too difficult, too boring and too administrative. “Let’s kill the PTA President . . . make an example of him and demand they rescind this.” Now that was well within my skill set.

For a moment, I thought my sister and cousin were actually going to consider it.

“I’d give anything to do that, little brother,” Gin sighed.

“Why? Who’s the president?”

“Vivian Marcy.” Liv said.

Oh shit. No wonder Gin wanted to kill her. That bitch had been horrible to my sister when they were growing up.

I didn’t like her either. Once she discovered I was Gin’s little brother, she tormented me too. Her nickname for me was “Dorkota.” Thank god I became a stud in high school or I’d have never lived that down.

“How the hell did she woman get to be in charge of the PTA?” I asked.

Gin turned to me without missing a beat. “She seduced Satan and had his baby, enrolling the incubus at Kennedy.”

“Or she killed the previous PTA president and took his place,” Liv countered.

This lively discussion went on for some time. I sat back and watched Louis playing with the girls. He was showing them how to construct a DNA double helix using leftovers from their lunches. Who knew there were so many uses for Twizzlers and Cheeto balls?

Damn that kid was smart. As I sat there, I felt a sharp surge of affection for him. I was getting those a lot lately. Maybe this dad gig wasn’t bad. Maybe someday, he’d dedicate his Nobel Peace Prize to me.

Of course, he wouldn’t be a scientist. Louis was a Bombay now. And at six years old, he was a year late to begin his training as an assassin. Any day now, Grandma could summon us to Santa Muerta for the bloodletting ceremony.

It wasn’t fair. I just got him, and I’d have to start turning him into a killer. Of course, then we’d have a lot more to worry about than flag football chafing. Damn.

CHAPTER TEN

“I came up with a new game-show idea recently. It’s called The Old Game. You got three old guys with loaded guns onstage. They look back at their lives, see who they were, what they accomplished, how close they came to realizing their dreams. The winner is the one who doesn’t blow his brains out. He gets a refrigerator.”

- Chuck Barris, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

“Why am I doing this again?” Louis looked up from the pieces of the .45 that littered my dining room table. I’d decided to start some of his training that night. So, I’d disassembled the gun to show him how to take it apart and clean it. Well, that and I still hadn’t cleaned it from the last job. Mom had never tolerated dirty guns in the house when we were kids. Our rooms could look like they were trashed by the Sex Pistols, but guns had to be spotless 24/7.

“I’m just teaching you about guns.” Okay. I’m a chickenshit coward. I thought I’d start small and wait until the blood ceremony to fill him in on everything.

Louis poked the bore brush through the gun barrel, sliding it in and out to loosen the dirt. He glanced up at me suspiciously but didn’t say a word.

Mom showed up for her nightly I have to make sure you are raising my grandson right ritual. She frowned when she saw said grandson putting my .45 back together. I was pretty impressed he’d picked it up so quickly. She dragged me by the elbow into the other room.

“What are you doing?” Mom hissed.

“What?” I rubbed my elbow. “I’m starting his training.”

“He’s not ready! The poor kid just joined the family!”

“I know. I’m starting slow. I haven’t given him the lowdown yet, just asked him to help me clean the gun. That’s all.” God! What was her problem?

Mom stuck around for dinner. Apparently Dad was fending for himself while she whipped up a three-course meal for me and Louis. I was actually surprised I had vegetables in my kitchen. Louis hugged her when she was done, and I did the dishes while she put him to bed with a story.

Finally, I got Mom out the door and tucked him in myself.

“Louis,” I started, brushing some of his hair from his forehead. I screwed up my courage to ask him, “What was life with your mom like?”

“It was all right. She was a stewardess, so we moved around a lot. Mom told me her family was dead. I found out later that they weren’t. They were just Republicans.”

“Do you like it here?”

He nodded. “Yup. I love having a big family. The school is pretty good – even if it doesn’t have a talented and gifted program. And Grandma’s a good cook.” He grinned crookedly, the gap between his two front teeth pronounced. How goddamned cute is that?

“Well, I hope I can be a good dad. I’m not used to this, you know? But I’ll figure it out.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Duh. But it’s okay. It’s a steep learning curve. Besides, it’s not like life with Mom was normal. Nitro glycerin is more stable than that.”

I laughed. My kid made a joke. Albeit, a science geek/genius joke, but a joke nonetheless. “Good night, Louis.” I kissed him on the forehead.

“Night, Dad.” He winked, then rolled over and closed his eyes.

I couldn’t sleep that night. There were too many things on my mind. Life used to be so simple. Kill one or two guys a year, sleep with more than 100 blondes a year, no pets, no commitments, and lots of play money.

After tossing and turning in bed, I got up and wandered through my condo with the lights off. I liked it like that. It was so quiet. Like it used to be all the time, actually. Shadows dozed throughout the living room and I sank down onto the couch to watch the lights change as cars went by. It was weird to be wearing silk boxer shorts. I’d been a total nudist all of my life (to Gin’s teenage horror and her sleepover friends’ delight). But with a young, impressionable boy in the house, I thought I’d cover up somewhat.

Maybe I just needed to think. In all honesty, I hadn’t had much time to do that. Not that I was ever much of a thinker, that is. When your philosophy in life is, “What the hell,” you don’t tend to ponder the big questions like “Why are we here?” (Although for many years I labored under the impression that I was here to be utterly adorable and give pleasure to women.)

Things change. Now I had a different purpose. Maybe it was to finally settle down. You know, be a dad for Louis and a lover for Leonie – maybe more. These thoughts kept spinning around in my head as I sat there in the dark.

I had a split second to react to the glint of light I saw out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t alone. Fortunately, the idiot didn’t know I was there.

I slowly turned my head in his direction, careful not to make the springs in the couch creak. There was a guy in my living room! And I’d say from the dark clothing and stocking cap he didn’t enter my house on accident.

In my bare feet, it was easy to get the jump on him before he saw me. Creeping up behind the bastard, I carefully lifted a sculpture off my coffee table and brained him with it. He hit the floor with a thud – no idea what had happened. I looked at the statue of the nude woman in my hand. There was a little crater where her head used to be. Damn. I really liked that piece. Then it occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t have stuff like this with Louis around. I toyed with hitting the thug again, but decided against it.

“Unhhhhhh . . .” The prowler started to come to, just in time to notice my incredible handiwork integrating rope with the kitchen chair. Scoutmaster Thompson would be so proud of me.

I’d already pulled his wallet. What a dumbass. You don’t take your wallet on a job!

“Hey, Bobby John!” I said brightly as he squinted at me.

“Yes, your head hurts and no, I won’t untie you so you can touch it. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

Bobby John Drake’s eyes grew really wide. If this were just a simple breaking and entering, he didn’t expect this. I let him panic a little - which he did rather impressively once he discovered he was completely naked – before continuing.  This was an old trick Uncle Pete taught me. When you’re naked, you feel completely vulnerable.

“So, Bobby John.” I clapped him on the shoulder amiably. “What brings you to my house at -” I looked at the clock - “two a.m.?” I smiled charmingly.

“What the hell, man?” Bobby John whined.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“Why the hell have you tied me up? And what did you do to me?” Tough words. Unfortunately, they were punctuated with nervous squeaks.

I sat in a chair across from him. While he was out, I’d taken the opportunity to dress in jeans, a black cashmere pullover and loafers. I hoped he appreciated the irony of our role reversal.

“You ever seen Reservoir Dogs, Bobby John?” I asked.

He gulped, like they do in cartoons. “Yeah.”

“Remember that scene with Michael Madsen and the cop he has tied to a chair?” I laughed. It was a good scene. A bit graphic when he cuts the cop’s ear off with the straight razor, but still good.

Bobby John responded by wetting himself. Good thing I had solid wood chairs and linoleum flooring. Apparently he had seen that movie.

“So, anyway,” I drew my right leg up, ankle on my left knee. “What are you doing in my house?” I asked casually enough. It wasn’t my fault the man started crying.

“Shit! Shit!” he sputtered. But no answers.

I got up and walked over to my silverware drawer, pulling it open. “I don’t have a straight razor, Bob. You don’t mind if I call you Bob, do you? It’s just that calling a grown man Bobby John makes me want to torture someone.” I pulled a butter knife from the drawer.

“I do have a dull knife though. I s’pose I could do more damage with that anyway.”

“It’s just a job, man!” Bob wept.

I sat across from him again. “What job would that be?”

No response.

I slapped my head. “You know what?” I got up and snagged a fork and a hot dog, bringing them back to the table next to him. “I think I could cause a lot more pain with a fork.” I stuck the fork into the uncooked meat and raked it lengthwise until I had completely shredded the wiener.

“Some guy paid me to do it!” the man squealed. “I don’t know who! He just gave me $500 to come in and check out your place!” The tears were flowing now, and Bob’s skin was turning an alarming shade of red.

I crossed my arms. “Right. What a terrible cliché, Robert. You don’t mind if I call you Robert, do you? It’s just, I get the giggles when I say the name Bob. Did you know that’s a palindrome? It’s spelled the same way forward and backwards.”

“I swear! That’s it! I don’t even know his name!”

“How were you going to report what you found back to him then?”

Bob’s head looked like it was going to explode. He started to scream and I gave him a right hook to the jaw.

“Sorry about that, Robert. I can’t have you waking the neighbors.” I didn’t want to tell him I had my son a short distance away.

Bob nodded like he understood, then continued, “He was going to e-mail me. That’s how I got the job in the first place.”

I stared at him, “You took a job from a stranger over the Internet?” What a loser. If you can’t meet them face to face, it’s probably a setup. Grandma always said if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Good old grandma. I really

loved the gal. Well, except for when she’d been trying to kill me.

Bob sniffled. “I needed the money.” And I had to agree. His now missing wardrobe looked like he shopped in the stealth section of Dollar General. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you. Just find out who all lived here and the layout. That’s it.”

I sighed and pulled the blue Springfield Armory .45 from the back of my jeans and placed it on the table. Bob’s eyes almost burst.

“That’s all you know?” I asked patiently.

There was a moment of silence and I toyed with bringing up the pawn shop scene from Pulp Fiction, but Bob seemed to be telling the truth. He was just a broke, two-bit loser who did something stupendously stupid – like breaking into the condo of a professional assassin. Of course, he didn’t know that.

“What’s this guy’s e-mail address? Does he have a name?” I asked, talking to Bob but looking at the pistol. I loved that gun. It was a gift from Mom on my fifteenth birthday. It was unregistered, of course, and came with a hand-tooled calfskin holster.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Says his name’s Doc Savage.”

If I were a dog, Bob would’ve seen my ears prick up. “Really? The Man of Bronze?” My inner ten-year-old geek kicked in, and I was suddenly transported to my parents’ attic, knee-deep in Kenneth Robeson novels.

Bob squinted at me. “That name mean something to you?”

“I believe I’m the one in charge of this inquisition, Mr. Drake. You don’t mind if I call you Mr. Drake, do you? I do prefer to distance myself from my victims.”

I smiled as he shuddered. The name did, in fact, mean something to me. I’d always wanted to be just like Doc Savage. Independently wealthy, surrounded by willing and knowledgeable henchmen, blonde hair and glowing tan, scouring the world for evil. I’d read all the books and seen the Ron Ely movie a million times. I even wanted a 1930s roadster for my first car, but Mom said it would stand out too much. Bombays never call attention to themselves. So instead of a cool car, I got what all the other kids got – a stupid Chevy Citation.

“That’s all I know,” Bob stammered, “I. . .I. . .I swear!”

I knew he was telling me the truth. There was nothing more to get out of Bob. I slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth and held a liberal dose of Gin’s special knockout drug over his nose until he passed out.

He’d be unconscious for at least ten hours, easy. But what should I do with him? I mean, I couldn’t let my little boy come to breakfast to find an unconscious naked man tied to a chair. After about ten minutes of intense thinking, I dragged him into the cleaning closet, threw a blanket over him and locked the door. That should hold Bobby John Drake till I figured out what the hell to do with him. The question was, what did this all mean?

“Um, Dad?” Louis stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his small fists rubbing sleepy eyes.

I felt a little twinge inside my heart. I was starting to love it when he called me Dad. “What is it? You should be in bed.”

Louis looked around the kitchen, then frowned. “One of the chairs is missing and it smells like a dog peed in here.” His eyes rested on mine. “We don’t have a dog.”

I know you are supposed to be honest with kids, but I couldn’t think of a logical explanation. So I went with the next best thing – making him think he was hallucinating. Putting my hands on his shoulders, I turned him gently toward his room.

“All four chairs are there, and no one had an accident on the floor. You’re still dreaming. Back to bed, now.”

To my immense relief, Louis shrugged and went back to his room, shutting the door behind him. After cleaning up the kitchen, I sat in the living room for a long time trying to figure out what to do next.

A couple of hours later, as I fed my son his Lucky Charms (they are magically delicious) in the living room so he wouldn’t notice the missing chair in the kitchen, I still didn’t have a clue. Zip, zero, nada. Not one single idea what to do with the man in my cleaning closet. When I got back home from dropping Louis off at school, I pulled Drake out of the closet, still attached to the chair.

He stared at me while I dragged him to the kitchen and whimpered as I pulled the tape off of his mouth.

“Okay,” I said amiably, “where were we?”

Bobby John Drake shook his head, indicating he wasn’t much of a talker as of late.

“What kind of grown man goes around as Bobby John?” I asked him. When he didn’t respond, I continued, “Not interested in talking?”

“I don’t have nothing else to say.”

“That’s too bad.” I started looking through cupboards, “Now where did I put that rusty ice pick?”

“I told you all I know!” Bob squealed.

You know what? I believed him. How about that?

“So what do you suggest I do with you?” I asked calmly. Normally I don’t give my victims a chance. They always have to die. But I was feeling a little magnanimous.

“Let me go! I won’t tell Savage anything! I didn’t get very far anyway!”

“Do you know the significance of the name Doc Savage?”

Bob shook his head.

I sighed. “Too bad for you,” I answered as I hit him with the frying pan I never used. As he slumped forward, I thought I probably shouldn’t use it to make my son pancakes anytime soon.

For your information, Bobby John woke up several hours later, naked and penniless, on top of a Dumpster outside a biker bar in East St. Louis. Hey, at least he wasn’t dead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

(Practicing in a mirror before his high school reunion.)

Hi, I’m Martin Blank, you remember me? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, and I’d blow your head off if someone paid me enough.”

- Grosse Pointe Blank

“You’re such a normal guy,” Leonie said before shoving a forkful of fettuccine into her mouth.

“No, not really.” And she would know that if she’d been at my house at 2 a.m. to see Bobby John naked and tied to a chair in my kitchen. But she wasn’t. We were at my favorite Italian restaurant having a typical, average date. It was only natural that she’d think I was normal. Of course I wasn’t sure what a mortician’s idea of normal was.

Leonie nodded. “Sure you are.”

No, I’m not. “You just haven’t gotten to know me yet,” I replied.

Leonie rested her head in her hand. “Let me guess, good college, white-collar degree with postgraduate work, thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and prefers blondes.”

“Shows what you know. I’m an agnostic.” Maybe my cologne gave me away? Or was it the Italian loafers? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my hair. I’d achieved perfection in that arena.

“So, am I right?” She smiled and I thought about taking her right there on the table. Of course, I would not be welcome here again.

“Somewhat. I have a master’s in marketing from an Ivy League school. I’m a consultant. And I’ll admit to a less-than-healthy respect for non-blondes. But that was before I met you.”

Leonie smiled again, and my blood pressure skyrocketed. Suddenly I forgot what color blonde was.

“Well, maybe I can hire you to help me with Crummy’s.”

I felt a sharp stab of guilt. I’d left Paris pretty much in the lurch, and we had to go to Santa Muerta for our presentation in just a few days.

He was even babysitting for me tonight. I made a mental note to make it up to him tomorrow. Flowers? Wine? Maybe one of the blondes at Gin’s spa?

“Okay, but my prices can be steep.”

Leonie laughed. Dinner went beautifully. By the time dessert rolled around, we were swapping bad pick-up lines.

“I think my favorite has to be, ‘Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?’” Leonie said with a smirk.

“You’re kidding. Someone actually used that on you?” Hmmm, I’d have to write that one down later.

She nodded. “And I was wearing hiking boots at the time.” She took a drink from her glass of wine. “I’m having a great time, Dakota.”

I smiled. “Me too. And you can call me Dak.”

“So, what’s up next, Dak?” she asked with a wicked grin. I knew what I wanted to do. But did morticians do that on the first date?

A strange beeping noise broke into my fantasy involving Leonie and me naked . . . anywhere. This would be my first time with a redhead. It almost made me feel like a virgin all over again.

“Damn,” Leonie said.

Oh. The beeping came from her. I watched as she pulled a cell phone from her purse. Leonie frowned at it before putting it away.

“I’m sorry, Dak. I’ve got to go. People are so inconsiderate – dying at the most inopportune moments.”

Oh. Right. In her line of work, she probably got calls at all kinds of weird hours.

I tried to hide my disappointment. “It’s okay. You go and I’ll take care of the check.” I rose from my seat.

Leonie came around to my side of the table, threw her arms around me and kissed me hard on the lips. She smelled like rose water and vanilla and tasted like cabernet. I reached up and tangled my hands in her hair, kissing her like I was devouring chocolate. I wanted her so badly I thought maybe the stiff (as opposed to my stiffy) could wait. What’s a few hours when you’re already dead, anyway?

Finally, she pulled away. “You’re a peach, Dak! I’ll make it up to you!” And then she was gone.

My head was spinning as I paid the tab, grotesquely over- tipped the waiter and flew through the air to Paris’s place.

“Hello, Paris, my man!” I swung the door open wide and danced into the living room. Louis was curled up asleep on the sofa.

“Isn’t he the greatest kid ever?” I beamed at my son.

Paris raised one eyebrow. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not!” I took my best friend and cousin in my arms and started waltzing him around the room.

He pulled away, “Oh my God. It’s happened. I owe Liv $2,000.”

I stopped and looked at him. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he rushed. “We only have two days till we leave for Santa Muerta. I’ll expect you right after you take Louis to school in the morning.”

“Fine,” I answered as I scooped the boy up into my arms and carried him to the car. Once in bed, I thought for a brief moment about what Paris had said, then traded in those thoughts for fantasies about Leonie, her kisses, and her long red hair.

“Did you say something about owing Liv money last night?” I asked Paris when I got to his place the next day.

Paris chuckled – presumably at my expense. “Yeah. Liv and I made a bet ten years ago that you’d never fall in love. As you got older, the pot grew higher.”

I stared at him. “You bet money on that?”

He nodded. “And it looks like I lost, by the way you were acting last night.”

“I am not in love with Leonie. It’s a phase. I find her career choice . . . interesting.”

“Riiiiiiiiiight.” Paris had a smug look on his face and I really wanted to punch it off.

“Let’s just get to work,” I snapped. Now, why would it bother me to think I had feelings for Leonie? I shoved that thought aside for now. We had work to do.

Paris typed into his laptop. “Okay. You had the right idea wondering why our assignments have decreased. I called a few contacts, and it seems that there’s another firm competing with the Bombays.” He slid the notebook over to me.

“National Resources?” I frowned at the generic name on the generic website in front of me. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, presumably. There’s no mention of who they are or what they do. Just a hidden e-mail address I can’t hack into.”

“Who did you talk to at the agencies?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the bland screen with nothing but a contact button.

“Neil over at Langley. Anders at Mossad.”

“Ha!” I snorted. “Remember that time the four of us got so drunk we woke up in Bogota wearing lederhosen?” Good times.

“Yeah. I remember that. Especially the part where you tried to sell me to that pair of white slavers from Yemen.”

Oh. He remembered that. “Moving on . . .” I mumbled. To be honest, I wasn’t really going to sell Paris to those guys. It was just a fraternity prank. Although Ali and his brother weren’t terribly amused at the time.

“Anyway, National Resources underbid us a few years back on a case. The agencies have been using them ever since.”

“When were Neil and Anders gonna tell us?” I was pissed. The four of us had been really close since we shared the same dorm room freshman year. Now that I thought of it, it was kind of weird how we all ended up in the professions we did.

Paris shook his head. “It wasn’t easy to get that out of them. I had to use blackmail. I still have those photos of them posing with Air Supply at the concert in Milan.”

I laughed. We really came down on them when we found out they ditched us at the brothel to meet Air Supply. I mean, come on! Air Supply?

“Neil says these guys are good. They’re also cheaper than we are, and they wear suits when they make their hits. That’s why our contracts are down.”

“Grandma’s gonna be pissed. Especially since they have a website.”

Paris looked pretty grave. “She called. The meeting’s been moved up. We’re expected in Santa Muerta tomorrow. And there’s something else.”

“Tomorrow? I can’t do tomorrow! I have a date with Leonie! And what about Louis? I can’t ditch him for a couple of days!” I, Dakota Bombay, started to panic. I’d never really had any reason to turn Grandma down before. Well, there was that time I was on a ski trip in Aspen, but I made it back before the three Austrian nurses got cold.

“You have to bring Louis. She wants to meet him.”

Oh shit. “She knows about Louis?” I wasn’t ready for that.

Paris nodded. “She wants Missi to run a DNA test on him while we’re there.”

I slumped into my chair. A DNA test. Of course she’d want that. In the Council’s paranoid brain, Louis could be a midget spy. They’d have to make sure he was of the Bombay blood. Missi was the family’s version of James Bond’s “Q.” There would be no margin for error in her results.

“I really like Louis,” Paris said. “I’m sure the test will prove he’s your son.”

He was telling the truth. I knew that. Paris may have been irritated with me lately, but he was still my right-hand dude. And of course he and Louis had hit it off. They were a lot alike. But it was what he said that struck me. It never occurred to me that Louis wasn’t mine. And if he wasn’t a true Bombay, what would the Council do with him? He would have been to Santa Muerta, and with that kid’s brains, they wouldn’t allow him to leave. Not alive, anyway.

I wasn’t going into this with just Paris having my back. The Council was ruthless – even though they were family (or maybe especially because they were family). They’d threatened to kill my niece, Romi, just six months ago. They wouldn’t hesitate to take Louis out of the picture. He’d be seen only as a threat to them.

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed. There was only one person who could help me now. Mom.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hannibal King:  “We call ourselves the Nightstalkers.”

Blade:  “Sounds like a reject from a Saturday morning cartoon.”

Hannibal King: “Well, we were going to go with the Care Bears, but that was taken.”

- Blade; Trinity

The next day found me, my son, my mother and my cousin on the family’s private jet headed to Bombay HQ – the island of Santa Muerta. I’m not sure how long the family has had the island. It’s my understanding that no one was really interested in meeting in our own homes. I mean, who wants an army of assassins (isn’t it bad enough that they’re family?) over for a pot-luck? Consider yourself lucky all you have to endure is dry turkey, instant potatoes and Aunt Katy’s incontinence problem. At Christmas, when I was sixteen, Uncle Lou used me to demonstrate a new chokehold he developed that rendered you unconscious in half the time.

“You’re a big, strapping kid now!” I recall Lou saying as he dragged me over to him. I had bruises for a month. (I told everyone they were hickeys, of course.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. So the Bombay family just started coming up with excuses for not hosting reunions, holidays, etc. You know, stuff like “Our metal detector’s down,” and the old standby, “With a house full of weapons and two teenagers going through puberty – this isn’t a good time for us.” And using the neighboring church or community center was right out. Somewhere along the line, one of my relatives found an island named Saint Death and said, “That’s it!”

No one has ever lived on the island before us. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. A bunch of sailors shipwrecked there a long time ago and decided that murdering and eating each other was a good alternative to coconuts. The mainlanders didn’t seem to think the island juju was good, so we swooped in and got it for a song. Yay, us.

When I was growing up, I thought it was pretty cool that our family owned an island. Paris and I loved running through the jungle, catching crabs on the beach and shooting high-powered sniper rifles at a dummy in a car from a rooftop in a mock city – you know, the typical boys of summer thing. I only recently discovered that Paris had a secret tunnel he used to sneak off to when he was poetically inclined. But that’s another story.

We liked to pretend this was Dr. Benton Quest’s secret island, although we always fought over who was Jonny and who had to be Hadji. Too bad we didn’t have a Race Bannon. During our training, I guess Mom filled that bill. But she refused to wear a white crew cut (no matter how much we begged) and it was disturbing to imagine Race in a jumper decorated with kittens (insert shudder here).

The island had it all. A large, resort building with rooms for every member of the family (keyed in to our biometrics, of course, so we don’t have to mess with keys or plastic cards – I hate those). All the resort amenities are there – pool, staff that only understand Spanish (all men, though – I always wondered why?) and a penthouse for each member of the Council.

The Council lived on Santa Muerta on and off. My cousin Missi and her twin sons Monty and Jack, her mother Cali and grandmother Dela lived there year-round. They took care of the general upkeep, etc. The rest of us Bombay rabble only visited when summoned or for the family reunions every five years.

You think your family reunion is lame? Try a Bombay reunion. The resort was equipped with a customized conference center with auditorium. We had meals and meetings, but instead of the sack race, we had a full ropes course for team building. The only Bombays I trust are my immediate family. But on the ropes course, you had to pick relatives you didn’t see much. I’ve never seen so many twitchy trigger fingers in my life (as you can imagine, weapons aren’t allowed).

The island also had a private airstrip and dock, and south of the resort were a handful of beachside luxury cabins we could use. It was a great place, until my teenaged libido kicked in, since there are no girls. I stopped going there just for fun. Too bad too. It would have been a great make-out hideaway.

“You’re going to meet Great-Grandma Maryland!” Mom said brightly with Louis safely tucked away on her lap – a blissed-out smile on his little mug.

The way she said that sounded like we were just going over the river and through the woods to a little clapboard house with a picket fence, musty doilies and home-baked cookies. Not the chic, penthouse of an old woman who could snap a man’s neck like dry pasta.

Mom really blew a fuse when I had told her that Grandma wanted to inspect Louis. It would be good to have her with us. Mom was still chafing from not being there when Gin had to rescue Romi from Grandma and the Council six months ago. And honestly, in a death match between Mom and Grandma, my money’s on Mom. Every time.

“Great Grandma lives on an island in the Southern Hemisphere?” Louis asked for like the fiftieth time. This wasn’t a kid you could baby talk and lie to.

“Yup,” I answered. “You’ll like it on Santa Muerta.” As long as my family doesn’t try to kill you.

“And we have our own jet?” Louis raised his right eyebrow.

I nodded.

“Why does everyone have place names?”

“Well, it’s a family tradition dating back for centuries,” Mom answered patiently. She’s so good with kids. Mom then told him about Uncle Louisiana, Uncle Petersburg, Aunt Virginia, my cousin Mississippi and her sons Montgomery and Jackson. Most of us shortened our first name as soon as possible. My sister, Gin, was Ginny until college when everyone (me included) thought it was funnier to be Gin Bombay.

I still hadn’t given my son the whole rundown on the family. At this point, I figured that monosyllabic responses and head nods were the safest route.

We landed on the airstrip on the island after flying all day. I was nervous. And this was unusual for me. In my whole life, I’d never taken being a Bombay very seriously. Of course, unlike Gin or Liv (short for Liverpool, now that you know the name thing), I never had to introduce outsiders to the lifestyle of the rich and deadly.

But now I was worried, and most of it was for my son. I felt a twinge of affection. Louis was my son. How cool is that? Hey, he has a place name too! But don’t think I’m adding “Saint” to it. That would be ridiculous.

“Dak!” Missi came running toward the plane and threw her arms around me, then Paris, then Mom. “And is this Louis?” She bent down and hugged my kid, and he responded with a big, gap-toothed grin.

“I’m your dad’s cousin. You can call me Missi.” She took Louis by the hand. “The Council’s in the auditorium, waiting for you two.” She pointed at me and Paris. “Carolina, you can come with us, if you like.” She smiled broadly at Mom. Yeah, like Mom was going to let Louis out of her sight.

I loved Missi. She was kind of odd, but then, who isn’t in this family? Petite with short, blonde hair, Missi is maybe six or seven years older than I am. She’d lost her husband when the twins were two years old, but managed to raise her teenage boys and still keep her sense of humor. I had a lot of respect for her. Especially when she electrocuted the Council just as they were about to gun us down. That woman has foresight.

Mom nodded and took Louis’s other hand and it was good to know he’d be safe. Of course, I trusted Missi implicitly. She was a good egg. It was the rest of the family I wasn’t so sure about.

“Well,” Paris said with a sigh, “here goes nothing.”

I nodded and silently we went into the main building and down to the conference center.

It was satisfying to see the members of the Council visibly flinch when Paris and I entered the room. Obviously they remembered our last visit. Lou, Grandma, Dela(ware), Troy and Flo(rence) sat on the dais. I wondered if Missi had ever told them they were secretly implanted with electric devices that could zap them into twitching seniors. My guess was that she hadn’t.

The Council had existed in the Bombay Family since the beginning of our venture into the profitable world of assassination. Consisting of the five eldest members, they hand out assignments and keep the business running smoothly. My grandmother, Maryland; her brother, Lou; and sister, Dela form the American branch of the family. Their cousins, Troy and Florence, are the Europeans, from England and France respectively. I guess I never really thought about the Council much – that is – until they had Gin hunt down the family mole. The Council is also responsible for “punishing” errant Bombays. And by “punishing” I don’t mean a spanking. These bastards are old and bitter and totally committed to the Bombay way of life. They would eat their own young to keep everything in working order.

“What do you have to report?” Grandma broke into my thoughts.

“Nice to see all of you, too,” I replied glibly. Yeesh. Where were their manners?

“We found out why our contracts are decreasing,” Paris piped up. Brown nose.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I continued. “Have a new girlfriend and a son now.”

“We know all about that,” sneered Troy, the English member of the Council. “The question is, what do you have to report?”

Those Brits – no sense of humor.

Paris filled them in on National Resources. He told them everything. I would have left out the part about the website, but that’s just me.

Lou frowned. “So, they have a website, eh? I knew we should’ve gotten one of those.”

Grandma looked at me, “Did you come up with the branding I asked for?”

“Oh sure. We thought about calling ourselves Assassinations R Us and aligning ourselves with the toy magnate. We figure we could just glom on to their brand and surf the success.”

Grandma narrowed her eyes. “That’ll do Dak. I won’t tolerate your snarky attitude.” Uh oh. I was getting dangerously close to not being spoiled by her.

Paris broke in, “We figured that by finding the real problem, we could come up with a better solution. The problem isn’t really branding or websites or promotional chotchkes. It’s the competing company itself.”

“So you’re saying if we take out the competition, our problem will cease?” Dela asked.

Oooooh. It’s a trap! Don’t answer that, Paris!

Paris looked confused but nodded. “Well, yes. That would solve the problem.”

Troy shook his head and I hated him all over again. “We know all about National Resources. You wasted your time.”

“You knew about them?” I lost my cool. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Lou cleared his throat. Clearly, we made a bit of an impact on the Council last time we were here. “Calm down, Dak.”

“Calm down?  Calm down?  Are you crazy? We did all that work for nothing?” Okay, so Paris did all that work for nothing.

The members of the Council, my family, looked at one another. I was totally pissed off. Why give us the problem to solve when they knew the answer?

“Why don’t we just have Dak and Paris remove the competition from the picture?” Dela suggested. “It seems silly to market ourselves to people we can’t market ourselves to, anyway.”

“I agree. This nonsense about branding won’t solve anything,” piped up Aunt Florence, my French relative.

“Actions do speak louder than words, old man,” Troy agreed grudgingly as he turned to Lou.

Grandma leveled an angry glare at him. “I want a complete marketing package! I want a website and logos and slogans!” Damn. Was she throwing a temper tantrum?

“Okay, Veruca Salt,” Lou sniped. I tried to hide my smile. “But basically, I agree that we need to get rid of them. What’s to stop them from trying to take us out in the near future? They underbid us – so why wouldn’t they come after us?”

I stepped forward. “Give us all the info you have on this generic cabal, and Paris and I will take care of it. Do you want us to recruit others, like Gin or Liv?” Maybe I could earn some brownie points with my gift-bestowing grandmother in the process.

“No,” Dela answered. “Let’s keep this simple. You two can take out five men, can’t you? If we put too many family members on this it’ll be a mess.”

Grandma folded her arms over her chest, “Fine. The two of you will meet with Dela tonight in her room. She’ll give you what we have and you can take it from there.”

I left the room totally pissed off. If the Council knew about the competition, why ask us to go around the problem with a slick promo plan?

“We should have killed them all last time we were here,” Paris muttered under his breath as we walked out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“An optimist says, ‘The drink is half full.’  A pessimist says, ‘The drink is half full, but I might have bowel cancer.”

- Mr. B., The Kids in the Hall

We couldn’t find Missi, Louis or Mom, so we hit poolside, ordering rum from the cabana boys. After a few moments, I could feel my blood pressure cooling and remembered something.

“Paris, you ever heard of Doc Savage?”

He rolled his eyes at me, “Not this again! I thought we were done with that like thirty years ago.”

Bastard. “No. Not the books. Have you heard of anyone else using that name for work?” I launched into an explanation about the guy in my living room. Why hadn’t I told him this sooner?

“Huh.” Paris leaned back in his chair. “That’s a new one. Why was he there?”

“He said he was checking my place out for Doc Savage.” I even felt ridiculous saying it aloud.

“You haven’t been made, have you?”

“Either that or the pulp fiction geeks of the world are after me for some reason.” I thought about the last few jobs I’d had. Well, there was that one time I had to take out this drug dealer dressed as Spiderman at the NYC Comic-Con. He actually tried to shoot a web at me. What a loser. You never bring a webslinger to a gunfight. Nah. That had nothing to do with it. Besides, that was Marvel Comics, not old-fashioned Lester Dent pulp.

“It’s probably nothing,” Paris said.  “We’ve got more important shit to worry about.”

He was right. I was pretty certain the Council would take us up on eliminating out the competition.

“How many guys are in that operation?” I asked.

“No one knows.” He turned and looked up at the resort. “Okay, maybe they know. It’ll be tough. We’ll have to work together.”

Suddenly, my Ralph Lauren preppy look became the soggy, Ralph Lauren preppy look as Louis cannonballed into the pool. Missi and Mom sat down to join us.

“He’s yours, all right.” Missi winked at me.

“Well, of course he is!” Mom snapped. “I never doubted it for a minute.” Good old Mom – she always had my back.

“So, you guys going to come see me later for some stuff?” Missi asked with a giggle.

“You bet I will,” I said. “I still have that tricked-out Chia Pet you gave Gin last year.”

Monty and Jack, both 16, came flying past and dove into the pool. Monty lifted Louis and threw him through the air until he splash-landed. My son popped above the water, giggling hysterically as Jack tossed him back to Monty. They played with Louis as if he were their own brother. I got a little choked up.

“So, what’s next?” Mom asked me but didn’t take her eyes off Louis.

“We meet with Dela in an hour. Looks like we’ll get the lowdown on the competition,” Paris responded.

Mom nodded. “Great. Then I’m going to take Louis to meet Mother.”

I shivered a little, in spite of the heat. “And the tests are, you know, conclusive?”

Missi rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”

An hour later, Paris and I found ourselves in Dela’s apartment. I have to admit, I’d never been in here before. And I was a little nervous that this was where the witch hunt started against me six months ago.

“We’ve had our suspicions about National Resources, although your testimony confirmed it today,” Dela began. “There are five assassins in the group.” She handed us folders. “Each one masquerades as a professional in one industry or another. We don’t have photos of them, just some basic info. You will have two weeks to hunt them down.”

I opened the folder carefully. Ugh. These National Resource guys were real scum. According to the file, they took on any contract – regardless of who the Vic was. There was a vague reference to the U.S. government – but nothing concrete. A list of their hits told me that they were corporate-motivated. Like, Erin Brockovich and Karen Silkwood-type hits. I hated them already. As my blood pressure rose, I wondered if they knew who they were taking out. At least with the Bombays – we had dossiers on our hits, which were mostly terrorists, criminals and people who hired amateurs like National Resources. Apparently, they each have a tattoo on the inside of their forearm of Woody Woodpecker. Weird.

“You’ll have to track them down, one by one. You can work together. Personally, I’d prefer you take them out quickly so word doesn’t get out to their colleagues.”

“You don’t make that easy for us,” I said, flipping through the pages. “The

only information here seems to be the zip code where these guys were last seen.” Talk about a needle in a haystack.

“Let me look at that.” Paris snatched the files from me. He frowned, as he read. “I think I can figure this out. Maybe with some help from Missi.”

I threw my hands up in the air. Leave it to him to find the silver lining in cloud of sludge.

Dela nodded as if she knew Paris was going to say that. “I’ll keep in touch by cell phone, and I expect updates regularly. You two are lucky. Troy wanted to be the handler on this one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great. He hates me.”

Dela patted my shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Dakota. He hates everyone.”

We thanked Dela and left her apartment, heading for the pool bar. I got a double scotch and Paris helped himself to a glass of beer. That was another cool perk. Free booze. How many companies with high-pressure work offer that? Of course, you wouldn’t want cranky assassins when you can placate them with alcohol. Think of any of your family gatherings . . . Thanksgiving, Christmas, you know what I’m talking about. The booze helps.

“You really think we can do this?” I asked after downing my scotch in one swoop. “’Cuz I think we’re setting ourselves up for failure.”

Paris made a face. “And you used to be such an optimist.”

“Well, I’m seriously considering pessimism.” I poured myself another glass of scotch. “Optimism is definitely overrated.”

“We have everything we need here. The zip codes will narrow things down considerably. Look here.” He pointed at the zip code for somewhere in Ohio, then pointed to his laptop. I didn’t even realize he’d brought the computer with us. What a geek.

“Tinker, Ohio, only has 5,000 people.” He pointed to the next one. “And this one’s in our own backyard. We can do it.”

“How’s that? Do you know how long that will take? We don’t even know if these are men or women!”

“Why does that matter?” Paris cocked his head at me. “We take them out no matter what.”

“I don’t know about you, my friend, but I’ve never taken out a woman before.” It’s true. And it has nothing to do with scruples. I’ve just never been assigned a woman. In fact, I don’t know if anyone in my family has. Why was that? “Huh.” Paris sat back in his chair. “I haven’t either. I wonder why?”

I was getting drunk. “I dunno. Women make lousy terrorists?”

“No. I think they’re smarter than that. The only thing women are guilty of is promoting peace.” And I could see that he meant it too.

“You’ve gone soft on me.” I scowled. “Women can be just as evil as men.”

“Oh yeah? Name the worst dictators, serial killers, and murderers. They’re all men.” Paris folded his arms.

I struggled to think. “What about Charlotte Corday? Squeaky Fromme? Sarah Jane Moore?”

Paris shook his head. “Those are assassins. They targeted men who they thought were screwing up the world. That doesn’t count. I’m looking for women who, just because they were evil, did terrible things on their own.”

My brain was getting a little fried. “Oh screw it. I’m sure they’re out there.”

Paris looked at me in silence for a moment. “You don’t really think much of women, do you?”

Whoa! Where did that come from? “Dude. You’re way off. I respect Gin and Liv.”

He shook his head. “I’m not talking about family. I’m talking about women in general.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, for starters you only date empty-headed blondes. Secondly, you’ve never had a serious relationship in your life. And third, you have extreme commitment issues.”

I think my draw jopped. I mean jaw dropped. Man, I was drunk. How many drinks did I have? I stared at four wavy highball glasses in front of me – all empty. “That’s not true! What about Leonie?”

Paris folded his arms, the smug bastard. He only had one wavy glass in front of him. “What about Leonie? Are you trying to tell me you respect her?”

“Of course I do!” I sputtered. Paris was now wiggling in front of me like JELL-O. Or at least, that’s what I thought I was seeing. If he’d just sit still I could strangle him.

Paris stood up, gathering his things. “Let’s face it, Dak. You don’t know what respecting a woman means.” With that, he stood up and walked away.

I was pissed off. But I was too drunk to do anything about it. So, I headed up to my room. Mom was watching Louis sleep. When she saw my state of mind, she decided to stay with us. I can’t blame her. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk with my son here. Too late for that. I watched her curl up next to him in his bed before I passed out on mine.

I woke up at 3:30 a.m., hung over and mad about something without any idea what that was. Paris had something to do with it. I was pretty sure about that. I took off the clothes I’d been sleeping in and after brushing my teeth and checking on Louis and Mom, crawled back into bed.

“You look like hell.” Missi grinned into the monitor as she buzzed me into the workshop. I didn’t know the password. In all honesty, I’d never really visited my cousin here before. Paris pushed past me into the room and I followed. I wasn’t talking to him. He just didn’t know that yet.

“I’ve felt better.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Do you know about our assignment?”

“Yeah. What can I do to help?”

Paris and I looked at each other. “Well, we were hoping you had a few ideas,” Paris said finally.

She cocked her head to the right and said nothing. She was like that sometimes. Kind of kooky. Missi would just disappear inside her head for a little while, then emerge with something crazy but perfect.

The workshop was bizarre. I didn’t know if she collected this weird shit or was a regular at church bazaars frequented by the mentally ill. I mean, who has a collection of B-list bobble head dolls? Erik Estrada, Charo, and Alan Alda bobbed and nodded in agreement. Yeesh. In the corner was a blast shield. This chick really liked explosives. I remember this one time when she made a toothbrush that blew up when it came into contact with molars – not front teeth or you may not get the whole head. That kind of work takes a creative thinker. Or a madwoman.

“Well,” Missi finally emerged from her thought coma. “I do have a couple of things I can show you.” She stood up and we followed her through rows of test tubes, headless kewpie dolls, remote-controlled lizards, and a poster with a kitten dangling from a branch that said, “Hang in There!”

She stopped in front of a table with a small, silver tube. “I did a little research and found out that one of your hits is a zookeeper.”

Paris and I exchanged looks before I said, “How did you know that?”

Missi rolled her eyes at us, as if to say Hello! Genius here! “It’s the guy in Tinker, Ohio.” She tossed us a sheet of paper that did, indeed, have more info on the guy than Dela had given us.

She continued, “The zoo Vic works at has a bear exhibit. I love bears. So unpredictable.”

Paris and I looked at each other again. Missi tended to get sidetracked sometimes.

“Anyway,” she pulled herself out of a glazed, faraway look and continued, “like I said, bears are very unpredictable. Especially the smaller, black bears. Most people take them for granted because they are smaller and cute. But use this puppy,” She lifted the tube and depressed a button. Clear liquid shot about fifty feet, hitting a stuffed bear (the taxidermied kind) in the face. It didn’t look like much, but I thought I detected the strong scent of barbecue sauce.

Paris examined the glass-eyed creature. “What does it do?”

Missi rolled her eyes. “This is a highly concentrated mixture of meat essence and bear pheromones. Squirt this on the guy, and the bears will charge and tear him limb from limb. Cool huh?” She lifted the tube to her eye, “And I have it in beef, pork and chicken flavors. The coroner will just think the zookeeper hit a ribs house hard before climbing into the bear pen.”

“And we don’t have to lay a finger on him. That is cool,” Paris said as he took the tube from her.

Missi warned, “Don’t let it go off here. I got some on my clothes once and a jaguar stalked me for a week.” She patted the head of a taxidermied panther. I wondered if she did the work herself.

“Great,” I replied, wondering how she fought and killed the animal. “What else do you have?”

She loaded one of those shopping baskets with two tubes and four vials of the clear liquid. “Okay, this is really cool.” We followed her to another part of the room.

She stopped in front of what appeared to be a collection of little porcelain Santa figurines. Is this chick wacky or what?

Missi pulled a Glock .45 with silencer out of a drawer. “This is a gun,” she said.

“Wow. Never seen one of those before,” I teased. Maybe she was crazier than we all thought.

Missi shook her head. “It’s not the gun that’s special. It’s the ammo.” Paris and I watched as she ejected the magazine and slid one of the rounds out. “It’s made of gelatin.” The bullet was clear, like plastic, with a clear shell casing that looked like glass. She handed us each a bullet. The end was rubbery and the casing was glass. Huh?

“I got the idea when I made pineapple JELL-O for the boys. I thought there had to be a way to make a bullet that would cause enough shock trauma to kill a man, but that could also be absorbed by the body so that no bullet would be found.”

“Jesus, Missi!” I shouted, “That would revolutionize our industry!”

Paris, more cautious than I was – as usual – agreed, “Yes it would. But how does it work?”

“It works like a dream.” Missi grinned. “Speaking of which, I had the weirdest dream last night. In it, I invented a see-through yarn and knitted a sweater out of it, then I flew to California and ate at the Brown Derby. Everyone thought I was half-naked, which of course, I wasn’t . . .”

“Um, Missi? The ammo?” I interrupted.

“Oh yeah.” She giggled as if she remembered some joke. “It operates on a similar principle as the icicle maker I did a few years back. Now, you can’t really shoot bullets made of ice, because when the gunpowder ignites the gun gets hot and you’d just have a really expensive water gun.” She took a deep breath. “And I didn’t want to use real Jell-o and have it melt before it entered the body. So I came up with my own mixture that will initially tear into human flesh. Once inside, when it heats up to 98.6 degrees, the bullet dissolves – like jello.”

“And the casing?” Paris asked as he inspected it.

Missi took the shell from him and popped it into her mouth and chewed. Before I had a moment to react, she stuck out her tongue, showing what appeared to be shards of broken glass.

“Rock candy. Like they make fake glass out of for the movies.” Missi grinned and swallowed.

I picked up the pistol. “And this doesn’t produce a temperature as high as 98 degrees?”

“Oh, I forgot that part.” Missi laughed. “The gelatin takes a couple of minutes to dissolve. It’s not in the gun long enough. And I tricked out the silencer with a little cooling system. Kind of like an air conditioner.”

I looked at Paris, then turned back to her, “We’ll take two and as much ammo as you have.”

Missi laughed again and stuffed our basket full. It only took her a few moments to bag everything and send us on our way. As we headed for the airstrip that night to return home, I couldn’t help wondering about my cousin. She was brilliant, but her work would only ever get noticed by the Bombay family. As the plane lifted off the tarmac, I watched the island shrink below me. Now there was one woman I really respected.

But maybe Paris was right. I had to think about this Leonie thing. Was I infatuated with her because she was different from the other women I’d been with? Or was it just because she was the only one who could get a rise out of my dick? That was one problem I had to solve.

Mom and Louis enthusiastically regaled us with the story of how Louis met Grandma. My kid went on and on about her collection of souvenirs from all over the world. But I was only half-listening. I had a lot to deal with when we got back. But first and foremost on my mind was a smart-assed mortician named Leonie Doubtfire.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I am the wild blue yonder. The front line in a never ending battle between good and not so good. Together with my stalwart sidekick, Arthur, and the magnanimous help of some other folks I know, we form the yin to villainy’s malevolent yang. Destiny has chosen us. Wicked men, you face The Tick.”

- The Tick

I called Leonie the next day after dropping Louis off at school (where, I might add, he was delirious with delight about the homework he’d have to make up). She sounded happy to hear from me, and we made plans for dinner in two days.

That night, Louis and I snuggled up together on the couch with a pizza and watched Survivor: Gobi Desert. I love this show. Louis seemed to like it too, as he filled me in on all the geographic information about the area. I just thought it was funny how the producers had run out of tropical locales and were now using a barren wasteland. At least they were back to being scantily clad – unlike the previous season at the Arctic Circle. Bikinis trumped snow suits any day in my book.

“Did you know that the word “Gobi means desert?” Louis asked me through a mouthful of pizza. He went on to regale me with other odd facts about Mongolia.

“No, I didn’t know that.” I gave him a squeeze. We were two men (okay, one midget genius and one guy with great hair), bonding over the great American pastime of good pizza and bad television.

Louis and I laughed as the contestants tried to start a fire with no kindling, wood, or matches. Although it did get interesting when some of the women volunteered their T-shirts for the task. That would come back to bite them in the ass when it got really cold that night. Oh well. It’s just good fun.

“Dad?” Louis asked me once I tucked him into bed. “I just wanted to say that this has been really overwhelming lately.”

Didn’t I know it. I grinned. “I know, Sport. You’ve been great about everything.”

He looked around the room slowly, before turning back to me. My heart sank and I had the feeling I was about to be chastised.

“It’s just,” Louis twisted his hands nervously on his lap and I realized this was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. “It’s just that I don’t want to be the grown-up in this relationship . . . like I was with Mom.”

My heart skipped the stomach and went straight for my shoes.

“Given the circumstances of my conception,” he said.

“Given the circumstances of my conception?” I repeated in shock. “Are you six or forty?”

Louis rolled his eyes, ignoring my comment. “I’ve been reading your Maxim magazines. Anyway, with Mom, she had this scattered life. I had to remind her to pay the bills, take me for check-ups, all that stuff. And I’d kind of like to be the kid now.”

The room was literally spinning as I tried to absorb what my son had just told me.

“This means,” he went on, “no swearing, no drinking too much, and no passing me off to sitters so you can go out.”

“Holy shit, Louis!”

He frowned and I knew I’d already screwed up. It was literally as if he’d sucker-punched me. My first instinct was to be defensive. But how sad is that to have to defend myself to a six-year-old who was more mature than I was?

“Okay. I’ll try.” I said, rumpling his hair. “Anything for you.”

Louis smiled and I kissed the top of his head. Later that night, I thought about what he said over and over. And I realized that the kid was right.

Louis and I were really starting to show affection for each other. And to my surprise, I discovered that my favorite time of day was picking him up after school. There was a real emotional rush every time he raced out the door and slammed into my arms. I decided that afternoon that it was time for Leonie and Louis to meet.

“Hey!” Leonie kissed me on the cheek when she answered the door. “Who’s this little guy?” I watched carefully to see if she was upset I brought a child with me on the date.

Louis extended his right hand, “Louis Torvald Bombay. Pleased to meet you.”

Leonie laughed and shook his hand, shooting me a bemused look. Apparently, she was okay with it.

I made introductions on the way to the Thai restaurant. To my surprise, Leonie and Louis hit it off immediately. In fact, they talked to each other more than they talked to me. And to my shock, I didn’t mind. For once, all the attention wasn’t on me, and yet I felt like everything was perfect. I wanted my new girlfriend to fall in love with my new son.

While they munched on pad thai and chatted about the Gobi Desert (Louis’s new obsession), I watched them with fascination. It came as a shock to me that I was witnessing the possible birth of a family. So this was what most people did.

A cold sweat crept over me. Oh my God. I was becoming a family man. What happened to me? I used to be perfectly content with my life. Now, in few short weeks, my life had turned upside down. Oh shit! I haven’t had sex in a long time! Panic set in and for a moment I thought I was going to hyperventilate. What was happening to me?

I left Leonie and Louis at the table and headed for the men’s room. This might sound weird, but I needed a break. All of the sudden, I needed some space. I found a quiet stall and sat down on the toilet fully clothed.

“’Scuse me,” A deep voice interrupted my meditation. “I’m looking for Dakota Bombay.”

That’s weird. Someone trailed me into the men’s room?

“I’ll be out in a second.” I stood up quietly, sliding my leather belt out of the loops on my Dockers.

The door slammed open, knocking me back against the stool. I recovered quickly, yanking on my opponent’s arm and bringing him to the floor with me. I looped the belt around his neck and twisted.

“What the hell, man?” I asked the gurgling man in my grip, “What do you want with me?”

“Some guy sent me,” he rasped, struggling to get his fingers between the leather and his skin.

“Who?” I tightened my grip on his throat.

“Doc Savage. . .”

I almost dropped my belt. Again?  I thought for a few moments about what I should ask next.

“What did Doc Savage want you to do?” I growled in his ear.

Shit. He was unconscious. I watched as his body dropped to the floor. Now what? After slipping my belt back on, I made sure the bathroom door was locked. Working quickly, I sat him on a toilet in one of the stalls, pulling his pants down to his ankles and leaning him back against the wall. I crawled under the door so it would stay closed and cleaned myself up in the mirror. That’s one of the things I like about strangulation. It’s not very messy and you don’t have to actually kill them. It’s all about the pressure.

No one would notice him and by the time he woke up and we’d be long gone. I just had to make sure I paid with cash instead of a credit card and no one would know I was even there.

“Who wants ice cream?” I announced when I made it back to the table. Louis started jumping up and down in his seat and Leonie smiled, so I guess that was a yes. I paid the bill and the three of us climbed into my car and headed for Whitey’s. Best damn ice cream in the Midwest.

“I like you,” Leonie said to me with a wink as we sat outside eating.

“Wow. I’m honored,” I responded. Louis ignored us both, intent on inhaling his ice cream.

She laughed. It was a wonderful sound. Maybe the perfect sound. Huh. I always used to think the perfect sound came from a blonde, moaning with pleasure.

“I mean it,” she answered.

“I like you too.” Wow. This conversation was going nowhere. Then why did I feel so good?

“Dad thinks you’re cool,” Louis said through an ice cream goatee and mustache.

“Louis!” Was I . . . was I blushing?

My son nodded. “It’s true. I think he’s quite taken with you.”

Leonie smiled at me then leaned down to Louis. “You know what? I really like him too.”

“Why?” I asked before I realized it was a strange question. I mean, I knew why I liked her. But I needed to know why she liked me. For most of my life, I just took it for granted that chicks dug me. Huh. I guess I never really cared what it was about me they liked. And yet, it seemed very important for me to know what Leonie saw in me.

“I guess it’s because you’re funny, and weird. You don’t act around me like I think you usually act around women.”

“What? I’m weird? Really?” Wow. Didn’t see that one coming.

Leonie grinned. “Somehow, I feel that I’m the first woman to see who you really are. The first one to see your vulnerable side, maybe. Everything else seems like an act. But around me, you’re tongue-tied. That’s a major turn-on.”

Oh my god. She likes me when I act like a geek? What the hell? That’s not what women wanted! They wanted handsome and confident men.  Alpha males.  Right? Wasn’t that right? Vulnerable? Was she bullshitting me?

Leonie pulled a napkin out of her pocket and giggled as she wiped the ice cream off Louis’s face. She looked so natural doing that. Her mass of red hair tickled the boy’s cheek and he laughed, and I realized that Louis and Leonie belonged together. The question was, where did I fit into the picture?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

[Szell prepares to torture Babe a second time]

Christian Szell:  Oh, don't worry. I'm not going into that cavity. That nerve's already dying. A live, freshly-cut nerve is infinitely more sensitive. So I'll just drill into a healthy tooth until I reach the pulp. That is unless, of course, you can tell me that it's safe.

- Marathon Man

“Don’t forget about our little appointment!” Gin’s voice bubbled on the answering machine when Louis and I got home. Damn. I forgot about that. Diego was accompanying Romi’s class on a field trip, so I’d promised a month ago to take Gin to her appointment with a dental surgeon.

Taking Gin to get her wisdom teeth out was the last thing I wanted to do. But in the Bombay family we had to use the buddy system any time we would be under anesthesia.

“Are you sure you want him in here?” Dr. Munch asked my sister. He looked a little concerned about my presence. I could understand that. If he screwed up, he wouldn’t want a witness. But rules are rules. It only had to happen once and it happened to my great-great-great Uncle Francisco. He went in to get his gallstones out and while under the influence, started talking about killing the Mayor of Montevideo with a fish fork.   Fortunately, the doctor thought he was just hallucinating and had no idea that the year before, the Mayor of Montevideo had, in fact, bought it with a fish fork in a kind of, creative tracheotomy, shall we say. Since then, well, we kind of borrowed the buddy system from the Boy Scouts.

“Sorry, Doctor,” Gin said, “but I’m too nervous without my brother here for moral support. You understand.” Of course, my sister isn’t afraid of anything. In fact, she could probably pull her own teeth. Maybe we should consider having a dentist in the family.

The dental surgeon reluctantly agreed, then after casting me a sidelong glance, proceeded to shoot my sister full of Novocain.

“You’ll feel a pinch,” he said as he plunged the needle into the roof of her mouth.

Yeah, right. A pinch. We practically had to peel Gin off the ceiling after that pinch. After three more shots on both sides, the doctor left.

“You okay?” I asked cautiously. Gin looked like she’d had a stroke.

“Thith feelth weird,” she slurred. Her cheeks had collapsed into jowls.

I, of course, started to laugh.

“Ith noth funny!” She turned red, and I laughed harder.

“It’s just, you’re usually such a talker!” I wiped a few tears away. “And now you can’t! This is too good!”

“Athole.” Gin crossed her arms over her chest.

After a few minutes, the doctor came in. “Are you numb?” he asked Gin.

She nodded after slapping both cheeks. “Yeth. Thee?”

Dr. Munch nodded and picked up a tool I suspect was frequently used during the Spanish Inquisition.

“You won’t feel any pain, but you will feel pressure and you’ll hear cracking and popping as I pull the tooth out.” Without waiting for her to respond, he reached into her mouth and wrestled with the firmly wedged tooth.

I was fascinated. I’d only been on the other end before. The doc was a large man, but he practically had to put his knee on Gin’s chest to loosen up the tooth. Finally he pulled the bloody mess out. I watched with awe as he did the same thing on the other side.

My cell went off and I saw it was a text from Paris. Turning my back on Gin, I flipped open the phone.

First target – Norbert Munch, DDS. Last kill – whistleblower for Halliburton.

I blinked. This couldn’t be happening. I felt like I was in a trance as I closed the phone and turned back to Gin.

“There you go, all done.” And then, Doctor Norbert E. Munch rolled up his sleeves.

I froze. Woody Woodpecker mocked me from his inner wrist. It was the tattoo of the National Resources assassins. Holy shit! I didn’t think it would be this easy.  I mean, I knew one of them was a local – but what are the odds?

Unfortunately, the dentist/assassin saw that I saw. I jumped for the door to block his escape. He charged and I threw him to the floor, where we wrestled silently on the linoleum. The man grabbed my testicles and squeezed – an act of war as far as I was concerned. Pain flooded my line of vision, and I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t scream. Of course, then my tongue hurt too. My hand reached the tray above us and I found a long handled dental mirror.

My assailant flipped me into a submission hold. This guy was good. So good that my vision was starting to blur. I could feel myself losing consciousness. So I took the only chance I had and plunged the end of the mirror deep into his eye socket. His hold relaxed and I scrambled to my feet as he flopped around on the floor.

“You killed my denthal thurgeon?” Gin asked woozily. Oops. I forgot about her.

I nodded. “He’s one of the National Resources guys. I had to take him out.” I lifted his twitching wrist to show her the tattoo. “They all have these. Besides, he recognized me.”

“Well, thath jutht fantathtic.” Gin rolled her eyes. “How the hell are we going to deal with thith? The nurth will be in any moment!”

I hadn’t thought of that. Bombays never left behind a body if it could implicate them. And this sure seemed to be that situation. It would be tough to leave him in here when Gin was listed as the last patient he had before he died.

Think, Dak! Gin looked like a deranged chipmunk with her cheeks stuffed with gauze. She wouldn’t be a lot of help. Great.

The building was designed like a bunker. Low-slung, one-story with high, thin windows. I squinted, wondering if I could pass the body through it. Of course, it was getting close to rush hour and we were facing a street with a lot of traffic. No, that wouldn’t look suspicious at all.

We’d run out of time. If they didn’t have Gin’s name, address and insurance provider, I’d just stuff the doctor in the closet and run for it. But it wouldn’t take long for them to notice he wasn’t anywhere in the building. They’d find him and Gin would be a suspect. I didn’t feel like busting her out of the police department a la the Terminator, so I had to come up with something else . . . and quickly.

I started screaming like a little girl (mainly due to the fact that my testicles had just been crushed), “Oh my God! Doctor! Somebody call 911!”

Gin narrowed her eyes at me, then rolled them. Okay, so it wasn’t much of a plan, but I needed her compliance.

“Thocther Munth? Thocther Munth?” She knelt down beside the body, which I turned facedown. After shooting me a pissed off look, she continued. “I think he’th dead!”

Two nurses and another surgeon ran into the room and stopped when they saw their colleague face down on the stick end of a dental mirror.

We had to stay there for three hours while the police (or “poleeth,” as Gin called them) and coroner came to investigate. At one point I think the Novocain wore off and Gin was in desperate need for painkillers because she fainted. Somehow we managed to convince everyone that the doctor was walking with the implement in his hand, when he slipped on a little puddle of Gin’s drool (I made that part up just for fun – Gin didn’t like it much because when everyone’s back was turned she had to spit on the floor) and fell onto his mirror.

“Happens all the time,” the bored coroner said to me, “You wouldn’t believe how many people die in freak accidents.”

Actually, he’d be surprised to know how many “freak accidents” were really Bombay family hits. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“You bastard!” Gin lit into me once I got her back home. “What if I get dry socket? I can’t ever go back there, you know!”

I ran my hands through my hair. “I said I was sorry! I didn’t expect him to be who he was.” We were talking in code because the kids were in the next room. Diego finished making an icepack for his wife and handed it to her in silence. I knew he was uncomfortable with our livelihood. But he didn’t argue either.

I took out my cell phone and dialed Paris. “Got one. Four more to go.”

I could feel him nodding – how weird is that? “I found number two. We’re going to Indianapolis tomorrow.” He clicked off.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“The first rule of Fight Club is – you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is – you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. . . .And the final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.”

- Tyler Durden, Fight Club

“Are you sure this is him?” I whispered. We had fifth-row seats to a motivational business seminar in Indy. Paris had bought our tickets online under assumed names and we were wearing wigs, cheap suits and large, plastic-framed glasses.

“Yup.”

My cousin had hacked into the reservations and got us into the 10,000 strong business seminar as Mr. Tom Olds and Mr. James Smith. Apparently, we were salesmen for Massengill. Yeah, I was excited about that too.

Anthony Lowe had taken the stage, pacing back and forth as he shouted lame encouragements and vague success strategies.

“And with my one hundred percent foolproof plan, you can triple your sales in the next six months . . . guaranteed!” He went on to share several situations where this worked, but to me it sounded like he was telling the stories of Sam Walton and Bill Gates – just leaving out their names. Lowe went on to plug his ten-CD collection that usually sold for $500. We could get it for $399 today only. Cash and credit cards accepted.

I really hated this guy. But I was starting to hate the audience more for believing this shit. We’d been there for three hours already, and I’ve got to be honest with you:  I still didn’t have any idea how to sell douche bags more effectively. All he offered was a bunch of clichés, promising that if you bought his CDs could you achieve nirvana, win “Salesman of the Year,” and find yourself wealthy with a knock-out trophy wife. What a rip-off artist.

Finally, a break in the seminar found us in the cement hallways around the auditorium, dining on greasy hot dogs and stale nachos.

“Isn’t he brilliant?” A mousy woman in a flower-patterned dress sighed aloud to the tall, thin man next to her.

“Tomorrow,” the man said while nodding, “he’s going to zip line onto the stage. That’ll be cool.”

I raised my eyebrows at Paris and he nodded, indicating he heard it too. We tuned out the stupid couple (turns out they sold insurance) and moved on. As the crowd started to re-enter the auditorium, Paris and I slipped around to the backstage area.

“James Smith,” I shouted as I stuck out my right hand to the harried-looking teenager with a clipboard. “I was told that my colleague and I won a backstage tour.” Paris nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Oh! Um, really?” The girl looked like she was wound pretty tight. “I didn’t, uh know. Okay.” She flipped through the papers on the clipboard, but found nothing indicating that two Summer’s Eve salesmen had won such a precious commodity.

Fortunately for us, an even more mentally challenged kid walked by.

“Ernie!” the girl shouted. “These guys get a backstage tour!” Then with a nod toward Ernie, she walked away, presumably proud of herself.

Ernie squinted at us. He was tall and skinny, with a pronounced slouch and blue hair. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of a shirt that was way too big for him. His tie had an eagle on it with the words “I’m a winner!” in gilt script.

“Okay,” he sniffled. “Let’s get this over with.”

Apparently Ernie wasn’t caught up in the excitement of the show. He looked like he’d hire us to hit himself if he had to do one more day here.

“This is the green room where the celebrities wait until they go onstage.” Ernie pointed to a closed door. Celebrities? What, was he kidding? “And that’s the staff lounge. We got Fruit Roll-ups and juice boxes in there.” I closed my eyes in an attempt to avoid strangling Ernie with his tie.

He led us past vending machines, which he pointed out to us as if we had never seen one before, and light and sound techs who were drinking some mystery liquid from bottles wrapped in brown paper, to the exit doors, and finally to the backstage area.

We stood there, watching Anthony from the wings spin bullshit into gold. Gold that would, at the end of the day, only go into his pockets. My guess was that our tour guide barely made minimum wage. It didn’t look like Ernie could afford clothes that fit.

“We heard Mr. Lowe is riding a zip line to the stage tomorrow.” Paris pushed his glasses up again. “Is that true?”

I looked at Ernie, who sighed heavily. “Yeah. He’s been wanting to do it for a long time. This is the only place the techies think it’s possible.” I followed the line of his arm as he pointed to a catwalk in the wings.

“He’ll go from there, offstage - ” he slowly led his index finger down toward the stage - “to center stage. I’m not really sure why he’s doing it, but oh well.”

A crash came from right behind us, and we watched as Ernie scrambled in its direction. He’d already forgotten our existence, which was good, since we’d have to kill him otherwise.

Back in our seats, Paris whispered, “We’ll have to come in tonight and weaken it somehow. Maybe shred some of the cable.”

I heard some laughter to my left. It distracted me only for a moment before I leaned in and answered, “Maybe we could take the steel out of the pulley, replace it with plastic or something else that would fall apart quickly.” However we did it, I really wanted this idiot to die dramatically. A humiliating death is so much more fun when it happens to an asshole.

The laughter came again and I turned toward it. Sitting to my left were two burly, good ole boys. You know the kind. The ones who are trapped in the 1950s and still pinch their secretary’s ass for fun. The kind that think if a woman isn’t interested in them, she’s a lesbian. The kind who take their wedding rings off when they travel out of town for business.

“Is there a problem?” I asked. Paris punched me in the arm. I know, I know. Maintain a low profile at all times. But this bullshit seminar was killing me.

“Now that you mention it, son,” the larger of the two answered. “I was just wondering what a couple of dandies like you sell?”

Dandies? Are you kidding me? I looked at my polyester suit. It was far more obvious that we resembled ’70s porn actors! And who the hell says “dandies” anymore? Thanks, Paris. Next time, I’ll pick the disguises.

“I b’lieve my colleague asked you a question,” the lesser of two fat men said. “What do you sell?”

“Oh, I don’t know if you two boys can handle it,” I replied slowly, ignoring the repeated punches from Paris.

“That’s funny, son.” Son? Were we on the Dukes of Hazzard? “But what business are you in?” They looked pissed off.

Never one to shrink from a challenge, I leaned forward and looked carefully from side to side. Paris started kicking me but I wasn’t about to stop. “Lobster semen.”

“What?” The one closest to me looked like his eyes were going to pop.

I brought my index finger to my lips. “Shhh! We aren’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“Boy, are you trying to tell me you sell lobster jizz?” the big one asked.

I nodded. “There’s big money in that. Those of us in the business call it white gold.” I added a wink for emphasis.

“I don’t believe you,” the smaller one said, folding his arms across his chest.

I leaned back in my seat. “I don’t care if you believe me. But my wife does, every time we visit our ocean-front home in Jamaica, and every time she has the Bentley washed.” I would’ve gone on and on, but what’s the point? I still didn’t know why I came up with lobster semen.

“You make good commissions on that?” Big One asked, his eyes the size of salad plates.

I nodded. “About thirty grand on the East Coast, twenty thousand in the panhandle, forty-K in California. Breeders are begging for this stuff.”

Paris coughed, trying to get my attention but I was too far gone.

“Our client supplies the seed of giant blue lobsters. We can’t keep up with the orders.”

“How do we know you’re not havin’ fun with us?” Little Fat Man broke in, a bit disgruntled about the whole thing.

“Well, let me put it to you this way. You go into any grocery store here in Indianapolis and you’ll see a tank of live lobsters, right?”

Both men nodded.

I continued, “Indiana is a land-locked state. You think about the hundreds of thousands of stores in this great country of ours and you know in your heart there aren’t that many lobsters in both oceans to keep up with supply. That’s why there are breeders!” I sat back, looking smug. Paris, snickered in spite of himself.

“How can a couple of guys like us get in on this action?” One of them leaned toward me conspiratorially.

I acted like I was thinking about it. Then Paris whispered in my ear (he said, “You’re an idiot,” but that’s beside the point) and I nodded.

“I’ll tell you what.” I pointed at the stage. “Mr. Lowe got us into it about five years ago. Now you go up to him after the show tonight and ask him about it. He’ll deny it, and he’s supposed to. But if you’re really persistent, he’ll relent and give you the info.” I leaned back in my chair. “Then when we see you boys here next year, we can compare the size of the diamonds we buy for our wives.”

The fat men laughed knowingly. Paris and I slipped away at the next break. Sure, I was having a good time, but there was still work to do.

It didn’t take us long to find a couple of backstage passes (you’d be surprised how many people just leave those things lying around) and to question a completely stoned technician about who would be there that night, when do they lock up, etc.

I loved sneaking around backstage. The passes worked like a charm.  The staff were few and far between and it was dark enough we could hide if needed. After about half an hour of this, Paris and I swiped a detailed schedule (again, just lying around), then headed back to the hotel.

“We should head back at midnight,” Paris said after a shower. I couldn’t blame him. Those clothes were hot and scratchy.

I nodded. “Sure. But this time we dress my way.” Tomorrow we’d have to put on the cheap suits again, but tonight it would be black cashmere. I had it imported. Pure, one hundred percent Mongolian cashmere. It would be like wearing silk pajamas to a break in.

So, sure enough, we found ourselves back at the arena at 12:11. Okay, we were a little late, but I’d really wanted some nachos. I think I got a secondhand pot buzz from the roadie earlier.

We managed to slip inside before the last of the staff called it a night. According to the stoner, the building was open all night and had security guards 24/7. No problem. My experience has been that these guys usually find a nice warm closet and bed down for the night.

By 12:45 a.m., we were alone backstage trying to decide what would work better, weakening the cable or screwing/destroying the pulley. One Rock, Paper, Scissors game later, we were working on Paris’s plan to weaken the cable. How was I supposed to know he would pick paper? He usually picks scissors and I usually pick rock. Oh. Maybe he knew that. I hate it when I find out I’m not as smart as I thought I was.

While Paris worked on fraying the cable, I replaced the steel carabineers with cheap, aluminum ones and significantly loosened the screws that held the cable in place. We wanted it to look like an accident, like human error and equipment malfunction. I could live with that. If none of the above worked, there was always one of Missi’s transparent bullets.

Once we were satisfied, we slipped past the snoozing guard at the door and made it back to the hotel. Paris dropped off immediately, but I wanted to do some work on my wig. It was so crappy, that no matter what I did, it continued to resume its ugly, bowl shape. Damn Stupid synthetic hair.

Louis popped into my head once I stretched out. I was surprised to notice that I smiled automatically. Damn, he was cute. How did I end up with a kid like that? I felt bad that I didn’t remember his mom. I would’ve liked to know more about the mother of my son.

A shock of pain hit my stomach, and I realized I felt bad that I’d treated her like all the other women. Whoever she was, she did a good job raising Louis. And I was depressed that I couldn’t thank her for that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Vesper Lynd:  It doesn't bother you; killing all those people?

James Bond: Well I wouldn't be very good at my job if it did.

- Casino Royale

The next morning, at 9a.m. sharp, Paris and I (incognito again in the ‘70’s porn flunky look) stood in the doorway of the auditorium closest to the backstage area. Why weren’t we in our seats? Well, one reason was to avoid the rednecks who sat next to us yesterday (I smiled, thinking of them pestering Lowe about lobster semen all night), and the other was that if something went wrong with the hit, we could finish off the target quickly.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I whispered to Paris.

“Hmmm?” He was busy studying his watch. Lowe’s lethal zip line moment was about to make motivational speaker history.

“What you said about women. How I don’t seem to respect them.”

Paris arched his right eyebrow. “We’re working now. Can’t this wait?”

I nodded, then went on anyway. “I was just thinking about Louis’s mom. How I don’t even remember her. And I think you’re right about me.”

“That’s great, Dak. This is a real breakthrough for you, but the wrong time.” Okay, he sounded pissed.

I turned my eyes to the stage. Damn. They were running late. After scanning the audience I thought about talking to Paris again, but something in his posture dissuaded me.

Music started up, you know, the kind of dun-dun-dee-dun thingy that announces the arrival of the king, dictator, sheik, whatever.

“Do you want to zip through success?” Anthony Lowe’s voice came from backstage. The crowd went wild. I rolled my eyes, thinking, Just die already.

“Then follow me!” Lowe screamed and the audience screamed.

Paris and I watched as Lowe started to appear at the side of the stage, about forty feet off the floor. As if on cue, the cable gave way, dumping the speaker unceremoniously in a clump on the right side of the stage. That was a serious drop. But people have been known to survive high falls, so I held my breath. The crowd was unnervingly silent. For once in his life, I realized Mr. Lowe had the complete attention of everyone in the room. How nice.

We waited just a few more minutes for the stage hands to do the typical, “oh my god, he’s dead,” the expected gasp from the audience before Paris and I headed for the exits.

“I just wanted you to know that you were right,” I started up as we walked out to the parking lot.

Paris stopped and looked at me. “What are you talking about?”

I explained to him that I was up pretty late thinking about Louis’s mom, how I felt like an asshole for how I most likely treated her. We continued on to the car and got in. Paris listened quietly.

“That’s great, Dak.” He finally spoke as we hauled our luggage out to the car. “I never thought you’d come around.”

“And I wanted you to be the first to know. And as soon as we get back, I’m going to invite the family to a barbecue at Gin’s house, to meet Leonie.”

“Why at Gin’s house?” Paris asked.

“Well, duh! Gin has a backyard and a grill. I don’t.” It made sense to me.

Gin was more than enthusiastic to host the family. Diego nodded and winked. Mom screamed into the phone when I invited her and Dad, and Liv was so excited that she spoke in a shrill, high-pitched voice that I believe only chipmunks could understand.

Apparently, I’d never done this before. I didn’t realize I’d never brought a woman home to meet the family. I called Leonie and she sounded amused, but agreed.

“That’s awesome, Dad!” Louis howled when I told him.

“Really?” I asked him.

He nodded. “Yeah! Romi, Alta and Woody will be there! My whole family! I never got to do stuff like this when Mom was alive. She avoided her family.”

I thought about what he said for a moment before responding. “Louis? I’m really sorry I didn’t know your mom that well. I wish I had.”

My son arched his right eyebrow. “Really? She told me the same thing once. That she wished she’d gotten to know you better.”

That kind of stunned me. “Oh. I didn’t know that.” I cleared my throat. “Are you mad at me?”

His eyes grew wide. “No. Why would I be?”

I shrugged and picked at a piece of the carpet with the toe of my shoe. Louis made me feel like I was the six-year-old.

“I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that . . . well . . . I love you and I’m glad you’re here.”

Louis flew into my arms, crushing me with his embrace. “I love you too, Dad,” came the muffled reply.

I set him down, trying discreetly to brush away a tear as I did so. “So, you like the Bombay family?” I tried to change the subject. My heart was beating so violently I thought I was having a heart attack.

“Oh yeah! My cousins are cool, and I love Grandma and Grandpa! Paris and Missi are a lot of fun to talk to, and Gin and Liv are like having two moms! Although I do think it’s weird no one in this family seems to have a day job. But after this trip to Santa Muerta, I figure we’re all independently wealthy.”

Maybe this would’ve been the right time to tell him what the Bombay family business was. Romi and Alta had started their training last year. And Woody was four years away from his first kill. They all knew.

But something held me back. Louis was a genius. He wouldn’t just take the information and live with it. Chances are, my kid would analyze it – bring up the ethical questions most of us spent our whole lives avoiding. It was a pretty safe bet to think Louis would not join us without a fight. I’d have to do something I’d never done before – prepare. Make sure I had good reasons for what we do. Maybe I should talk to Liv and Gin about it.

So, I changed the subject and we spent the afternoon planning the party. Louis chose hot dogs, hamburgers and a decorated cake depicting the wonders of the Gobi Desert. I’m not kidding.

So, on a Saturday afternoon, my family stood in a semi-circle in Gin’s backyard, ready to meet Leonie. I made my introductions and Leonie laughed. The Bombay family rushed to mob her, and I realized everything was going to be okay.

“Wow, Dak.” Gin sat down next to me at the picnic table. “She’s amazing. I’m kind of in shock.” She took a drink from her bottle of beer and winked at me.

I watched as Liv, Mom and Leonie talked animatedly a few yards away. “I guess I’ve never brought anyone home to meet the family before.”

“And this one has a brain. Very cool,” Gin said.

I punched my sister in the arm. “Are you saying I didn’t date intelligent women before?”

“With the exception of Louis’s mom, yes.” Gin motioned toward my son, who was seriously engaged in a water gun fight with his cousins, Diego, Paris and Liv’s husband, Todd. It felt so . . . so suburban.

“Missi ran the DNA test on Louis. He is my son,  I think I can claim some of that intelligence.”

“No, little brother. It definitely didn’t come from you. I think he gets it from me.”

I gave her my best evil eye as Liv joined us. “I have a son. How cool is he?”

“He’s amazing!” Liv gushed. “And Leonie’s great too. Hell has definitely frozen over today.”

“Oh, come on!” I protested. “You had to know that this might happen someday!”

My sister and cousin shook their heads simultaneously. Gin spoke up, “You are growing up.” Liv added insult to injury by nodding in agreement.

I focused on Leonie as she chatted happily with Mom and Dad. She was nothing like any woman I’d dated before. I knew she was special, and we hadn’t even slept together yet. We haven’t really even made out! The old Dak would be panicking right now. But I wasn’t the old Dak, was I?

What was it about her that invaded my thoughts, day and night? She was smart, funny and didn’t put up with my bullshit. I should hate that in a woman. But Leonie Doubtfire was different. She was like a best friend.

Huh?  It startled me to think of a woman as a buddy. That was impossible. And if she were a friend, I wouldn’t be attracted to her. And yet, I was.

“Hey, Gin,” I started, “can Louis spend the night?”

“Of course. Why?”

I shuffled my feet under the table, then ran my fingers through my hair. “I think tonight’s the night with Leonie.” I can’t believe I just said that. In fact, it looked like Gin and Liv couldn’t believe it either, by the way their jaws hung open.

“What are you saying?” Gin asked.

I could feel a blush coming on. This was completely alien to me. “It means what it means.”

Liv looked from me to Gin, then back to me. “You mean you two haven’t . . .”

“You and Leonie haven’t slept together yet?” Gin finished.

I nodded.  They fainted. Okay, so I’m just making that part up. But judging by their reaction, that’s what should’ve happened. I guess I could understand that. They’ve known me as a player since I was sixteen. Even I still couldn’t believe it.

Liv, normally a wine drinker, opened a bottle of beer and chugged it. Wow. I’d never seen her do that before. Gin couldn’t stop staring at me. Apparently, they were in shock. Problem was, so was I.

When the cookout ended, I led Leonie through the receiving line of well-wishers, and out to my car. She didn’t ask where we were going, and I was so excited I don’t think I could’ve answered her. I was pretty sure I was going to get laid. No, scratch that. I was going to make love to Leonie. I was going to make love perhaps for the first time ever. And I was scared shitless.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“An assassin without confidence is a horrible thing to behold. It’s like a relief pitcher who fumbles the ball.”

- Julian Noble, The Matador

Man, I was completely messed up. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding and for a moment I flirted with the idea of dropping everything to see a neurologist. I had trouble getting the key into the lock.

I felt like Chevy Chase playing Gerald Ford. Upon entering the condo, I became a stumbling oaf. I tripped on the hall rug, smashing the hall table in the process. I left it where it lay, a splintered casualty of my nerves. Apparently, my brain was not sending the right messages to my arms and legs. I skidded down the hallway to the living room wondering if an unknown assailant had broken in and recklessly waxed my floor. I led her to the sofa, and fortunately, Leonie wisely ignored it when I fell backward over the hassock.

Somehow I managed to sit on the couch without impaling myself on the sculpture next to it. When I ran my fingers through Leonie’s hair, the dark, red strands knotted around my ring. I started to pull my hand away, only to have her cry out in pain. This was going so well. Were Gin and Paris watching me on a planted video camera right now? I wouldn’t put it past them.

As I leaned toward her (forcing my sister and best friend from my thoughts), my right hand still stuck in her hair, we actually hit our front teeth together. Somehow her lip was caught in the middle, and as I pulled away I could see I’d given her a fat lip. And who the hell turned up my thermostat?

In spite of all of this, (and I know this will sound weird) I was really turned on. Just looking at Leonie, smelling her hair, touching her skin, sent shivers to all the appropriate body parts. I wanted her so badly my stomach hurt.

I pulled back for a moment. “Why are you here?”

She laughed. “Well, for starters, you invited me. And I wanted to come over.”

“Why?” I persisted. Suddenly, I had to know why this amazing woman was interested in me. Wait a minute. I never cared about that before! But for some reason, with Leonie, I did.

“What do you mean, why?”

“I just wanted to know why you picked me.” I said.

Leonie studied me for a moment. “Somehow, I get the impression you never asked anyone that before.” When all I did was shrug, she continued. “There’s something about you, Dak. I’m very attracted to you.”

“Why?” Dammit! What the hell was wrong with me? It was like having an out-of-body experience – one where I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to.

For a moment, I thought I’d pushed her too far. Maybe if she thought about it too much, she’d realize she wasn’t attracted to me. What have I done?

“I find your vulnerability endearing.” She said quietly with a smile. “I love how you get tongue-tied around me, as if I was the first woman to do that to you. You make me feel like I’m the most desirable person in the world.”

For a moment – just a moment – I thought she was insulting me. Vulnerable? Tongue-tied? That wasn’t me! I was suave and worldly. Did this mean she didn’t see that?

“Dak,” Leonie pulled me against her. “I want you. Don’t ruin it.”

Leonie’s lips were soft on mine. All of the sudden, I forgot what to do! A sense of panic hit me and it felt like the room was spinning. She seemed calm. What the hell was wrong with me? Maybe I needed to lie down.

“Why don’t we take this into the bedroom?” Leonie whispered in my ear. I did one of those cartoon "GULP"s and nodded. We walked into what had once been my playboy lair. Now it seemed like an alien room with furniture I didn’t even recognize.

Leonie kissed me, then abandoned me to use the bathroom. I stood there, frozen to the spot where she left me, unable to think of what to do. Shit! This had never happened to me before! Think, Dak, think!

I was still standing there when Leonie returned and wrapped her long arms around me, pulling me into a kiss. I’m not certain how she managed that, since my head was spinning on my neck like a top. What was it with this chick? I was completely messed up!

What happened next was a blur. There was a whole host of sensations involving hands, fingers, lips and tongues. The outside of my body was performing, but my innards felt like the inside of a lava lamp. I barely remember our clothes coming off, or slipping beneath the sheets. All I could see where those hypnotic grey eyes framed by a cloud of silky, red curls. I hoped she’d know what to do. I’d forgotten what happens when you get a naked man and a naked woman together.

Leonie guided my body into hers and I felt a surge of crushing emotion. What was this? It was as if all my organs has swollen up with helium, and I was about to take flight.

Oh my god. I had to stop this. I had to channel George Clooney instead of Woody Allen. That very idea turned it around.

I started to take control of the situation, like I used to. From my position on top, I kissed her lips, then her chin, slipping down to the lovely notch of her long, pale throat. Leonie sighed and I became bolder. I wanted to make this night memorable, not come across as a bungling fool.

My lips sought the cleft between her perfect, small breasts and I nuzzled each nipple until she moaned beneath me. It felt so good to make her feel good – something I’d never noticed before. Cupping her shapely ass, I found her sweet spot. It only took a few moments to make her come, and it was so good for her, it felt like I’d climaxed too.

Leonie flipped me over, climbing on top and once I was inside her, she began to rock back and forth, never taking her eyes off of mine. I winced as I realized I’d never thought of my past lovers as people. Shoving that aside, I closed my eyes against the intensity of her gaze before my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave.

I felt so terrified and wonderful, I started to cry. Yup. You heard me.

The more I tried to stop, the faster the tears came. I lay there, on my back, arms around Leonie – whose hair covered my chest, and wept. The intensity of what happened stunned me. And I didn’t know what the hell to do.

Fortunately, Leonie fell asleep and I just lay there, wondering what was happening.

The deep, homey tang of bacon teased me awake. I was naked and alone in bed, but someone was making breakfast. This I understood – recognizing the smell of meat and knowing that a woman was here.

I reached for my robe, but it was gone. After fumbling in my drawers for pajamas, I wandered into the hall toward the kitchen.

“’Morning!” Leonie called out brightly as she flipped the eggs and bacon simmering in front of her. My robe hung from her slight frame but it looked incredibly beautiful against her pale skin. She resembled a china doll dressed up in silk.

“Hey.” I kissed her awkwardly and poured a cup of coffee. “How long have you been up?”

I’ve never been good at the morning-after thingy. In fact, unless there was an opportunity for follow-up sex, I usually rushed them through the shower and out the door so I could get on with the next conquest. But this morning was different. This morning, I wanted her to stay.

“Not long. I was hungry. I hope you don’t mind.” She pushed a spiral strand of copper curls from her forehead.

“Of course not. I love having you here.” Oh my God. It was true. I wanted her here for more than sex! Well, that and she was making bacon. Show me a man who’d turn that down.

“Your family is amazing,” Leonie said as she brought two plates to the table and sat down to eat. “Especially Louis.”

I grinned. “Yeah. He’s pretty adorable.”

“I love your sister and cousin. Gin? And Liv? Is her name really Gin Bombay?” She giggled, giving me goose bumps.

“It’s really Virginia or Ginny. But we pretty much shortened it to Gin over the years. It’s much funnier that way.”

Leonie paused, holding her coffee cup. “I have a question that I hope doesn’t offend you.” She waited for me to nod before continuing. “It’s just that I noticed you introduced Gin’s husband as Diego Bombay. Isn’t that your name too?”

Well, at least she didn’t say anything about the dagger -throwing competition at the barbeque, or why there’s a huge keypad in the kitchen locking up Gin’s basement. This was one of the Bombay family quirks I could clue her in on.

“It’s a weird little requirement in my family. If you marry a Bombay woman, you have to take her name. It’s been that way since 2000 BCE. None of the men seem to mind.” I shrugged, “I guess I never really thought about it before.”

Leonie held my gaze for a moment. “Well, I think it’s really cool. Apparently your family is more progressive than most.”

Yeah. We were progressive all right. As long as if you mean by progressive that we kill people we don’t know for money. “So, you got along with everyone?” That was a weird question. Like I was interviewing her for a job.

“I did. They are really terrific. You are so lucky.”

I sat back as she took a few bites of her breakfast. I guess she was right. I usually did think I was lucky to be born rich and unfairly attractive. I just never associated the word luck with my family before.

“And your son, Louis, I adore him!” Leonie giggled. “I’ve never met a kid like that before.”

“Yeah. If it wasn’t for the DNA test, I’d think he wasn’t related to me at all.” Oops.

Leonie arched her right eyebrow. “DNA test?” Uh oh.

I sighed and told her everything about my short acquaintance with my son. For some reason, I told her everything, warts and all. I didn’t even try to make myself sound better. I made a mental note to make an appointment with a neurologist tomorrow.

“Wow,” she said softly. “That’s a lot for a little kid to handle.”

I nodded and realized that for once in my life, I was agreeing with her instead of saying, “What about me? It was tough for me too!”

“And the family made you take the test? That’s pretty cold.”

“Well, it’s really my grandmother who pushed for it. I did it just to keep her happy. I knew Louis was mine.” Or at least, I wanted to believe Louis was mine.

“So, fill me in on everyone. What they do, what they’re like, that kind of thing,” Leonie said as she curled her legs up under her. I launched head first into a panic attack. According to custom (which was strictly enforced), Bombays didn’t tell their spouse about the family until after they were married and before the first family reunion.

“Enough about my family – how about you? What’s your family like?” Oooh. Smooth.

Leonie considered my question for a moment as she chewed the last of her bacon. “Well, I guess you’d say we’re a bit unconventional.”

Unconventional? I thought I had the market cornered on that.

“Oh yeah,” I remembered, “the family funeral home. You must have had an unusual childhood.”

“It was. But for some, morbid reason, I like it. We grew up with a strange sense of gallows humor. My dad’s brother is also in the business. We have the largest funeral home in the state, back home.”

I reached for the toast. “So, why did you want to break out on your own?” Was that too personal?

She shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just kind of different from the rest of the family. They’re more traditional. I never really fit in.” She popped some more eggs into her mouth, and I got the impression that this line of conversation was over.

We spent the rest of breakfast talking about mundane things. The conversation wasn’t memorable, but it had such an overwhelming sense of wonder to it.

While she was in the shower, I thought about everything. The way she made me feel – like I’d known her forever. The surge of emotion when we made love. How easily she fit in with my family. How much she loved my son. What started as a rush, slowly became a panic. By the time we were dressed, I was beginning to sweat again. Mental note – check the thermostat to see if it’s set for Hell.

“I’m sorry, Dak,” Leonie said with a frown, “I just got a call from the funeral home. Can you take me back to my car?”

I expelled a huge sigh of relief. For some reason, I wanted her to go and stay at the same time. But I needed time to get my head together. I parked in front of my sister’s house and walked Leonie to her car. She kissed me and winked as she jumped in and drove away.

I don’t know how long I stood there on Gin’s front lawn, staring after Leonie. I’m pretty sure it was a while, and that I would still be standing there, had Louis not tackled me from behind. Gin waved me into the kitchen.

“Are you okay, mate?” Diego handed me a Diet Coke, and I nodded.

Gin was twittering nonstop about how wonderful Leonie was. I just sat there, mired in confusion. She didn’t seem to notice.

“What is wrong with you?” Gin finally sat down next to me at the kitchen table.

“Huh? What do you mean?” I felt unstable. Kind of like I was homesick for . . . what?

“You haven’t said a word.” Gin frowned. “Oh no! You’re not breaking up with Leonie!”

“What?” I jumped. “No! I’m just, just a bit overwhelmed right now.”

Diego nodded, “That makes sense. You got a new son, a big job from the Council and a new girlfriend. That’s a lot to deal with.”

I looked at him. He was right. There was a lot on my plate. All of it was good individually, but together they twisted my insides mercilessly.

“At least the E.D. problem is over.” Maybe that was one less thing to worry about.

“So why were you standing on my lawn for twenty-five minutes this morning, watching the road?” Gin grinned.

“You’ve got it bad, my friend,” Diego said softly.

I looked at him. Diego understood, probably more than I did. Last night felt like a triumph and a disaster at the same time. I had the feeling that a huge tidal wave was about to crush me at any second. And for a moment . . . just a moment, I thought it might be a good idea if it did.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

- R.E.M.

I know this is going to sound stupid, but I spent the rest of the day feeling really, really bad and really, really good at the same time. Gin and Diego kept me company in the backyard while we watched Louis and Romi play. No one spoke, which was good, because I had no idea what to say.

For the moment, I was hung up on the fact that I cried during sex. What did that mean? Shouldn’t I just be grateful I was able to have an orgasm? But the idea of tears streaming down my face made me feel vulnerable and lost. Gin watched me with some interest. Every time she started to speak, Diego shushed her. He’s a good man.

Was I in love with Leonie? Oh my God. What was happening to me? Maybe I wasn’t in love with her. Now, that thought hurt more.

I sat there for hours like that. Gin fed me lunch, then supper, then asked if I was spending the night. I looked at her like she was speaking Swahili.

“Let’s go home, Dad.” Louis tugged on my sleeve. “Survivor is on and we need to order pizza.”

Oh, right. Our little ritual. Yes. We should do that. As we walked out the door, I had another panic attack. I had a weekly ritual. With my son!

“You know what, Dad?” Louis looked at me very seriously and I tried not to smile at the pizza sauce smeared on his chin.

“What’s that?” I wiped his face then pulled him a little closer.

“Well,” he started, “I think we need to spend more time together.” Louis raised his small hands to protest the words he thought would come – and if I wasn’t so shocked, I might have said something. “I mean, I know my arrival was inconvenient and that you have consulting work to do and all, but I can see that you and Leonie are getting serious and want to make sure you and I get to know each other too.”

I sat there for a while, speechless. My son had just told me he wanted to be with me. And while that should’ve made me feel great, he also said his arrival in my life was inconvenient and that he wanted to be as important as Leonie was. The sheer weight of this six-year-old’s words crushed me like an aluminum can.

“Louis.” I licked my lips to stall for time. “You are very important to me. You are never, and never will be inconvenient. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.” I was starting to get a little choked up.

“Leonie is important to me, but you are my son. Nothing in my life will ever be as important as you are. Do you understand that?” Hell! Did I understand what I was saying? All at once, I felt ashamed of the way I’d been acting all day. I practically ignored my own kid for a pity fest.

Louis scrutinized my face. My heart started to twist thinking that he was trying to figure out if what I said was bullshit or not. Before I could say anything else, Louis burrowed onto my lap and sighed.

I held him for a long time. Damn. This kid had been through a lot. And here we start to get closer and I dump him on Mom and Gin every day. No wonder he considered himself inconvenient.

After a while, I realized he was asleep. As I picked him up and carried him to bed, I could feel his little heart beating. My son’s heart had been broken when his mom died. Hell, he was probably scared to death when they brought him to me. I needed to prove to Louis that he came first and foremost. And this was probably the first time in my life that someone else did.

“You did what?” Paris chose to respond to my confession in a less sensitive way than I had hoped. All I could do was nod. I told him about Leonie hoping for advice. I wasn’t ready to talk about Louis yet.

He sat back with a stunned look on his face. “Damn. Damn,” was all he could say.

“I know. I don’t know why I reacted like that.” And I was feeling more than a little defensive.

“You’ve got it bad, man.” Paris shook his head, but I noticed he didn’t try to stifle a grin. Bastard.

“Can we just move on? What did you find out about the next guy on the list?” I wasn’t just stalling. We needed to change the subject and get a move on. Our two weeks were almost out and we’d only knocked off two of the five National Resources assassins.

Paris nodded, turning back to his laptop, “His name is Garth Stone and he works at Disney World. He’s completely evil. He once hit a kid so his parents, in their grief, would sell their company to a conglomerate. I can’t wait to get a crack at this asshole.”

I swore under my breath, thinking about Louis. This bastard was going down as hard as possible.

“He plays Mickey Mouse at the Magic Kingdom, six days a week,” Paris continued.

I nodded, “Okay. We can do that. It’s hard to see or hear in those costumes. We should be able to get the jump on him.”

Paris looked at me as if I had sprouted two heads. “And just how do we kill Mickey Mouse in front of hundreds of kids?”

“I didn’t say the plan was perfect. I just said the opportunity was better.” He had a point. I didn’t really want to scar the memories of a bunch of children as they watched Mickey Mouse spray blood all over them like a nightmarish lawn sprinkler.

“I’ve looked at a map of the Magic Kingdom. There’s only one entrance and exit.” Paris pointed at the map he placed in front of me. “And a lot of witnesses. We will also have to figure out disguises, because two thirty-year old men in suits would stand out.”

“Don’t they have one of those Gay and Lesbian Days there?” I asked. Paris shot me a look. “Okay, how about we go as Japanese tourists?”

Paris rolled his eyes, “Great. We’re either homosexual lovers, or we have to completely modify our physical features to look Asian.” He tossed his hands up in the air. “I don’t see how we can do it outside of finding out what his day off is.”

I thought about that (mainly because it was better than thinking about my other problems). Figuring out his day off was too risky. There was no way to know when it would be and how we would find him.  Great. We know who he is and where he is. We just can’t get to him. I examined the map. It was a long way from Toontown, where the soon-to-be-deceased Mickey signed autographs, and the exit.

My cell phone started to ring and I panicked for a moment, hoping it wasn’t Leonie. I’d called her the next morning (hey,  I’m not a total cad!) and we made tentative plans to take Louis out for pizza tonight (and I know what you’re thinking – pizza two nights in a row, but we’ll order it with vegetables). But I was still scared of her and the way she made me feel.

Whew. Just Gin. I answered.

“Hey, Dak,” Gin said breathlessly. “Now that you have a kid and since next week is Spring Break, I thought we could do something together with Liv. What do you think?”

I looked at Paris with a slow smile, “Sure,” I answered. “I know exactly what we should do.”

Within an hour, Paris had made all the arrangements for a Bombay Family trip to Disney World. We had hotel accommodations at the Contemporary for four days, Park Hopper passes, flights and everything. Gin, Diego, Romi, Me, Louis, Paris, Liv, Todd, Alta and Woody would all go.

“So,” Paris asked as he confirmed all the reservations, “Are we telling our sisters why we’re really going?”

I shook my head. “They’d be pissed and try to stop us. Besides, Gin thinks I’m acting like a real Dad now. I’d hate to ruin that for her.”

“Well, we leave in a few days. I think we should knock out the Ohio zookeeper before we go so we can at least report three of the five kills to the Council.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said.

“Let’s go now – we can be there in about eight hours.”

I shook my head. “Can’t. My priorities are to Louis first and tonight, I promised him pizza.”

Which is how Paris and I came to be in his car, on the interstate to Tinker, Ohio, early the next morning. Gin was thrilled with the spring break plans and happily agreed to take Louis for a few days. I had the strong suspicion that by the time I got back, Gin and Liv would have cleaned the Disney Store in the mall out of clothing for all four kids.

I felt awful, leaving Louis again – especially after our recent man-to-man. Before dropping him off, I promised that this would be the last time I had to leave him for a while. And I intended to make good on that.

Tinker, Ohio was twenty miles north of Columbus. A small town with it’s own zoo. And yes, we checked, they had bears. I patted the box with Missi’s death-by-bear kit.

About ninety miles away from our destination, my cell rang. I looked at Paris and answered it.

“Hey, Dela,” I used my most charming tone.

“Cut the charisma, Dak. What’s your status?”

Man. She wasn’t buying it. Okay, fine. “Good. We’ve taken care of the dentist, the speaker, and by this time tomorrow, the zookeeper. The next one is now a cast member at Disney World so we’re going there next week to take care of him. That just leaves the last one.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “All right. Just try to get it done before the end of next week. Undoubtedly the NR people have learned of the two deaths so the rest will be on their guard.”

“Roger that.” I said. “Paris and I are working together so we should be fine.”

“I’ll tell the Council,” Dela replied. “Nice job with the zip line by the way. I hated that bastard. Lou once ordered his tapes and the whole Council spent a month listening to them.” Then she clicked off.

“All’s well,” I said to Paris as I snapped my phone shut. And in my mind, I really hoped that was true.

We checked into the Super 8 Motel and changed into our disguises. Once again, Paris arranged for the costumes and once again I cursed him. Dressed in Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots, Ohio sweatshirts and baseball caps, we looked like any other average Joe. What I resented were the wigs. Why did they have to be mullets?

I slipped on my blonde wig and stared at myself in the mirror. So this was what hell was like. Paris joined me in the mirror with his dark wig and a fake mustache. All I could think of was, please don’t let me die on this gig.

The idea of dying on a job was one that Bombays came to grips with at an early age. You never knew what could happen, really. We all carried cyanide capsules somewhere on our bodies. Gin had hers in a locket. Mine was in my ring. That’s right, the one that got stuck in Leonie’s hair. If I hadn’t been able to get it up that night, I probably would’ve taken it.

The idea that you might die would be frightening, if it wasn’t hammered into our subconscious at an early age. No one had ever died on a hit, thereby exposing the family. But just to be safe, we never allowed ourselves to be fingerprinted.

I did not want to die with a mullet (there are just some things your reputation can’t bounce back from). We’d have to be extra careful. Especially in case Dutch (our target) had found out about the deaths of his colleagues. Without a word we went out to the pickup truck Paris had rented under an assumed name and drove to the zoo.

This proved to be a good idea, because all we saw on the road were men in mullets and trucker caps, driving pickup trucks. Oddly enough, we went unnoticed.

Paris circled the perimeter of the zoo twice, and I took notes of the entrances and exits. He pulled into the parking lot and we got out and one at a time, bought tickets and entered. I was studying the zoo’s map when Paris joined me.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly. His mustache was a little lopsided. I swallowed a smirk and responded by pointing out the bear enclosure on the map. We headed in that direction.

I’ve always liked bears. In this case, it was three black bears in an enclosed area that gave the illusion it was completely open. The brochure said that they preferred to make it look like you could reach out and touch the animals. No cages were in evidence, but the bears were surrounded by a thirty-foot-wide by thirty-foot-deep cement moat.

Beary, the male, looked like he could handle the assignment. Missi said black bears were unpredictable. The two females, Belle and Bebe, seemed docile. Beary stretched and looked at us, then rolled over and fell asleep.

“Hey,” I asked a teenaged kid wearing a staff shirt, “is Dutch around?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “He works the night shift tonight.” Then Kid put ear buds in and turned up his iPod so loud I could hear some country singer wailing about Ford trucks.

Back in the room, we checked our equipment and waited. Paris guessed that Dutch must’ve had the night feeding shift. And that was good because no one would be there to find his body until morning. Well, what was left of it anyway.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“And the number one threat to America is . . . bears!”

- Stephen Colbert, The Colbert Report

You know what’s really stupid? Not locking the gates around a zoo at night. Granted, you probably don’t have to worry about the animals escaping, but you do have to worry about someone like . . . well, like me.

Paris and I were crouched in some shrubbery near the bear enclosure. We’d been sitting there for some time, and my legs hurt.

“There he goes!” Paris whispered in my ear, and I squinted into the darkness to see that our prey was heading toward the bear pen. Surely it couldn’t be this easy?

Without making any noise, we slipped from our hiding place and followed Dutch into the darkness. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but it looked like a cave. For a moment I hesitated before I realized that this must be the entrance to the bear compound.

The faux cave had a heavy door with iron bars. Because Dutch had just gone in and thought he was alone, it was unlocked (what is it with Ohio?). We managed to squeeze through and close it without a sound, and waited until our eyes adjusted before proceeding.

I assumed, incorrectly, I might add, that there would be some sort of corridor . . . maybe a lab or something similar, before we entered the bears’ lair. I was wrong. Within seconds I realized we were outside, and another second later, I tripped over something large and furry.

A low grumble told me I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I didn’t know which bear it was and I didn’t care. Scrambling to my feet, I somehow managed to jump free of his paw as it swiped out at me.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Dude,” Paris asked quietly, “did you just trip over a bear?”

“Sh! He might hear you!” I hissed.

It was like I could feel Paris roll his eyes in the darkness. “Well watch where you’re going!”

Hysteria filled my voice, “I didn’t think we were inside the bear thingy!”

“Who’s there?” a deep voice boomed. “Goddamned kids!”

Now what? We were trapped between our prey and a predator. The bear growled behind me. I saw a very large shadow moving toward us.

“Dutch!” Paris shouted, to my complete surprise, “Over here!”

“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered.

“Identifying our target,” Paris shrugged, like I was an idiot and we didn’t have an angry bear behind us and an angry assassin in front of us.

“Yeah?” The voice was getting closer. “Who the fuck are you?”

Paris didn’t answer. Instead he moved out of the bear’s path and crouched down against the faux cave wall. I joined him, still not sure what his plan was.

Dutch loomed in front of us. Paris immediately flashed his LED light onto Dutch’s arms, I guessed to search for the tattoo. The way the flesh on his arm twitched, it looked like Woody Woodpecker was laughing at us. Of course, that wasn’t it – Dutch was just angry.

I grabbed the silver tube containing Missi’s Bear Love Potion #9. I had to make the shot count, meaning it had to hit Dutch in order to attract the bear. I just wanted to get the job done.

Dutch decided to charge us. The silver tube was slippery in my fingers, but I managed to find the button and push it. There was a sharp cry and I felt some satisfaction. We’d only have a few seconds before our Vic realized he’d just been doused to smell like a cross between an appetizer and an attractive, bear whore.

I could feel the beast moving now. Its four feet slapping against the ground rumbled like thunder (a thunder with sharp claws and teeth). Paris ran off, as fast as the bear closed in on us.

Wait a minute. Why was the bear closing in on us? Dutch was about fifty feet away in the other direction. I could smell the barbecue sauce. So why wasn’t Beary (I decided it was the male – for my own ego’s sake) heading for him?

In the darkness, I saw the four-legged eating machine racing after Paris. The smell of tangy ribs seemed to be fading. Why was that? I looked at Dutch who suddenly seemed to appear closer than he really was. Paris was screaming now, running in a zigzag formation across the compound.

I watched in confusion, forgetting about Dutch. That is, until he punched me in the side of the head. As I fell to the ground, I realized what had happened. I hadn’t hit Dutch with the spray. I hit Paris. Now he was in danger of becoming Beary’s midnight snack/new girlfriend and I was getting my ass kicked by another assassin. Some days, it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed, drive to Ohio and put on a mullet wig.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

O-Ren Ishii:  “You didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you?”

The Bride:  “You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did.”

- Kill Bill: Volume 1

Paris ran by, screaming again. Good thing for him, he was going pretty fast. Beary would eventually catch up though. And I had to do something about it before he did.

Unfortunately, Dutch wasn’t in a Good Samaritan kind of mood. He must have figured out we weren’t a couple of teenagers breaking in for fun. Mainly I gathered this from what he said as he hauled me to my feet.

“Who sent you?”

If I was inclined to do so, I would’ve answered him. But that was impossible because he punctuated each question with a punch to my gut. I responded by kicking his knee backward until I heard it crunch.

Dutch screamed and dropped to the ground – his left leg bent like an inverted “v,” which made his mouth turn into the letter “o.” He still had hold of my collar, so I went down with him.

“Will you hurry up and help me?” Paris shrieked as he ran by again. I hoped he’d change his running pattern soon, or Beary would figure it out and ambush him. Bears are smart that way.

I brought both arms up in front of me, over the shoulder and down, breaking Dutch’s hold. After scrambling a safe distance away, I fumbled for Missi’s bear tube. Finding it, I managed to load it and squeeze off another shot, hitting Dutch with a satisfying “plink.”

Dutch, my Vic was so freaked out about his leg bent backwards, he didn’t even notice. But I did see Belle and Bebe’s noses go up in the air. There was no time to waste waiting to see if Dutch would actually be eaten by the bear, so I shot him, using Missi’s disintegrating bullets. He looked up at me in surprise before falling over dead.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Paris shrieked as he ran by me again. This time, however, Beary noticed the smell coming from Dutch. He slowed down just enough to sniff in that direction.

“Hey!” I shouted, “Make another loop, then head straight for the cave door!” I turned and ran to the hidden cave door, swinging it open and holding it in place.

My barbeque-scented cousin ran through and I managed to close the door on Beary’s head. Paris helped me hold it until we locked it. Then without looking back, we ran until we made it to the car.

“Dammit!” Paris shouted from the shower for what must’ve been the fifteenth time. “It’s not coming off!”

I didn’t respond. This was beyond my saying anything. I just folded his shirt up into a hotel towel and shoved it into the trunk of the car. I did make a mental note to tell Missi that the bear juice went straight through the clothes and stayed with the skin for hours. The whole trip back was like riding with a giant McRib sandwich. I think Paris was a little offended when I pulled up to a barbeque pork restaurant for take out on the way back.

“That was messy,” Paris grumbled.

I nodded. “I didn’t leave anything behind, and they’re likely to miss the bullet wound if he was mauled and eaten.”

But in spite of our success, I didn’t feel good about the hit. It was too sloppy. Chances were we’d hear about it from the Council.

It took several hours to get home, and after picking up Louis and putting him to bed, I concentrated more on my injuries. Cleaning up at the hotel before leaving helped somewhat, but I still felt bruised all over.

Sure enough, there were tell-tale marks on my abdomen where Dutch hit me repeatedly. No swimming at Disney World. It would be too noticeable, and I didn’t know how to explain it to Louis. Well, Daddy was trying to kill this guy, but he kept punching me in the stomach. Somehow, that line of conversation didn’t seem helpful.

The next morning, after delivering the little guy to school, I met up with Leonie for lunch. She looked tired. I guess you don’t really get much sleep as a mortician. It wouldn’t necessarily be a nine-to-five job.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” She smiled wryly.

“Sorry.” I ran my right hand through my hair. “Had to go out of town on business. But I’m back now. How are things at Crummy’s?”

Leonie looked at me curiously for a moment and I found myself wondering what she really thought of me. Her gray eyes cut me to the quick.

“I’m not mocking you, by the way. But it is hard to say the name of your business without sounding sarcastic,” I managed.

She arched her right eyebrow, and her scowl faded into a smile. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” Leonie waved her hand and I found myself wanting to suck on those long, slender fingers. “There’s just a lot going on - period. It’s nothing, really.”

As she talked about her most recent funeral, I discovered that I was completely wrapped around every word that came from that lovely mouth. I did have it bad. But I didn’t care. She was everything I wanted . . . everything I needed. And I was an idiot to let her out of my sight for one minute. Of course, that would mean hanging out at the funeral home and I didn’t really want to see what went on downstairs, if you catch my drift.

“So what about you?” Leonie lifted the glass of wine to her lips and I swooned.

“Oh, not much. Consulting stuff here and there. Next week is Spring Break so my whole family is going to Disney World.”

Leonie laughed. “I wish I could go with you. It would be much better than consoling the bereaved and embalming the deceased.”

“Do you actually do that? The embalming, I mean?” I guess it never occurred to me that my beloved (who, by the way, didn’t know she was my beloved yet) could drain and refill a dead body. Of course, I could drain one too – using bullets as a colander.

She nodded. “It’s not so bad. I guess I’ve been around it all my life, so I’m kind of used to it.” She pointed to my ribs with her fork. “You gonna eat that?”

Suddenly, my taste for barbequed flesh had run its course. I shook my head and she scooped the rack of ribs off my plate.

Oh well, grossed out or not, I loved Leonie Doubtfire. And after dropping her back off at Crummy’s with a lingering, lusty kiss, I made up my mind to tell her that the minute I got back from killing Mickey. I mean, when I got back from the Bombay Family Magical Gathering at Disney World.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Narrator:  “You are traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone.”

- Rod Serling, The Twilight Zone

Sure enough, Gin and Liv went wild buying Disney clothes for all four kids. Mom was a little miffed that we were going – apparently she’d been planning to take Romi and Louis in the fall.

There’s something about Disney World that brought out the kid in me. I’d never been, but everything from the bus ride to the hotel to the minute we set foot in the Magic Kingdom, I felt like a five-year-old again. Diego, Todd and Paris seemed to watch me, Gin and Liv with amusement as we “ooohed” and “ahhhed” over everything from the rides, to the gardens to the Mickey Mouse ear hats (mine said “Dakota”).

The first day we just kind of shuffled from place to place, checking everything out. And I loved it all. It was as if this magical place had been made specially, just for me. I couldn’t get enough of the sights, smells and sounds.

Mostly, I couldn’t get enough of watching Louis enjoying himself. Except for the few, exceptionally brilliant comments like “They must use dry ice to get that smoke,” and “Did you realize there are no straight lines on Mickey’s house? The contractors must’ve had it rough,” he seemed like any other kid. I decided that as soon as this job was over and school was out, the two of us would take a trip somewhere. Just me and my son.

About mid-day, I started to notice something. At first, Louis wanted to go on the rides with his cousins. But on the Peter Pan ride, he asked if he could ride with me. I scooped him up and climbed into the boat that carried us through Neverland. Every ride after that, Louis wanted to sit with me.

“Hey Dad.” Louis said quietly. “I want to be just like you someday.”

“What do you mean?” I asked before thinking about it.

He took a deep breath, like he was going to say something you’d expect from a thirty-year-old, not a kid. “I mean that someday I want to take my son to Disney World and ride the rides with him just like you.”

I looked at him for a moment. He had a funny way of completely surprising me. “Well, kiddo, I hope I can be right there with you both.”

He smiled, and I realized that my answer seemed to be enough – even if I didn’t know what the hell the question was.

We spent the second day at the Animal Kingdom, riding rides, seeing parades and touring the animal treks. Louis seemed to know more about the wildlife than the cast members who minded the komodo dragon, naked mole rats and fruit bats.

I bought him a stuffed bat at the gift shop, and Louis grinned his little gap-toothed grin.

“Thanks, Dad. You’re awesome.”

I felt a little spring in my step. Yep, I was about fifty pounds lighter. Funny how something so simple made me feel so great.

“Hey, Louis?” I asked.

“What?” Answered my perfect son.

I gazed into his intelligent little face before answering, “Chicken butt.”

Louis tilted his head to one side and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t get it. There wasn’t any logic, rhyme or reason to it. It was just funny to say that when someone said, “what?” At least it had been when I was a kid.

Louis burst into a fit of giggles, and I realized that no matter how super smart he was, we could both laugh about the business end of a chicken. I was having a great time.

We were just about to get on the Kali River Rapids when an overwhelming sense of familiarity hit me. There was something about the man running the ride that screamed in my head. But he didn’t look like anyone I knew. Tall, muscular and rugged looking, the blonde man looked exactly like the actor Daniel Craig. That’s odd. Why would Daniel Craig be working here? In fact, I was feeling a little threatened by his attractiveness. I never had the “all-man” look. I was more the boyish rogue.

“Coney?” Gin gasped, and the rest of us turned to look at him.

He smiled. “I guess my own family doesn’t recognize me.” He finished shoving our backpacks into the middle tube so they wouldn’t get wet.

My jaw dropped open as Paris said, “Hey, man! You look so different! How could we recognize you?”

Coney laughed and said, “Tell you what, I’ll meet you at Wolfgang Puck’s in Downtown Disney for dinner at eight.” We barely had time to nod in agreement as he shoved our raft away. We were soaked by the very first wave, but all of us still had that look of shock on our faces. I got water in my mouth. It was still open.

When we got off the ride, he was gone. Soaked to the skin, all ten of us kind of waddled back to the bus to the hotel. We managed to clean up and head out to Downtown Disney while Gin filled Diego and Todd in on our strangest relative.

“He has a Ph.D. in philosophy from an ivy league school. And he’s a carnie,” Liv explained.

I watched as Diego’s eyebrows arched in surprise. It was true. In fact, the last time I saw Coney Island Bombay, was at the family reunion last fall. His head was shaved bald, he had a beard and was covered in tattoos. In spite of the way he looked, Coney was a good guy. The carnie lifestyle seemed to suit him. He traveled the country in a tricked-out RV, wealthy housewives fell all over him to satisfy their carnie sex fantasies, and he wintered in Florida. In between all that, he read things by Jean Paul Sartre, Nietzsche and John Stuart Mill . . . just for fun.

In fact, he always reminded me of Doc Savage. Super smart, muscular frame, laid back, philosophical attitude, all that. Well, except for the assassin part. Doc always rehabilitated the criminals he caught. He wasn’t big on the death penalty.

Upon entering Wolfgang Puck’s, we found him immediately. Sitting at a table in a blue silk shirt and tan linen slacks that made him look like he was about to order a martini shaken, not stirred. After we made introductions and were seated, Paris blurted out the big question.

“Dude! You look so different! What happened?”

Coney leaned back, taking a very manly drink from his expensive scotch and smiled. “I’m kind of going through a new phase.”

The waitress arrived with coloring books and crayons and took our drink orders.

“But the tattoos?” Liv asked.

“They were never real. Missi developed a special semi-permanent ink that, with a certain solvent could be erased from the skin completely. I’m kind of done with them. Taking a philosophical sabbatical here.”

“At Disney World?” I asked, feeling a little like an idiot.

Coney smiled and I thought to myself what a handsome, self-assured man he was.

“It’s what I know. I like it. I do this every now and then.” He looked at the kids, then me. “So, you’ve changed a bit too.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It was a surprise to me as well. But Louis is awesome.” I realized I was grinning like an idiot. I was proud of him.

We talked for a long time, through dinner, dessert and more drinks. Looking at the end of the table, I could see the kids were getting pretty tired. Diego and Todd noticed it too, because they volunteered to take them back to the hotel so that all of us cousins could hang out. Gin and Liv kissed their husbands and waved as they left.

“We should get out of here,” Coney said, throwing a couple of crisp hundred dollar bills on the table. “How about a nightcap?”

Gin, Liv, Paris, Coney and I headed across the bridge to Pleasure Island. We settled at a table in one of the clubs and continued talking. Then a bunch of songs from the ‘80s came on and before we could respond, Gin and Liv ran squealing, to the dance floor.

“So, what brings you here?” Coney asked.

Paris popped another Mickey Mouse-shaped pretzel into his mouth, “A job. From the Council.”

We filled in Coney on everything. When we finished, he leaned back in his chair and had another drink of his scotch.

“His name is Garth Stone, eh? Haven’t met him yet. How are you going to approach it?”

Paris and I looked at each other and shrugged. “We kind of thought we were lucky just to get this far,” Paris answered.

Coney looked toward the dance floor where Gin and Liv were dancing. I followed his line of vision and was horrified to discover all the moves I thought were cool in the ‘80s actually made me look like a spastic heron with rickets. Karma Chameleon was playing and I realized that at my fiftieth high school reunion, a bunch of ugly, old people would be dancing to it and saying how timeless the music of our generation was. I shuddered.

“You said they don’t know about the job?” Coney nodded towards our sisters.

I shook my head. “Paris and I would be smoked if they knew. They think we’re here to bond with the kids.”

Actually, Paris and I had toyed with the idea of getting Gin and Liv involved. But no matter how we looked at it, it just seemed to be a really horrible idea.

“Here’s what I know,” Coney said to us once the waitress laid down a new round of alcohol. “You’ll never find him on his day off. The younger kids – interns – they run around the parks on their day off. I speak from some level of experience when I say that a thirty- or forty-something assassin won’t do that. And since this zookeeper knew you were coming, Garth will be on the look-out. I’d suggest you deal with the costume.”

“The costume? What do you mean?” Paris asked, sipping his Manhattan. I guess I never really noticed before that he drank like he was Angie Dickinson. Then I remembered he had a Pink Cadillac at dinner and decided I needed to talk to him about that later.

“I’d rig his costume to kill him,” Coney suggested. “It’s the only way I can think of to get the job done without doing it directly.”

“How would you do it?” I asked.

Coney rubbed his chin. “I’d undo the lining of the neck on the headpiece and put about three wraps of det cord around the inside. Install the detonator, and attach the wireless device. Ensure it’s turned on, and then close it back up. Use your cell phone to trigger the explosion. If you do it right, everything will happen inside the costume and with a muffled ‘pop’ he’ll just fall over.”

We looked at him blinking like those toads that need their eyes to swallow.

“You’ve thought about doing this before, haven’t you?” I asked.

Coney smiled. “Oh, only about a thousand times. Those costume guys can be real dicks to us ride jockeys.”

Gin and Liv joined us, and we spent another couple of hours laughing about the family. It was a definite source of amusement.

The night ended with us getting a group photo of our heads superimposed on Star Wars characters. Paris was Luke Skywalker, Coney was Han Solo and I had to be Chewbacca. Huh. Maybe it was a metaphor for the way things were going.

After this, there was only one assassin left to take out. The trip made me realize how important Leonie and family were to me. I was pretty confident the Council would give us a lot of time off. Five hits in less than one month was the stuff of legends to the Bombays. Then I could sort everything out. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Male Muppet:  “Mah nah mah nah.”

Female Muppets:  “Doo doo, de doo doo!”

Male Muppet:  “Mah nah mah nah.”

Female Muppets:  “Doo doo doo doo!”

Male muppet:  “Mah nah mah nah.”

Female Muppets:  “Doo doo, de doo doo, de doo doo, de doo doo doo de doo doo doo doo doo!”

- Sesame Street

Of course, things looked different in the cold light of morning than they had the night before. At least, this is what Paris and I thought as we stood in front of the costume department in the Magic Kingdom.

How did we find it? It wasn’t easy. There are no maps to show the secret employee hideouts. And the slight hangover from the night before didn’t really put Paris and me in the best mood. Eventually, Paris managed to find a bribable cast member. The one hundred-dollar bill and the elaborate story he gave Snow White about how he planned to propose to his girlfriend by surprising her in costume helped.

The entrance to the costume warehouse was cleverly disguised as a wall. We’d convinced the family to stop for a snack while Paris and I surveilled the place. After an eternity (do you know it is nearly impossible to eat a batch of french fries very, very slowly? I was so hungry I practically ate my own fingers in the process) the wall opened and Buzz Lightyear popped out. Within seconds, he was mobbed by kids, and we had our answer.

Because we had no way of getting det cord, Coney volunteered to set us up. When we got back to our rooms that night, a comatose Louis slung over my shoulder, we found a Disney bag filled with everything we needed.

I nudged Louis awake, against his will, and handed him over to Todd with the lie that he wanted to sleep with their son, Woody. Whether they bought it or not, Liv and her husband accepted my boy wordlessly and tucked the two kids in together.

Paris and I waited until we heard everyone in the adjoining rooms go to bed before slipping into our Mission Impossible gear. We’d gotten too far to have Gin and Liv bust us just to borrow aspirin.

As we sat there silently in the darkness feeling like idiots, my mind started to wander. Before this trip, I’d never been to Disney World before. Sure, I knew it was hailed as the happiest place on earth, but when the plane landed in Orlando, I thought it would be just like any other theme park.

I was wrong – and I don’t admit that very often. Something about the place from the minute we checked into our hotel told me to relax, have fun, that time didn’t matter here. The kids whooped and hollered, and the adults all seemed to have this goofy grin on our faces. I started to think that for once, maybe the Bombay Family could be like any other family. Maybe we could pretend we were normal people. What would that be like?

Of course then I remembered that we weren’t like any other family on vacation to Disney World. We came here with a purpose other than meeting Mickey Mouse. We came here to kill him.

There were two ways to handle the situation. The Magic Kingdom was technically shut down for the night, but we knew there was a whole crew of employees who worked through the night to scrape gum off the ground, weed the flowers and basically make it look like there weren’t 40,000 people there the day before. We could either disguise ourselves as maintenance people or sneak in. I didn’t want to work that hard – so we donned our ski masks and black clothes for the job.

Breaking into the Magic Kingdom isn’t as easy as you might think. But I’d hardly be professionally responsible if I divulged their secrets, so suffice it to say, Paris and I made it into the park and to the warehouse undetected.

I truly admire the way Disney World operates. Paris and I had planned on being there for several hours. That’s how it usually works. We’d have to find the costume, confirm that Garth would be wearing it and when, and dodge staff.

That’s why it was such a surprise to find a clipboard hanging from Mickey Mouse’s suit with Garth’s name on it as the first one to wear it the next day. The clipboard confirmed he would be in Toontown. Damn. Disney should branch out into the assassination business. They could lure bad guys to the park and take them out and clean up afterwards so no one would ever know. Maybe I should talk to Grandma about that – bring them on as a subcontractor.

“That was way too easy,” Paris said quietly once we made it back to our room. He pulled off his stealth clothes and climbed into pajamas. I did a cartoon double-take. Were those sock monkeys on his jammies? How did I not notice this before? My amusement at all things Paris was starting to turn into concern.

“But maybe the Fates are cutting us some slack after the bear job.” He added as he slid under the covers.

I ran my hands through my hair. “I hope so. I don’t want to blow up the wrong guy tomorrow.”

I looked in the mirror with curiosity. My reflection told me my cool was slipping away. My hair looked messy, not styled, and my eyes looked tired, not full of fun. This job was getting to me. And I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Paris rolled over in his bed. “We won’t. It’s all set. Then there’s just one more.” His breathing began to slow and I realized he was asleep.

I also realized that I was bone tired. Maybe I was getting too old for this shit.  No, I told myself, it’s just having to kill so many people in so short a time. No one’s ever had to do that before in the Family.

I’d never been the sort of guy who looked for answers in his life. To me, killing people was just something I was good at. I had no qualms with the assholes I took out. It helped that I knew they were inherently bad people. I slept okay at night.

Gin had a run-in with conscience when she hooked up with Diego. Taking down your bodyguard boyfriend’s client will do that to you. Liv got off on taking out neo-conservatives. Paris didn’t seem bothered.

Coney popped into my mind and I thought that maybe the reason he was so drawn to philosophy was to find a way to make sense of it all. I never had much use for philosophy, unless it helped me score with some chick.

I rolled over and stared at the wall. This line of thought was stupid. Garth, Munch, Dutch and Lowe were assassins. They didn’t have the family tradition we had and as I’d learned with each of them – they were stone-cold killers, taking out innocent people. Hell, Garth had taken out a kid for profit! I hung on to that thought for a moment. They were killers.

But so was I. Christ, I thought, I’m getting nowhere with this. Stop analyzing! Just do the job and get the hell out of Orlando. One more job and our competition would be wiped out.

I thought about Coney and his pursuit of answers. Suddenly my shallowness didn’t seem so stupid. Life in the Bombay Family was definitely better if you didn’t try to face all your demons – even if he was a cute rodent wearing red pants and a killer smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“It happens sometimes. People just explode. Natural causes.”

- Agent Rogersz, Repo Man

Toontown was crowded, which was good. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd. Unfortunately there would be a lot of witnesses too, but that couldn’t be helped.

The whole family was waiting in line to see Mickey Mouse and Chip and Dale. And even though I should’ve kept my mind on the job, I had to wonder if anyone knew who Chip and Dale were. I mean, come on! I’m thirty-seven and I barely remember their cartoons as a kid.

Louis, Romi, Alta and Woody were waiting to see the damned chipmunks. Paris and I made sure they’d already met Mickey earlier, so they wouldn’t feel robbed of that special experience when he imploded. If we’d rigged the shape charges right, there’d be a noise, and Mickey would collapse to the floor with no mess. We’d hustle the kids out so they didn’t see the Garth soup inside the costume.

As we stepped up for the kids to meet the chipmunks, I nodded slightly at Paris. He, in turn, took out his cell phone and aimed it at the kids as if he was going to take a picture. Only he and I knew, that we were actually triggering the mechanism that would blow up a beloved Disney character/National Resources assassin.

Paris waited until Mickey was alone and pressed the button.

There was a muffled explosive sound, kind of like, “Ffffoooom,” and the Mickey Mouse head shot into the air, hitting the ceiling. Mickey’s body fell to the floor backwards, thankfully hiding what was left of Garth’s head.

Some people noticed the noise; others didn’t seem to register it. The Mickey head (sans the ears – apparently they were blown off) came down in front of Chip and Dale, who because of difficulties seeing through their costumes, thought some kid had thrown them a large beach ball. Thus, to my amazement and everyone else’s horror, they started tossing the battered head back and forth.

The cast member who was handling Mickey screamed and suddenly, everything came back to the present. Paris and I faked shock as we dragged our family out of the barn and outside. Three of the kids looked stunned. Louis, however, was frowning. I didn’t have time to worry about it as Paris and I hustled everyone onto the Lilly Belle train for our getaway.

The train seemed like a good idea when we planned it. It runs the perimeter of the park to the front entrance. No fighting through crowds, no walking. Easy right? We’d be out of Toontown before security arrived.

Do you know how slow that damned train is? I felt like an idiot, trying to get away from the scene of the crime on a vehicle that goes “toot! toot!” at four miles per hour.

Looking at everyone in the group, it seemed that the kids managed relatively unscathed. Diego told them that Mickey wasn’t feeling well, so he fainted but was okay. Todd backed this up with a funny story about something including a rhinoceros and a Pomeranian. Romi and Alta bought it. Woody wisely kept his mouth shut, and Louis was staring at me.

Actually, so were Gin and Liv. Well, they weren’t exactly staring so much as trying to kill us with a look. I wondered if you could really do that? It would be so much more effective. I’d have to talk to Missi.

After what seemed like ten hours, we made it to the entrance and hopped on the monorail to the hotel. Gin and Liv had their arms crossed over their chests and were still glaring at Paris and me. I was pretty sure they’d figured out what happened.

We hadn’t discussed the job with them. In fact, they knew we’d been working on a Council assignment but never asked about it. From the looks on their faces, our sisters knew now.

Todd and Diego seemed to know something was up, because they volunteered to take the kids to the pool. Liv and Gin followed us to our room, not saying a word and definitely not invited. Paris and I tolerated it because we didn’t know what else to do.

“You killed Mickey Mouse?” Gin hissed before the door had fully closed.

“I don’t believe this!” Liv threw her hands up in the air. “That’s why we’re on this trip, isn’t it?”

“How could you drag your family into this?” Gin was on a tear.

“Now, hold on,” Paris said, his hands up and forming a barrier between him and his angry sister. “This is just a job. And it’s not like the Bombays don’t know that.”

I nodded. “You used to do this for a living, remember? The rest of us didn’t get retirement.”

And that was when Gin slapped me across the face. At least it wasn’t a right cross.

“You could’ve told us! We could’ve taken the kids somewhere else!” Liv shouted.

“No, we needed them to be there,” Paris said simply.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

“You used the kids as your cover!” Gin said through her teeth. “How could you do that to them?”

Liv had a dangerous look in her eyes and for once I thought my earth-mother cousin was going to kill us.

“Okay,” I conceded, “it was wrong. We know that. But the Council ordered us to get the job done. We had no choice.”

Gin shook her head. “I don’t buy it. You could have found another way.”

“I can’t believe you’d drag Louis into this!” Liv said.

“Louis has to begin his training too, like your kids,” Paris said slowly. “It’s not like we have an option to exclude them.”

Gin crossed her arms over her chest again. I was a little nervous she might have shoulder holsters on. “What about Todd and Diego? You didn’t need to drag them into it.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. I had nothing. While I was happy to have four of the five hits done, there was something in what she said that made me feel guilty.

“Well, it’s over now,” Paris said with a sigh.

“Maybe you should tell us exactly what ‘it is.” Liv folded her arms too.

So, we told them everything. How five people ranging from Gin’s oral surgeon to Mickey Mouse were dangerous assassins who kill innocent people, including children. We might have played up the danger a bit by saying they were coming after the Bombays. But that could’ve been true. Gin had known about Munch by being there. What she didn’t know was that we had to take out a whole company.

Liv and Gin listened carefully, still glowering – which, by the way, was not a good look for them. I toyed with telling them that at their age they can’t afford new wrinkles, but a strong sense of self-preservation told me this wasn’t the time.

No one spoke for a few moments, which, I must admit, made me a little nervous. If I hadn’t had a son depending on me, I do believe Gin and Liv would’ve killed us on the spot.

“Well,” Gin said grudgingly, “I still don’t think you had to handle the last one this way.”

Liv reacted differently. “You were chased by a hungry bear?” The edges of her mouth seemed to struggle not to burst out laughing.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Paris whined. “Dak had lousy aim.”

“Yeah, but you screamed like Romi on Space Mountain.” I had to smile, remembering that.

“Go to hell,” Paris said half-heartedly.

“I’m sure we’ll all be there some day.” Gin scowled. “I do wish I could’ve seen what happened at the zoo. It would’ve made for great blackmail material. I’d love to hold that over you for the rest of your life.”

We spent the last night at Disney World quietly. Dinner at the restaurant on top of the Contemporary followed by one last fireworks show over the Magic Kingdom. Louis was very quiet and I wondered if he was just exhausted or worried about the man in the Mickey Mouse suit.

First thing in the morning we all packed up and headed to the airport. It took a long time to get through security and I wondered why I didn’t think of chartering our private jet. By the end of the day, we were back in the Midwest.

“All set, champ?” I sat on Louis’ bed that night.

He nodded solemnly. “Thanks for the trip, Dad. I really liked it. Well, except for when Mickey Mouse’s head blew off. But I loved the rest of it.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Obviously, my kid was smart enough to know that an explosion had occurred. I kissed him on the forehead and tucked him in.

“So, why did you do it?” he asked casually.

“Do what?” My palms started to sweat.

“Kill Mickey Mouse,” Louis said. “I saw Paris use his cell phone to do it.” His big eyes were hard on mine, and I was pretty sure my spleen burst. How the hell did he figure it out? For once, I thought maybe it wasn’t so great to have a smart kid.

“You’re not answering me,” Louis frowned.

So I did what millions of parents have done over thousands of years. I bluffed. “What makes you think we killed Mickey Mouse?”

My son rolled his eyes at me (okay, so my poker face had abandoned me). “It wasn’t Mickey Mouse – just a man in a suit. And it was pretty obvious. Have you been an assassin for very long?”

It felt like Louis’s words were pummeling me. I couldn’t lie to the kid, at least, not now. I had no experience in handling this. My dad-learning curve was pretty short.

“All right,” I sat up a little straighter, “it’s time you knew the truth about the Bombay Family.”

Two hours and an entire stuffed-crust cheese pizza later, Louis knew his family history. He took it well, considering he just found out he’d be doing contract kills for the rest of his life.

“That explains why everyone is so rich and no one works.” Louis chewed his pizza thoughtfully. “It’s bad guys, right?”

“Well, that’s the story for the most part,” I responded. “They don’t really give us a dossier on each hit. We assume the Council knows what it’s doing.”

“And I have to start my training?” Louis looked a little perplexed.

“Soon.” I stole a look at the clock. “But right now you have to get some sleep. It’s very late. Oh, and Louis?” I hesitated. “We don’t talk about this outside the Bombay Family.”

My kid nodded, then used his pajama sleeve as a napkin and curled up to sleep.

I hit the bottle of scotch in the kitchen. I felt like I’d just unleashed hell on the world. That’s ridiculous. Louis would be a perfect killer. He’d research everything and be completely careful.

It surprised me how well he took the news. Maybe the fact that he knew his cousins were dealing with this helped. He was only six. There was plenty of time to deal with the ramifications. I didn’t think I had to worry about seeing any Junie B. books called, I Was a First-Grade Assassin.

Eventually, I went to sleep where I dreamed of exploding Disney characters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“The extreme always seems to make an impression.”

- J.D., Heathers

After dropping my soon-to-be-lethal son at school, I called Leonie and set up a date for that night. Mom told me the minute we got back that she was babysitting – no matter what. I figured Louis would have a million questions about family and that Mom was the perfect person to answer them.

Something had been bothering me for a while, so that night as we settled on my couch, I asked Leonie the big question.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Leonie choked on her beer. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m afraid I’m moving too fast and I don’t know you as well as I should.”

She arched her eyebrows in what I took to be amusement.

“I want to get to know you intellectually . . . in addition to physically.” That wasn’t hard. So why was I nervous? It seemed like a perfectly normal question. Maybe it was too personal? Listen to me! I’m in love with this woman, and I’m too scared to ask her favorite color.  Maybe I should be drinking Pink Cadillacs.

“What?” I was suddenly aware that she was talking to me.

“You asked what my favorite color is,” she said patiently, “and it’s cerulean.”

“Jesus,” I said, taking a drink of beer, “what would Freud say about that?”

Leonie laughed, “He’d say sometimes, cerulean is just cerulean.”

“Blue. Your favorite color is blue. Why can’t you just say blue?” I have to admit, it irritated me that she had to pick a color so obscure that Crayola didn’t use it. And these are the folks who came up with periwinkle.

“Cerulean, like the color of your eyes when I make love to you.”

I tried not to let the fact that my body was already getting hard distract me.

“Fine. I concede that your favorite color is a ten-dollar word for blue.”

Leonie grinned. “And yours? Didn’t you tell me once you liked blue?”

I stuck out my chin defiantly, “No. I have grown as a person over the years. My multitude of experiences have enlightened and shaped me into a mature adult.” I paused dramatically. “I like red now.”

Leonie laughed again. You know how there’s a frequency of sound that only dogs can hear? Well, there was something in that laugh that I swear only my dick could hear.

“Have I answered the question to your satisfaction?” She arched her right eyebrow.

“You have won the day this time, evil-doer,” My loins were begging me to end this stupid line of questioning. “But I’ll be back, and when I am, you will submit to my interrogation.”

“Do your worst,” she challenged, “but for now, I will claim my prize.” Leonie pulled me toward the bedroom. As she pushed me onto the bed, I thought at this rate, getting to know her intellectually was going to take a long, long time.

Cerulean! I mean really!

Two hours later, we found ourselves sitting in the kitchen (me in my boxers and she in my shirt – and she looked better than me in it) eating whatever was in my fridge.

“Mmmmmmm -” Leonie licked some honey off her fingers, “ -this is so good I could go into brain lock.”

I paused from eating cottage cheese out of the container with a spoon. What?

“Brain lock? Is that dangerous?”

She shrugged. “When iguanas have too much information to process, they go into a kind of brain-lock where they shut down to figure out how to deal with it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s true.” She grinned. “I once had an iguana.”

“An iguana, eh?” I asked, “You were into lizards?”

“Hey!” Leonie said, a little defensively. “Cecil was great. I don’t think they’re as affectionate as dogs, but he liked to climb on me for the body warmth.”

“I guess I have something in common with Cecil then.” I winked at her. “Whatever happened to him?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, biting her lip and I got the feeling she didn’t want to tell me.

“It looks like we have time. Besides, we are trying to learn more about each other, right?”

“A friend of Mom’s gave him to me. He had outgrown his cage and at six feet long was beginning to threaten their cats. I only had him for a little while. He died three months later.”

“What happened?” I couldn’t believe I was in love with an iguana lady.

“His owners had been feeding him cat food for two years. That’s okay for a baby, but once he was six months old he needed fruits and vegetables. His organs calcified.”

“Did you know something was wrong?”

“His fingers would tap, like he had Parkinson’s. I took him to the zoo, and they sent me to a vet. He sent me home after drawing blood and told me to give him a warm bath. I left him in the tub for a minute and when I came back he was laying on the bottom, underwater.”

“He drowned?”

“No, iguanas are good swimmers. He just died. Anyway, are you sure you want to hear more?”

“Absolutely.”

She gave me a stern look, “You’re not mocking me, are you?”

“Never.” I placed my hand over my heart, “Go on.”

Leonie took a deep breath and continued. “I took him out of the tub and put him on the floor. He opened his mouth and gasped. So I did what any other iguanatarian would do.”

“Iguanatarian?” Can she just make up words like that?

“I, um, gave him mouth to mouth and chest massage.”

I’d bet Leonie’s gotten used to the eruption of hysterical laughter over the years. For some reason, she’s never been smart enough to NOT tell the story in the first place.

I finished laughing and wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry. Did you really try to resuscitate him?”

Leonie nodded and I had the feeling she didn’t want to take the story any further. Unfortunately for her, I’m a cruel bastard.

“Did it work?” I pressed.

“No. Adding oxygen does nothing for organs that have been petrified.”

“How do you dispose of a six-foot-long iguana?” I asked, not sure I wanted to really know the story.

The love of my life sighed. “Well, it’s not like you can just throw him out in the trash can. The garbage men probably wouldn’t come back. So I decided to bury him.”

“Oh. Go on.”

She was getting pissed now, but that didn’t stop me. “Well, the only way to do it is to dig a six-foot-long trench or a six- foot-deep hole. I opted for the trench. But it was a very hot day so after three feet, I gave up. I thought it would be easy to bend him in half and I’d save myself some labor. Unfortunately, rigor mortis had set in, so I had to jump on him to break him to fit him into the trench.”

Once my laughter subsided, I smiled at her. “I love you even more than I thought possible.”

It was her turn to have wide eyes, “Why? It’s a repulsive story!”

I took her hands in mine. “No, it’s a great story. It shows compassion in trying to resuscitate him and wanting to give him a proper burial.”

“I don’t know if jumping up and down on the corpse shows much respect,” she said with a frown. “I doubt I could get away with that at work.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love it. And I love you.” There. I’d finally said it. And I was glad I said it.  I love Leonie Doubtfire and her dead iguana.

Of course, her cell phone chose that moment to ring. For the first time in my life, I’d told a woman I loved her. Couldn’t she ignore it?

Leonie grabbed her purse and pulled out the cell. She frowned at it for a long time, then with a stony look, told me she had to leave.

“Whoa! You can’t go now.  I just told you that I love you!” In spite of my best efforts, it came out as a whine. “I’ve never done that before! This is a major breakthrough for me!” And why didn’t she say I love you back? I’m hardly an expert in these matters, but it does seem like it’s a reciprocal thing.

She disappeared into the bedroom without answering and in a few minutes re-emerged fully dressed. Leonie kissed me on the cheek. The cheek! What the hell was going on?

“Sorry, Dak. I’ve got to go.” And Leonie Doubtfire walked out of my condo, leaving me standing there alone, in just my boxers, feeling like an idiot.

As if these last few months, that was a first for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”

- Tyler Durden, Fight Club

I didn’t hear from Leonie the next day, or the day after that. I wondered if this was what the women who’d dated me before felt like. I didn’t like it. It hurt. I left a number of messages on her voicemail, but she never responded. I felt like a washed-up loser.

Louis knew something was wrong, but wisely didn’t mention it. Mostly he talked about school, our trip, and his training. I just listened half-heartedly. What could I do? I felt like my heart had been ripped out, then eaten by Magua on Last of the Mohicans.

“Dad!” Louis shouted, even though he was standing right in front of me.

“Huh? Oh, hey, buddy. What’s up?” I responded glumly.

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to tell you that I want to join the Boy Scouts! They have a form you need to sign.” He presented me with a form, requiring my signature.

“I used to be a Boy Scout,” I mumbled, taking the pen he handed me. Maybe this was what Louis needed to give him more of a normal boyhood. Something that could cancel out the assassin training.

After he was asleep, I shifted my focus from feeling sorry for myself to my Cub Scout days. I’m pretty sure I liked it. Yes, I know I did. Paris and I were in a den together and I started to think about camp-outs, pine wood derbies and newspaper drives. We always hit bull’s-eyes in whatever type of target shooting we did. I think that unnerved the other kids, but since it had been part of our rigorous assassin training, we just shrugged when they asked why we were so good.

I looked at the form. The meeting was next week, and I had to accompany him. Okay. That sounded like something typical fathers did with their typical sons.

I thought about Leonie once more before banishing her from my brain. I didn’t need another sleepless night feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I went to sleep dreaming of navy blue uniforms, square knots and trying to remember what the hell WEBELOS stood for.

Day three found me unwashed, in rumpled and dirty clothes, sitting in Paris’s apartment.

“Let me get this straight. You told her you loved her and you haven’t heard from her since?” Paris frowned. “Wow. Talk about karma.” He shook his head, “I mean they say what goes around, comes around but man, this is pure poetic justice.”

I stared at him. “Wow. You are so supportive.”

“Maybe not, but I know irony when I see it.” Paris handed me a cup of coffee and sat down.

“So, what do I do now?” Paris might not have been the best person to ask. Don’t get me wrong – he’d had his fair share of women. But as far as I know, he’d never fallen in love either.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “She’s an odd chick. Not like your normal breed. This one has a brain. Did you say anything to offend her?”

I related the cerulean and dead iguana stories almost verbatim.

“It’s hard to say. Maybe she’s got a lot going on at work?”

Now why didn’t I think of that? Of course that was it! Maybe there’d been a mass murder or something and she was up to her neck in dead bodies and their bereaved.

“So, you’re saying I should go over there?”

Paris cocked his head to the side. “No, I don’t think I said that. If she’s busy, you’re likely to bother her.”

“I should go over there!” I repeated a little louder, with enthusiasm.

“What are you going to do? Start crashing funerals just to see her?”

I jumped up from the couch and hugged Paris, “That is exactly what I’m going to do!”

Even as I showered, shaved and donned a clean suit, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this before.  Of course she was swamped!

Being at Crummy’s was a way to demonstrate that I supported her.  Leonie would see that and tell me how wonderful I was. It was a fool-proof plan.

I pulled into the parking lot, parked and checked the newspaper. It was the Lutz visitation, and although I’d never met Dean Lutz or any of his family, I was attending his wake.

One final check in the rearview mirror told me that Dak was back. I locked the car and made my way into the funeral home. A different mortician greeted me at the door and sent me to the correct room. The receiving line was short and I had to play the part.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said quietly to the widow.

“How did you know my husband?” she asked through her tears.

“Oh.” How did I know him? Well, it hardly seemed prudent to say that I just spotted his visitation notice in the paper today. “I’d met him through work. Just a few times. I didn’t know him well but wanted to pay my respects.” I thought it was a great cover story. So why, then, was the widow looking at me with her mouth open?

“Could you come with me please?” Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I saw that it was Leonie. My heart soared as I excused myself from the widow and followed her into the hall.

“What are you doing?” Leonie had her arms folded over her chest. “Are you crashing the Lutz visitation?”

“Yes. I thought I’d come find you, since you’ve been too busy to return my calls.” I said calmly with only a smidge of defensiveness.

Leonie looked to her right and left before speaking. “That is so wrong, Dak! You can’t stalk me like this.”

“What are you talking about? I just wanted to show you some support.”

“By pretending to be a colleague of Mr. Lutz’s? Are you joking?”

“I could be a colleague. How do you know I’m not?” That’s right, boy. Hang on to your dignity!

“Because Mr. Lutz was the fat man in a circus side show.” she said grimly. Okay, she had me there. Come to think of it, the urn was enormous (I just thought the widow was being dramatic). And there was that woman with the beard. . .

“All right, fine! I came here to find you.” I pouted.

Leonie sighed and brushed a stray loop of curls from her face, “Look, Dak. I just need some time on my own for a while. Don’t call me or stop by. Just give me space.”

My jaw was hanging down to my knees. Somehow I managed to close it. “You’re . . . you’re breaking up with me?”

“Look, it’s more complicated than that. Someday I’ll explain it to you, but I can’t now. Okay?” Leonie patted me awkwardly on the shoulder, then left me alone.

Oh my God. I just got dumped by a redheaded mortician in a funeral home named Crummy’s, after pretending to be a circus freak at the visitation I just crashed. I was pretty sure there’d be no bouncing back from this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I wonder if I have become smaller or has the bedroom

Always been the size of a western state.

The aspirin bottle is in the medicine cabinet

Two hundred miles away, a six day ride,

And my robe hangs from the closet door in another time zone.”

- Saturday Morning, Questions About Angels, Billy Collins

“And then she walked out of my life forever. She thought I was a loser and a geek,” I said to Paris as I slumped over my scotch at some bar.

Paris raised his eyebrows. “You’re quoting movies now? Man, you’ve got it bad. What is that . . . Casablanca?”

“Ghostbusters. But that’s beside the point.” I was on my third drink and starting to realize that this might’ve been a bad time to take up drinking scotch. But Coney drank scotch, and he was soooooooo cool.  I guess I thought maybe it would rub off on me. But all it was doing was getting me drunk.

Paris shook his head and motioned to the bartender for another Harvey Wallbanger.

“What’s up with these ’50s girlie drinks anyway?” I slurred.

“What are you talking about?” Paris asked.

I motioned dramatically toward his glass, “Harvey Wallbangers, Pink Cadillacs, Grasshoppers and Manhattans. That’s what I mean! You had to tell the bartender how to make them! What’s next? An Old Fashioned?”

“Ooooh,” he replied, “I haven’t tried one of them. I’ll have that next.”

“Dude -” I stabbed a finger at him - “you drink like Zsa Zsa Gabor.”

Paris looked pissed. “No I don’t! Frank and Dino and the other Rat Packers drank this stuff!”

I drained my drink and signaled for another, “That was fifty years ago, and they’re all dead.  Drink something normal!”

“Oh, like you? I’ve never known you to drink scotch before. A little hung up on Coney?” Paris snorted.

We were stepping out onto dangerous territory here. And I was really drunk. If Paris would just quit wiggling like a rubber pencil and stop dividing into two people, I’d let him have it.

“I’d rather emoolatte him.” I frowned, “Emyoolabe. Emulake.”

Paris sighed and rolled his eyes, “Emulate?”

“Right! Instead of a bunch of dead actors.” I nodded sharply, which was a mistake, because now there were three Parises.

“All right, Mr. Sunshine. Time to take you home.” Paris threw some money onto the bar and I watched as it got up and danced a jig. He wrestled his arm under me and dragged me out to his car. The whole time, I felt like I was walking through water – upside down.

On the way back home, I vaguely remember him calling my mom and asking her to keep Louis overnight and take him to school the next day. I couldn’t help but smiling. Paris was so responsible. He was not only my wingman, but my son’s as well. Why couldn’t I be more like that?

“I love you, man,” I said to my cousin as he tucked me into bed. Paris rolled his eyes and left me alone in my room, with its spinning ceiling.

I woke up around noon the next day, following a dream where I was being chased around a 1950s casino by Sammy Davis Jr., who was pissed because I accidentally dropped his glass eye into my drink. And let me tell you – he ran like the wind.

Man. I should not try new alcohol again. Right. Like it was the scotch’s fault. I splashed some more water on my face and looked in the mirror, barely recognizing the gray ghost with purple bags under his eyes.

I was just brushing my teeth for the tenth time when the doorbell rang. I spit quickly, then grabbing a robe answered the door.

Paris stood there with a grin and a box of Krispy Kreme Donuts. “You look like hell.”

I snatched the box and nodded. “Yeah, I just got back.”

My cousin followed me into the kitchen and started making coffee. “Wait, I know that one.” He absently tapped his fingers on his forehead, “It’s from Heathers, right?”

I nodded. For some reason lately, I could only think in movie quotes. Which was okay, because words had failed me with the only woman I’ll ever love. Oh, brother.

“Dude,” Paris said as he munched on a maple donut. “You reek.”

“If it weren’t for the donuts, I’d throw your sorry ass out of here.” He was right. I just didn’t want to hear it. The huge quantity of scotch I drank was now saturating my pores. There wasn’t enough soap in the world to get rid of it.

“Well, I’ve got some news that will cheer you up. Neil came through with the last assassin. He’s in Portland, Oregon. I booked us a couple of flights for tonight.”

Neil. Neil. My brain scrambled to pin an identity on that name. Oh yeah. Our contact at the CIA. Old friend in college who liked Air Supply. He was helping us nail the National Resources guys.

I opened one eye and squinted at him – mainly because that’s all I could manage. “That will cheer me up?” Actually, it made me feel worse as I remembered I’d promised Louis not to travel so much.

Paris seemed to sense my inner protest, “We’re only one more kill away from clearing this assignment. Then you can spend the rest of the year ruminating on how your life has become an ironic, tragic comedy.”

He rose to his feet and slapped me on the back. It felt like getting hit with a baseball bat and sounded like a sledgehammer hitting concrete. “I’ll pick you up at five. Pack for cold, rainy weather. Gin’s going to pick up Louis from school and keep him till we get back. Ciao.”

I heard the door shut – it sounded like cannon fire. I finished off the pot of coffee and the box of donuts, then took a long, hot shower. Maybe Paris was right. Getting this job done would be a huge relief. Leonie could wait. I could win her over again when I got back. At least – I desperately hoped I could.

Somehow I managed to convince myself that everything would be all right in the end. After all, the Council was likely to give us time off for accomplishing two or three years’ worth of work in just under a month. Then I wouldn’t have to shuttle Louis between Mom and Gin and I could get my head straight on Leonie.

Her image came immediately to mind. Leonie’s tall and slim body, with creamy pale skin and bright, curly red hair. Her face with its elegant, yet elfin features. And those eyes that could turn me into a slave.

But what really caused a lump in my throat was who Leonie was. Funny and smart – she didn’t put up with my crap and seemed to be the only one to see me for who I really was. With a shock, I realized that her (considerable) physical attributes came in a distant second to her personality. Another first for me.

But that would have to wait. Portland came first. I opened my suitcase and began to pack, thinking of how happy Leonie would be when I got back and she realized I really, truly loved her. In this fantasy, Louis went on to cure cancer and win the Nobel Peace Prize – which would be ironic for an assassin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Derek Zoolander:  I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is.

- Zoolander

My head stopped hurting by the time we landed in Oregon. As I stepped off the plane, the cool, wet air made me feel a little better. By the time we got to the Super 8 hotel, I was feeling like my old, broken-hearted self.

“Neil gave us this address.” Paris handed me a slip of paper. “He didn’t have a name, but I googled it and found out it’s a guy named Fred Costa. He lives alone. Should be pretty easy.”

I forced a grin and took another swig of water. My skin tone was starting to come back after the serious dehydration of the night before. I didn’t like the bags-under-the-eyes look.

“So,” I said. “We go tonight. Let’s get this shit knocked out.”

We must’ve been sitting in that rental car for hours, watching Vic’s house. It was kind of cute – not at all what I expected for a male assassin, but who knows how people think? I sure didn’t have a clue what was going on in Leonie’s mind. Okay, enough of that. Get the job done and then I can get her to tell me what was going on.

At 11:30 p.m., the final light went out in Fred’s house. Paris and I slipped up to the house a half hour later. Picking the lock on the back door was pretty easy. That’s just plain sloppy. A good assassin would be more conscientious of his security. Oh well, in a few moments it wouldn’t matter anyway.

We moved quietly through the house, trying to locate our (hopefully) sleeping Vic. The inside of the house was even more feminine than the outside. Everything in every room screamed that a woman lived there. I whispered my concerns to Paris, but he just shrugged. As we approached the bedroom, I prayed silently that there wouldn’t be a Mrs. Vic in bed with Fred.

This worry proved needless, as we found him snoring away on a mattress on the floor. Paris pulled out his l.e.d. penlight to confirm the kill by locating the Woody Woodpecker tattoo. We’d been so freaked about the last two jobs we wanted to make this one work.

He’d just flashed the light on when I noticed there was no tattoo. Of course, Fred woke up and noticed that there were two men, dressed all in black, shining a flashlight on him. I aimed my gun at him.

“Who are you? What do you want?” A clearly terrified Vic scrambled to a sitting position clutching his sheets as if they would protect him against bullets. That was funny.

Paris growled (which made me look at him in surprise), “Are you part of National Resources?”

The man’s face screwed up in confusion. “No. What’s that?”

“Are you Fred Costa?” I asked in exasperation.

He nodded, “Yeah. Who are you?”

Paris turned to me, “I don’t think this is the guy.”

I kept my eyes trained on Fred. “He must be the guy. Our source gave us this address. You googled him, for christsake.”

Paris shook his head. “He doesn’t have the tattoo.”

I was getting annoyed with this line of conversation. “We didn’t check Garth for the tattoo, and we took care of him.” I watched Vic to see if the name Garth caused any recognition. But Fred just sat there with a blank look on his face.

“Who the hell is Garth? What tattoo?” Vic whined.

Paris never lowered his flashlight, keeping the Vic completely in the dark as to what we looked like. “It’s not him,” he said simply.

I thought about this for a moment. There was no way I wanted to gun down an innocent man. However, I was just one step away from being able to focus on Louis and Leonie. Family had to come first.

“Don’t,” Paris said quietly.

Fred was beginning to whimper now. “Is this because of that prank with the donkey and mayonnaise? Because if it is, I’ll never do it again! I promise.”

I was just about to ask him what he was talking about when I remembered I was on a job.

“Look!” I shouted at Paris. “Our connection gave us this address. He said this was the place. We can’t worry about whether or not he has the right tattoo. Let’s finish this and move on!”

I kept the gun leveled and snapped off the safety. The click seemed to drive Vic mad.

“No! Please! It’s not me! It’s a mistake!” he pleaded. I rolled my eyes. Like I haven’t heard that one before.

“Please!” Vic continued. “It must’ve been the previous owner! I’ve only lived here a couple of weeks!” He closed his eyes and flinched. Like that too would protect him from bullets too.

Paris pushed my arm down. “Wait. Let’s hear what he has to say. I really think we might have the wrong guy.”

I rolled my eyes and agreed. Paris confirmed the address with Vic, who nodded as vigorously as a man who has just gotten a call from the governor at the last minute.

“Yes! That’s right.” He nodded like a nervous bobble head doll. “But I just moved here. The house has been on the market a long time. The previous owner moved.” A strange look came over his face. “Wait! I still get the other guy’s mail! I’ll show you!” He started to get out of bed and I raised the gun again, stopping him mid-way.

“Just tell us where it is. We’ll get it,” Paris said calmly.

“Okay! It’s on the dining room table. I just sorted it to send back to the post office.” A glimmer of hope shone in Fred’s eyes. I nodded to Paris, who handed me the flashlight and left to retrieve the mail, while I kept my gun trained on Vic.

This was turning into a major disaster. How did things get so out of hand? Paris and I needed to do more research if this was true. The Council would be pissed if they thought we broke in and almost killed the wrong man.

Paris came back into the room. In the dim light I could make out that he had a stack of bills. These, he tossed onto the bed and Fred greedily snatched them up.

“See!” He held them up to us. “This is what I was talking about!”

Paris took back the flashlight and leaned forward to inspect the mail. Vic scrambled back to what he thought was the safety of the headboard. I watched him with amusement.

“Oh no.” Paris said softly, and I realized we must’ve had the wrong guy.

“So, who is it? What name is on there?” I asked, the gun still trained on Fred.

Paris snatched up the mail and stuffed them into his coat pocket. “Tell no one of this!” He snarled at the man on the bed. “Tell no one, or we will come back and finish it.” Then he dragged me from the room, out of the house and down to the car.

“Whoa, slow down.” I protested. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

Paris was driving at least forty miles over the speed limit. His face was pale, and he’d broken out in a sweat, which wasn’t a good look for him, by the way.

“Hey,” I said slowly, trying to be encouraging, “it happens to everybody. Neil didn’t know the other guy moved. It’s just a simple mistake.”

Paris turned and looked at me as if he wanted to say something. In fact he looked at me longer than I was comfortable with, considering he was driving. He said nothing until we got back to the hotel.

“What the hell was that all about?” I asked as we stripped out of our gear.

Paris looked like he was going to be sick. Obviously this affected him more than I thought. Of course he’d be upset. We’d just broken into the home of an innocent man, scared the bejesus out of him and fled with little or no information on what to do next. Since I was the new, improved, humbled Dak, I tried a different approach.

“It’s all right. That guy didn’t see us. We’ll find the real guy and blow a hole in him – ” I held my hands out a foot apart  “ – this big.”

He shook his head, despite my quote from Parenthood. Okay. Maybe I should just let him deal with it in his own way. My phone started vibrating on my hip.

“Hey! It’s Leonie.” I declared. Maybe things were looking up.  I flipped the phone open to talk to her.

“Hello?” I asked as casually as I could. Paris started shaking his head vigorously. What a dork. He could at least concede me this small victory. No, he has to muck it all up with his depression on the gig.

“Dak,” Leonie began, “I’m so sorry for how I acted at Crummy’s. I’ve been an idiot. I do want to keep seeing you, it’s just . . .”

Paris was now doing some kind of charades thingy. He was hopping up and down giving me the ‘kill’ sign by dragging his finger across his throat. Geez. You’d think our crisis at work could wait till I reconciled with my girlfriend.

“Is this a bad time?” Leonie asked, and I realized I was giving Paris too much of my attention.

I turned my back to him. “No, this is the perfect time. I’ve been thinking about you a lot and wanted to talk to you.” I left out the word ‘desperately.’

Paris walked over to his coat and pulled the bills from Vic’s place out of his pocket. He fairly bounced up to me and tried shoving them under my nose. Couldn’t this wait?

I pushed his hand away. “Sorry for my distraction, Leonie. Paris and I are on a job right now, and for some reason he won’t leave me -” I shoved him backwards onto one of the beds - “alone.”

She sighed. It was the most wonderful sound I’d ever heard. “Look, the fact is, there’s been some stuff going on in my professional life that I need to reconcile. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that. You . . . you mean a lot to me, Dakota Bombay. And I want to be with you.”

My heart obediently exploded on the spot. I felt like I was superhuman . . . like I could fly around the ceiling if I wanted to. “Leonie – that’s wonderful! I feel the same way about you.  When I get back, let’s talk. Please?”

She laughed and I felt a surge of adrenalin. “Of course. Where are you?”

Paris grabbed my phone hand and pulled it back. I thought about killing him on the spot. As I put the cell back to my ear he shoved the bills right under my nose.

“We’re in Oregon - Portland actually.” I said as I finally looked at the envelopes. Time seemed to freeze as I saw the name on the bills of the guy who we were supposed to kill.

In my ear, the phone went dead, and I understood why. Typed neatly across the envelopes was, over and over again, the name Leonie Doubtfire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Steve McCroskey:  Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking.

- Airplane

I slumped to the floor, still holding my cell phone. Paris took it from me and closed it.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. My voice sounded like it was really far away – like I was a demented ventriloquist. Thoughts played bumper cars in my head. I have to kill my girlfriend. I took an assassin to a family barbeque. This was the conflict of interest from hell.

This went on for some time, with variations on the same theme. I didn’t move from the floor. Eventually, in the background I felt the shadow of my cousin moving around the room, but I wasn’t really aware of anything. Every time I settled on a thought, it hurt too much to pursue. Leonie was the enemy. And I was supposed to kill her.

We’d killed her colleagues.  I was pretty sure she knew that now. I was also pretty sure it would be difficult for our relationship to bounce back from that.

I became aware that Paris was lifting me off the floor, which was good, because I’d lost all feeling in my ass a long time ago.

“Dak.” He shook me gently. “Dak!” He shook a little harder. “Snap out of it, man!”

“Why? Why did it have to be her?”

Paris shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a cruel joke. You finally grew up and fell in love, and now you have to kill her. It hardly seems fair.”

There was no way out of this. If we failed to complete the mission, the Council would kill us. Those were the rules. Rules I’d grown up believing in. Rules I now wanted to blow up inside a Mickey Mouse costume.

“We don’t have to figure this out right now,” Paris said, trying to be helpful. “And our plane leaves early in the morning. Let’s get some sleep.”

He held an open hand out to me. There, on his palm, were two sleeping pills. I took them eagerly. There was no way I could sleep otherwise.

I dreamed I was playing tic-tac-toe with Leonie. No matter how many times we played, neither of us could win. And we couldn’t stop playing because the Council would shoot us if we ended the game. We kept trying different things, but it was no use. Then, just as I came up with a strategy to win the game – one that couldn’t possibly exist, I might add – Leonie pulled a gun on me, shooting me six times. As I fell to the floor, I said, “Rosebud.”

In the morning. I was still tired, but not sure it if was residual from the sleeping pills or my bone-crushing depression about Leonie.

“We have to talk about this,” Paris said after we went through airport security. “How do we know she isn’t waiting outside the airport with a shotgun?”

I froze. I hadn’t thought of that. Could she do it? Could she kill me? The answer, though terrifying, filled me with a weird relief. Of course she would. She’d have to do it to save herself. I’d want her to. I envisioned myself gallantly blowing my own head off to save her the agony of doing it herself. My last gift to her. Ooh. If they ever make a movie of my life, the most important thing (besides the fact that Matt Damon would play me, of course) would be to include that line.

I shook my head. What was wrong with me? I didn’t want to die.  Louis needed me.  That little boy shouldn’t have to go through losing both his parents in a few short months.

Another thought popped into my head, making me break out in a cold sweat. What if Leonie tried to kidnap Louis – to make a deal? How well did I really know her, after all? Not well - since I missed the fact she was an assassin for a competing agency.

“Where are you going?” Paris asked quietly.

I looked around and realized I was walking toward the ticket taker. Only they hadn’t called for us to board yet. Sheepishly, I sat back down.

“You don’t think she’d try to take Louis, do you?” I murmured.

Paris shook his head, “Honestly? I have no idea.”

In spite of my cousin’s apprehension, I felt ashamed of myself. Leonie wouldn’t hurt Louis. But she might kill me out of self-preservation.

Paris said, “I called Liv to pick us up. She’s going to have Gin check out the airport to make sure Leonie isn’t around.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind.

I usually loved flying. We always flew first class. The hot towel, the comfortable leather seats, more room than the others back in coach. I always reveled a bit in some elitist bastardry. But this flight was agony. Because every few minutes and few hundred miles brought me closer to the greatest dilemma I’d faced since they discontinued my signature hair gel a couple of years back.

Part of me hoped Leonie would go into hiding and I’d never see her again. That would solve everything but my broken heart. But if she didn’t . . . if she confronted me, would I kill her? The thought of it alone caused an ache that felt like this heartburn I once got after making out with a fire eater (I’m serious).

How could I have missed it? Of course that’s why Leonie got calls to work at odd hours. And the last night we spent together, she’d probably gotten word that she was the only one of the National Resources assassins left. That’s why she left so quickly. That’s what she meant when she said she had a lot going on professionally. Was she planning on going into hiding and not tell me?

For a moment, my heart stopped. Had she been thinking that? Was she just going to drop off the face of the earth, never telling me, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened?

I shook my head to clear it. This wasn’t about me. This was about Leonie. She now knew who I was and that I had tried to kill her. Maybe she thought I got involved with her just to keep tabs on her so I could kill her. Wow. I really didn’t like where this was going.

What the hell was I going to do? I wanted to convince her I wouldn’t kill her – that I didn’t know who she was when we met – that my feelings for her were genuine. How could I do that? Either she was lying in wait to kill me, or she’d be gone from my life forever. Either way, both of us would be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.

Damn.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Do I ice her? Do I marry her?”

- Charley Partana, Prizzi’s Honor

Gin threw her arms around me as I entered baggage claim. Liv must’ve told her, I thought dully.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, over and over again.

I nodded and in silence, the four of us collected our bags and loaded them into Liv’s minivan. Liv dropped me off at Gin’s house, where I found Louis eating peanut butter sandwiches.

My heart came alive for the first time in the last twelve hours as my son jumped into my arms.

“I really missed you, buddy,” I whispered in his ear.

“I really missed you, Dad,” Louis cried out as he squeezed me so hard I saw spots. Good stranglehold, I thought proudly.

“You broke your promise.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done that. Do you forgive me?”

Louis looked into my eyes – which unnerved me a little bit. “No more travel without me. No matter what. Okay?”

I nodded. He was right. I was a first-class asshole of a father. Louis seemed to accept my apology. Finally, I let him go, and he ran off to play with Romi. Gin offered me a cup of coffee, and I took it gratefully. Sitting there in silence, I slowly drained the cup. Gin stood, resting her back against the sink, drinking her own. I realized I was glad to have her with me.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“I don’t know, little brother. I wish I did.”

Great. No help from her. But at least she was someone to talk to.

“I don’t think you and Louis should go home,” Gin started carefully. “What if she decides to kill you?”

“If you’d asked me that question last night, I would’ve said ‘let her.’  But I’ve got Louis to think about.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “I don’t think she’ll come after me. I think she’ll vanish and I’ll never see her again.”

Gin nodded in response. “I really liked her. I could definitely see her in this family.”

“I know. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Wasn’t that the $64,000 question.

“I’m supposed to kill her. That’s what I’m contracted to do. Of course, I’m in love with her, so that’s not what I’m going to do. I don’t know.”

Gin said nothing for a moment. It was a definite catch 22, and even my know-it-all sister couldn’t solve this one. She changed the subject.

“I showed Louis the basement. He got so excited that I did a little training with him. I hope you don’t mind.” Last fall  she had converted her basement into a child assassin’s lair for Romi’s and Alta’s training.

“He’s an amazing kid, Dak. He’ll be the best Bombay ever. You should’ve seen it when he created the beginnings of a dirty bomb using Romi’s chemistry set. The kid’s got talent.”

I smiled at that. Maybe it was my first real smile of the day. Whatever I decided to do, Louis had to remain my first priority.

Eventually, Gin convinced me to stay with her. I tucked my son in and told her I needed to go for a drive to clear my head. Gin would’ve killed me if she knew I was stopping by my condo. But I needed some clothes and wanted to pick up a few things for Louis. I’d pretty much decided that Leonie would flee rather than confront me. After checking the perimeter outside, I decided it was safe to go in.

I missed Louis. Yes, I knew he was safer with Gin. But it was so weird to walk into my condo alone. Wasn’t that the way I’d always wanted it? To be on my own? No ties to anyone? My nightmare scenario was always having to share living space.

Wow. I’d changed. Because now the condo just seemed to be as bleak as a cinderblock room. Nothing felt right. I popped my head into the kitchen hoping to see Leonie making breakfast wearing nothing but my shirt. I entered Louis’s room and instead of wishing it was back to being a guest room, it felt so lonely.

Louis wasn’t there to roll his eyes when I said something stupid. He wasn’t there to make some really strange remark about the exchange rate between the dollar and the Euro.

Not knowing what else to do, I flipped on the TV. Survivor was on. Instead of grabbing a beer and relaxing, I felt a sudden urge for Kool-Aid and popcorn. Louis thought I should buy something more healthy for him to drink. Hell, I thought all kids wanted colored sugar water.

I switched the television off. I threw some things in a bag. What a mess.

A few short months ago, my life was perfect. Or so it seemed. I didn’t have to get up early every morning to get my son off to school. I had my pick of women to keep me company every night. No one told me I couldn’t do this or eat that now that I had a son.

I was lying to myself. I wanted my kid, here on the couch with me. I wanted Leonie back in my bed. I wanted to take Louis to school and pick him up. And I wanted to crash funerals just to get a glimpse of that lovely redhead.

The phone rang and I pounced on it, hoping it was my son calling to say goodnight.

“I need to ask you something.” Leonie’s voice was chilling.

“Anything. Come over,” I pleaded.

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll come over to your place. Or to Crummy’s.”

“No, not there.” She paused for what seemed like a millennia. “Meet me at 1224 Adams Street.” She hung up before I could ask anything more.

Well, she wanted to meet me. That was at least something, I told myself as I pulled into the parking lot of a local farm manufacturer. I was surprised to see the lights on and machines running this late. Then I remembered that this was how two of the Terminator movies ended and suppressed a shudder.

“Leonie?” I called out. And then I noticed that while everything was running, there were no people anywhere. Was she going to kill me here? This really was like The Terminator. But was she the wuss Linda Hamilton, or the buff Linda Hamilton?

She appeared about ten feet away and made no move to come any closer. I wanted to close the gap, but was afraid that might look too threatening, so I stood still.

“I can’t believe you stalked me and used me like that.” Leonie shouted over the din. “I thought you really loved me.”

“I do love you. I didn’t know until that moment in Portland that you were on my hit list!” Please believe me.

“How can I believe you? Why should I?”

I thought about that for a moment. It was understandable. I’d feel the same way. Damn. That wouldn’t make this any easier.

“I don’t know how to convince you other than to tell you that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. If I thought you were an assassin, would I have let you get so close to Louis? My family? Jesus, Leonie! They all love you!”

She paused for a moment and I could see that she was thinking about it. I couldn’t even imagine what was going on under all that red hair.

“I’m sorry, Dak.” She was frowning. “I have to go. If you’re lying, than this is the best thing for me. If you’re telling the truth, then it’s the best thing for you.” She shrugged. “Don’t you see that?”

I charged her, determined to hold her down until she listened. There was a loud bang behind me and I turned to look. When I turned back, Leonie was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I can’t seem to face up to the facts

I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax,”

- Psycho Killer, Talking Heads

I found myself drowning my sorrows at a bar. Actually, it was Algonquin’s Table, a place I used to come to pick up blondes. I’m not sure why I went there. Maybe it was the first place I saw on my way home.

“You look unhappy.” A petite blonde pulled up a stool next to mine and ordered a Chablis.

I didn’t respond.

“Hey,” she purred. “What’s your name?”

I turned to her, intending to blow her off. She was cute. No, she was smokin’ hot. Big, brown eyes, long, thick blonde hair and a body you usually had to pay a lot of money to get.

“Dakota. And you are?” I wasn’t sure why I responded.

“Eva. Nice to meet you, Dakota.” She was really on the make. Five months ago, she’d already be in my bedroom by now doing things she never thought physically possible. Did I miss those days?

She chatted about absolutely nothing – to which I didn’t respond. It was pretty obvious she was looking for a good time. The old Dak wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity like this. And since Leonie was gone forever and I was lonely for the first time in my life, the old Dak was all I had left. Eva kept working me over – trying to get an invitation to my place. I ignored her, threw some money on the bar and left.

Unfortunately, I’d realized that the bag with my and Louis’ clothes was still back at the condo. Unfortunately, Eva followed me home and forced her way past me as I unlocked the door.

“This is nice,” she said. Turning to face me in the living room, she kissed me. Eva smelled really good, but my body wasn’t in any hurry to rise to the bait.

“Mind if I use the powder room?” she purred.

Powder room? Leonie would never call it that. She’d make fun of anyone who said something like that and I would laugh.

“Sure. Down the hall, to your right.”

While Eva was in the bathroom, I tried to figure out how to get rid of her. This chick was seriously pissing me off and I wanted her gone so I could go back to Gin’s and Louis. After what seemed like a long time, Eva came back.

She pushed me to the couch and climbed onto my lap, her lips on mine. I pushed her off of me and scrambled to my feet.

“What’s wrong?” She pouted.

“This party is over,” I said pointing to the front door.

“You don’t really want me to go, do you?”

I nodded. I really wanted her to go.

“What’s your story, Dakota?”

“No story. Just a guy. Nothing big.” Wow. Not only was the old Dak gone, he apparently had undergone a lobotomy. Huh. Lobotomy sabbatical.

“I just want to get to know you better.” Eva reached for my hand.

“Look,” I started. “Don’t get me wrong, but I’m just interested.” Oh my God! It was like having an out-of-body experience. Who was that guy? Why was he turning down sex from a hot blonde? In the old days, he would’ve told any one of a hundred lies just to get her in the sack.

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, but she quickly hid it. This chick was kind of scary.

“Let me guess, you just broke up with someone. Is that it?” Eva’s voice regained its purr. “Maybe I can help you forget about her for a little while.”

She started kissing me and I pushed her back, “No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, why don’t you just close your eyes and pretend I’m her?” Eva started kissing my neck, her hand reaching between my legs.

“Only if you have a Woody Woodpecker tattoo,” I muttered – I thought – to myself.

“I don’t work for National...” She sat up sharply, recognizing her mistake.

I grabbed her wrist. No tattoo. But she knew something. Eva scrambled to her feet and pulled a gun from a thigh holster. Now, why didn’t I feel that earlier? Seems to me I would have. Of course, I’d been too busy playing with alliteration. Idiot.

“Damn it. They told me you were partial to blondes!” Her eyes burned, “I dyed my hair for this gig. Now I have to do this the hard way.”

I stood only a few feet away from her. I’d have the advantage if I charged. The old Bombay Family nursery rhyme popped into my head, rush a gun – run from a knife.

“Who are you?” I asked calmly, as if a gun wasn’t pointed at my chest.

“Never mind!” She fairly spat the words out. Wow. This bitch could go from zero to psycho in ten seconds. “Shit! Shit!” she cursed herself.

“Look.” My thoughts raced and I wondered if Leonie had sent her. Maybe National Resources had more than just five players? No, she said she didn’t work for them. “What is it you want? Maybe I can help.”

“Doc Savage needs something from you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need some files. Then I’ll go.”

I exploded, “I’m so sick of this Doc Savage bullshit! And if you didn’t want to hurt me, why send those men after me? And why the gun now? What goddamned files do you want?”

Eva actually smirked. “I need the gun because you’re supposedly dangerous. And I don’t know which files. I was just supposed to knock you out and let this guy in once you were unconscious. He’d look for the files and then we’d be out of here.”

I shook my head, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never done this before!” She started screaming and forgetting she had a perfectly good weapon in her hand, picked up a book from the end table and threw it at me.

I dodged it neatly (I’m not a total loser), then dove for Eva and the gun. It only took me a few seconds to subdue her. She was telling the truth. She really hadn’t done this before.

I managed to handcuff her by the ankles and wrists to one of the kitchen chairs.

“What time was this Doc Savage coming by, anyway?”

“One hour. He’ll be here in one hour.” The fight had pretty much gone out of our girl. I didn’t push it. Whoever was in charge would be here soon and then I’d find out what’s going on.

In the meantime, I had a couple of cups of coffee to wake up so I could think. Eva wasn’t much use to me as a conversationalist so I ignored her.

None of these Doc Savage attacks made any sense. They all seemed to focus on wanting something in my home. Well, except for the dude in the men’s bathroom. Eva said they didn’t want to hurt me, just wanted some files. What kind of files? I wasn’t much of a paperwork guy. I didn’t really have any use for it. Paris, on the other hand, kept everything all the way back to his first tooth.

No matter how many times I thought about it, it didn’t make any sense. If the Council wanted something from me, they’d just send Grandma and her Uzi. Leonie was the only one left from National Resources. And I was pretty sure she was long gone.

All I did know, was that I’d had too much coffee and a full bladder. I stood and winked at Eva and headed to the bathroom. After a few moments of relief, I stepped into my hallway and felt a sharp, sudden pain on the back of my head. There was another blow before I could turn around and everything went black.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up alive (and just wishing I was dead) and in pain on the floor. A large knot on the back of my head indicated the ‘how.’  And a bent fireplace poker on the floor demonstrated the ‘what.’  I staggered from room to room searching for the ‘why.’

My condo had been ransacked. Drawers hung open like astonished mouths, their contents all over the floor. Cushions were everywhere but on the furniture and my clothes had attempted to make a break for it from my closet.

To my shock, nothing was damaged. I’d expected that. There was a huge mess, but nothing was ripped or broken. Of course, Eva was gone. But I was pretty sure she hadn’t done this on her own.

Without knowing what else to do, I called Paris. He came over and helped me clean everything up.

“It’s got to be associated with National Resources.” Paris said. “You said this chick mentioned them. Who else would it be?”

I picked up the last spoon from the kitchen floor. Man, these were some nice spoons. I didn’t even remember where I got them, but they were really nice.

“Dak.”

“Oh, sorry,” I shoved the flatware into the drawer. “I’m still a little dizzy from the two blows on the head.”

“I think we need to tell the Council about everything.”

I looked up sharply, “What? No! They’ll insist I kill Leonie. I can’t do that.”

“May I remind you that you’ve had three attacks – two in your own home? It isn’t safe to bring Louis back here until we close out this deal.”

My perfect posture slumped. “I didn’t think about that.”

“And it looks like the N.R. guys have more resources than we thought. Maybe we just can’t get them all by ourselves.”

Leonie or Louis. That’s what it came down to. “I can’t do it.” I shook my head. “I can’t sick the Council on Leonie.”

Paris put his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe they won’t go after her. I mean, they gave Gin a reprieve. After what they put you through last time, maybe they’ll let her off the hook?”

I looked at my cousin for a long time. He’d never hurt me. And I had to take care of Louis. It was a long-shot, but I had to try.

Paris stood up and pulled his cell phone out. “I’ll do it. You go clean yourself up.”

I nodded, grateful to have him handle things. Paris definitely had a cooler head. If anyone could manage to pull this off, it would be him.

Of course, no one was answering the bat phone on Santa Muerta. It was 2 a.m. here, which would make it… oh hell, my head hurt too much to calculate the time difference. Paris sent me to bed and insisted on sleeping on my couch, just in case.  Good man. He was always someone you could really depend on. A dependable assassin.

I woke mid-afternoon, to find Paris in the kitchen making eggs and bacon. What a guy!

“Any news?” I asked, not really wanting an answer.

“I talked to Dela this morning. She was going to call an emergency Council meeting for – ” he paused and looked at his watch  “ – right about now.” He pushed a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon toward me. “Might as well eat.”

The food was excellent. I didn’t realize Paris could cook. We said nothing as we ate. Both of us were probably thinking the same thing, coming up with no answers. I finished quickly and decided on a shower.

While I felt clean and full, I also felt numb. Leonie’s break-up had devastated me more than the attack last night. And now Louis was in jeopardy. I toweled off feeling nothing but despair and pulled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.

I walked into the living room just in time to see Paris ending a conversation on his cell. My heart lurched. The moment of truth.

Paris winced as he hung up his cell. “Well, I guess you are off the hook on this dilemma.”

“Is the Council calling the hit on Leonie off? That’s great! Now I just have to find her and convince her everything’s going to be alright!” I jumped up and hugged my cousin.

But Paris pushed me away. “No. That’s not it. Grandma doesn’t want you to have to hunt the woman who made you grow up. She still feels bad about almost killing you last year.”

I frowned. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“They still want her dead.”

His words sunk slowly into my skin, ending in a pool of ooze around my ankles. “Oh no,” I whispered.

“No.” I said more forcefully using the anger that welled up in my throat. “That’s not going to work. I can’t let him do that.”

Paris nodded as if he knew this was going to be my reaction all along. “All right. I’m in this with you. Let’s go get her.”

“Really? You’d come with me?” I couldn’t believe it.

He grinned. “Hey, if there’s no hope for you to have a chance at true love – then I’m screwed.”

I slapped him on the back. Maybe he drank sissy drinks and wrote poetry. Maybe he was anal retentive and wore silly pajamas. But he was still my wingman.

“How do we find her?” I asked.

Paris thought for a few moments, then smiled. “Why don’t we call Missi?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“We’ve got a blind date with Destiny – and it looks like she’s ordered the lobster.”

- the Shoveler, Mystery Men

It turned out that Missi was at a technology convention in Vegas. She agreed to meet with us so Paris and I made plans to hop a red-eye, meeting her at her room about 1 a.m.

“What are you doing?” Louis had his arms folded over his chest as he watched me pack.

“What are you doing up? You have school!”

“I’m going with you.” He added a frown to his stance, appearing very menacing for a six-year-old.

I sat down next to him, ignoring Paris who was tapping his wristwatch to tell me we had to leave.

"You can't go with me.  It's going to be very dangerous.  Remember when I told you what we do for a living?  Well, there are some dangerous people out there chasing Leonie.  Paris and I are going to find her and bring her back."

"You promised you wouldn't leave without me!" This time he stamped his little foot.

“Louis. I know I promised that. But taking you would mean putting you in danger. And I just can’t do that. You are too important to me. I need you to stay here with Gin and Diego until I get back.”

My son didn’t look convinced. But there was no way I was taking him with me. Losing Leonie would be devastating. Losing Louis would kill me.

“I’m an awful father for breaking this promise, I know. But I love you so much it hurts. And if anything happened to you, I would never, ever forgive myself. You are my son and I need you to stay here.” I put on what I thought was a very convincing stern-father face.

Louis exploded into tears and threw himself into my arms. I held him while he cried, trying desperately not to sob myself. After a few minutes, I took him by the shoulders.

“You need to stay here and help Gin take care of everyone. Okay? I’ll be back. I promise. And I’ll never leave you again – unless you want me to.”

Louis sniffled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay Dad. But you better come back.”

I nodded and Paris and I left. I spent the next two hours on the plane fighting back the tears.

We found Missi as soon as we landed. It took only about half an hour to fill her in on everything.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Missi pulled out the weirdest looking laptop I’d ever seen and began to turn it on.

“What is that?”

Missi grinned like a kid in a chocolate play room. “Do you like it? It’s my latest thing.”

Paris and I looked at each other, then turned back to the computer. It was about the size of any other notebook, but it had all kinds of weird attachments and wires sticking out of it. Closed, it resembled the kind of sandwich a robot would eat. Once opened, I could see that the monitor was really four small screens, and the keyboard had ten rows of keys instead of the usual six.

“Holy cow.” Paris whistled under his breath.

“How does it work?” I asked a little louder.

Missi smiled. “I guess you could say it works like a laptop. It’s just tricked out to my specs. With four screens, I can multi-task more efficiently. This puppy has infra-red capability, satellite feeds to U.S., European and Asian government space programs, and the best GPS system I could put together.”

She touched the keyboard and the thing quivered to life. “I added some special touches to the keyboard to make work easier. Each monitor is color coded, and I just switch back and forth between them using the touchpad.”

I held my hand up to interrupt. “Okay, it’s totally cool. But let’s just get to the part of how we can find Leonie before Doc Savage, National Resources or the Council does.”

Missi had the good grace not to look crushed that I interrupted. I figured Paris would ask her more about it later, but Leonie’s life hung in the balance.

“Sorry. I just get carried away sometimes,” she said. “I can’t take stuff like this to the convention.”

“My bad, Missi. I’m being insensitive.” This caused her too jerk her head toward me in surprise. Apparently, I wasn’t just shocking my immediate family with my personality make-over these days.

“Wow,” she said. “No, no, you’re right. We have to find your girlfriend before anyone else does.” She began typing on the weird keyboard. “Give me everything you know about her.”

I told her that her family ran a funeral home in Oregon, and it didn’t take long to find the Doubtfire Funeral Home in Portland. Missi plugged a green wire from the keyboard to the monitor as the funeral home came up on monitor #1. When I raised my eyebrow, she told me she’d hacked into their security system. I filled her in on everything I knew about Leonie, from Crummy’s to current and former addresses, to physical description.

Missi kept working, plugging wires in, and tapping on the keyboard, until all four monitors showed different aspects from Leonie’s life.

“Here -” Missi pointed at the first monitor - “I’m tapping into her family’s home and work phone lines. I can actually record conversations past and present. No future ones though. But I’m working on it.”

How the hell could she do that?

“This monitor shows her current home and cell phone lines. I can tap into those too. I can access them as far as three days ago. That should give us some info on where she’s planning to hide out.”

“And this,” she grinned broadly, “is a GPS tracking program. I’ve typed in her name, description, phone numbers and social security number. I should have her located in no time.”

I slumped to the bed, my head whirling. Paris looked like he’d been hit with a tazer.

“Does the Council know you have this technology?” he asked weakly.

“Hell no. Nobody – not even Mom knows. I think Monty and Jack suspect something though because once when they said they were at the library I tracked them to this kegger in Belize. . .”

“Missi!” I shouted.

Her face went from dazed, back to the present. “Oh. Right. Anyway, I just want you to know that I understand what you’re going through so that’s why you now know about Lulu.”

“Lulu?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“That’s what I named her. Oh!” A buzzing noise emanated from Lulu and she turned toward it. “Found her! Well, that’s weird.”

Hearing Missi say that something was weird is truly a strange experience.

“She’s here. In Vegas. Huh.” Missi said distractedly.

“Are you serious?” That was weird. “Where is she? And is anyone following her?”

She pulled up another screen. “It looks like she’s -” Missi looked at us with an odd expression - “in the room next door. On the left.”

I ran to the door that adjoined that room to Missi’s. Knocking was out of the question. Leonie would just run away again. So I scrambled through my pockets to find some way to pick the lock.

Missi appeared beside me, rolling her eyes. She held what looked like a garage door opener and pushed the red button. After a few seconds, the door popped open.

“I need one of those!” I said as I burst through both sets of door to find a shocked Leonie looking out the window.

“What the. . .” She opened her mouth, and shut it. “How did you. . .?”

I closed the gap between us and crushed her to me.

“Oh my god.” I said over and over, “You’re all right. You’re all right.”

“Dak,” Leonie murmured against my shoulder. “Dak! I won’t be alright if you don’t stop crushing me!”

I loosened my grip but did not let go. “You’re not going anywhere until you hear what I have to say.”

Paris entered the room, gesturing madly and whispering, “In here! Get in here!”

I dragged Leonie into Missi’s room and Paris shut and locked both doors behind us.

“Hi! I’m Missi, Dak’s cousin. You must be Leonie.”

Leonie cautiously reached out and took Missi’s hand.

“What the hell is going on here?” she asked.

I started to talk when Paris brought his finger to his lips. “Someone with a gun is on the elevator. He’ll be here any minute,” he whispered.

“How do you know that?” Leonie whispered to me and I shushed her. I wanted to know that too, but figured Missi’s Lulu could do a lot more than I thought.

Missi sighed and pulled a case out from under the bed. Inside were six semi-automatic handguns, all .45s. We snatched them up, quietly shoving the magazines into them and racking the slides.

We couldn’t hear anything at first. Then there was a rap on the door to Leonie’s room. I looked around and realized we were pretty much trapped. Our best defense would be to wait whoever it was out.

It seemed like hours passed before we heard the door open next door. I gripped my gun tightly. Whoever it was took this assignment seriously. Of course he’d break into her room. He had no idea we were just on the other side of the wall. Missi told us she used a fake name on the hotel register.

There was the usual sound of movement in the room. I heard drawers opening and closing, the shower curtain rustling. This bastard was looking everywhere.

A thought chilled me. What if he decided to stay and ambush Leonie? How long could we hold out in silence next door? If we tried to leave through the hallway – what if he decided to leave at that moment too? Damn.

So, we sat. Missi quietly showed Paris more of Lulu while Leonie and I sat together on the bed.

“Who’s in my room?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” I replied, wondering how much to tell her. If I was ever going to gain her trust, it was now. “I’m just glad I found you before he did.” I neglected to add the word seconds before he did, but you get the idea.

Leonie looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Hopefully, it was a Wow, Dak! You saved me from your own family! You do love me! But I couldn’t tell. We just sat there.

I came out of distraction hearing a strange noise on the other side of the adjoining door. I recognized it immediately. The uninvited guest next door was sliding his hands around the door, trying to decide if Leonie was in here. I turned to Missi and shrugged. She frowned and picked up the phone.

“Yes, security?” She asked using a very loud, high-pitched Southern accent. “This is Myra Hodges in 6111. I think someone has broken into the room next door and I’m mighty worried. Could you send someone up immediately?”

I looked back toward the door. The sound had stopped. In fact, it sounded like he was leaving. I ran to the door and looked through the security window as a blurred figure in a dark, hooded sweatshirt ran toward the stairwell and disappeared. He was gone too fast for me to ID him.

Now, I want you to know that you should never look through those things. Most assassins love to use them to shoot you through the eyeball – which is really gross but totally effective.

“Good thinking,” I gave Missi the thumbs up as I heard security running down the hall.

Missi just waved me off modestly. “That was kid’s stuff.”

Paris tucked his gun into the back of his jeans, “So, what now? Whoever it is could just be lying in wait in the stairwell.”

“He won’t be on the elevators, and he won’t show up in the hallway until security is gone next door.” I looked at Leonie, “We have to go. Now.”

Missi winked at me. “Good luck!”

I nodded, shoved the gun into my waistband and pulled my jacket down over them. Leonie lifted her dress and shoved her gun into a thigh holster. I started to salivate. That was so hot.

She nodded and the three of us slipped through the door toward the elevators. It seemed like a very long time before the doors opened. Paris got on and immediately started hitting the ‘close door’ button.

The elevator turned out to be slower than the damned train at Disney World. And it played The Girl From Ipanema in Musak. I looked at Paris and saw that he was mouthing the lyrics. That was it. I’d have to plan an intervention for him once we got home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Bluto:  Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!

- Animal House

It only took a few minutes to grab a cab outside and with no measure of small relief, the three of us sighed as the taxi drove us across town to the airport.

“We’re flying out of here?” Leonie frowned as I paid the driver and sent him away.

I shook my head. “No. We’re renting a car here to drive to Reno. We’ll fly from there.”

We didn’t say much at first. Paris drove, pretending to be more interested in the road than anything else. I sat in the back with Leonie because I was afraid she’d jump out at any minute.

“So,” I started, “are you convinced about my feelings for you yet? I’d never kill you, Leonie.”

She looked away from me – out the window for a moment. Then turned and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Where are we going?”

Truth was, I hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Taking her home was dangerous. Sooner or later the Council would guess I had her and come get her. Also, until I had this mess with Doc Savage cleared up, I didn’t want to put her in danger. As far as National Resources went, there was no way of knowing whether someone was coming for her.

“First there’s something I need to know.” Okay. I was stalling. “Does the name Doc Savage mean anything to you?”

“The Man of Bronze? I read those books when I was a kid. Why?”

My heart jumped a little when I discovered we had something more in common. “Nothing else? Nothing more . . . current?”

Leonie shook her head. “No.”

“Is there anyone else involved with National Resources? Someone still alive?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I tell you that? You killed the others.”

She had a point.

“I didn’t know you were involved, I swear.” I did a little cross-my-heart thingy.

“If you had known about me from the beginning, would you have killed the other four?” Her chin was set in the most adorable look of defiance.

“How can I answer that? I don’t know.” It wasn’t much, but it was the truth. “Were they friends? Did you know them well?” I was worried about her answer.

“No. I never knew who they were. We were supposed to operate in a vacuum. There’s a handler who kept tabs on us. She’s the one who called when the last one before me bought it.” She handed me her phone and I saw the message; “Number 4 dead. Run and hide.”

“Who’s the handler?” I asked.

“There’s a handler?” Paris echoed from the driver’s seat. So he was listening after all.

Leonie waved me off. “Don’t worry. She never did anything but negotiate the jobs and assign them. I don’t know anything about her. She’ll just go into hiding and never be heard from again. She’s not a threat.”

I relaxed at hearing that, but still wondered if this woman was Doc Savage. And if there was a handler – were there other employees? Leonie must have received assignments from the handler. Or were there others involved? Others who might at this very minute be hunting us?

“So, what happens now?” Leonie asked.

I looked out the window at the desert. Frankly, I had no idea. Once we got to Reno, maybe we should hole up for a while. At least until we could convince the Council that Leonie was no longer a threat and solve the Doc Savage problem.

“Why did you get into this business anyway?” I asked. “It’s dangerous. What were you thinking?”

She laughed. There was a hard edge to it. “Christ, Dak. I was an English major. The only thing I had to look forward to after college was running a funeral home. I was recruited. It kind of made sense, considering the business I was in.”

Grabbing her arm, I pulled up the sleeve. No tattoo. “Why don’t you have the tattoo?”

“That stupid thing? What? Are you joking?” When she saw that I wasn’t, Leonie continued. “I refused to get it.” She rolled her eyes. “Like I’d put Woody Woodpecker on my arm. The company backed down once they realized I didn’t need a cartoon on my arm in order to kill people.”

After a moment, she spoke again. “I thought I’d be working for the government. You know – saving the world. It turned out they’d lied to me. I was trying to figure out how to quit when I’d met you.”

I must’ve looked somewhat unconvinced because she continued. “I’m serious. I wanted out. I guess in a weird way – you are helping me.”

I realized I’d never spoken to anyone outside the family about the trade. And I’d never met anyone who became an assassin by choice. Still, there was something strangely in common. We both worked in family businesses that dealt with death and we were both assassins.

“What about you?” she asked. “Why are your cousins involved?”

Paris caught my glance in the rearview mirror. He shrugged. I took that to mean he didn’t care if I told her. But there was a problem – Bombays aren’t allowed to tell outsiders anything about what we do. I could understand that. Imagine how many of us would be in prison via a bad breakup.

On the other hand, if we survived this, I planned to make Leonie part of the family. You weren’t supposed to tell your significant other until the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. Well, this is an exception to the rules – I decided. So I launched into the history of The Bombay Family. By the time we got to Reno, Leonie’s eyes were huge.

“That’s pretty wild,” she said. “I knew we had rivals, but I didn’t realize how, um, bizarre they were.” She squinted at the mountains in the distance. “Wow. A private island. Cool.”

“Let’s stop here,” Paris suggested as he pulled into a nondescript hotel parking lot.

I nodded in agreement and watched as Paris went inside to get a room. He returned in a few minutes with a key and the three of us made it to the room.

Paris cased the room for security problems and I looked around. We had nothing. No luggage, no personal belongings. Leonie didn’t even have her purse. But we were still alive. That had to count for something.

Paris immediately called and ordered pizza delivery. Leonie sipped a Diet Coke and watched as I paced the room nervously.

“I don’t know who’s following us, but I do know that we have to convince the Council that Leonie’s not a threat to us.” I said more to myself than anyone.

“How can we do that?” Paris asked.

“I don’t know. I could go to Santa Muerta and plead her case?”

“You can’t leave Leonie alone,” Paris answered.

“Guys! I’m not exactly helpless you know,” Leonie interrupted. “Hello, I have a lot of kills under my belt.”

I thought about asking her how many, but decided my ego was too fragile for me to know the answer to that.

“Well, they let Diego live when he came to the island as a stranger,” Paris mused.

He was right. Diego accompanied our raid on the Council last year, and that was a huge violation of the rules. No non-family member ever saw Santa Muerta. Alive, that is.

While it was true that the Council had made an exception for Gin’s sake, I didn’t trust them to do it again. We needed the Council’s support on this matter. Since I didn’t know who in the hell was after us (and at this point there were a couple of suspects) the only safe place for Leonie was Santa Muerta. Huh. That’s ironic. The island was either the most dangerous or safest place on earth for her.

I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it! We’ll get married!”

I thought it was a great idea. So why did Paris look so dubious and Leonie – so nauseated?

“Leonie, would you marry me?” I asked her urgently.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I dreamed of a proposal.” She didn’t look happy. Why didn’t she look happy?

“Well,” I said, “I love you. And Louis loves you. And everyone in my family thinks you’re amazing.”

Leonie just stared at me. “So, you’re serious? You aren’t just proposing so you can save my life?”

That seemed like an odd question. “Don’t you feel the same way about me?” I begged.

She was taking too long to answer. Holy shit! What if she didn’t love me?

“Yes, Dak. I do love you. I adore your son and family.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t really picture it all going down this way.”

Paris grabbed the phone book. “There are three chapels within a five-mile radius of this hotel. Let’s go.”

After calling the front desk and asking them to pay for and hold on to the pizza until we got back, we climbed in the car and drove to the first chapel on the list.

I’d seen chapels with Elvis impersonators, Elvira impersonators and the like. What I’d never seen was a chapel with a Star Trek theme. A very fat Captain Kirk look-alike in full regalia welcomed us onto the deck. The organist somewhat resembled a badly aged Uhura.

Mr. Spock performed the ceremony. I could handle the part where he did the thing with his hand and said, “Live long and prosper,” but when he concluded the ceremony with, “This union is logical,” I had to smother a laugh. Then Tribbles fell from the ceiling. I kid you not. I handed two hundred dollars to the organist, ignoring her weird eye tic, and we fled. The whole thing took maybe fifteen minutes.

Stunned and a little freaked out, Leonie and I stumbled out of the Star Trek chapel and into married life. I crushed my wife to my chest while Paris waved our marriage certificate in the dusty, arid wind to dry it.

A shot rang out and the three of us dove behind the row of parked cars. Scrambling to a crouched position, I reached for my bride only to find her in a very hot combat position aiming her gun at the alley behind us. Damn. She looked amazing. I sat down in the gravel and stared glassy eyed at the woman of my dreams as she silently swept the alley and gave us a thumbs up.

Another shot broke my daze and I regained my composure, creeping around the first car to check out the lot. Nothing seemed to be out of place. In fact, there were no concerned pedestrians or police sirens wailing in the distance.

Leonie appeared beside me. “It must’ve been a car backfiring.”

Paris nodded his agreement and we rose, holstering our weapons. We climbed in the car and drove off, circling numerous city blocks along the way to make sure we weren’t followed.

“Wow,” I said to Leonie. “You looked hot back there.”

She turned to me with a strange look. “You’ve seen women do this before, right? Your mom and sister are assassins. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes, but they never looked as good as you did just now.”

“Oh for christ’s sake, Dak. Don’t turn me into a sexist fantasy or I’ll have the marriage annulled.”

What could I do? I nodded sheepishly and turned my attention to the road.

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d get married.” Paris still looked a little shocked as we ate the pizza back in our room. “And don’t even think of consummating it tonight. Wait until you get a little privacy. Please.”

Leonie tore another can from the six-pack that came with the pizza. “I can’t believe it either. I always had the traditional idea of a full wedding. Not a quickie on the deck of the Starship Enterprise.” She giggled and I melted.

It was almost as if our troubles were gone. I watched as she popped open her can. Everything she did seemed elegant. She deserved better than this.

A strange fizz came from the can Leonie opened. Blue smoke started to pour out of it and she dropped it to the ground. Paris threw a towel over it, but it was too late. My whole body felt like it was swaying. I watched as Leonie collapsed onto the bed and Paris fell on top of her. I would have protested that arrangement, had I not already hit the floor.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Colour Sergeant Bourne:  A prayer's as good as bayonet on a day like this.

- Zulu

Ever have one of those days when you get married by a Vulcan in a Star Trek-themed chapel while on the lamb in Nevada and wake up tied to a chair with your new wife and best friend in a strange room – your grandma standing over you with a .38?

Well, this was one of those days. I came to tied rather uncomfortably to a chair. My pain was forgotten the minute I saw that Leonie was in the same situation on my right, Paris on my left. I didn’t recognize the room. In fact, I had no idea if we were still in Nevada or at Santa Muerta. If so, this room was new.

The walls were a blindingly stark black-and-white tile, as was the floor. It was a very uncomfortable room. Leonie was still unconscious, but Paris was awake. Grandma stood in front of us, a brushed steel .38 in the shoulder holster she wore over a muumuu. There was no sign of anyone else in the room.

“What’s going on?” I said with more than a little attitude. This was the second time in one year my grandmother threatened me, and I was getting pissed off.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Dakota.” She looked angry.

“I suppose the Council is going to take action on the job?” I was really being an asshole, but this was irritating.

“Actually,” Grandma tilted her head to one side, “they don’t know you’re here yet. I did this myself. I wanted to find out what the hell you were doing before Lou killed you.”

Okay, so that was good news. Maybe I’d better wise up.

“I can’t let the Council kill Leonie. I love her.”

Grandma looked at Leonie. “She’s the one who made a man out of you? She should get a Nobel Prize for that.” She laughed. “She’s really lovely, Dakota. But that’s beside the point now, isn’t it?”

“Where are we?” Paris asked, which was good because if he continued to remain silent, I’d deck him. Not that I could. But I would.

“Let’s just say, you’re safe for now. I have a safe room in my apartment. It’s sound-proof and no one knows about it. Until now, that is.”

“Jesus Grandma,” Paris cursed. “At least untie us if you aren’t going to turn us over to the Council.”

“Yeah!” I backed him up. “This is stupid. You aren’t going to kill us.”

She arched her right eyebrow, and for a moment she reminded me of Leonard Nimoy. “Oh? I’m not? Are you sure?”

“I am so sick of this family,” I muttered. No one else had to deal with family shit like this.

“Quit pouting!” Grandma barked. “This is serious. You are in serious trouble.”

Paris snorted. “Then just shoot us. Because I’m so over these dramatics.”

Okay, right attitude, wrong choice of words. “Grandma, you aren’t going to kill us and you aren’t going to hand us over to the Council, so just untie us.”

Leonie started to stir. She opened her eyes and immediately summed up the situation as bad, and possibly bizarre.

Grandma softened. “Hello, dear. It’s so nice to meet the woman who tamed my idiot grandson. You must be very special.” She smiled and patted Leonie’s shoulder.

Leonie shot me a “what the fuck?” look. It was strange. But if we lived, she’d eventually get used to the quirks of the Bombays.

“So, Lou, Troy and the others don’t know we’re here?” Paris ventured.

Grandma nodded. “That’s right. And they won’t until your hearing tonight.”

My ears perked up. “Hearing? What hearing?”

My grandmother rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m not going to just hand over my grandsons for termination. Of course we’ll have a hearing.”

“What hearing? I’ve never heard of the family holding any hearings!” It was true. Bombays were more likely to just shoot first and ask the dead body questions later.

“We haven’t held a hearing since. . .” She scratched her chin. “Oh, since 1823.” She cast a glance at Leonie, “Let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

Oh, great. We were just waiting for some weird witch trial. Maybe we could talk them out of it. I couldn’t think. My head ached and I had this strange aftertaste of yellow mustard.

“What did you hit us with, anyway?” I asked.

“Just some knockout gas. I don’t really want to tell all our secrets in front of an outsider and competitor.” She turned to Leonie. “No offense, dear.”

“Um, none taken?” Leonie responded quietly.

“I just have to figure out a way to punish you without killing all three of you. I figured time was on my side.” She looked at her watch. “Unfortunately, I overdid on the gas and you slept too long.” She pushed a button on the wall, and I watched as three hooks on heavy chains came down from the ceiling and clamped on our chairs. A light humming noise came from the floor and I looked to see the floor open up. We didn’t fall, as the chains from the ceiling lowered us to the floor of the room below. Just as the legs of our chairs touched down, the hooks disengaged and retreated into the ceiling and the room above. The ceiling closed up, leaving no trace of the secret room above.

Paris and I looked at each other. Actually, I think we were both impressed and more than a little freaked out by what had just happened.

“What is this place?” Leonie whispered as we looked around the Council’s conference room.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “But it sounds like we have some chance to get out of this alive.”

“Always look on the bright side of life, eh?” Leonie gave me a weak smile.

“Life of Brian?” Paris asked and she nodded.

I was getting a little sick of movie quotes. And I was the one who started them. “Someone’s coming,” I whispered.

I was not at all surprised to see all five members of the Council come into the room and take a seat on the dais. Grandma was the last one in and she made introductions of Leonie to the others. She did it with a gentleness and politeness that made it seem like we weren’t actually tied to chairs about to die.

“You really screwed up this time, Dakota,” Troy sneered. I hated that limey bastard.

“Actually, I think you’re right.” I shouldn’t have answered, but I couldn’t help myself. “I screwed up by not killing you last time we were here.”

“Nice,” Paris muttered.

“We haven’t decided what to do with you yet, so quit the cowboy swagger, Dak.” Dela smiled. Florence, the other European nodded.

“My life isn’t for you to bargain with, Aunt Dela,” I snapped. “I’m sick of all this bullshit.”

“That’s disrespectful, Dak.” Lou’s face was an alarming shade of red.

“All right, Lou,” Grandma said. “We haven’t decided what to do. That’s what we’re here for.”

Damn. I really wished I wasn’t tied up. A hand cannon would’ve been nice too. Instead, all I could do was sit there and bleed.

Troy shrugged. “What’s there to decide? Dak didn’t follow through on the hit. In fact, he rescued her from us. The by-laws are pretty straightforward.”

Ah. So it was the Council we were running from. I guess that cleared up that mystery. Too bad I couldn’t celebrate.

Lou nodded. “I agree. We shoot Dak and his lady friend. Paris gets a warning.”

“I don’t know about that.” Dela said. “Those by-laws haven’t been changed since the Middle Ages. I think there’s some wiggle room here.”

Flo spoke up in her French accent, “Dela is right. We have to change with the times.”

I looked expectantly at Grandma, but she refused to meet my gaze. The way the Council haggled like we weren’t even there really pissed me off. Grandma said her goal was to buy us some time. But she sure as hell wasn’t helping us.

“Either we do as we’ve always done and follow the letter of the law, or we disband,” Lou demanded.

“We’ve always followed the code. No exceptions. We can’t bring back the others we’ve punished. We can’t change things now,” Troy argued.

“What about the last traitor?” Lou shouted. “My grandson was terminated for his treachery.” He pointed a finger at me. “The same rules have to apply.”

I was not too happy to see that his argument was starting to work on the others. I was also not too happy to be compared to Lou’s slimy grandson, who tried to turn the whole family in to international authorities last fall.

“Do we get to say anything?” I yelled.

“No,” Troy answered. “You betrayed the family. And Paris helped you. I think only the highest penalty should apply. All three of you should pay the price.”

Leonie kept quiet, which was probably good. This was her first introduction to the extended family, and I was sure she wouldn’t want to make a bad impression.

“You have to vote, Uncle Troy,” Paris said. “And it looks like the women are against you.”

“Be quiet, Paris!” Grandma snapped. “He’s right. I’m not happy about it.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to have to inconvenience you, Grandma,” I said. “You almost made a mistake on me before. Do you want to make the same mistake again?”

Dela looked sad. “I’m afraid we have no choice, Dak. But I promise you we will change these rules. Unfortunately, you’ll be dead, but the amendments will benefit your son.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, that makes me feel much better.”

Lou turned away from me. “So, how do we finish it?”

Troy pointed at Leonie. “First, Dak has to finish the job he started. Then we take care of him and Paris.”

They were going to make me kill Leonie? Bullshit on that! I wasn’t about to do it. It’s like that old saw you see in movies where the bad guys make the good guy dig his own grave? And he does it, thinking he’s buying himself some time, but in the end, he’s dead and he’s done their back-breaking work for them. No way.

“Ha!” I shouted. “I’m not going to do it. You can’t make me kill her.” What were they going to do? Give me a gun? I’d take them out before they could react.

“Oh, you’ll do it all right.” Lou and Troy came down to where I was and untied one of my hands. They took a rod as long as my arm and attached it to a slot in the chair, then secured my arm to the rod. Lou took his Glock and ejected the magazine – meaning there was only one bullet left in the gun. He placed the gun in my hand while Troy used duct tape to secure it. My arm, and hand with a gun in it, like it or not, were pointed straight at Leonie.

“Well, I’m not pulling the trigger,” I said defiantly. How could they make me do that?

Lou laughed. “It’s remote controlled, boy. I’ll actually deploy the trigger. You’ll be holding the gun that kills your girlfriend. It’s genius, really.”

I was starting to sweat. At any moment, that sadist could push a button that would blow a large hole in Leonie’s head. And I had no control over it.

“NO!” Paris cried, “Don’t make him do it! Don’t you people have hearts?” Atta boy. Still my wingman – till the bitter end.

I figured I had only one chance. It wouldn’t save any of us, but it would make it so I didn’t blow my lover’s brains out. There was only a split second to act before they figured out what I was doing. I took a deep breath and threw my weight to my right as hard and fast as possible.

It worked. I tipped over. Lou must’ve pressed the button, because the gun went off as I fell, missing Leonie by inches. My triumph was short-lived, as I now realized I was stuck, on the floor, tied to a chair with my arm duct-taped to a rod.

Of course, this wouldn’t stop them from killing us. But if they had their heart set on me killing Leonie, it would buy us a few moments while they set me up and loaded the gun again.

“I love you, Leonie,” I called out from my awkward position on the floor. I just didn’t want her to die without hearing that.

“I love you too, Dak,” Leonie said quietly.

“Come on, people!” Paris called out from somewhere behind me. “They’re married! Can’t you cut them some slack?” I thought that if I ever got out of this, I’d do something really nice for Paris. Maybe buy him a book on how to make Harvey Wallbangers, or the entire set of Rat Pack movies. Something like that.

A loud bang came from somewhere behind me. I couldn’t see what happened, so I focused on Leonie’s face, which happened to be looking at me.

“We would’ve had a great life together,” I said to her.

Leonie smiled. “I know.”

Behind me I could hear voices but I was too caught up in her. She looked beautiful. Glowing, actually. Like an angel. A gorgeous angel. The Madonna, actually.

“Dak,” she began.

“You don’t have to say it.” I wanted to make this as easy as possible for her. She didn’t have to prove herself to me.

“I really need to tell you something,” she persisted.

“Leonie, it’s okay. I understand, or know, or whatever. There’s nothing you could say that would affect how I feel for you at this very moment.”

“I’m pregnant.” Leonie said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tommy:  Roy, have you got the hammer?

Roy: Always got the hammer, Tommy.

- Death to Smoochy

I was filled with a feeling I’d never had before. For the first time in my life, I was so, mind-numbingly happy, I forgot all about where we were. Hell, I didn’t mind that the very expensive condoms I kept in my nightstand had failed. In fact, I was happy they had, for the second time in my life. Louis was going to have a baby brother or sister! He’d love that.

“That’s enough!” I heard my mother’s voice scream behind me. “I’ve had it with you, Mother!” She sounded angrier than I’d ever heard her before.

Someone was lifting me and my chair upright. Paris and his dad, Uncle Pete, were untying me. I looked to my right and saw Mom’s cousins Cali and Montana untying Leonie. On the dais, Lou’s kids, York and Georgia had guns trained on the Council, while Troy and Florence’s kids Burma and Asia were glowering.

“No one. . .and I mean no one,” Mom shouted, “pulls a gun on my unborn grandchild!”

I watched in amazement as her brother and cousins nodded. This was a Bombay coup d’etat!

“Consider yourselves in retirement,” Burma’s crisp English accent admonished.

The five members of the Council faced the greater number of their own children. All eight of them. Without a word, they handed their pistols over to York and Georgia. In a split second, a new Council had taken over. It was an amazing thing to behold.

“How did you know?” I asked Mom after she spent several minutes fawning all over Leonie.

She turned to look at me with surprise, “Missi called. She told me what happened in Vegas.”

Missi popped up beside her, causing me to jump backwards. “After you left, Lulu told me the whole Council was in Vegas. That was more than I thought you could handle.”

I saw Mom’s eyebrows go up at the mention of Lulu, but to her credit, she didn’t ask.

“So I called your mom and mine and Operation Nursing Home commenced earlier than planned.”

“Operation Nursing Home?” Paris asked.

“We’ve been planning to take over the Council for the past few years now,” Mom explained. “We knew none of them would ever let go. So Pete and the cousins and I decided it was time for a regime change. We’ve been wanting to make some changes for a long time.”

Leonie slumped into my arms. Apparently she’d had her fill of Bombay Family fun for the day. Paris and I took one of the jeeps and drove to the airstrip on the island, and in a few hours the three of us were on our private jet en route to home.

We weren’t sure if it was safe for Leonie at her house, so we checked her into a suite at the Downtown Marriott, and Paris and I headed to my condo to pick up a few things.

We got to my place to find the door wide open. I didn’t leave it unlocked, let alone standing ajar. Quietly, we slipped inside and locked the door behind us. Voices came from the hallway. It sounded like two men. I reached inside my coat closet and pulled out the hidden shotgun and handgun I kept there.

I pointed to Paris, silently telling him to take one side of the hallway. He nodded and we crept toward my bedroom. After making eye contact for a second, we burst into the room, guns  blazing (which looked really cool, I’d bet).

Neil and Anders grinned sheepishly from their places on the floor. They were wrist deep in my underwear drawer and the whole image was something I wanted desperately to forget.

“What the hell?” I said, keeping the shotgun trained on Anders’ midsection.

“Doc Savages, I presume?” I asked in my best James Bond voice.

“Heh, heh,” Neil laughed nervously. “Well, you see. . .” He looked at Anders, who conveniently shrugged.

Turned out our friends, the Mossad and CIA operatives, were looking for Paris’s blackmail photos of them. They were both up for promotions, and Paris’s threats of the photos were more than they could bear. So, they hired a couple of real low-lifes to break into my place, using my old obsession as a taunt to throw me off track.

And while I was relieved to hear that Doc Savage was no longer a threat, we still were pissed off at our old college buddies.

So it was little more than twenty four hours later, that Neil and Anders found themselves naked, bound and gagged in an S&M den in Paraguay, under the not-so-tender ministrations of a 300 pound trannie dominatrix named Earl.

You just couldn’t put a price on the digital photos Earl sent back. Oh, we would never send them to their office. Of course, they wouldn’t know that.

EPILOGUE

Hellboy:  “I wish I could do something about this. But I can’t. But I can promise you two things.

One: I’ll always look this good. Two: I’ll never give up on you. . .ever.”

- Hellboy

“Just sign here, Mrs. Bombay,” Eli Morgan said, pointing his knock-off Mont Blanc pen at a dotted line.

Leonie looked at me for a moment. Was she hesitating?

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, “if you’re not ready.”

She looked at the now frowning Mr. Morgan, then down at her round tummy.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“I mean,” I took a deep breath and repeated what I’d told her in private a half hour ago, “we could find a way of tying the two family businesses together.”

Leonie laughed and shook her head. “Yeah. Like that would work.”

She went ahead and signed her name, then handed the forms over to the confused banker. Selling Crummy’s had been her idea. I thought maybe we could tie in the funeral home with the assassination business, but we never did figure out how. Oh well.

“And what business are you in, Mr. Bombay?” Morgan frowned at me again.

“Oh,” I said with a grin at my wife, “I’m in marketing.”

Nine months later, Leonie gave birth to a perfect little girl we named Sofia. You might think we were breaking the rules of place names in the Bombay Family, but just look at a map of Bulgaria.

Louis was thrilled with the new house we bought just down the street from Gin and Diego. The condo association had kind of frowned on the fact I’d had break-ins. Go figure.

At any rate, the kids needed a house. Louis loved his new bedroom, backyard and chemistry lab in the basement. He was doing great in school, and even won the Boy Scouts’ pine wood derby. The judges suspected something was up (and they were right), but couldn’t prove anything. I’ll never tell.

Leonie lives in semi-retirement. She helps me with the occasional assignment, just to keep her skills from getting rusty. Her specialty? Well, she came up with this method of embalming someone while they’re still alive. I think there might be some issues with her childhood there, but she seems happy.

As for the Bombays, well, we’re still doing business as usual, with a few changes. The new and improved Council relaxed a lot of the stricter rules from the past, making us all sleep a little bit better at night. And the number of jobs was limited to two per year, and not within the same six months of each other. Of course, there might be circumstances in the future that would take exception to this, but you’ll have that.

The new Council kept a lot of the same traditions, but seemed to have a softer approach to things. And it all seemed to be working out pretty smoothly.

What happened to the old Council members? Oh, they’re still around. Just retired. Mom, Pete and the others put them in a nice little maximum-security nursing home in Greenland, where the staff consists of large, non-English speaking, angry Inuit women. I heard that Lou tried to escape last month after turning his wooden ice cream spoon into a shiv. He spent a month in solitary, sharing a locked room with an incontinent, retired Sumo wrestler who liked to give “big hugs.”

And me? Do I miss the old days of the freewheeling Dakster? Not at all. My small but lethal family is enough to keep me on my toes for the rest of my life. And in this family, you never know how long that may be.

* * * * *

STAND BY YOUR HITMAN

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

* * * * *

ebook Edition

Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Langtry

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“Do you know what it's like to fall in the mud and get kicked... in the head... with an iron boot? Of course you don't, no one does. It never happens. It's a dumb question... skip it.”

- Rex Kramer, Airplane

I stared at the letter in my hand. I was making the same face I made a few moments earlier when checking my phone messages. It’s not a pretty face. You wouldn’t like it.

Dear Ms. Bombay,

Your application has been accepted. We are thrilled to have you as a contestant in the new television programme, Survival! We received thousands of applications for the show, but quite frankly, your video blew everyone away here at CAB network. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone defuse an explosive device so quickly. You are exactly what we are looking for. In a few days, you should receive a complete package in the mail with all of the information you will need. I look forward to meeting you next month.

Sincerely,

Bob Toole

Executive Producer, CAB

Well, that wasn’t right. I never applied to be on Survivor. True, it was one of my favorite shows. But I think I’d remember submitting an application. It’s not like I go around videotaping myself defusing bombs every day. Okay, there was that once but I just wanted to see what it looked like in third person. It was my little egoist guilty pleasure. No one knew I had it. Or at least, I thought no one knew.

So, maybe that’s what Bob is talking about. Hmmmm. If I didn’t send it in, who did?

“Mom!” The unanimous shout came from my two teenaged sons, Montgomery and Jackson Bombay. My name is Mississippi Bombay, but I prefer Missi.

“In here,” I responded suspiciously. Did they do this?

Monty and Jack popped their heads into the doorway simultaneously. Fraternal twins, you’d never look at them and even think they were related. Monty was tall and gangly, with dark hair and green eyes. Jack was short and stocky with a shock of unruly red hair and freckles. In spite of their physical differences, the boys shared one, obnoxious personality.

“Do I need to ask?” I waved the letter at them.

Monty snatched it out of my hands and began to read. “Cool! Mom, this rocks!”

Jack grabbed it from his brother and scanned the page. “Ohmygod!” He shouted it as one word. “How cool are you? Why didn’t you tell us?”

From the looks on their faces, I surmised they didn’t do it.

“So you had nothing to do with this?” I had to ask just to make sure. I haven’t survived this long as a single mother of twin boys without confirming everything. Usually twice.

They shook their heads. “We would’ve if we thought you were interested,” Monty started.

“But we never dreamed you’d want to go on the show!” Jack finished.

I swiped the letter from Jack and put in on the table, “Well, it’s obviously just a joke, so we’ll forget about it.” I now had other ideas. After all, I came from a family of assassins. A prankster or two in the gene pool was to be expected.

You heard me right. Assassins. The Bombay Family had a monopoly on the biz since Ancient Greece. Every blooded member of the family begins training at the age of five and works until, well, forever. My grandma was just forced into an early retirement or she’d still be taking on contracts. Not that she needed to. She was on the Council. That’s the geriatric crew who runs the operations, dishes out assignments, and kills off renegade family members. That’s right. This family business isn’t exactly optional. And if you screw up or screw over the family, the Council will take you out.

I looked around from my mental meanderings to find the boys gone. Oh well. Where could they go? We live on a small, private island off the coast of South America.

Speaking of mental fragmentation - I’ve been experiencing that a lot lately. Maybe it has something to do with being 45. Or it could be that I haven’t had sex in a long, long time. Being widowed will do that to you. Well, that and the isolation of being on an island no one but my immediate family lives on. Or it could be the bizarre nature of my work. Besides killing people for a living, I’m a bit of an inventor. It’s my only creative outlet. And it was one more service I could offer the Bombays.

What do I invent? Oh, this and that really. Hairdryers that can blow your head off, lilies that can suffocate you, explosive jockstraps . . . the usual bric-a-brac I guess. My mind began to meander again and I started thinking about Pop Tarts. I LOVE Pop Tarts. But only the chocolate fudge ones. I could eat those for every meal.

The Pop Tarts made me think of Kleenex, which reminded me that I still had a few finishing touches to make on my latest explosive device. I headed for the lab.

“Mantisnuts,” was the secret word I spoke into my security system. The door popped open and I went in thinking it was time to change my password. Maybe something like bananaface. Did praying mantis have testicles? I wasn’t sure. At least in the figurative sense they did. It takes balls to make love to a woman you know will bite your head off afterward.

On a table in the middle of the room was one of those Wacky Wall Walkers. Remember those? Real big in the ‘80’s. I had several back then. Anyway, for those of you who are big hair and shoulder-pad challenged, they were these sticky little octopuses (octopi? What is the plural anyway?) you threw at a wall or sliding glass door (sliding glass doors were also very big in the ‘80s) and it kind of flopped, ass over, um, tentacles all the way down the wall. You’d think something like that would be a failure, wouldn’t you? But the inventors of that stupid little toy (did I mention that I owned several?) made millions. You never know what will hit it big.

It was with that in mind that I decided to work with the gummy little bastards as some sort of explosive device. Remember Tom Cruise as Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible? The first one – not the crappy sequels. Anyway, he had that stick of gum he just had to fold in half and stick on the aquarium at that restaurant in Prague and it blew up? Of course, it was ridiculous. Have you ever tried to fold a stick of dry gum in half? It snaps in two, doesn’t stick to itself - doesn’t stick to anything really, so it wouldn’t have worked in real life. But that’s okay cuz I liked the movie.

The trick with the Wacky Wall Walkers was to get just the right compound that would ignite as it struck a solid surface, and wouldn’t affect its inherent gumminess. I didn’t want to overdo it, but I wanted something that would do the job. I wasn’t sure what the job was yet, but it didn’t matter. I loved working in my lab. I could work with whatever I wanted and the family didn’t give a damn. Ha.

An hour later found me behind my blast shield as I blew up my fifth piece of glass-coated dry wall. I was having a pretty good time too. That is, until the alarm went off. I’d set it to high because I wanted to know if anyone came into my lab unannounced.

“Hello, Mississippi.” York Bombay stood in the doorway. I couldn’t stand that man. My mom’s cousin York was a creepy old dude. Of course, his father, Lou, was much worse. Thank God he’s still locked up with Grandma and the other former Council at that maximum-security nursing home in Greenland. I folded my arms across my chest and made up my mind to definitely change my password. How the hell did he get it, anyway?

“What’s up, Uncle York?”

He forced a grin and reached over to fondle Charo from my b-list bobble head collection. I made a mental note to scrub them with Clorox later.

“Well, my dear, the Council requests your presence. Tonight at seven.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Canada is like living in the upstairs apartment over a really cool party you weren’t invited to.”

- John Stewart, The Daily Show

I ground my nails into my arms to keep from reaching for the remote control on my top shelf that could electrocute him. Then I tried not to smile thinking about that.

You see, York’s been pissed off at me since I had to deal with his favorite nephew, Richie, one year ago. That’s when I electrocuted the old Council too. I’d secretly installed a mechanism in all five members’ elbows under the pretense of getting their biometric info. It was kind of a backup plan, but it came in handy when the Council kidnapped my favorite cousin, Gin’s daughter and my generation was locked into a sort-of Mexican standoff with the old guys. My little invention took them out and they still don’t know why. In fact, the new Council didn’t even raise their eyebrows when I injected them with the same device. Of course, they thought I was just giving them malaria shots (never use the same lie twice – it always backfires). I’d say what they don’t know won’t hurt them, but in this case it actually will.

“Fine. I’ll be there.” I said stiffly. I watched him walk out of my lab and did that little full-body shake you do when you walk into a spider web. Then I changed my password to deaduncleyork.

“What do you mean, you got me on Survivor?” I was in shock from what the Council just told me.

“I called an old friend of mine,” my mother explained. “You were a shoe-in.” She smiled like she’d just told me I looked nice in this shirt (which is usually followed up with why can’t you find a man/woman/dog? That’s right, my mother would rather see me as a lesbian instead of single). “And it’s Survival, not Survivor, dear.”

“What?” I asked.

Mom smiled at me now like I was about to get on a special bus to go to a special school. “It’s a brand new Canadian show. But it’s pretty much the same thing as Survivor.”

I folded my arms over my chest, “You got me onto a cheap, Canadian knock-off of Survivor? Are you nuts?” It was an odd question, considering that most of the time people thought I was nuts.

Aunt Carolina nodded. “Of course we are. But it’s a good assignment nonetheless.”

Huh?

Mom added, “I think it will be good for you. You should get out more – meet people. And you are a bit on the pale side dear. A little sun will make you look healthy.”

I rolled my eyes and thought about the remote control in my workshop. No, I had to save that for when I really needed it. And in this family that usually meant when your relatives pointed guns at you.

“Is there really a job? Or is this another one of your blind date schemes,” I said. “Cuz I’ve got to admit, you really went above and beyond on this one.”

Uncle Monty spoke up, “Yes, Mississippi. It really is a job. An important one too. You are the only one who can do it.”

I crossed my arms. “Cut the flattery and tell me the truth.”

The Council members all looked toward the media booth, where I noticed York was struggling with the a/v equipment. I hated when they tried to do stuff without me. Most of them were still afraid of computers.

“I got it!” York called out.

The big screen came down from the ceiling. Then it stopped midway and went back up again. I threw up my hands and went to the booth to straighten everything out. I had a knack for technology. It’s one of the things I really liked about myself. Well, that and the ability to hang four spoons off my face at one time. I worked my whole freshman year in college to be able to do that.

“You guys should spare me the drama and just let me do this.” I muttered to myself as I pushed the right buttons to make the screen come down and the Power Point presentation run. I’m sure York heard me, but wisely chose not to respond.

I rejoined the Council, who acted like I didn’t have to bail them out . . . again. On the screen was the photo of a man about my age. Reasonably attractive, with dark hair and a nice smile, this guy must be the Vic (the family’s nickname for our victims), I thought.

“Isaac Beckett.” Uncle Pete took over. I liked Uncle Pete. He had a neat, rumbly sort of voice that was warm and comfy.

“Our client believes Beckett is an arms dealer who knows the names of several undercover CIA agents and has threatened to reveal his list to some rather unfriendly nations. He went missing a month ago and through some genius research on Burma’s behalf,” he nodded to his cousin Burma (an Englishman), “we found that he’d gotten onto this show.”

“So why do I have to get on the show? Can’t we just take him out before they ship these idiots to wherever?” I didn’t want to go on Survival, dammit. I wanted to stay at home, making cult toys from the ‘80s explode.

Mom gave me that look again. “Because we still don’t know where he is and won’t until he ends up onsite.”

“Okay,” I shrugged. “I’ll just go and take him out after the show wraps.”

Monty shook his head. “For one month, he’ll be inaccessible to us and have full access to a television crew. We can’t risk the fact that he could leak information to millions of people. Information that should be buried with his dead body.”

It’s funny how my family talks. To someone not familiar with the Bombays, our conversation might seem a tad threatening.

“And you want me to be a contestant on the show and take him out.” I waited for them to nod like my bobble head dolls. “Except that you forget, I’d have to kill him in front of millions of viewers, worldwide. How, exactly, do I do that?”

Burma’s crisp accent cut in. “That is why you are the only one for this job, Missi. As an inventor, you will most likely be able to stay on the programme while others are voted out. And you can figure out a unique way to kill him that will look like an accident. That is, if he is who we think he is.”

“And it’s not millions of viewers, dear,” Mom said. “It’s more like thousands, actually.”

“Wait a minute.” Sometimes my brain processed information at lightening speed. This, however, was not one of those moments. “What do you mean if?”

Mom sighed as if I were a complete idiot. “We already told you – our client isn’t entirely sure Beckett is a bad guy.”

That’s weird. I’ve never heard of a Bombay assignment that wasn’t pretty clear cut. “So do I kill him, or not?”

Mom smiled. “We’ll let you know. Basically you’ll be on the show to keep an eye on him until we get more information.”

It was hard to digest this information. I guess what they were saying made sense, but it still pissed me off. I like a good reality television show like anyone else. And like anyone else – I’d rather watch it at home, sitting on my couch, sipping red wine with the air conditioner on.

“You have some time to prepare before you’re needed in Toronto. I’ll e-mail you the dossier on Beckett and everything I have on the show.” Mom winked at me. It was as if she was a normal mother talking to her daughter. Not one assassin ordering her daughter to stalk and maybe kill a man.

Back in my lab, I continued to blow up panels of dry wall but my heart just wasn’t into it. I quit early and made my way to my apartment in the main building on the island.

My workshop is sacred to me – a place of peace and quiet. . .well, except for the explosions and stuff. I have a lot of strange paraphernalia in there but mainly that is for inspiration. From the stuffed black jaguar to my collection of A-Team DVD's to my “Hang In There” poster featuring an adorable kitten hanging from a tree – it all makes perfect sense.

My home, on the other hand, is different. Being strange is one thing. Letting that impact my kids is another. The boys and I have a great condo on the island. And this may sound weird, but I’ve worked really hard to make our living space look totally normal. It was tough at first, since it was completely against my nature to have fine art, leather furniture and Tiffany lamps, but I managed. I used a lot of color on the walls to compensate.

I just didn’t want the boys to grow up too weird. They lost their dad before they were old enough to remember him and they lived on a remote island where they were trained since age five to be assassins. A little normalcy was required.

Monty and Jack were sitting on the couch playing video games as I came in. Neither of them looked away from the screen, but both shouted, “Hi, Mom.”

The fact that they looked like two kids from opposite sides of the gene pool always got people’s attention. Monty resembled his father, Rudy, in looks and disposition. He was more cautious, more intellectual and at times could be more serious than his brother. Jackson’s red hair was a recessive Bombay trait that skipped every generation. His shorter, athletic build came from my dad. His wicked sense of humor and penchant for getting in trouble came from me.

And I loved them like no other mother could. For seventeen years, they’d been my whole life. It would be really tough to give them up for college in the near future. Then I’d be alone. Huh. I never thought about that before. I hastily pushed that thought from my mind.

It occurred to me that I’d have to leave the boys here for a month while I was on the show. That was an unpleasant idea. The boys had just turned seventeen and were hell on wheels. If we had wheels in the jungle, that is. There was no way I could leave them.

I toyed with making Mom watch them, sending them to live with their father’s parents in the States, a brief stint in military school or possibly just rendering them unconscious for a month. I could do that, but there were some side effects involved and I didn’t want them to have excessive facial hair or golf ball-sized warts.

I pulled a beer from the fridge and sat down next to them on the couch. Figuring out what to do with two adolescent, hormonal, teen-assassins would be worse than doing the damn show. Either way, I was pretty sure that the one person who wouldn’t survive in both cases was me.

CHAPTER THREE

“Diplomacy is the art of saying ‘Nice doggie’ until you can find a rock.”

- Will Rogers

I was up early the next morning, doing my usual jog around the island. Santa Muerta’s pretty small. It usually took about an hour and a half to run the sandy beach perimeter. Jogging always helped me think. I didn’t know if it was because more oxygen was going to the brain or whether I was just jarring it into action, but I don’t question anything that works. Oh yeah, and I do it for the exercise too.

I’d never had good luck with exercise. Yoga twisted me into so many knots I spent a week at a chiropractor’s in Florida funding the doctor’s summer home in Aspen. That time I tried aerobics I ended up breaking my coccyx (the doctors still scratch their head over that one). I swam for a while. We had a pool on the island in addition to the ocean. But that backfired when I was attacked by sharks. In the pool, no less. I always suspected Jack and Monty of that one but could never prove it. Other attempts proved disastrous, from general calisthenics (I got shin splints from push-ups. Apparently I was doing them wrong), to Tai Chi (did you know that howler monkeys consider some of those movements very threatening?) but nothing seemed to work as well as jogging. It was boring as hell, but it did the job.

And speaking of jobs, this assignment had me worried. Because of the other work I do for the Council, I haven’t had a lot of fieldwork in the last five years. And my isolation on Santa Muerta had kind of turned me into a hermit. I could be social with the best of them, but really only for short periods of time. How the hell was I going to spend thirty days, 24/7, with a diverse group of Canadians? Is that an oxymoron? A diverse group of Canadians?

So, I guess I was saying I was a rusty, anti-social assassin. Neither of which would lend itself well to this particular hit.

Another thing that bothered me was the fact I didn’t know what kind of environment I’d be in. The last couple of Survivor shows took place in the Arctic Circle and Gobi Desert. And since this was the first season of the Canadian program, I wasn’t sure what they’d do. With my luck, they’d maroon us on the Bering Strait.

At least Burma was right. My being an inventor could make things easier. I had no doubt I could come up with ways to make my team’s life a little better, and that would keep me on the show longer. Making stuff a la MacGyver (damn, I miss that show) came naturally to me and I loved doing it. The only problem was, I wouldn’t have any tools with me, nor would I know where we were going until they threw us off the boat.

I was just about to the bungalows and still had no ideas, when I spotted two familiar figures sitting in the sand. Changing direction, I headed right for them.

“Mom– ” I plopped into the sand beside them – “Aunt Carolina, what are you doing here?”

My mother and aunt smiled at me serenely. For a moment, I wondered if they were on something. Shit. I bet they found my little cannabis garden. What? I’m saving it up in case I get glaucoma someday.

Mom giggled and Carolina followed suit. There was a faint whiff of herb mingling with the sea salt air. Both women wore very modest swimming suits and, by the numbers on the bottle laying in the sand, a thick, impenetrable force field of sunscreen.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mom answered. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Uh, it’s always a lovely day here. The weather is perfect year-round.” Alright, so maybe I didn’t have to be so contrary.

“Are you looking forward to the job?” Carolina beamed.

I crossed my legs in front of me. “No, not really.”

My darling mother ignored my comment. “Carolina was talking about her new granddaughter, Sofia. She just got her first tooth.”

Oh hell. I knew what was going on. “Mom, you have grandkids. Monty and Jack. Remember them?”

“Oh, I know. I just thought it would be fun to have a baby in the family again.” Her eyes narrowed meaningfully at me.

“I’m forty-five. I don’t want another baby.” I pointed at my aunt. “Borrow hers.”

No one spoke for a minute and I haaaaaate uncomfortable silences, so I offered, “How’s Louis?” I was referring to her other new grandchild, seven-year-old child genius, Louis Bombay.

Carolina beamed, “Oh! He’s so adorable! My only grandson. I spoil him rotten. But I have to admit, I have no idea what he’s saying most of the time.”

I had to laugh at that. Louis was scary-smart. The long-lost son of my cousin Dakota, Louis was more like me than his father.

“I’d love to have him visit,” I ventured. “He could work in the lab with me. Do you think I could borrow him sometime?”

“Of course! He talks about you a lot. You made a huge impression on him when he was here last.”

I nodded, and changed the subject. All this talk about babies felt like fire ants breeding under my skin. “Mom, I think you need to pull a few more strings on that Canadian show. It would be easier if I knew where we were going to be. Then I could do some research and make some plans based on the lay of the land.”

“Hmmmm, what?” Mom looked up, her mouth full of Twizzlers. Where the hell had they come from? “Oh yes. You’ll be in Costa Rica, dear.”

My heart leaped, “Really! That’s terrific! I’ve been there about thirty or forty times!” It was true. Costa Rica was my favorite places. I’d been just about everywhere – the beaches, San Jose, the cloud rainforest, the volcanoes. I felt a wave of relief drown the aforementioned imaginary fire ants.

I frowned. “But if you know that and we find out what we need to know early, why can’t I just go and wax Vic before the cameras arrive?”

She shook her head, “It just won’t work, Missi. The producers will notice that Vic died and you disappeared. We don’t want any untoward publicity.”

I rolled my eyes. This from the same group that ordered my cousins Dak and Paris to come up with a marketing plan for the family business earlier this year, complete with a website and branding.

“Fine. At least I know where I’m going.” I stood up and brushed the sand off my legs, getting ready to run back to my workshop.

“Missi,” Mom said slowly, “why don’t you pack your bikinis for the trip? You have a nice figure and might as well show it off. You never know who will be watching the show.”

“Mom, this isn’t a bizarre, jungle, blind date-a-thon. I’ll be on assignment. I’m not there to pick up men.”

She leveled her eyes at me. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You’ve been without a man so long, you’re starting to get, well, a little strange.”

This was coming from a stoned, sixty-seven-year-old woman with a floppy hat, 150+ sunscreen and a bag of Twizzlers.

“She’s right, you know,” added the woman who, up until this moment, had been my favorite aunt. “Look at Gin and Dak! They found wonderful spouses. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone, do you?”

I looked away, into the surf, repeating a silent mantra of I won’t kill them. I won’t kill them. I won’t kill them. After a few deep, cleansing breaths, I turned back to their upturned and inquisitive faces.

“Well, I’ve got work to do, so I’d better get back. Nice to see you again, Carolina.”

As I turned back and jogged in the direction of my lab, I realized that I’d finally figured out who would look after the twins while I was gone. And good luck to her. Mom wouldn’t miss grandkids after keeping up with those two for a month.

That thought made me feel a lot better.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Hey Romy, remember Mrs. Divitz’s class, there was like always a word problem. Like there’s a guy in a rowboat going X miles, and the current is going, like, you know, some other miles, and how long does it take him to get to town? It’s like, ‘Who cares? Who wants to go to town with a guy who drives a rowboat?’”

- Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion

Sure. I’d like to find someone special again. But that was not first and foremost in my mind. I was married once. He was a great guy. Rudy could make my heart swirl, was fantastic in bed and he fathered two, wonderful sons. Unfortunately, he had really bad timing while crossing the street in Dallas. It’s said that when the bus full of evangelical teens hit him, you could hear him screaming a mile away.

I slammed a few drawers in my bedroom. Mom had to know she pissed me off with this crap. I decided a long time ago that I’d met my perfect match. And while it was unfortunate that fate intervened in the form of a busload of Christian adolescents singing, “Kumbaya,” my chance for love was over.

The accident left me a widowed mother of twin boys going through their terrible two’s. I fled my life in Texas and moved back here. And that’s how it’s been ever since.

I was happy. Living on a tropical island was everyone’s idea of a dream. It made it possible for me to pursue my first loves – science and invention. I had a huge trust fund (all Bombays did) and could travel whenever I wanted. Life was perfect. My stomach clenched. Where did that feeling come from? I loved my life on Santa Muerta.

Which might be why I wasn’t looking forward to this upcoming trip. I scanned the collection of swimsuits now laid out on my bed. No, I wasn’t going to wear any bikinis, no matter how bad Mom wanted me to. Not that I was worried about my body – I took care of myself and exercised. I even invented a skin cream that made me look much younger than I was. If I had to, I could turn the cosmetics industry on its ass. Even so, I chose a couple of one-piece suits and put the rest away.

It occurred to me that I didn’t know what to pack. There were no instructions. Maybe we’d get to take a backpack? I’d heard somewhere that contestants were allowed to bring one personal item. What would I take? Deodorant? A toothbrush? Scissors? Twister? I love that game!

Hmmm. From what I’d seen before, the biggest trouble was making fire and cutting things. I’d need to come up with something that would hide flint and a cutting edge. That gave me the first glimmer of hope and I took off through the jungle to my workshop.

I went through boxes with my usual stab at organization – throwing crap everywhere. Truth be told, I wasn’t very tidy. Oh, I knew where everything was – but I didn’t know what I was looking for. But I still haven’t found, what I’m looking for. Mental note – download more U2 onto iPod. I wonder if they’d let me take that with me?

Hmmm. Surveying the clutter, I realized I’d need a plan. Well, I could always come up with some sort of flint scissors. No – I’d never get on the airplane with those. Whatever I made had to get past security screeners. Of course, I could hide a blade in some sort of lead enclosure.

Oh brother. That’s what I get for reading the kids’ Superman comic books. In my own defense, I’ve always been a comic book geek. I’m still not sure how the boys got hold of an Action #1 from June 1938. They were extremely rare and very, very expensive. Truth be told – I didn’t really want to know anyway.

Okay. What would Batman do? Bruce Wayne was an inventor. He had what I thought was the best superpower – a brain. Sure, Superman could fly, was bulletproof and strong. But he wasn’t near as smart as Batman – who could do all those things, with his BRAIN. Wait a minute. I don’t mean that his brain was bulletproof and could fly. That would be ridiculous. I mean, where would it go?

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Focus, Missi! Focus!

Unfortunately, it was impossible. So I fired up the speed boat to head to the mainland for some supplies. There was this great surplus store in Ecuador (Hey! That rhymes!) where I filled up on flints and knives in various shapes and sizes. I was back home by evening and unloaded everything on the kitchen table while I whipped up some tapas for dinner.

“Cool stuff, Mom!” Jack and Monty burst into the kitchen like Siamese twins. Hmmm. I don’t know if I’d ever seen them apart. There was that stomach thing again.

“Is this for Survivor?” Monty frowned as he flipped one of the butterfly knives expertly back and forth. Most moms would be freaked out to see their teenage son do that, but I was proud. I taught them that trick when they were seven.

“It’s Survival. A Canadian show. And yes. I’m trying to figure out how to smuggle them onto the program.” I shoved a couple of plates toward them and we all sat at the breakfast bar to eat.

Jack picked up one of the flints shaped like a small rectangle, “Can you hide it in soap or something?”

I shook my head. Damn. These tapas were gooooood. I reached for the sour cream. “I don’t think they let you take stuff like that. I think we get to bring a small tote bag of clothes, but I don’t know if we’re allowed anything else.”

The boys looked at each other, then down at the stuff, then back at each other. I know this may sound weird, but I admired that connection. It was comforting knowing they’d have it for the rest of their lives. Monty and Jack would never be alone. My stomach winced, and this time I reached for the antacid.

We continued to eat while picking at the pile of flints and blades. None of us spoke. But I knew that was because we were all trying to come up with a solution to my problem.

Wow. I’d never really thought of my sons as adults before. They’d had their training and first kills of course, but it didn’t occur to me until this moment that my sons could help me with anything. Kinda brings a tear to my eye.

The phone interrupted this Hallmark moment and I picked it up.

“Gotta go, boys,” I said, replacing the receiver. “The Council’s got the scoop on the other contestants.”

Jack leaped up. “Can we go?”

“Please?” Monty begged.

“I don’t see why not.” I shrugged. “After all, it doesn’t really matter who anyone is but the Vic.”

The three of us headed downstairs to the conference room to meet with the Council. Despite their age, they were very protective of me. Both taller than yours truly, they flanked me like bodyguards.

You know, it was sort of nice that the boys were interested in my assignment. I felt a bit of pride welling up. Someday maybe the three of us could work together. Neither boy had any interest in inventing, but their brains were as slippery as Lex Luthor’s, and that made them smart enough to be helpful.

As we entered the room, I noticed that only Georgia and York were there, pointing to a cluttered table.

“He’s a stud!” Jack pointed at the picture of one of the contestants.

“Yeah! Mom could actually get some!” Monty nudged his brother and they grinned at me. Okay. Maybe not so helpful.

“Get some?” I hollered. “Get out!” I pointed to the door and watched as they put on their saddest puppy dog eyes and slunk out of the room.

I turned back to York and Georgia. Where was Mom? And the others?

Georgia smiled – she’d had two boys too. Unfortunately, I’d killed her evil son Richie a little less than a year before, but she didn’t seem to hold it against me. She still had Coney – her son with a Ph.D. from an Ivy League school who up until recently was a carnie. I heard he was on some sort of sabbatical now.

“Here’s a list of the other participants.” She brushed her dark brown hair from her eyes before continuing. “I managed to hack into the studio’s server.”

The table was littered with 8”x10” glossy photos and resumes. I picked up the one the boys had pointed out. Hmmmm. Lex Danby. Lex? Like the bad guy in Superman? I brought the photo closer. He was cute. I felt my face redden and quickly put it down. Looking up at Georgia confirmed my fear – she’d seen it. My aunt winked at me.

Isaac Beckett, the Vic, was there too. Apparently he claimed to be an expert poker player. I guess putting “terrorist” on his application might have made them think twice. He was almost as hot as Lex. But bad guys were verboten. Maybe it had been too long since I’d had a boyfriend. Of course that would mean Mom was right and there was NO WAY I’d admit that!

“Take these with you and study them,” York interrupted with a yawn. Apparently I was boring him. “You should be getting your instructions in the mail today.” He waved his hand, indicating with arrogant dismissal that I was done here. You know, being on Survival might actually be a nice break from dealing with the Bombays.

CHAPTER FIVE

Olive: I'd like to dedicate this to my grandpa, who showed me these moves.

Pageant MC: Aww, that is so sweet.

[Audience applauds]

Pageant MC: Is he here? Where's your grandpa right now?

Olive: In the trunk of our car.

- Little Miss Sunshine

I gotta hand it to Georgia – she did a good job of getting these profiles. Sitting at the dining room table, I spread the sheets and photos out. There would be twelve of us in all. And except for one African American, it appeared that diversity was an afterthought. Oh well. I wasn’t really there to save the world.

I was already bored. Isaac Beckett grinned at me from the table top so I thought it was time to play “Get To Know Your Vic!”

He was cute. Actually, he was gorgeous, with dark, wavy hair, an olive complexion and striking green eyes. The profile told me he was forty-one, single, a pro poker player from Toronto who liked Mexican food and had never been camping a day in his life. I squinted at the picture, as if that would allow me to see something I missed. It occurred to me that I didn’t have a dossier on him yet. The Council was definitely slipping.

“Mail!” Monty and Jack shouted in unison as they dumped a pile on the table. I moved my stuff out of the way. I liked mail. Granted, we had to go to the mainland to get it, but the boys loved doing that.

“Hey!” Monty stared at a brown envelope on the table.

Jack grabbed it. “It’s from the show!”

I snatched it from my son and opened it. All that was inside was a checklist of things I could bring. Damn. I could only bring a couple sets of clothes, eyeglasses, and one personal item. The examples included a Bible (a Bible?), toothbrush, or a photo of loved ones. I guess that if you didn’t survive, you’d at least be able to see your loved ones for the last time, get last rites and leave the earth with clean teeth.

“You have to be there in two days!” Monty read (loudly, I might add) over my shoulder.

Again, I squinted, expecting a miracle of vision I guess, “That can’t be right! I should have more time than that!”

Jack shook his head with – did I detect – glee? “You have to be in Canada the day after tomorrow.” He pointed at the small print.

I threw my hands up in the air. “But I can’t be ready in that short amount of time!”

The boys wisely said nothing. I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Mom! I just found out I have to leave tomorrow for Survival!”

“To survive what, dear?” My mother’s voice was relaxed. Too relaxed.

“The show! I have to be in Canada for the show in two days!”

I could feel mom smiling through the connection. “That’s nice, sweetie. Drop me a postcard, okay?”

What?

“No, Mom, I can’t. We won’t have any contact with the outside world whatsoever.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this. There’s no time to get organized. You’ll have to call it off.”

“Sorry, babe,” Mom said in a sing-songy voice. “A job’s a job. Oh! I knitted you a knapsack to take. Send the boys over for it, will you?” And then, she hung up on me. Yes, my own mother.

To say that panic had set in would be unfair. I was on the edge of full-blown mass hysteria. I started to pace back and forth while my children calmly watched me rant like a lunatic.

“I can’t do this! There’s no way I’ll be ready in time! And why do I have to fly to Canada just to come back down here to Costa Rica? That would at least buy me a day or two! Who are these people? If I kill the producer would they drop the show?”

“It says here that you are a homemaker from Texas,” Jack said quietly. In spite of his mischievous nature he knew when to avoid a joke at my expense.

“What?” I spun on my heel.

He sighed as if having to deal with me was some sort of chore. “You’re a homemaker from Texas. Widowed. You went to college on a bowling scholarship and in your free time like to cook, decorate and long to find another man to take care of.”

“Bowling scholarship?” Monty asked, missing the point entirely.

“Give me that!” I ripped the page from my son. Yup. That’s what it said, alright. Where in the hell did they get that? I can’t cook, and decorating the condo damn near killed me. Mom! She must have written this. I’ll kill her!

“You can’t bowl!” Monty informed me.

I pointed at the door. “Go upstairs and tell Grandma I’m NOT going!”

A few minutes later, my son returned with the bag and a note from Mom that read, Hope you like the bag, honey. Be sure to get waxed before you go. Can’t get a man if you’re hairy like a monkey. The tote bag she knitted for me said Hot to Trot. Get Me While I’m Hot.

If she weren’t my mother, I’d kill her.

CHAPTER SIX

Elaine Dickinson: There's no reason to become alarmed, and we hope you'll enjoy the rest of your flight. By the way, is there anyone on board who knows how to fly a plane?

- Airplane

Two days have never, in the history of womankind, gone so quickly. As my plane landed in Canada, I couldn’t help thinking about how stupid this assignment was. Mom agreed (like she had any choice after I zapped her with a taser) to take the boys. Monty and Jack exchanged a grin when they found out they were under Grandma’s control. That made me worry.

Monty and Jack tried to contain their excitement that I was leaving. It’s not that I’m the strictest mom, but those two can really cause trouble when they put their minds to it – which they do nearly one hundred percent of their waking hours. And did I mention they are precocious? Here’s what they said my last hour on the island.

“Mom,” Monty started, “how are you going to manage being around men?”

“What?”

Jack chimed in. “Maybe you should adopt a persona or something.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Did they want me to put on a brunette wig and pretend to be an ant farmer?

Monty looked at his brother, and they communicated telepathically. “It’s just, maybe you shouldn’t be so much like yourself.”

“Yeah. You are a little flaky,” Jackson added.

I tried to get mad, but they did have a point. “Why are you two telling me this now?”

“Well, you haven’t dated in like...” Monty started.

“. . .in forever.” Jack finished. “And if you start spouting off about explosives or rambling on about snack foods you’re gonna come off as weird.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. Normally this would indicate I was pissed off. In this case, it was a stab at stalling before I could figure out what to say.

“Listen,” I said slowly, “I’m on this show for one thing – to do a job. I have no intention of dating any of the other contestants.” The photos of Lex and Isaac flashed through my mind and I winced. “Besides, I won’t be on long enough to win. It’s all about the job.”

Monty stared at me. He was the introspective one – the dark-haired serious son. If I was lying, he knew about it – sometimes before I even did.

“Mom,” he said, “you’re not getting any younger.”

Jackson interrupted my impending rage. “And we’ll be heading off to college soon. Do you want to spend the rest of your days with Grandma as your only companion?”

Touché. Damn.

“Just flirt a little,” Monty begged. “What can it hurt?”

“Let me get this straight.” It was about time I said something! “You guys would have no problem with me dating someone?”

Jack grinned dopily. My little redhead. He was the one who didn’t take life seriously enough. “No. Why would we?”

“Just make sure to run him past us before you ask him to marry you.” Monty finished.

Visions of my sons hooking up a future fiancé of mine to a lie-detector, then water boarding him afterward popped into my head. And why would I be the one to propose? I’m not old-fashioned by any means, but did they think I was desperate?

I hugged them and told them to quit hanging out with Grandma and her propaganda machine. That was the last time I saw them.

I managed to make a cuff bracelet with a serrated edge that could be straightened and used as a saw. It was steel with large, grayish flint stones dotting the surface. I have to admit, it was a damned good idea. Never once did security at the airport stop me. So, I had my cutting device and fire tool.

“Mrs. Bombay?” A thin, gangly kid in an ill-fitting chauffer suit squeaked as I walked past. Turned out he was my driver. And in spite of five wrong turns, he got me to the studios in one piece.

Shouldering my backpack (I made a new one – like I was gonna use Mom’s!) I joined the other eleven contestants on a soundstage. They all looked just like their photos. I’d memorized their stats before leaving.

“Can I have your attention, please?” A young woman with a clipboard shouted. She didn’t need to. No one was talking to anyone else – which I thought was kind of strange.

“Uh, thanks.” She forced a smile, “I’m Julie, your assistant director for Survival. I see you all brought a small bag with your belongings. If you would step over to that table—” she indicated a rickety card table in the corner— “our security will search your bags, removing anything that can’t go. When you’re all done, please have a seat over there.” She pointed to a set of folding chairs against the opposite wall.

We formed a line at the table. I moved slowly so I could be at the end and observe my fellow contestants. I figured that the contents of their bags would tell me a lot about them.

Ten packages of condoms, five bottles of lube and two porn mags later, I realized that there were things about these people I didn’t really want to know. I’ll tell you this – These people were either very randy or extremely lonely. Ick.

I found it interesting that no one spoke during the whole thing. Did I miss something about a vow of silence in the memo? That would be a problem. Maybe the others were used to not speaking but I tend to rattle on when nervous. At last they went through my bag, and finding nothing, moved me along.

“Wait,” the security guard (whose nametag said “Ivor.” Ivor?) stopped me and pointed at my bracelet. “What’s that?”

“It’s a religious artifact,” I responded smoothly, a little proud of coming up with the idea. I mean, who in these uber pc times would question that?

“Really?” His eyebrows went up. “Native American?” By the smirk on his lips I decided he didn’t believe me. I mean, it could definitely have passed for Native American. But with my blonde hair and blue eyes it might have been in doubt.

My brain raced. I should’ve come up with a religion. Idiot! My mind grasped the first thing I thought of.

“It’s one of the lesser known faiths. FSM. I’m studying online to become a high priestess.”

The guard looked as though he wanted to ask, but decided against it. He waved me on and I moved on wobbly legs toward my seat.

“FSM?” The question came from Lex Danby as I sat down. Damn. He was even hotter in person—tall and built with deep chocolate brown eyes. Lex wore khaki cargo shorts and a Ramones T-shirt with an air of casual sexiness. Something about his smile made an electric spark ignite inside me.

“Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster,” I whispered back. “I saw it on The Daily Show.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Lex Danby.”

I reached to grasp his hand in mine. I hoped he couldn’t feel my heartbeat pounding through my veins. “Missi Bombay. Nice meeting you.”

“You look a little too tan to be here.”

“I’m not from here.” I waved my arm as if that meant anything. “I live in the South.” That seemed like a good enough explanation without having to give too many details. “So how did you manage to end up here?”

“Someone hit me over the head and I woke up here.” He smiled. Lex looked right into my eyes in such a confident way it made me tingle. I liked him immediately.

I guess we had the same problem. “I wish that had happened to me. My excuse is an overly concerned mother with too many connections to Canadian broadcasting.”

Lex laughed and I blushed. I loved the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled—like he smiled a lot.

I would’ve said more, but Julie was back with her clipboard.

“Now that your bags have been checked, we’re going to go over a few ground rules before we get on the plane.”

What? We just got here? And we were leaving again?

“We’re heading for an unknown location.” She stopped and shook her head. “I mean, I know where it is. You don’t. Therefore, it’s unknown to you. But not to me. I know where we’re going.”

I smiled. Julie was definitely a kindred spirit. I liked her already.

“Anyway, we’re about to get on the plane. The only rule for the flight is no talking. You aren’t allowed to talk to the others until we land. Okay?” She asked even though we knew we couldn’t question in.

No talking? How old do they think we are? Like they could really keep us silent.

“I’m passing out an agreement you need to sign before we leave. This contract says you agree to the terms of the programme and will follow all rules and regulations.”

Yup. That’s what it said alright. I guess they really could keep us silent. I signed the form and passed it to the end of the row. Julie told us it was time and we gathered our things and followed her to a bus. In silence. I’m not kidding.

The bus took us to a private hangar at the Toronto airport, where we got on a small plane. The other contestants closed their eyes and I decided to also. If you can’t talk and the in-flight movie is some B-grade tearjerker about two lonely people in the Yukon, you tend to do that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“If a person offends you and you are in doubt as to whether it was intentional or not, do not resort to extreme measures. Simply watch your chance and hit him with a brick.”

- Mark Twain

It was very dark outside when they rushed us off the plane and onto another bus. I would’ve thought we were still in Canada, were it not for the heat and humidity. My stay up north lasted maybe thirty minutes and I was back where I came from. The whole thing made me a little grumpy.

Dawn was poking through the jungle and more and more of us were starting to wake up. The bus had no conveniences whatsoever, which added to my foul mood. The woman who sat next to me on the bus smelled like patchouli. She had long, straight hair, no makeup, and a lot of jewelry. Not the good stuff, more like dragons and goddesses shit. From the photos I’d seen earlier, I figured that she was Liliana – an artist in her fifties. I still wasn’t allowed to talk to her, which was good, since I needed all my lung capacity not to strangle on her perfume in the thick humidity.

“How long is this going to take?” I mused aloud.

Liliana looked startled. I’m sure she wondered if I was talking to her.

“No talking!” Julie hissed. She looked pretty miserable.

“I’m not talking to her,” I replied. “I’m talking to myself. There was nothing in the contract about not talking to myself.”

Julie’s face twisted into a grimace. She looked at the pages on her clipboard, then at me. “Well, I’m making a new rule! No talking to anyone – and that includes yourself!”

“Technically,” Lex said behind me, “you can’t enforce that.” Did I imagine it, or did he wink at me? Wow. A man hasn’t winked at me in years. It was a definite turn on.

“And you’re not a contestant, dumbass. So we can talk to you.” A thin, overly tanned woman with short hair spoke up. I recognized her from the files as Sami – a thirty-three year old electrician.

Soon the whole bus opened up with conversation. I guess my peers needed to get it out. No one said anything important, really. But it was clear there was a need to speak just for the sake of hearing our own voices. This went on for a few minutes until the bus jerked to a stop and we all fell forward.

Julie stood and brushed her hair off her face. “Great. We’re here.”

Here turned out to be the beach. As we got off the bus, everyone looked around, trying to figure out what was next. Apparently the novelty of speaking was replaced with the realization that we had, indeed, signed up for this stupid show.

We all watched as the bus backed away and drove off and a small jeep pulled up. A man who was so attractive he looked a little surreal jumped out of the jeep and walked over to us.

“I’m Alan, and I’m your host for Survival.”

Julie walked over to him, handing him a large bag.

“Welcome to Costa Rica!” Alan said with a smile. His cheerful welcome and gorgeous smile seemed to put us at ease. “This is where you’ll stay, in two camps, for the next thirty days.”

I raised my hand and Alan nodded. “Here? We’re staying here?” I know it seemed like a stupid question.

“Well, yes, actually. The two tribes will be about half a mile apart, but you will be on this beach.”

“But,” I bit my lip, “I can see a resort from here.”

The whole group followed my gaze to see that not more than 500 feet away was a luxury resort, complete with vacationers gawking at us.

“Um, well, yes,” Julie stammered. “The Blanco Tigre is our sponsor. And that’s where those of you who will be voted off will stay until the filming commences.”

“So, they’re just gonna be right there?” one man asked.

“How in the hell are we going to do this with a goddamned resort looking over our shoulder?” asked another. They were talking too quickly for me to identify.

“I signed on for a realistic survival experience! How can this be the real thing if we can see that?” A smallish man with a weasely face shouted.

Interestingly enough, none of the women complained. Maybe they were already plotting their demise on the show so they could spend the whole time at the resort.

Julie looked to Alan for help and he raised his hands and whistled.

“Look! You all signed the contract. This is our location. The Costa Rican government wasn’t interested in giving us locations in the parks, so we went with this stretch of beach owned by the Tigre. Just pretend they aren’t there!”

On his last word, two jet skis raced by blasting loud music. Yeah. Authenticity was going to be tough here.

“Now. We’re going to divide you into teams, give you your buffs, and let you get started. The first challenge is tomorrow at sunup.” He nodded at Julie who walked over to us.

“1, 2, 1, 2,” I kid you not. Julie numbered us off into two groups of ones and twos. No unique challenge, no test to put us into our tribes. None of the fun, weird stuff they use on Survivor to divvy us up. They counted us off like we were in grade school. I thought it was funny. Lex raised his right eyebrow at me. Apparently he did too. There was some serious chemistry there and I hoped it wasn’t all part of my imagination.

“So,” Lex leaned in and whispered, “Can your mother, with the Canadian broadcasting connections, get us out of this? I think I’ve had enough already.”

Not unless I take Isaac out now. And I couldn’t do that until I was sure. “Nope. Looks like we’re stuck here.” And for once, I didn’t really mind it.

Julie interrupted us with instructions to sort ourselves out based on our number. I wanted to complain about this Sesame Street method of organization. Do they have Sesame Street in Canada? Maybe they have something else. I dunno, like Oregano Avenue and instead of Cookie Monster, they have Flan Monster. No, wait, that would be Mexico.

After we formed up, (I was a “one”) I was very relieved to see that my team had both the Vic and Lex. I liked Lex. Maybe I could off Vic early and we could form some kind of reverse alliance to get ourselves kicked off and spend the rest of the month in the hot tub at the resort.

“Now that you have formed two tribes,” I looked up to see Alan had been joined by two Ticans (Costa Ricans call themselves that – although I have no idea why.) dressed in primitive attire. “We will give you your team names that represent the culture of Costa Rica.” He smiled at the two natives and reached into the bag, pulling out two bandanas – one white and one gray. Huh? Why no colors?

“Team One – you shall be the Ottawa tribe.” Alan frowned, then looked down at the bandana again. “Ottawa? Inuit? What the fuck, Julie? Those are Canadian tribal names! Not Costa Rican!” Alan dangled the two bandanas, covered with images of salmon, grizzly bears and totem poles.

Julie looked like she wanted to pass out. Grabbing the bandanas, she looked at them as if they were poisonous snakes, “This can’t be right! I told the interns we needed native stuff! Not this!”

Apparently, she’d failed to specify which native stuff she needed. My guess was the interns thought she meant Canadian. I found the whole thing amusing.

“Dammit! That ain’t right!” The guy who complained about authenticity spoke up. “I want this to be one-hundred percent accurate! Not this bullshit!”

Oh yeah. That must be Silas. He was a hardcore Civil War re-enactor. I’d heard of these guys. Everything had to be real, right down to the dysentery.

Alan held his hands up and the Ticans stopped dancing. “Alright. It’s a screw up. But since this is what we’ve got, we’re going to go with it.” He motioned toward the camera crew who’d gotten everything on tape. “This is the camera crew who will be following you around. There will be two cameras for every tribe and they will be on 24/7. Don’t try to bribe them. They get paid a lot of money for what they do and will be fired if it’s discovered that they became involved.”

Julie whispered something in Alan’s ear, then turned to us, “Okay. You have until morning to set up your site. Group Two – I mean the Inuit Tribe, come with me.”

The Ottawa Tribe watched as the Inuit disappeared over the next sand dune. We turned and looked at the two-camera crew of four who said nothing but began taping anyway. There were six of us, just standing there doing nothing. I thought it might be funny if we just did that all day. But no, one of my team members began to speak.

“Let’s all introduce ourselves! I know a great ice-breaker!” said a super perky young woman. “Everyone get in a circle and hold hands!” she tittered.

That must be Cricket – a summer camp director. Oh yeah, she wasn’t driving me nuts already. If Monty and Jack were here, they’d have her marinating in enough sugar to be carried off by the mosquitoes with her remains picked at by vultures. The Parent Trap twins had nothing on my boys. I missed them.

“You’re out of your goddamned mind, Bitch.” Sami shook her head.

Silas piped up, “They didn’t do no ice breakers in the Civil War. And unless it’s something people would do when stranded in the wild, I won’t do it either.”

Cricket bit her lip and frowned. Apparently, she was unable to deal with adults.

Lex stepped forward. “I’m Lex.” He pointed at me. Ooh! He pointed at me!

“Oh! My name is Missi.” I did a little wave and felt like an idiot.

“I’m Isaac.” That was all my Vic said. Damn, he was cute. And he had one of those deep, gravelly voices. Too bad he might be evil and then would have to be destroyed.

“Hell. My name’s Sami. And don’t any of you assholes even think of calling me Samantha.”

I realized that from here on out, virtually everything Sami said would be bleeped.

“Name’s Silas,” the skinny re-enactor said grumpily.

We stood there in silence, sizing each other up. This sure was a surly group – except for the uber-perky Cricket. I was pretty sure we weren’t going to get along very well. With the exception of me, Lex and Isaac, that is. A ménage a trois popped into my head, and I struggled to stifle it.

“I’m just trying to help,” pouted Cricket. What kind of name is Cricket, anyway? Seems her parents doomed her to become a camp counselor from the start by naming her that.

“Look,” Isaac said, “I think we just got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.” It was kind of cute how he did that – making Cricket feel better. Stop it! He’s the bad guy and you will probably have to kill him!

“As I mentioned earlier, I’m Isaac. I play poker.”

Sure, if by that you mean you deal a generous deck to terrorists. Hey! That’s pretty good! Too bad I can’t really say that.

Isaac pointed at me and grinned. I was in danger of liking the bastard.

“Oh. Um, I’m Missi and I’m…” What was I? Oh yeah. “I’m a widowed mother of two and I live in Texas.” The Gloria Steinem within just wouldn’t allow me to claim homemaking as an occupation.

“I’m Lex, and I’m a bartender originally from Iowa, now living in Windsor.” Lex also winked at me. I took that to mean two things. 1) We had already formed an alliance, and 2) He saw me as the goddess I truly was deep down, toga and all.

“Well, hell.” Sami swore, “I’m Sami and I’m an electrician from Newfoundland.”

I wondered how an electrician was going to do in a place with no electricity. Or maybe this was what she considered a vacation.

Silas glowered. That’s exactly what I expected him to do. “I told ya my name. I’m a private in the union army – a professional civil war re-enactor. And I came on this show because I wanted to try living an austere life. I ‘spect everyone will follow the rules.”

Obviously Silas was going to be the biggest pain in the ass.

“Like I said, I’m Cricket, and I’m a camp counselor from upstate New York! I’m SO excited to be here! I know lots of fun games and songs to keep us busy!” She actually bubbled on the spot. In my imagination, Monty tied her to a tree while Jack let loose the fire ants. The thought made me smile.

It appeared that Silas had come in a distant second to Cricket as Most Likely To Irritate Me. The woman actually ended all her sentences in exclamation marks.

“How about you boys?” Cricket chirped to the camera crew.

The three young men looked at each other nervously. Apparently, they couldn’t decide what to do.

“Maybe they can’t talk to us,” I said. I knew they couldn’t interfere in anything that happened – which was not at all reassuring.

“I’m Jimmy,” the tall, skinny kid answered. “That’s Bert and Ernie.”

“Like the Muppets?” Cricket asked. She seemed so excited to have found something kid-relatable I was worried she would burst into flame.

Bert and Ernie looked at each other. “Who?”

At that moment I realized I was officially “old.” When 20-somethings don’t know about Sesame Street – my crack cocaine as a kid – it’s time to make funeral arrangements.

“We can’t really talk to you,” Jimmy said as he shouldered his camera. “So, go and do something we can film.”

Huh. I guess we were boring them. It occurred to me that if we ever wanted to interrupt the filming, we could just talk to the cameraman. I stashed that nugget in my brain files under X. It doesn’t mean anything. I just like the letter X. X marks the spot. X stands for danger! Two straight lines crossing over in the middle. . .” Oh damn. I was channeling Sesame Street again. Thank god no one said “mnah mnah” or I’d really be in trouble. Great. Now that song was stuck in my head.

It was then when I realized that Isaac had been talking.

“. . .so we’ll just get started on our shelter, then. Anyone have an idea just how we can cut down those bamboo trees without an axe?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“If we run out of food and anyone has to be eaten, you will be first.”

- Ernest Shackleton

I slowly raised my hand, and it made me feel like I was back in school, half-afraid of what my teacher would say should I get the answer wrong.

“Um, I know how. It’s pretty easy. You see, bamboo trees have air pockets in their joints and in the wood itself. You just set a fire at the base of the tree, piercing the chambers first, or, as I’m sure you know, it would just explode.” The only problem was, how could I start a fire using my bracelet with the camera crew there? I’d have to find some way to distract them.

“We’ll need some stuff,” I started slowly because I was pulling this out of my ass as I went. I pointed at Cricket and Silas. “You two go get big leaves and fronds for the roof.” I turned to Isaac, Lex and Sami. “And you three get me some tinder, kindling, any kind of dead stuff.” I pointed in two different directions so the cameramen had to split up and follow them.

Once everyone left, I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It only took a few moments to size up the right tree and get what I needed together. A few strikes against the flint in my bracelet and I had a small spark. After blowing on it for a few moments – I had a fire. And no one saw me cheat. Excellent.

“How did you do that?” Lex’s voice breathed in my ear, causing lots of quivering in lots of places.

I decided to trust him, mainly because I wanted to sleep with him. I’m sure that’s not a good enough reason, but oh well.

“And you had no problem smuggling that in?” He looked impressed. At least, I wanted him to be impressed as he checked out my bracelet. “I thought it was an artifact from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.” His smile gave me goose bumps in spite of the heat.

I giggled like an idiot and made some stupid “aw shucks” motion with my hand. Ugh. Okay Missi! You don’t know anything about this guy and you’re already proving your mother right. Snap out of it!

“And,” Cricket’s voice squeaked a few yards away. “I can build a fire like nobody’s business.” She emerged from the jungle with a really pissed-off Silas in tow.

Cricket and Silas stopped short, gaping at my fire.

“How on earth did you do that?” she cried.

The cameramen, Jimmy and Bert looked at me with their mouths hanging open. Obviously, I’d tripped the monkey. On Survivor, the players had to do challenges to earn flint for fire. They wanted to know how I managed it and likely knew they’d be in trouble since they hadn’t been there to get it on tape.

“Damn.” was all Jimmy said.

I shrugged. “I just rubbed two sticks together and poof.” Lex stifled a grin as he turned to feed the fire.

“Can you do it again – so I can at least capture it on film?” Bert pleaded. Aha, I knew it. But now I was in trouble. I’d need their compliance throughout the taping, but in all honesty, I cannot rub two sticks together to make a fire. I swear the whole idea of it is a hoax dreamed up by some sadistic Boy Scout.

I shook my head. “No. I can’t guarantee it. I just got lucky, that’s all. Besides, we need to keep this fire going so we can topple the tree.”

The cameramen didn’t even try to hide their disappointment as the other two joined them. Isaac and Sami made it back with an armload of dead plant matter in time for my physics explanation. I was pretty impressed with myself – but I could tell the others were suspicious. That is, until the tree fell on Silas.

In hindsight, I guess we should’ve been watching for that, but Silas wasn’t hurt, and actually, the minor injury seemed to make him happy. Ok, so he looked more constipated than blissed out, but I’ll take what I can get.

It took the rest of the day to fell enough trees and gather enough leaves to make a pretty decent lean-to. Sami and Cricket managed to weave some thick mats for the floor, and once we were all done, I had to admit we had a really nice place. Dinner consisted of coconuts. Tomorrow would be our first challenge and we needed to get some sleep.

“Well, I – for one – am glad Missi’s on our team.” Isaac startled me by talking. We don’t really talk to our Vics...ever, really.

Lex nodded. “I think, overall, we have a pretty good group.”

“We’re supposed to call it a tribe!” Silas barked.

“Does anyone want to do any team-building exercises or sing?” Cricket offered in a way that implied she meant to be helpful.

“Fuck off, bitch,” Sami said, and the rest of us hid our grins.

“I’m still amazed at what you did today, Missi,” Isaac continued.

“Well, I just hope it was the right thing to do,” Silas grumbled. “Everything needs to be authentic or I’ll get acid reflux.”

For some odd reason, I got the feeling Silas enjoyed heartburn, but I left that unsaid and turned to Isaac.

“No big. I was lucky enough to know what to do. I’m sure everyone will have a moment like that.” Okay, so I was lying. I didn’t really think some of us were capable of doing much, to tell the truth. Cricket could be counted on to drive us to murder with her inane camp psychobabble, and Silas would only be of use if we had to take on Robert E. Lee.

Nobody really had a response, so I stood up and headed down the beach.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sami asked. I was getting used to her language – at least enough to realize she meant nothing by it.

“Mashing up coconut to get the oil. It protects against the salt in the water and as a bonus it works as a mild sunscreen.” Once I had the paste, I smeared it on my arms and legs before plunging into the ocean’s surf. I was sweaty, hot and tired and knew I couldn’t sleep without at least a little dip.

My tribe had a harder time adapting. Maybe it’s because I’m from a tropical area and more acclimated to the weather. But this bunch was having a hard time with it.

Silas’s skin turned a bright pink after only half an hour in the sun. Weirdly enough – he seemed to like it. Apparently misery and suffering were part of the authentic experience.

Cricket wasn’t having too much trouble with sunburn. My guess was that years working outside helped her. But the mosquitoes thought she was a virtual blood buffet and proceeded to feed on her like mad. By sundown, she was covered in red welts. For just a minute I wondered if the boys really were here.

Sami had so much melanin stored up in her skin it didn’t seem to affect her. And the bugs apparently thought she was toxic and avoided her. Isaac and Lex had a little sunburn and a few bites, but neither one complained.

Sleeping that first night was pretty awkward. There were three men and three women in a pretty small shelter. Somehow we managed to segregate with the girls on one mat and the boys on the other. But it was still weird. After tomorrow, I thought we’d be so exhausted it wouldn’t even matter.

Actually, this was a strange Survivor-esque show. There were only a few people in their twenties – the rest were older. I squeezed my eyes tightly as if that would help me remember my files so I’d know who we were up against on the Inuit Tribe.

I’d already kind of met Liliana, the artist. Let’s see, there was Kit – a model who was the first to go home on two different seasons of The Bachelor. My guess is she’s a little reality-show nuts.

Kit and Liliana were the only girls on the team. They bunked with Bob, the career politician; Brick Phoenix (I’m giving you his full name because 1. it’s completely ridiculous and 2. his real name is Norman Finkelstein) – an actor, of course; Moe – an unemployed thirty-year-old who still lives at home (well, at least not this month) and Dr. Andy – a therapist.

Yeesh. The Inuit team was younger than us so that may be a problem tomorrow.

“I’ll git you, Johnny Reb!” Silas cried out in his sleep.

This was going to be a loooooong four weeks.

CHAPTER NINE

“We are number one. All others are number two, or lower.”

- The Sphinx, Mystery Men

I tried to sleep. Really, I did. But it was impossible. It appeared that several members of our team talked, shouted and sang in their sleep except for me, Lex and Isaac. I’d have to figure out a way to deal with that – otherwise I’d drop dead from lack of sleep.

It was so early the sun wasn’t up yet. I had no idea what time it was, so I climbed to my feet and slipped out of our lean-to.

The fresh, salty air felt so good I didn’t want to do anything. Jimmy, Bert and Ernie were nowhere to be found. They probably got to stay at the resort. Oh well.

A five-foot-long piece of bamboo lay near my feet. I snatched it up and decided to do a little fishing. After looking both ways, I took off my bracelet and snapped it into a straight saw. As quietly as I could, I split the end of the stick into four sharp tines, reinforcing them by binding them at the base with some leftover hibiscus bark. It looked pretty dangerous, I thought proudly as I unhinged my bracelet and put it back on my wrist.

It took me a while to get the hang of spear fishing. There were a couple of tidal pools with trapped fish, so I wasn’t completely hopeless. I had to smile remembering the first time the twins went fishing. They used so much c4 that the one lake on Santa Muerta was unusable for ten years. Sigh. Memories.

By the time the sun rose, I had a fire going and six cleaned fish lined up beside me on a large palm leaf. I was able to throw the spear to dislodge three coconuts – so we had coconut milk for breakfast. I even managed to split the shells into bowls for roasting the fish.

“What the hell?” Sami joined me by the fire. “Did you do all this?” She was fidgeting with her fingers, and I realized she was a smoker. Wow. She was quitting cold turkey here. I had a sneaking suspicion that her language was going to get saltier as time wore on.

“Yup. Want some? I marinated it with coconut. There’s some milk too.” Actually, I was pretty proud of myself. I was the Martha Stewart of Survival.

The others slowly joined us and pretty soon we were all eating breakfast. Silas was particularly interested in the spear I made. I couldn’t tell if he was suspicious or impressed. Somehow, I knew this was going to be an ongoing problem.

“You’re funny, resourceful and you can cook? You’re too good to be true,” Lex teased. I fought the urge to flirt back. After all, I was here to do a job and there was no way I could admit Mom was maybe a little bit right about me.

“You should see me change the oil on a car sometime.” Okay, I guess I just couldn’t help it.

He smiled. “I’d like to see that.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t figure out if you’re our savior or planted here to catch us off guard.”

“Are you serious? Who in their right mind would be here when they could be over there?” I pointed at the Blanco Tigre.

Lex’s eyes glimmered. “That’s a good point. But then, why didn’t we just book vacations instead of signing up for this sad excuse for a show?”

“I don’t know. Apparently we were coerced and then brainwashed to think it was our idea all along.”

“You’re probably right.” He said as he helped Sami and Cricket to another serving of fish.

I watched how Lex took care of the others without them realizing that was what he was doing. He cared about the team. He didn’t have to. That’s not the way the game is usually played, but he did. There was no condescension in his actions. No one suspected Lex was coddling us because he wasn’t. It’s hard to describe, but he made us feel safe without making us think we needed him to do it.

It reminded me of my late husband. Lex had a quiet dignity that I adored. And then there was the fact that he’d picked me to befriend – obviously the man had good taste.

“Where’s Cricket?” I asked. How did I not see her slip away during breakfast?

“Fuck if I know,” Sami answered. “The bitch is always missing.”

“I noticed that too,” Isaac said. “Silas went off to look for clams.”

I sighed. “I suppose we should get something collected for dinner later.”

Lex and Sami started working on the fire as Isaac and I were sent for coconuts. It felt strange to be alone with a possible Vic. No, not strange, awkward. The idea that I was friendly with someone I might have to kill very soon seemed like a breach of common courtesy. I hoped there wouldn’t be any conversation.

I was wrong.

“I can’t tell you how great it is that the four of us have an alliance.” Isaac smiled in utter sincerity. Damn.

“Yeah. I think so too.” I hoped he would get the hint.

He didn’t. “What’s up with the other team? Did you get a load of them?”

“Um, not really.” Take the hint. Take the hint!

“First there’s the Dr. Phil clone. And then the woman who smells like a crystal shop. That Moe guy seems okay, but I don’t know about the others.” He grinned, punching me lightly in the arm. “Hell, I think we might be the only normal people on the show!”

I tried very hard to hate him. I imagined him poisoning kittens, eating dolphins, causing global warming. . .anything to avoid liking him. Isaac was in my alliance for one reason only – so I could keep him around until I had to kill him.

“So what’s your story?” He asked as he picked up another coconut.

“I don’t have one.” I shrugged and giggled, which made me look like an idiot.

Isaac laughed endearingly, damn him. “Everyone has a story, Missi.”

“Not me. I don’t believe in them.” What a weird thing to say. But maybe that was good and he’d just write me off as weird. I could live with that.

“Okay. I get it. You play things close to the vest. No problem.” He gave me a little sad smile and walked away.

I got what I wanted. But I felt horrible. This was obviously a great assignment. Thanks, Mom. I wandered back to camp to find our camera crew had finally arrived.

“Oh man! Are you kidding me?” Jimmy looked pretty stunned as he joined us with Bert and Ernie in tow. “How did you get food? Coconut-marinated fish?” He squinted at me, “Did you get this from the resort?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I couldn’t sleep so I made this– ” I said pointing to the spear– “and caught these.”

The crew was disappointed. They began filming anyway but I heard Ernie muttering that they would be here first thing tomorrow morning to catch me in the act of. . .of what? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I mean, the bracelet was sort of like cheating, but I didn’t see anything wrong with that. Especially when I didn’t want to be here in the first place.

When breakfast was over, my tribe thanked me. Isaac smothered the fire and I showed them all how to smush up the coconut and smear it on our skin as a sunscreen.

“Hey!” Julie appeared beside us, clipboard in hand. “Are you ready for your challenge?” She grinned. “I’ll bet you had a rough night with no shelter. . .” Her voice faded off as she saw the very nice shelter we’d made with mats on the floor. “Well, you’re probably pretty hungry and thirsty. . .” Then she noticed the fish skeletons, coconut husks and remains of a fire.

It was obvious we’d taken the wind out of her sails. She expected to find us on the brink of death and instead we had shelter, fire and food. And she looked pissed.

“What? How? How did this happen?” she shrieked at us. No one spoke. I mean, wasn’t this the point? We were supposed to find ways to survive. . .right?

Julie turned to the camera guys. “Tell me you got this on tape!” Maybe she figured she could salvage it if we’d done something dramatic, like made a pact with Satan for the food and shelter - something explainable like that.

Jimmy blanched and shook his head. Bert and Ernie winced, fearing what would come next. I felt a little sorry for them. It was my fault. Somehow, I’d have to find a way to give them a big scoop. Otherwise, they were likely to work against me. And I certainly didn’t want them dogging me – especially when I took out Vic.

“So, what the hell’s next? Do we get a goddamned challenge or what?” Sami barked.

Julie winced. “Please don’t swear so much Sami. Or you’ll be edited out.”

Sami winked at me and I smothered a giggle. I really liked her. Before I had kids, I had saltier language than a pirate with Turrets pirate. Once the boys turned five, however, they decided that I had to clean up my act. The institution of a “swear jar” was pretty ingenious. Within three months, they had enough to buy a car. Of course, five-year olds can’t drive, so that doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean. Don’t you?

“We do have a challenge for you this morning, and it is for reward. I can’t tell you anymore than that, so if you’ll all just follow me – SILENTLY – you’ll find out soon.”

We all shrugged – which was weird, then began talking loudly as we followed her into the jungle. You can’t treat a bunch of adults like kids, and we resented her – so we acted like kids. Might as well have a little fun with it.

The chatter seemed to annoy Julie, which in turn amused us. Nobody really had anything to say, so we pointed out every damn tree and bug as though we’d never seen anything like it in our lives.

After about ten minutes, we entered a clearing that looked suspiciously like a resort volleyball court. At opposite ends of the court were two dark tanks filled with water. Connecting the tanks was some sort of balance beam - obstacle course. Dead center was a square platform. So this was the challenge?

There was no time to question Julie, because our smarmy host, Alan, showed up with brilliantly white teeth and a no doubt, resort-enhanced tan.

“Today’s challenge is for reward.” Our host looked meaningfully at both teams. We pretty much rolled our eyes.

“One of you stands on the platform and you form a bridge to the tank.” He pointed along the balance-beam. “You hold on to each other however you can, without anyone falling off.”

Huh. That seemed easy enough. Until I spotted the fulcrums. Apparently, the balance beams weren’t secure – they were, well, balanced on fulcrums all the way across. It looked like they could move in any direction too. How very Hogwarts. Damn.

Alan motioned for Bert and Ernie to demonstrate. The men sighed and put down their cameras, then climbed the platform. And while they were as coordinated as blind epileptics with inner ear problems, I didn’t see how we were going to do any better. The beams swayed back and forth, coming apart where they were connected. We’d have to use our bodies to hold them together. Fantastic.

“Once you get everyone across to make the bridge, the one on the end has to use their free hand to find the pearls in the water and pass them along the bridge to the guy on the platform, who will place the pearl in a bucket. When you have ten pearls, everyone has to work their way back to the platform for the win. At any time, should any of your teammates fall, the whole team has to go back to the platform and start over.”

Wow. I was impressed. What a sadistic challenge. So, all we had to do was hold onto each other. I didn’t have great balance, so I immediately volunteered to be the pearl diver for the team. Everyone nodded. Whew. At least I wouldn’t have to keep two people balanced. I just had to stick my hand in that cloudy water and sift for pearls. How hard could that be?

Once the teams figured out who would do what, Alan started talking, “Okay. Remember the rules. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

Of course, we all nodded. What did he expect us to do?

Alan walked over to a table covered with a tarp and with an obnoxious flair for the dramatic, lifted it. “You are playing for mani/pedi’s and a haircut at the resort’s salon!”

“Are you shitting us?” Sami said what we were all thinking. “What the hell do we need our nails done and our hair styled for?”

She had a point. It was a useless reward. And it wasn’t like we’d been here a month. It was only 36 hours ago that I had a good shower. Man, this show sucked.

Alan looked like his leg was being humped by a porcupine. “It’s a good reward – and you’ll work hard for it,” he said through clenched teeth.

With little interest, we all climbed onto the platform, waiting for the order to begin. Whatever.

“When we get halfway through the challenge, there will be a twist. So think of getting across as quickly as possible.” Alan grinned, then shouted, “Go!”

Our team huddled for a moment and Isaac came up with the idea that we go one at time, climbing across the bodies connected before us. It sounded reasonable. Hell, shooting Alan and Julie sounded reasonable at this point. Cricket took her position as the first person in line, standing half on the platform and half on the first beam. Silas took her hand and stood on the next beam. Isaac gingerly crept in front of the two and managed to add himself to Silas, firmly gripping his hand. The three of them were holding hands, and looked pretty steady. Sami went next. And even though she swore colorfully the whole way, she was very nimble. Must be from scrambling up telephone poles, bridges and stuff for her work.

With a big grin, she grabbed Isaac’s hand and shouted, “Come on!” to Lex.

I was a little concerned at this point. Lex was a fairly large guy and the beams were really swaying. Sheer luck was holding them and our team together. I looked over and saw that the other team was doing better.

I flinched as Lex very slowly and very carefully moved his way down the course, clinging to each teammate. I started to get a little excited, thinking of his body against mine. I would have that chance very soon. Maybe Mom was right. Of course, I would never tell her that!

There really was a certain chemistry between us – for which I was grateful. I mean, Isaac was cute too and if I’d been as attracted to him as I was to Lex, I’d have bigger problems on my hands. Why wasn’t I interested in Isaac? It’s probably that big bull’s-eye I saw superimposed over his heart. Knowing you have to kill someone and the fact that he’s probably evil is definitely a libido buzz kill.

But why was I attracted to Lex? Had it really been that long since I’d been interested in a man? Maybe it was just because we were close in age and had the same sense of humor? I was a little hesitant to read too much into it. Besides, on Survivor, people lie all the time to each other just to make alliances. How did I know he was sincere? I barely knew him!

Panic struck, and not in the good way, when I realized I’d be next. I chose the end spot because it was securely on a platform and I wouldn’t be likely to let go of my teammates that way. I’d forgotten that I had to get there in the first place. Shit.

“Come on, Missi! It’s not hard, you can do it,” Lex called out with a wink. I got a little choked up thinking about how the possible, future Mr. Missi Bombay was being so supportive!

With a deep breath, I stepped from Cricket and the stability of the first platform, to Silas. As I kind of shimmied past him I could see that his mind was elsewhere. I wondered if he was busy concentrating on the joys of gangrene, or plotting to start another Civil War. Good luck getting everyone to wear wool and fight with bayonets.

I almost fell as I clung to Isaac, but he saved me by looping his leg around my thigh, squishing my body to his. For a second I looked him in the eye. I almost let go out of shock, when I realized I’d never been so close to a Vic before.

Sami broke me out of my thoughts with a sharp, “Get a move on, dumbass!”

I climbed across her body onto Lex’s. For a moment, I let my hands linger on his body. Damn, he felt good. Finally, I made it across, standing firmly on the other platform. I was covered in sweat and shaking, but I’d made it. Yay me!

“Now that everyone has made it,” Alan said a little too sharply. How long had it taken me? Of course, I’d have stayed longer with Lex if I could.

I shook it off and Alan continued, “Here’s the twist. Inside these tanks are several fish. Most of them are harmless.”

Most?

CHAPTER TEN

Announcer telling men in a police line-up:  “Turn to the left.”(Suspects turn to the left.) “Turn to the right.” (Suspects turn to the right.) “Bird dance.”

- The Vacant Lot

“Also inside the tank are two piranhas. That will make it harder to find the pearls.” The smug bastard smiled.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, you goddamned psycho?” Sami managed to articulate the words I was thinking – but she did so much more diplomatically. I looked at the tank and realized I couldn’t see anything in the water.

“Of course I’m serious!” Alan’s face turned red. “It’s supposed to be a challenge!”

Isaac spoke up. “I think we should refuse to go any further. I don’t want Missi getting hurt for some idiotic spa treatment.”

Lex added, “She is not doing it. We’ll just bow out.”

“You bet your ass, we will!” Sami exclaimed. “We won’t lose any members until we do the immunity challenge. This is just too fucking retarded.”

I got a little choked up. They were fighting for me! We really were a team! Or they didn’t want the woman who caught and made breakfast to lose a hand. And how could I get a decent manicure anyway if a damned piranha chewed my fingers off? It just didn’t make sense. Although the idea of making my own prosthetic arm was intriguing. Hmmm. Maybe I could trick it out with an index finger that shoots lasers. That would be really cool.

Julie started screaming, “Look! We have to keep the show competitive! Just do it!”

Wow. She snaps easily. Good to know.

Cricket was turning green thinking about it, and Silas looked a little too happy. No one from the other team spoke. Maybe they hoped we’d drop hands and they’d win the spa treatment via forfeit.

Alan narrowed his eyes, “You will do it, or you will send two team members home – tonight!” By the way the veins in his forehead bulged, I guessed he was serious.

“Look, guys,” I started, “it’s okay. Piranhas rarely attack humans. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get it done.” I looked across to my counterpart and saw that Moe, the unemployed 30-something who lived at home just shrugged. Apparently, when your mom washes your underwear and getting up to go to work just means you’re shooting for higher scores on your PlayStation, something like this doesn’t bother you.

The team looked at me with either admiration or concern. It didn’t matter which. I’d been around piranha before. I figured if I moved slowly and didn’t threaten them, I’d be okay. Chances were the other fish had more to fear than I did.

“I don’t know,” Isaac said slowly. I realized I was in danger of liking him. And that would be bad. Focus, Missi. Piranha first, deal with Vic later.

I shook my head. It would be far worse to have to vote two people off and risk losing challenges. I needed to stay in the game until I could figure out whether or not I was to take Isaac out.

“Let’s just get this over with. I can do it,” I said resolutely.

“You heard the lady,” Alan said with a grin that made me want to beat the crap out of him. “The first team to have all of their pearls wins. Go!”

I slowly dipped my hand in the dark water. Moving fast would seem threatening to the piranha. Although as nasty as this water was, chances were they couldn’t see anything either. Maybe I’d get lucky and they’d be extremely near-sighted. Can fish be near-sighted? I mean, who’s going to give them an eye-test? It’s not like they’d recognize a giant E, or for that matter be able to communicate it if they did...

My hand brushed lightly against the scales of a fish, bringing me back to the here and now. I felt two pearls on the bottom. Very slowly, I pulled them up and tried to figure out how to give them to Lex. We weren’t supposed to let go of our hands and that meant they had to travel down the line some other way.

I looked him up and down – maybe a little too intently. The other team hadn’t figured it out either. So, I let my hormones decide and popped the two pearls into my mouth and kissed Lex, rolling them off my tongue onto his.

Electric current ripped through me and I realize it really, really had been a while since I kissed a man. At first Lex looked surprised, until he felt the two pearls. He looked at Sami and the rest, who were completely shocked. Briefly, he opened his mouth and showed the pearls to Sami. She grinned and leaned toward him, taking the pearls from his mouth to hers.

I must admit that I was a little jealous. Then I realized I should be trolling for more pearls. So I slowly dipped my hand in again and pulled up two more. Happily, I popped them in my mouth and kissed Lex again. This was way too much fun. Maybe all our challenges could involve the connection of two body parts.

A shout of disgust came from Silas, who didn’t look too pleased to have to kiss Isaac for the pearls, but he sucked it up like a good boy in blue.

Moe put his pearl in his mouth and leaned over to pass it to his teammate, Brick Phoenix. Brick refused, citing it would hurt his future acting career to be seen frenching a man. I was a bit surprised to see Moe shrug and spit the pearl into the hand he was holding with the actor/wannabe. Brick leaned down to put the pearl into his mouth and I decided we were doing okay.

I carefully slipped my hand into the water, this time finding three pearls. Was it wrong of me to put only two in my mouth to pass to Lex? I mean, you gotta take what you can get, when you can get it, right? While Lex was giving the pearls to Sami, I put the third one in my mouth.

Did I imagine it? Or did Lex’s tongue lightly stroke mine? Woo hoo! Could we ditch the cameras later for a total make-out session? Suddenly, my idea of throwing the game to spend the rest of the time at the Blanco Tigre seemed like the best idea in the world!

Unfortunately, the other team was down to two pearls left. We had three. I knew this because Alan gleefully announced it. Julie looked pissed that no one had lost a finger yet. She seemed especially upset that I wasn’t bitten. Oh well.

I reached into the water again, scraping the bottom to try to find all three remaining pearls. Something sharp slashed at my fingers and it took all I had to keep my hand in there. I found two pearls and pulled out.

“She’s bleeding!” Cricket squealed, pointing at me with her free hand. I’m sure she was thinking, if only I had my camp first aid kit – I’d save the day!

Huh? Oh yeah. I was bleeding. And the dirty water wouldn’t help. My fingers were all intact, but there was an ugly slash across the knuckles.

“Don’t do it, Missi,” Lex said seriously.

The others nodded. I was touched by their concern. However, I desperately wanted to kiss Lex again and I wanted us to win this challenge. So I slid my hand into the water once again. For a second, I allowed myself to check out Moe’s progress. He hesitated briefly. He must have realized there really were piranhas in there. His team seemed a tad less supportive. I gathered this mainly because they were yelling at him to hurry up.

My fingers closed around the last pearl and I brought my hand out a little too quickly. This would account for a piranha attached to the fleshy part of my palm. Stupid fish. I put the pearl in my mouth and closed my eyes for the kiss – piranha firmly attached to my hand.

Lex froze a little at the sight of the fish, but then took the pearl from my mouth and ran his tongue lightly over my lips. I sighed at watched as it was delivered to Cricket and she happily dropped the last pearl into the bucket.

“Ottawa has all of their pearls and just needs to get everyone back on the main platform!” Alan threw his arms in the air. Julie smirked. Obviously, she got her wish.

I had to go first and I still had that fish riding sidecar. Oh well, it would have to go with me. I climbed in front of Lex, my eyes on his as I slid across the front of him. I let go and held onto Sami, eventually making it back across. As my teammates crept back, one by one, I tried to dislodge the fish.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t budging. The bastard. He just gasped his last breath, refusing to let go. The little shit died right there, embedded in my hand. I tried to separate his jaws, but if I pulled too much, my skin would tear and I’d likely need medical attention and might get booted from the show.

Tempting as that thought was, I decided to let him stay. It didn’t really hurt, since their teeth are razor sharp, and he didn’t pull or tear the flesh. I concentrated instead on helping the rest of my Ottawa tribe get back.

“Ottawa wins!” Alan announced.

The Inuit team looked pissed, but somewhat in awe of the fact that I continued on with this damned fish attached to me.

“Go ahead and follow Julie – she’ll take you to your reward. Inuit – go back to your campsite. Tomorrow we’ll have our first immunity challenge.”

“Let me see that.” Isaac took my hand and the fish in his. “He’s in there really good. I’m afraid to dislodge him without tearing your skin.”

The rest of the group gathered around me, all offering suggestions that were completely useless. I mean, how many Canadians knew how to get rid of a piranha? It was invariably decided that we could figure something out at the spa and we reluctantly followed Julie – mostly because she was screaming for us to do so. I wondered if I’d get in trouble taking her out, too.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“By Grapthar’s hammer, by the sons of Worvan, you shall be avenged.”

- Sir Alexander Dane, Galaxy Quest

Guess what? Nobody at the spa knew what to do either. And Julie was completely useless. Either that or she refused to help. Needless to say, Bert and Ernie filmed everything.

I can’t tell you how weird it was to get a manicure with a dead fish attached to your hand. Imelda, my manicurist, politely worked around it as if it wasn’t there. I decided to name the fish Bob.

The best part of the reward was taking a shower and putting on the fluffy white robe. Getting my hand through the sleeve with Bob was difficult, but I forgot all about him once I saw Lex in his robe.

During my pedicure, Bob started drying up a bit. I was sitting next to Isaac, and he was still trying to come up with a solution. I was trying to get annoyed with him, but he was so sweet.

“I just can’t understand why no one has offered you medical attention!” he said loudly, hoping the staff might react. They didn’t.

“Well, I’m hoping that when he dries up, we can just snap him off. He’s a little heavy,” I replied. The glassy, lifeless eyes were staring at me. Sigh. Poor Bob. He died for that last pearl.

My hairdresser turned out to be an American ex-pat named Gloria with a giant, blonde bouffant hairdo and a beauty mark that seemed to move a few millimeters every five minutes or so.

The minute she saw the fish, she seized a pair of shears and carefully snipped Bob off at the lips. Poor Bob. As she styled my hair (which she said really needed some work), she soaked my hand in some type of clear solution. While my hair was setting under the dryer, Gloria carefully pried the two teeth out of my hand, covered the wound liberally with Neosporin and bandaged it (slipping me three ibuprofen under the table). I felt so much relief (and a little sadness) at having Bob removed, I didn’t really notice the pain.

“Um,” I said slowly, “can I have those?”

Gloria laughed, “Sure, honey. I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, Gloria returned with the teeth strung on a bit of leather. She presented them to me like it was the Nobel Prize. Then she took the curlers out of my hair.

We looked ridiculous, walking the beach back to our campsite, with these high, curly coifs and bright polish on our fingers and toes. No one spoke at first, and not because Julie warned us, but mostly because it was a stupid reward.

“I’m really pissed off they didn’t help you,” Sami said on the way back.

“I have to admit, that was really rude,” Cricket chirped.

“You got a lot of moxie,” Silas begrudged. Apparently he approved of the way I suffered.

“I’m going to punch Alan in the face when we see him tomorrow,” Lex murmured.

“I’ll hold him down for you,” Isaac said.

It was as if I already had a boyfriend and a big brother on the team. I didn’t say much – just fingered Bob’s teeth, now tethered around my neck. Two things were on my mind. First of all was my explosive attraction to Lex. I was seriously turned on from hugging his body and kissing him earlier. Granted, everyone else got kissed too, but what happened between us was special. Right?

And secondly, I was very worried I was becoming friends with the Vic. I was on this stupid show for one reason and one reason only. He was a bad guy. I had a job to do. But Isaac was sweet. He was looking after me. And that made me very nervous.

When a Bombay gets an assignment, we act upon it from a distance. We rarely know much more about the Vic than his dossier.

In this case, I was spending 24/7 with Vic. Hell, I was catching and cooking fish for him! That had to be a first. And it was going to be a lot harder.

The rest of the group seemed to interpret my silence as dealing with the pain or not feeling well. The spa staff had fed us fruits and finger sandwiches for dinner, so there wasn’t much to do when we got back to camp.

I sat down on the mat in the shelter and suddenly felt dizzy. My hand started to throb beneath the bandage. The ibuprofen must have been wearing off. I lay down and started to force myself to sleep. Somewhere in the night, someone put some frond leaves over me and whispered, “Good night, Missi.” Either someone smoothed my hair, or I was hallucinating. It didn’t really matter either way.

The next morning found me wandering off into the jungle to see if I could find any fruit other than coconut. My hand was a little sore and I needed some alone time from my team.

Remember when I said I didn’t know how I’d react to being around a group of strangers constantly? Well, it’s pretty damned exhausting. Especially when I’m the one who always seems to make things happen.

The other thing was that I was missing my boys. At first I thought some time off from being a mom would be great. But honestly, I haven’t really been away from them all that much. And soon, they’d be heading off to college. There was a blind sense of panic washing over me as I realized that this would be what the future holds. Once they went off to school, it would take a miracle (or at least the promise of greasy food and for me to be their personal maid) to lure them back. And I’d have the condo all to myself.

I shrugged off my homesickness. My alone time wouldn’t last much longer and I did need to get some food. Spotting a mango tree, I pushed all thoughts of Monty and Jack from my brain.

I was just reaching up to grasp a large fruit when it just plopped into my hand. Did I just imagine it, or did I hear someone say, “Mom?” I must have an infection. I examined my bandaged hand, but it didn’t seem to be swollen or seeping. I reached up and grabbed another mango and thought I heard it again.

This time, I looked around. I’d bet it was those cameramen, messing with me. But I didn’t see anyone. Just a couple of howler monkeys, and I could do without them.

Have I mentioned that I’m not fond of monkeys? I mean, they’re okay, but there’s something about them that bothers me. Some people are afraid of the dark, others are afraid of clowns. My irrational fear is more like a nails-on-chalkboard kind of thing. I can’t stand pictures of monkeys dressed as people. Especially chimps. I don’t know why, but it makes me want to gag. I once threw up in a spectacular, Technicolor fashion when my college roommate papered my walls with a “Chimps of the Office” calendar for my birthday. Let’s just say she was not as amused as she thought she’d be.

“Mom!” a voice called rather urgently, causing me to drop my mangos.

“Hello?” I said, staring around me. That’s it. I’ve lost it. Completely lost my mind. And on a cheap, Canadian knock-off of Survivor, no less. I knew this day was coming. I just hoped it would be sooner than later. Not that I’d be the first Bombay to flip out. My great-great-great grandma told everyone that sunflowers yelled at her all the time and developed a scorched earth policy on all flowers. Hell of an assassin, though. She once took out a Russian hitman with one finger. No lie.

“Jeez, Mom! Up here!” The voice was louder now. I guess everyone has a breaking point. Apparently mine involved a piranha named Bob.

Something began to unfold from a branch above me. It only took seconds for me to recognize Monty, hanging upside down from the mango tree. Oh. So I’m not crazy. Huh.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered loudly at my son.

Monty broke into a wide grin. He looked like a bat, hanging upside down like that. Jackson unfolded himself next to his brother with the same smile.

“We wanted to help!” Monty said.

“You’re supposed to be back on Santa Muerta with your grandmother! Does she even know you’re here?” I did feel a flicker of satisfaction thinking of Mom realizing the boys were gone. And I will admit it did my heart good to see them.

“We told her we were going camping up near the ropes course. She never goes there,” Jackson said. That was true. Mom wasn’t big on nature. Well, except for her recent interest in my glaucoma stash.

I looked around, “You are going to get me in trouble. I’ve got a job to do and we aren’t supposed to have any contact with outsiders!” Yeesh! I sounded like that bitch Julie.

“At least come down here and give me a hug!” I added.

The boys shook their heads. “This is safer,” Jackson said.

“Cool!” Monty pointed at the teeth around my neck. “Where’d you get those!”

I sighed and filled them in. My sons announced that they thought I was the coolest mom ever, which made me happy.

“We’re going to help you,” Monty announced.

“Here.” Jackson tossed something down to me.

I looked around before opening the small brown bag. It was filled with chocolate protein bars – twelve in all. Good boys.

“We’re staying at the resort,” Monty added.

“We’ve got Grandma’s credit card.” Jackson grinned.

I couldn’t hide a smile. My boys.

“Well, get back before anyone catches you. I can’t have them filming me talking to trees.”

The boys laughed and pulled themselves into the upper recesses of the tree.

I shook my finger at them. “Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re there!”

“Uh, who are you talking to?” Cricket’s voice brought me up short. I slowly turned to find her and the camera men staring at me.

I carefully shoved the bag into my shirt. “Oh, just a couple of monkeys. They threw mangos at me.” I grinned, holding up the fruit and hoping they would buy it.

“You are so weird,” Cricket said. Bert and Ernie said nothing, of course. “You have to come back to camp. We got our sea-mail.”

“Sea-mail?” I asked, realizing it was the rip-off’s version of “tree-mail.” Cricket looked at me in disgust and walked away. What had I done to piss her off?

Bert and Ernie stayed with me. So I looked up into the tree and said, “Bye bye monkeys! I’m watching you!” Of course they filmed the whole thing. But I had to say something to Monty and Jack. They were my sons, after all. I stopped for a minute, then looked up again.

“Love you!” I said to the tree, then headed back to camp, ignoring the strange looks from the cameramen.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Michelle: For me, it's like I've just given birth to my own baby girl, except she's like a big giant girl who smokes and says "shit" a lot. You know?

- Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion

Everyone was huddled around something when I got back. Lex saw me and broke off from the group.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he checked out my hand. “Cricket said you were talking to monkeys.”

I smiled. “Just trying to freak her out. It was nothing.” I was relieved to see him smile back. In six months, when this aired, he’d see that I was, in fact, talking to a tree. But I’d have time to explain before then.

Sea-mail consisted of a piece of parchment in a bottle. How original. There was a map that that would lead us to a clearing in the jungle where we would have an immunity challenge. The losing team would vote a member off tonight. We had a couple of hours before making the trek.

I managed to slip protein bars to everyone but Silas without the cameras seeing. It was obvious he would disapprove, but we needed a little boost before the challenge. I told my teammates I’d gotten them from the spa yesterday.

One, by one, the cameramen took us off to talk to the camera about the game, our chances, strategies, etc. When they returned with Sami, shaking their heads, I figured she’d cursed a blue streak, leaving them with nothing but bleeped out language.

When it was my turn, they took me off to the ocean and asked me to sit, waist deep in the water and talk about the show so far. I hate staged photos. You know how the newspapers do it, right? The guy who woke up to find a bullet hole in his car is usually standing there, staring through the stupid hole, looking all serious. That is so stupid.

But I sat there, in the water, in my swimsuit, not knowing what to say.

“Just tell us what your strategy is for winning the game,” Ernie begged.

I shrugged. I mean, I could hardly say that my game was over once I killed Isaac and that my goal was to be naked in a hammock with Lex drinking margaritas – now could I?

My hand went up to the piranha teeth and so I said the only thing I could think of.

“I named the fish Bob. He was okay. I figure I just moved too fast on that last pearl grab and it startled him. I mean, he’s just hanging out in the completely murky depths of a plastic pond and wondering what the hell is going on, right? I still feel sorry for him. Gloria up at the spa made this necklace for me. I guess I’ll always have a piece of him.”

It was kind of like having an out of body experience. Why couldn’t I just shut up? No. I had to keep going about some dead piranha like an idiot to a cameraman who recently saw me tell monkeys that I love them.

As we walked back to the group, I realized that I was the fish out of water here – not Bob. If only the Council had selected my cousin Dak, or Gin, they’d be ten times better than me.

“Let’s go!” Cricket called. She looked like she was badly in need of a clipboard.

“About god-damned time!” Sami grumbled.

Isaac took the map and the lead with Lex and me trailing behind him. I was torn between studying my Vic and flirting with my new boyfriend-who-didn’t-know-he-was-my-boyfriend.

“So, what do you think, Missi?” I realized Lex was saying something to me very quietly.

“Huh?”

“About the alliance? You, me, Sami and Isaac?” He looked a little frustrated.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Isaac looked back at me and winked and I smiled involuntarily. This was getting worse. And I had no idea how to fix it.

According to his dossier, Isaac was a bad man. A cold-blooded killer. But my gut was telling me that he was one of the good guys. What the hell was going on here?

“I’ll fill Sami in after the challenge,” Lex said.

The challenge. Right. I could figure out a solution after the challenge. After all, I was on a mission, and that mission involved staying on the show until I could off Vic. Isaac. Vissac. Hmmmm.

My brain was exhausted by the time we came to the clearing where the immunity challenge was to take place. The protein bars were starting to kick in, and I could see the other team was struggling. It was highly likely they hadn’t had any food or water (or protein bars dropped from seventeen-year-old primates) so this should be fairly easy.

“Welcome back,” our snarky host, Alan, said. I wondered if I could kill him instead. The whole show was a joke.

“Listen!” Julie shrilled. Oh yeah. She was already dead to me.

Alan continued, “This challenge is for immunity. The tribe that wins goes back to camp. The losing tribe will vote someone off tonight.”

He pointed to the course and I started laughing. Did Mom set this up? It was an exact replica of the ropes course on Santa Muerta! How weird? Although I wouldn’t put anything past the Council – they wanted to ensure I’d get the job (the one I no longer wanted to do) done.

“You’ll work as a team to get through each of the segments of the course. At the end, you’ll zip line to the finish. The other team members can help, but the last one through the course has to fasten themselves on to the zip line and join their team for the win.”

Julie was glaring at me and I realized I was still laughing. I stopped and acted like I was paying attention as Alan went over each leg of the course.

“What?” Isaac whispered.

I leaned close so Julie wouldn’t get too pissed. “I’ve worked on a course exactly like this one. I know what we have to do.”

Isaac grinned and nodded at Lex, who heard everything I’d said. Standing between them, I felt a little like a Missi sandwich. Kind of like a grilled cheese – all gooey and warm. Or maybe like a Fluffernutter with peanut butter and marshmallow. Or possibly like. . .

“You have five minutes to discuss strategy with your teammates. When I blow this whistle, you can begin.” Alan smirked. I bet he really thought he had us this time.

“Missi’s got a plan,” Lex was explaining to the group.

I nodded. “I’ve worked on this exact same course many times before.” Images of helping my cousin Richie through the spider web segment made me shudder involuntarily. “It’s pretty easy – there’s just a slight trick to each part. When we get the zip line – I’ll set it up and send everyone. Then I’ll go.”

Cricket looked doubtful. What did I need to do to convince this bimbo, for crying out loud?

“Trust me. I’ve done all of this before.” I barely finished when the whistle sounded, making me wonder if it had really been five minutes.

As a team, we raced to the first challenge. Two sets of long two-by-fours with ropes attached lay at our feet. Working quickly, I lined the boards up parallelly and had each person stand in a line, one foot on each plank. I took the end and told everyone to bring the ropes up over their shoulders. I’d explained that we needed to walk as one group – kind of like a dyslexic centipede (actually, more like a hexapede) across the course.

I called out the directions as we went, telling the team which side to lift as we moved together. A quick glance over my shoulder told me the Inuit team was now copying our movements. That figured. They’d probably do that the whole way through.

It only took a few minutes to get to the next challenge, with the other team close behind. Sami clapped me on the back, but there was no time for congratulations.

The spider web course would be a little harder. Basically, it consists of ropes woven vertically between two posts – kind of like, well, a big spider web. But without the giant spider – although that would be really cool, wouldn’t it? The web had large and small holes peppered throughout, and knots that could piss off the saltiest sailor.

The goal was to get everyone through it without touching the ropes. This might sound easy, but the web started four feet off the ground. And, you can only use each hole (there were six) once.

“I’ve done this one before – at camp,” Cricket said slowly. I could tell that she wasn’t completely convinced that it would be easier with adults than with nimble, elastic kids.

“Good. You first,” I answered. It would help to have someone who’d done this on the other side.

With a quick nod, Cricket leapt headfirst through one of the smaller loops, ending in a beautiful dive roll on the other side. My jaw dropped.

“Well, Holy Shit,” Sami said. Somehow, I knew she was capitalizing her words as she swore.

I pointed to Lex. “You next. We’ll need some brawn on the other side to help some of us across.”

Lex sized up the web. He was the biggest of all of us. Not because he was fat or anything – he was compact but muscular. The center hole was the obvious choice for him, but I wanted to save it for the end since it was the easiest.

Isaac pulled Silas over to the web and the two put their knees together, thighs bent, for Lex to use to climb. With a nod, he stood on their legs (looking a little like a transvestite cheerleader) and hurled himself through the second largest loop to the other side. Lex landed with a thud but stood up to reveal he was okay. And he hadn’t touched the ropes.

I thought about my options. Sami and Silas were pretty wiry. It wouldn’t be hard to get them through. Isaac again seemed to read my mind. He told Silas to make himself as stiff as a board. Ooh! Remember that from slumber parties – stiff as a board, light as a feather?

I dragged my brain back to the task at hand. Isaac, Sami and I then lifted him and fed him through one of the loops to Lex and Cricket on the other side. We did the same thing with Sami. It was much easier. She must’ve weighed just under one hundred pounds.

Now we just had Isaac and me left. Isaac was in really good shape, and I was struggling to figure out who should go next. I heard Julie yelling at the Inuit Tribe. Apparently they touched one of the ropes and had to do it all over. I didn’t even look, not wanting to break concentration. We had more time now, but what would be the best way to do it?

“I could boost you through the middle,” Isaac suggested.

I shook my head. “No. You need to go next. The last person should be the smaller of the two.”

There were only two holes left we hadn’t used. The large one in the middle would easily accommodate Isaac’s frame, but that would leave me with the smaller one, which was also about five feet off the ground. Getting Isaac through that one would be more of a challenge, but if we did it, I could take a running high jump to get through the larger, center hole.

I walked up to the web and got down on my hands and knees.

“Climb on my back,” I said. “The others will help you through.”

“No. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t any other way. I need to jump through the center hole. I need the extra clearance. Go ahead and climb on my back. The other side will get you through and down.”

Lex looked doubtful this time, but Cricket took up the charge.

“Get on Missi’s back. Step through with your right leg. Back through it scrunching up your body as you go. We’ll hold you and pull your left leg through last.”

She was right. That was it exactly. I braced myself and nodded to Isaac.

He stood gingerly on my back and I tried to imagine that my spine was made of cement. It hurt. Isaac was heavy and I don’t think I’ve ever had a man stand on my back before. My fists and feet dug into the dirt and I tried to keep silent. If I flinched or groaned, I was pretty sure Isaac would stop.

I felt him lift his right leg and he wobbled as he tried to thread it through the hole.

“We’ve got you,” Silas encouraged. Was he actually being supportive? Maybe my suffering impressed him.

Isaac’s weight shifted as he tried to keep himself steady. My back felt like it was in a vise. My shoulders and legs were starting to tremble, but I said nothing. It seemed like hours before he lifted off me completely, and I waited in that position to make sure he didn’t need to step back on me.

“It’s okay, Missi. We did it,” Lex’s deep voice murmured. I slowly started to straighten out. My muscles were screaming. I knew I had to do a couple of stretches before making my way through the web.

As I stood, I fought to keep a grimace off my face. Isaac looked so worried and I didn’t want to upset him. It occurred to me that this was unusual behavior for an assassin toward her Vic.

There was no time to dwell on it. There was no guarantee I could jump high enough to get through that hole. What would MacGyver do? I thought about that a lot. He was kind of my hero. Of course, he’d create a ramp using hairspray, a toothpick and homemade cement. Hmmm. I had an idea.

There were five large rocks in a decorative pile a few yards off to my left. I dragged two over to the front of the web. Then I grabbed the two planks from the previous challenge and propped them up on the rocks. Two more rocks secured the planks at my end. See where I’m going with this?

I walked back about five feet, then ran up the makeshift platform and launched myself through the center hole. It felt like I was soaring through mud and I became aware of every inch of my skin as I passed through the large loop. My arms were extended in front of me and for a moment I thought I must look a little like Superman. Well, Superman with boobs, that is.

My hands hit the dirt, followed ungracefully by my head as I watched my toes clear the hole.

“You did it!” Lex cried as he and Isaac hauled me to my feet. I thought somewhere in the distance I heard someone say, “Way to go, Mom!” but I couldn’t be sure. I may have been hallucinating.

“No time for champagne,” I said as I raced to the zip line.

Cricket and I climbed into our harnesses, instructing the others to do the same.

“No helmets?” Cricket gasped. She was right. Safety obviously wasn’t a concern on this show. Bastards. At least she seemed to have some experience with the zip line.

I hooked the pulley up to the line and safety line. Cricket set up the lanyard and carabiners, securing them to Silas’ belay. Before he had any idea what was happening (and I guessed before he had the opportunity to protest), we hurled him off the platform. I must say I’ve never heard a man scream like that.

“Good job,” I said to Cricket and she nodded.

Sami went next, and at the end of the line I saw her and Silas struggling to get out of their harnesses. The other team was having a hard time figuring out how everything worked. And for a moment I panicked. People have died on these things. You had to get the combination exactly right. What was this stupid production company thinking?

Lex went through, and then I sent Cricket. Over on the other platform, it looked like they had the first person – Kit, ready to go. Unfortunately, they’d done it all wrong and in a matter of minutes the girl was about to fall twenty feet to her death.

Isaac was standing in front of me on the platform, grinning. It occurred to me that I could take care of him right there and then. All I’d have to do is mess with the carabiners and he’d plummet to his death.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked.

I realized I was stalling. The job could be over and I could go home. The idea pounded in my brain as I held his fate, quite literally, in my hands. Isaac smiled at me and my stomach turned inside out. I couldn’t do it. Quickly I secured him, then sent him safely to the other side of the line.

Something snapped as I saw that the other team was about to inadvertently kill one of their own. I leaped over the edge of our platform and ran toward Inuit, waving my arms and yelling, “Wait!” I climbed the steps two at a time and in a few moments had completely reorganized their zip line system. I sent Kit and she rode the line to the end in silence. After sending two more of their team members safely, I realized what I was doing.

“Do it just as I did!” I shouted as I raced back to my platform. I avoided eye contact with my tribe – who remained strangely silent. I clicked the second carabiner into place and stepped off the platform.

Shit. I’d forgotten to release the safety line! I was just dangling in midair a foot away from the platform. A quick glance at the other team told me the last person was getting ready to go. If they won – I’d have blown it big time.

Reaching up for the line, I scrambled to get my feet back on the platform. I managed to lessen the tension just enough to unhook the carabiner, and slid to the ground on the other side.

“Ottawa wins!” Alan shouted and I collapsed to the ground. It was over. After a few moments, I opened my eyes and saw a variety of emotions in the faces of my teammates. I couldn’t tell if they thought I’d behaved nobly or idiotically and I didn’t care. We’d won and everyone survived. Literally.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“If I ran for a position of leadership in this town, my platform would be ‘A Howler Monkey in Every Home,’ because nothing says ‘community’ like a whole mess of howler monkeys.”

- Todd Welvaert, journalist

Back at camp, I found myself at the mango tree talking to myself. “Dammit. I choked. I froze. What the hell?” I repeated this over and over, like some twisted meditation.

“Mom.” Jackson’s voice came from above.

After looking around to see if any of the camera crew was there, I looked up.

“Hey, kids.” I didn’t feel much like chastising them. I was too happy to see someone I knew . . . someone who I knew loved and supported me.

“We saw what happened,” Monty said quietly. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Jack piped up. “It can’t be easy to take Vic out when he’s a friend.”

I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure I can’t do it at all, guys.”

“It’s okay.” Jack unfolded himself so his red hair hung upside down. “We’re going to help you.”

Monty appeared beside his brother. “Don’t do anything until we can think of something.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little verklempt at their attempts to comfort me.

There was an idea. “Hey, will you guys do me a favor and look into Vic for me?” I asked. “He just doesn’t seem to be the type we usually axe. Maybe my judgment is clouding up from being so close to him, but I need more motivation. Can you get me some scoop?”

Monty grinned. “Roger that.”

“Yeah! We’ll get right on it,” Jack echoed.

I wanted to hug them both, but couldn’t risk it. I just turned away and headed back to camp. This would work, I told myself. The boys would figure something out. And their research would make my job clearer. A small, but significant sense of relief crept over me. At least I could put plans on hold until I heard back.

I was just about to camp when I spotted Lex leaning against a tree. The way the sun came down, illuminating his face, turned my skin to gooseflesh.

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “I think what you did today – rescuing the other team like that – was amazing.”

Before I knew what was happening, Lex pulled me into his arms and kissed me. It was one of those brain-melting kisses that I haven’t had in years, I might add. My arms slid around his neck and I kissed him back with everything I had.

I was just starting to come to my senses and drag him off into the bushes for a quickie when something went clunk and I felt Lex flinch.

“Whoa!” He pulled back and began massaging his head. On the ground I spotted a hard, unripe mango. Looking up into the trees, I thought I saw a flash of red.

“Damn monkeys!” Lex cursed with a smile.

Yeah. Damn monkeys, I thought. Damn monkeys with red hair.

“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching up to touch the lump that was forming on his head.

“I’m fine.” Lex smiled and it looked like we were going to make out again. Yay!

“Missi! Lex! Jesus Christ, where the fuck are you bastards?” Sami’s voice was nearby.

We broke apart quickly as she joined us. Looking from one to the other, Sami got this “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” look.

“We’re celebrating back at camp.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “But I think I interrupted some private celebration here.”

“Sami!” I started. “You didn’t swear once in either sentence!”

She grinned. “Guess I’m losing my goddamned touch.” Sami turned and raced off, leaving Lex and me to walk back to camp.

“Tell me about yourself,” I teased. In all honesty, I didn’t know that much about him.

Lex looked at me sideways and smiled. “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever.” Gak! I was too new to this dating stuff. I didn’t want to sound like an idiot – I just couldn’t help myself.

“Okay. I’m a bartender and former stuntman. I don’t really live in Canada. My brother thought it would be funny to sign me up for the show. I had no idea until I got the letter in the mail. By then I thought ‘why not?’  And here I am.”

“That’s funny. My, um. . .” I paused, wondering how much to tell him about my family. I didn’t want to tell him the Bombays sent me here to kill Isaac. I was pretty sure that was a first-date no-no. “…sons did the same thing to me.” I filled him in on Monty and Jack – saying that they thought their mom should live a little. Not totally a lie. In fact, it was embarrassingly close to the truth.

Lex laughed. “Do you think that’s how the others got here?”

“I suspect Cricket’s fellow camp counselors were debating between this and killing her. I think Silas enjoys pain and suffering a little too much.”

“What else should I know about you?” Lex squeezed my hand.

“Oh. Well, I’m a widow and live in Texas.” There was no way I was going to tell him what I really did for a living, but I figured there was no harm in a little truth. “I’m an inventor. I like to make things.”

“Like what?” he asked. Of course he asked. What the hell was I doing? It’s not like I could claim credit for Post-Its. Although I’ve always been jealous that I hadn’t come up with them. That and those plastic sleeves menus come in so they don’t get messy.

“Oh, this and that.” I tried to change the direction a little. I couldn’t talk about my disintegrating bullets or exploding Wacky Wall Walkers, now, could I? At least, not yet.

I pulled my bracelet off and straightened it. “I invented this for the show.” I pointed out the saw, the flint stones, and other handy applications.

“I’m impressed. So that’s how you’ve managed out here. And that explains the resourcefulness in the challenges.”

Lex’s reply made me sigh with relief. Maybe he wouldn’t press. And now that we were back at camp, there’d be more people to distract him.

“Great job!” Isaac called as we rejoined everyone.

“I think it’s really cool that you saved Inuit like that,” Cricket chirped. “But we have to be careful. We don’t want them to win.”

Silas nodded. “That was honorable. Damned challenge wasn’t very authentic.”

Julie interrupted our little party, casting a dour malaise on everything.

“Ottawa’s presence is requested at Tribal Council,” she said as if announcing the Queen of England.

“Why?” Lex stepped forward. “We won. Why should we have to go?”

Julie put her hand up in his face. “You get to watch the other team vote off a member. And you really have to be silent this time!”

We looked at each other. That seemed rather cruel. Leave it to Julie to come up with something like that. What a sadist. She’d fit right in with the Bombays. I was starting to wonder about her lineage when Isaac broke in.

“When do we go?”

“Now,” Julie answered. She turned and marched imperiously into the jungle. No one followed her, mainly because we hated her.

She returned, red-faced. “I said, NOW!”

It only took a few minutes to get to the pool at the Blanco Tigre. A little section was roped off for us and a luau for the guests was in full swing. Now that was cruel. We stared, drooling at the clean, well-dressed tourists gobbling down roasted pork, fruit kabobs and more. I was salivating over the iced down beer, but that’s just me.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Sami said to Julie. “We have to do this here? And we have to watch all those goddamned bastards eating like that?”

“Sami!” Julie turned red again and I wondered if her head would pop off. “Please stop swearing! If you don’t, I’ll have to dub your voice on the tape!”

Sami winked at me. “Whatever, bitch.”

“She’s got a point,” Silas started. “This ain’t authentic at all. How can we go through with this if ya ain’t followin’ the rules?”

The rest of us nodded and it was clear that Julie wanted to be somewhere else. But we weren’t letting her off the hook. This was mean and stupid.

At that second, who should round the corner with a plate of food but Alan. He was flirting with some blonde, a cold beer in one hand and a mouth full of barbeque.

“You know,” Alan said to the blonde. “I work in television. I’m a big star up north.”

I figured that he was implying the U.S., because who the hell cares about a big star in Canada? The girl giggled and oops, will you look at that? Her dress strap accidentally slipped from her shoulder.

Julie cleared her throat obnoxiously and Alan froze when he saw us, looking like a kid who got caught with his whole arm in the cookie jar.

“Julie, could I see you for a moment please?” His voice was strained and I couldn’t help but giggle. As a group, we followed her.

“Guys,” Alan started, smearing barbecue pork-stained fingers on a napkin. He had a big glob of it on his face. We didn’t tell him. “Just Julie, okay?”

Sami shook her head. “I don’t fucking think so, you bastard. It’s torture enough being here. Might at least have a little goddamned fun.”

Ernie shouldered his camera and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll catch it. I’ll share it with you if you give me a little footage of you performing one of your miracles later.” I winked my response and he followed the two off into the jungle.

The second they were out of sight, the Ottawa tribe scrambled for the buffet table. Without a word we stuffed as much food as we could into our bags. To my surprise, Silas scooped up enough beer for us to get pretty drunk later. I guessed he was getting sick of the show too. Either that or they’d had a kegger at the surrender at Appomattox.

We were all seated and looking innocent when Alan returned, barbeque glob still on his face. Julie looked seriously pissed. Ernie was grinning. I guess we could add entertainment to the booze and food later.

“Will the Inuit Tribe please enter the tribal council area?” Alan boomed, raising his arms like he was some kind of god.

One by one, the other team filed in, looking at us with surprise, and horror at the luau going on around them. Several of the resort guests dragged chairs over, with full plates on their laps.

“Inuit,” Alan intoned, staring not at the team, but at the bimbo in the audience. The lump of sauce on his face quivered respectfully. “You lost the immunity challenge. Therefore, you have to vote off one of your members.” He pointed dramatically at them and his voice got even louder. “One of you will be going home tonight.”

“Kit,” Alan said. “You’ve spent these first few days without food or drinkable water. How are you feeling?”

Kit sniffled. “Well, Alan, it’s pretty hard, you know?” She looked at our host – who in turn, looked pissed off that she’d used his first name. Then she burst into tears. “I can’t get voted off! Not tonight! I’ve been the first one voted off two other reality shows! Please, please, please, don’t vote for me!” the leggy brunette pleaded with her teammates.

The resort guests stared at her, eyes wide open, and filling their mouths with food. I hoped they’d get trichinosis.

“Um, okay.” Alan squirmed (which made me happy). “Brick. How about you?”

Brick turned in his seat toward the camera and stared at it thoughtfully for a moment. Or at least, acting like he was staring thoughtfully at it. I noticed Moe rolling his eyes and smiled.

“Being stranded, here in paradise, with only the simplest of needs met, I find that I – Brick Phoenix – am like a child lost among the tempest storm of life. . .itself.” He frowned at the camera, then turned back to Alan – who looked a little shaken.

“Liliana?” Our host squeaked.

This Inuit member rose to her feet, startling everyone else. “My body is my art. Food and water, are the mediums I use to sustain my art. Without these tools, my body will no longer be art.” She sat down dramatically.

I was starting to think everyone on Inuit had some form of heatstroke. Alan didn’t seem to know how to respond to any of this.

“I think it sucks.” Moe raised his hand and said before being asked. He reminded me of the character of Ed in Shaun of the Dead. “Especially with the resort so close by. But I’ll do whatever I have to do to win the $25,000.”

What? We were playing for only twenty-five thousand dollars? The other show at least gave you one million dollars if you won. These poor bastards were playing for practically nothing! My empathy level spiked for Inuit and I cursed Canada.

“I think what you have here is our struggle with our inner selves.” Dr. Andy piped up, using his hands as he spoke. Obviously he thought it gave him more of a stage presence. He was an African-American Dr. Phil wannabe. “In living so primitively, we are literally starving the part of our ego that demands entitlement. It’s very therapeutic when you look at it that way.”

I could have used some therapy. I wish I could have talked to Dr. Andy right now about my problem. Of course, I couldn’t – but there was something comforting in knowing he was right there.

Bob seemed to realize he was the only one who hadn’t spoken, so he threw in his two cents. No politician could stay quiet for long, but I wasn’t surprised he’d waited to get in the last word. “I suggest that no matter what, we do this democratically, for the right reasons. I see no reason why we have to get political about this. That’s just partisan politics.”

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. Now that I saw that the Inuit team had all been recruited from the “short bus,” I didn’t feel so bad about what I was dealing with.

“Just go vote!” Alan shouted. He was very flustered. I wished I had some popcorn. The kind with movie theater butter. I love that. No salt though because if you salt the top half you end up drinking most of your pop, which means you’ll have to go to the bathroom every five minutes and for what you pay for ticket prices these days you might as well just go home. . .

“Now I’ll tally up the votes.” Alan stated loudly, regaining some of his composure. Gee. That went fast. How long was I thinking about popcorn?

Kit burst into a fresh round of tears as if anticipating the inevitable as Alan opened the large clay pot and pulled out the first vote.

He lifted the first slip of parchment out and read, “Kit. The first vote is for Kit.”

Kit immediately added loud sobs.

“The second vote is for Liliana.” Alan said. “One vote for Kit, one for Liliana.”

He reached in and pulled out the third slip. “Bob. One vote for Kit, one for Liliana and one for Bob.”

Kit howled. My guess was that it just hurt having been the first vote and hearing it over and over again.

“The fourth vote is for. . .” Alan frowned as he read the paper. “Dr. Andy. One vote for Kit. One vote Liliana. One vote for Bob. One vote for Dr. Andy.”

Julie was turning a little green at the gills. I guessed she didn’t like the suspense. But I figured it wasn’t hurting the show to drag it out to the last vote.

“Brick received the fifth vote.” Alan looked pretty worried as he again parroted the vote so far. Really, there only needed to be one more vote for any of those names and they’d be out of the game.

“And the last vote is for,” beads of sweat broke out on Alan’s forehead. “Moe? Are you joking?”

We just stared in shock. No one had been voted off. Everyone had received one vote. What were the odds of that happening?

“Do you even know how to play this game?” Alan shrieked at Inuit. “You’re supposed to form alliances! This kind of crap isn’t supposed to happen!”

I started laughing. Lex squeezed my knee (which is very close to you-know-what). Isaac winked and Sami whispered a “goddamn.”

“All right!” Julie took charge with the ease of a storm trooper. “We’ll just have to vote again!” She pointed at Moe and he slowly rose to go to the ballot box.

“You’re out of paper,” he said simply.

We all looked over and true enough – there was no more paper. Obviously, there was no backup plan.

“Will this work?” A cabana boy threw a resort stationery pad at Alan. I noticed with a start that the resort audience had doubled in size. Kind of like that scene in The Birds where Tippi Hedren is sitting on a bench outside the school? And with each puff of her cigarette, more birds landed until she turned around and found the monkey bars coated with crows? Kind of like that.

Julie handed the hotel stationary to Moe and he wrote down his vote. One by one, everyone went up to cast their vote.

“Now, I’ll read the votes.” Alan pulled the whole handful out of the jar and flipped through them, reading as he went. “Kit,” causing Kit to start wailing again, “Moe, Liliana, Bob, Brick, Dr. Andy, goddamn it! You did it again!” He slammed the lid of the jar to the ground, causing it to splinter into a million pieces.

So, we watched as Inuit voted two more times, each time, each person (starting with Kit every time for some strange reason) received one vote and no one was voted off.

At first I thought it was some very clever strategy on Inuit’s part to avoid losing a teammate. And then I thought they were each writing their own name down in hopes of being voted off and hitting the buffet. But as we went on, the looks of complete surprise and frustration on their faces (especially Kit’s) led me to believe they really warranted that short bus.

“That’s it!” Alan’s face was turning red. “I’m thinking of a number between one and twenty.”

Julie turned toward him, stunned. “Surely you’re not going to just have them guess a number!”

I don’t know – it sounded pretty smart to me. I was getting sick of sitting in the hot sun with a bag of food hidden under my chair probably breeding all kinds of nasty bacteria.

“Yes, I am!” Alan stamped his foot. He pointed at Kit first (I guess it just seemed automatic at this point) and shouted for her to choose a number.

“Um,” Kit choked back a sob. “Nineteen?”

One by one, the six of them told Alan a number.

“Ha!” Alan’s frown turned into a creepy-looking grin. “It was seven! Bob is the first person vot. . .I mean removed from Survival. Now bring me your damn torch and we’re done.”

Bob stood and nodded to the team, then walked his torch over to Alan.

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Alan babbled as he doused the man’s torch. “Bob, the tribe has spoken.”

Julie escorted Bob off the set and into the main resort building, where I guessed she was checking him into a room. Lucky Bastard. We were still sitting there when he came outside with a grin and loaded up his plate at the buffet.

“The rest of you go back to your camps. Tomorrow we will have another challenge.” Alan had regained some of his professionalism, but I thought I saw a spark of madness around the eyes. The blonde had disappeared and the barbeque glob had fallen and smeared down the length of his white, linen shirt.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Even a poisonous snake isn’t bad. You just have to keep away from the sharp end.”

- Narrator, The Gods Must Be Crazy

“That was a hell of a thing,” Sami muttered through a mouthful of fruit.

Everyone nodded as we sat on the beach eating our contraband food. Silas managed to hide a bottle of beer for each of us and we were all feeling pretty mellow. For a second I thought about my glaucoma stash on Santa Muerta.

“At least we have this,” Isaac raised his banana-leaf plate.

Lex nodded. “I still can’t believe Julie didn’t notice us walking out of the pool area leaking barbeque sauce.”

I elbowed him gently in the ribs. “She’s too concerned about the non-vote and Alan’s extra-curricular activities.” For a moment, I wondered if Julie was in love with Alan. Then I threw up in my mouth and the feeling was over.

“Do you think we should do that when we go to Tribal Council?” Cricket chirped.

Everyone laughed and we continued eating. I was feeling all warm and gooey – like marshmallow crème. At one point, Sami and I volunteered to get more kindling.

“Why are you here?” Sami asked me once we were too far away to be overheard.

I shrugged. “It seemed like something to do.” My family set me up to knock off Isaac just didn’t have the right ring to it.

“How about you?”

Sami coughed and I heard her thoughts rattle around in her chest. She may not be smoking anymore but the damage was done.

“I know you think I lead this fucking glamorous life as a traveling electrician…” She politely paused as I giggled. “But behind the tiaras and French champagne was a woman who screamed for a fucked-up adventure.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It was just like that for me too. I couldn’t believe my luck to get a crusty Civil War junkie and psychotic camp counselor in the same deal.”

Sami looked off into the ocean. “Well, I guess we’re on the same goddamned page. Hell, we’re practically twins.”

“Oh yes,” I added. “Definitely separated from birth.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

“Fact is,” Sami said quietly, “I’m getting too old for this shit. I could use the money before some health problems force me to retire before my time.”

I was stunned. It never occurred to me that Sami would open up about anything. Her trust in me almost made me tell her I was an assassin. Almost. Okay, I never really came close, but the conversation touched me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, not really knowing what to say.

She shook her head. “Jesus Christ, I’ve said too much already, bitch!” A sad smile tugged at the heavily lined corners of her mouth.

“Did you say something?” I feigned. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

Sami laughed and clapped me on the back. “Shit. Let’s get outta here. I’m sure Lex is waiting for you.”

I looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Aw, fuck. Everyone knows he’s hot for you. Don’t give me any bullshit because you know it too.”

We headed back to camp and I realized Lex and I hadn’t been as cautious as we thought. Oh well. It didn’t really matter in the end.

After the food was gone, everyone started to get ready for bed. Tomorrow would be another challenge and we didn’t want to go down like the other team did. The cameramen never did show up. Maybe they had more to film at the other camp, or perhaps they blended in at the luau for some ill-gotten time off.

Lex and I took a moonlit stroll along the beach. As he held my hand, I thought this couldn’t be more perfect. Well, except for being on the show and having to kill Isaac. . .

He sat down in the sand, pulling me down beside him. “I talked to Isaac and Sami about forming an alliance with us. They both thought it was a good idea.”

A Bombay forming an alliance with her Vic. Now, that had to be a first.

I nodded. “That’s good. What do you think about the other team? Anyone there look like a prospect?”

Lex stared out at the ocean for a moment before responding. “No. They all looked like they were nuts.”

“I’ll agree to that.”

The two of us sat there for a moment, listening to the surf pound the shore. I really liked Lex. I mean really, really liked him. My mind turned to that scene in “From Here to Eternity” where the couple make out, rolling around in the surf. That would be awesome. Of course, then we’d be covered in seaweed, choking on saltwater and digging sand out of various crevices for days. I guess it didn’t sound that romantic when you put it that way.

“Any guesses on tomorrow’s challenge?” I steered the subject clear.

“I don’t know. Could be anything really. These guys don’t seem to have a clue. For all we know we could be playing shuffleboard at the resort.”

I scratched the side of my nose. “That would suck. I’m no good at shuffleboard.”

“What are you good at?”

I thought about that for a moment. I mean, there’s only so much I could tell him. I’m great at killing people using nothing more than a rectal thermometer and sunflower seeds – that would probably be more than Lex wanted to know.

“I’m good at thinking outside the box,” I answered truthfully. Technically I wasn’t lying.

“Yes, I’ve seen some of your work.” He laughed. “Is that what you are passionate about?”

“What do you mean?” What did he mean?

“Well, is that what you’ve always wanted to do – invent stuff? Fit a square peg into a round hole?”

“Actually, I can do that. And yes, I guess it is my passion.” It surprised me that I’d never really thought about it before. Being creative and inventing things were just in my blood. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Lex said, “You look confused.”

“No. Not really,” I lied. “I guess I just never had a dream about doing one big thing. I just love inventing.”

He looked at me for a moment. “There isn’t something you’d like to do with your talents? Invent the perfect mousetrap?”

I laughed uneasily. “I guess not.” It always bothered me a little that my inventions would go unrecognized by the world due to the highly secretive nature of the Bombay family business, but I wasn’t about to say that. “What about you? Any lofty goals for your life?”

Lex shook his head. “I don’t have it all together like you. Maybe I never will. My biggest goal would probably be just to find happiness. That’s all that really seems to matter.”

Damn, he had me there. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted in life? Sure, some people wanted fame and fortune. But this gorgeous hunk of man just wanted to be happy. How cool was that?

“There is one thing we both seem to be good at.” He grinned and leaned toward me.

My lips met his and oooh la la! As Lex’s arms slid around me I chastised myself for going all these years without a man. I’d been around a little since Rudy died, but it wasn’t nearly as good as this.

My hands were just sliding up his nice, muscular arms when we heard shouting down the beach.

I wanted to ignore it until I recognized the word, ‘help’ being screamed over and over. Lex and I jumped up and ran down the beach toward camp.

Imagine our surprise when we found our shelter in flames. Sami tossed water onto the fire while Silas and Isaac were trying to beat it out with giant leaves. I snatched up a couple of empty coconut halves and raced toward the sea while Lex joined the other men. For a moment I realized that Cricket was nowhere to be seen.

We worked silently for what seemed like hours as Sami and I ran back and forth with water and the men stamped out the remaining embers. Our shelter was reduced to ashes.

“What happened?” I asked when I suddenly realized I didn’t know.

“No fucking clue,” Sami began. “I went into the jungle to take a piss and I came back to see Silas and Isaac trying to put the fire out.”

Lex and I turned to the other men.

Silas shrugged. “I don’t know either. We didn’t have a campfire tonight cuz of all the food we got. I was collecting fruit and saw the smoke. Isaac showed up a few seconds after me.”

Isaac nodded but didn’t add anything.

“Where’s Cricket?” I asked.

Everyone shrugged. Lex examined the charred remains of our site. It was too dark to determine what caused the fire and I was more concerned with our missing team member.

“We can figure this out later. Right now, we should find Cricket,” I pressed, startled that I found myself so concerned about her.

We started combing the beach, shouting for our missing teammate. Nothing. It was far too dark to enter the jungle alone with no light. I was getting a little worried.

Lex pulled out the emergency walkie-talkie Julie had given us on our first day at camp. He was just turning it on when who should walk out of the foliage but our little wayward camp counselor.

“Where the hell have you been, bitch?” Sami shouted. I thought I detected more concern than contempt in her raspy voice.

“What?” Cricket said a little defensively. “I was out getting mangos for breakfast.”

That would’ve been a reasonable explanation, were it not for the fact that she had no mangos whatsoever.

“How do we know she didn’t start the fire?” Silas squinted at her suspiciously.

“What fire?” Cricket squeaked.

“How did you find your way through the jungle without any light?” Isaac asked. I thought it was a pretty good question.

“What’s your problem?” she asked. “I told you where I was – what I was doing. I didn’t start any fire.” Her eyes trailed the length of camp and stopped on the charred shelter.

“What happened?” Cricket made a slight movement with her right hand – it looked like she pocketed something she didn’t want us to see. Then she ran over to what remained of our sleeping area.

“Alright,” Lex started, “let’s just calm down. We don’t know that she’s not telling the truth and we don’t know how the fire got started.”

Isaac nodded. “And we won’t know until morning light. Let’s just give everyone the benefit of the doubt and try to get some sleep for the challenge tomorrow.”

The others nodded grudgingly and we silently dug our own spots in the sand. Silas was snoring within seconds, but I had a feeling that everyone else was awake, listening for. . .what exactly?

“I don’t want you to get cold,” Lex’s voice purred in my ear as he settled in next to me. As his arm slid over me, I could feel my temperature rise a few notches. As I heard his breathing slow down to sleep-tempo, my mind wandered.

What happened here? Did someone deliberately start the fire? If it was an accident I was pretty sure one of my teammates would own up to it. And where was Cricket? How did she maneuver through the pitch-black jungle? And what was she concealing in her pocket that she didn’t want us to see?

My brain repeated these questions over and over until I realized that someone was moving around the camp. Very gently, I lifted my head and looked around. A dark shadow was moving against the canopy of trees. I couldn’t make out who it was, and I was pretty sure whoever didn’t want anyone to know what it was doing. Slowly I turned my head to see where the rest of my teammates were sleeping. I just barely made out the dark clumps of bodies, but had no idea who was up and around. One, two, three...yup. The shadow was one of us.

Lex rolled onto his back and I lay down with my head on his shoulder. It was probably just someone going to use the bathroom. Or maybe one of my team was trying to solve the mystery. After a couple of shuffling noises, the sounds ended. Whoever it was had gone to sleep.

The urge to jump to my feet was doused by the realization I might be overreacting. Everyone had to get up sometime in the night for the bathroom. What was I going to do? Tie them up one by one and force them to confess under the threat torture? All I had on me was the bracelet and fire. No, that was too Spanish Inquisition. All I really needed was some water, a coconut shell and some copper wire. . .

This train of thought was going nowhere. The fact was that we didn’t know what had happened. In order to stay in the game to do my job, I had to keep my teammates happy. And I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be happy with me if I was grilling them about their latrine usage. I needed more evidence, so I turned off my inner Nancy Drew and tried to get some rest.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Joel: If you don't understand it, shoot it.

- Mystery Science Theater 3000

My eyes popped open at daylight. I have this weird inner alarm clock that goes off when I need something. In my imagination, it’s a Raggedy Ann clock that says, “wake up, wake up you sleepy head – it’s time to start our day.” I don’t know why it’s Raggedy Ann. I never liked her. Something about those red and white striped socks seemed creepy.

I sat up and looked around. Everyone was still asleep. I stood up slowly and moved quietly to the burned out shelter to see what I could find.

At first glance, everything seemed to be normal. I mean, a fire like that wasn’t exactly normal, but nothing looked out of place. I couldn’t smell any accelerant, like gasoline. There was no trace of foul play. Maybe it really was an accident.

Glancing over at my slumbering team, I thought I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye. I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the floor of the shelter. Half-buried in the sand was a smooth, black oval. It took me two sticks to reach it and I managed to drag it out from under the ruins and slip it into my pocket as Silas woke up.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

I nodded. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, right.” Silas stood and tottered off toward the jungle.

As soon as he was out of sight, I pulled the object out of my pocket. It was a cigarette lighter. Where had that come from? It certainly implied that the fire had been deliberately set. Buy why? Who? It really bothered me that I didn’t know. Especially since I was the past president of the Nancy Drew Fan Club. Of course, that was back in 1975, but it still counts and I still had the ID card in my wallet.

Sami rose next, winked at me then headed off into the jungle. It was that time of day when everyone had to turn the jungle into a latrine. I followed her with my eyes. Sami was a likely candidate. I was convinced she was a smoker. Maybe she smuggled some cigarettes and the lighter onto the show? I could just picture her sitting on the corner of the shelter, lighting a smoke and dropping it as someone came into view.

But why wouldn’t she admit it? We all had contraband the night before so it wasn’t like we were going to geek out and turn people in.

Duh! Of course she wouldn’t want anyone to know! She might think it could get her voted off somehow.

Isaac and Lex woke up simultaneously. In a few minutes they had snatched up the spear to fetch fish for breakfast. Sami and I went in search of coconuts and fruit. Silas hadn’t come back and Cricket was still asleep. As I climbed the tree to collect mangos, I toyed with the idea of handing Sami the lighter. For some reason, I just couldn’t do it.

Cricket finally woke up and Silas returned to find fish sizzling over a fire. Our perky little camper didn’t say a word about where she’d been the night before. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. Maybe we’d come down too hard on her.

“Well,” Isaac stood and stretched. “I guess we’d better get started on another shelter.”

Sami nodded. “I am itching from all that damned sand.”

Lex and I wandered off to find what we needed for a new shelter.

“What a team. How did I end up here?”

“They aren’t so bad. I think it would be worse to be on Inuit.”

“Are you serious? Between Cricket the camp counselor and Silas the Civil War re-enactor we’re doomed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. At least we have someone to lead a suicide charge should we find ourselves in combat.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And if one of the challenges involves knots, Cricket can probably lead us through it with a song.”

“Well, I was feeling better.”

“Didn’t you ever go to summer camp as a kid?”

I wondered how much to tell him. The Bombays do their own kind of camping. Capture the Flag usually ends rather badly, and our songs sound more like bloodthirsty military cadences.

“Nope. And from being around Cricket I can tell I really missed out.”

“Well, I went to camp. And it wasn’t that bad.”

You know, it was kind of cute how he stuck up for everybody. But I didn’t have time for this.

“There’s some brush over there.” I pointed and he grabbed it. “How about re-enacting bloody carnage? Ever do that?”

“I was a stuntman in Hollywood for years. It was my job to make the guys who got hit by cannon fire fly through the air and not get hurt.”

“Silas wouldn’t like that. He seems like the type who’d love to get sun poisoning by playing dead on a battle field all day.”

“I worked with some re-enactors on a period piece once. They drove me nuts with their demands for authenticity. I eventually had to replace them with actors. They called them Farbs – people who don’t follow the tradition to a tee.”

“What didn’t they approve of?”

“We had pads for the actors to land on so they wouldn’t get hurt. And they were pissed off because the boots all fit. No one got any blisters – and that is some kind of badge of honor with them.”

“Did you work on any movies where you kill off camp counselors?” I asked hopefully.

“No. I didn’t do the Friday the 13th stuff. I worked on some television programs but mostly action flicks.”

“Anything I’d have seen?”

I listened as Lex listed a string of movies from the early 1990s.

“Are you serious? Bad Blood is one of my favorite films! Your explosions were top notch! How did you manage to make that water tower blow?” He was hitting on my territory now.

“Mostly c4. You like explosions?”

Do I! How could I phrase it without sounding like the Unabomber? “I guess I can really appreciate a good bombing scene. Most of them are so unrealistic.”

Lex nodded. “Now everything is done on computer. Very little is real these days.”

I sighed in agreement. We were almost back to camp.

Lex put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s give Cricket and Silas a chance. If they blow it, I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong.”

My knees went a little weak. He was far more mature than I was. And he was right. Getting along with everyone was crucial to doing my job. Gorgeous, compassionate, responsible and he liked to blow things up. I was definitely in trouble.

We had just gotten back when Julie came out of the jungle, clipboard in hand. She surveyed the burned remains and looked at us.

“Have a little trouble last night?” She didn’t wait for us to reply. “I hope Bert and Ernie got it on tape.” Huh. She didn’t ask if anyone got hurt. Bitch.

Her eyes rested on me and it occurred to me that Julie wasn’t my number one fan. I shuffled my feet trying to buy time. I didn’t want to rat out our camera crew. If I told her they were AWOL last night, she’d probably shove them up our asses for the rest of the time.

“Yup. They got it.” I decided aloud.

I noticed the rest of the team staring at me. “We screwed up and accidentally caught our shelter on fire. Silly us!”

No one else spoke. Apparently, they thought I should run with this alone.

“Well,” Julie scowled. “I’m glad to hear they’re finally doing their jobs.” She squinted down the length of the beach. “Where are they now?”

“Oh,” Sami said, “they needed to get some more batteries or some shit like that.”

“Yeah.” Cricket added.

“Fine.” Julie looked at her clipboard. “We have the first challenge this morning, followed by the immunity challenge and Tribal Council.” She was reading as if she was our cruise director. Julie, the Cruise Director. Ooh! Lex could be Gopher.

“When this morning?” Cricket asked, her head cocked to one side. Suspicion reared up when I saw her and I suppressed it. There was no evidence she had done anything wrong. Maybe sneaky but not wrong.

“Now,” Julie said a little too angrily. “We’re heading there now.”

“Wait a minute,” Silas interrupted. “We have two challenges in the same day?” Apparently, he was the only one smart enough to catch that.

“Yes, that’s right.” Julie nodded.

We all began to protest at once and Julie threw her hands up in the air.

“Look! There will be no argument on this! Let’s go!”

Everyone followed her down the beach. It was hard to see where this was all going. Two challenges and a Tribal Council in the same day? What the hell was going on? Were we shortening our stay? I wasn’t ready to take care of Isaac yet. In fact, I didn’t want to take care of him at all.

A looming sense of panic bloomed in my stomach. I was running out of time and options. I prayed Monty and Jack would have something for me soon.

“Any ideas about the fire?” Isaac whispered to Lex and me as we lagged behind the rest of the group.

I pulled the lighter from my pocket. “I found this.”

Lex took it from me and after examining it – handed it to Isaac.

“Do you think maybe it came from the camera crew?” Isaac asked. Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Where was it?” Lex asked.

I told them where I found it but kept my suspicion of Sami to myself. She was part of our alliance and I didn’t want them to vote her off should we lose our immunity challenge.

“It was probably just an accident,” Lex mused.

Isaac nodded. “We’re just getting paranoid. We really need to focus. Two challenges in one day is a lot.”

His words died off when we realized we were suddenly in the middle of the Inuit camp. They were only located about five minutes down the beach! Was this whole show being planned by monkeys? That made me think about monkeys in suits and I shuddered.

Now, when I said “camp,” I was using the word very loosely. This team never built a shelter and barely had a working fire pit. Where did they sleep? It looked like they just crashed in the sand – just like we had last night. Yeesh.

Julie collected the Inuit members and we took off, heading further down the beach. The other tribe said nothing. Actually, they looked incapable of thought. I wasn’t certain they’d eaten anything since we got there. They appeared to be too weak to take on one challenge, let alone two in the same day.

The other members of my team looked just as shocked as I did. Sure, you wanted to beat out everyone else for the money – but you didn’t want them to die of starvation and exhaustion in the process. Liliana looked thin and tired. I was worried about her the most. What was happening to these people? They really weren’t going to survive at this rate.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Helen: Gort! Klaatu barada nikto!

- The Day The Earth Stood Still

Julie stopped suddenly, causing us all to crash into her like the Keystone cops. She, of course, didn’t fall over. Evil never does.

“Hello.” Alan stood on the beach, waving his arms to reveal nothing around him.

Where was the challenge course? This couldn’t be it. . .could it?

“Welcome to your reward challenge.” Alan intoned.

We looked around us. There was nothing but sand and surf. How in the hell could this be it?

“As you now know, we have two challenges today. This one is for reward. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

No one nodded. No one did anything. Alan ignored us dramatically.

“Bavarian Beer!”

Julie grunted as she dragged a keg of Beck’s out of the jungle.

Absolutely everyone cheered. Being drunk was a much better option than being sober in this situation. And the beer we’d had the other night was warm and flat by the time we got back to camp.

“Real German brew,” Alan continued. “This stuff has the highest alcohol content possible. And the keg is completely chilled – so it should stay ice-cold all day.”

I started drooling at the mention of ice-cold. I hadn’t had anything ice cold (except the cold shoulder from Julie) since we left Canada.

Jimmy, Bert & Ernie stumbled out of the jungle. But where was the other camera crew? In fact, our three boys looked pretty bad. Big party last night, perhaps? That would explain their absence last night and this morning.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Alan pointed at each team. “You are going to play charades. Each team member will act out the item listed on their card. The first team to guess all six answers wins the beer.”

Charades? On a reality show? Seriously? In my mind’s eye I now saw the aforementioned monkeys screaming with glee.

Julie separated the two teams and we were asked to select our first player. No one volunteered. I guess we all thought we sucked at this stupid game. Inuit chose Liliana. This was going to get really interesting.

“I’ll do it!” Cricket chirped a little too eagerly. We nodded our assent and she jumped up and stood in front of us. Julie started the stopwatch.

“Go!” Alan shouted.

Cricket nearly mauled Julie for the card and squinted at the writing. Suddenly, she leaped forward, eyes open wide, wiggling her arms and prancing about in circles in front of us.

I had no idea where to begin. Was there even a theme to this?

“A jellyfish with epileptic seizures?” I guessed.

“Jesus, bitch!” Sami shouted. “Are you wiggling your arms or flapping the goddamned things?”

Cricket frowned and I even thought I saw her middle finger go up briefly. She went back to her galloping spasms.

“Johnny Reb with a bullet in the heart?” Silas asked. Wow. How did he come up with that? Maybe everything looked like a civil war reference to him.

“A butterfly!” Isaac called out – bringing my thoughts back to the present.

“A parrot?” Lex asked.

I really wanted that beer. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the hell she was. I looked over at Inuit and saw Lilliana making some similar movements. Hers made sense.

“She looks like a hummingbird,” I said quietly.

“That’s it! Ottawa wins the first guess.” Julie forced a grin.

That’s weird. I was just looking at the other team and. . .oh my god! They gave us all the same cards! How completely stupid were they? The monkeys in suits did backflips in my head.

I jumped up and took my card. My mind was still reeling from the fact that both teams had the exact same clues. A few yards away, Kit was getting her card. Damn. I didn’t have much time.

The card said I was a volcano. Okay – so there was a theme. I couldn’t tell my teammates that or let them know if they didn’t figure it out by looking at our team to look at the other team.

So, I erupted. Well, as a volcano, that is. Never the one who excelled at party games, I gave it my best shot. After making what I thought looked like a pointy mountain over my head, I crouched down and then kind of shot upwards, flinging my arms open at the top. I even threw in this kind of jazzy move where my arms slithered down like hot lava. I was pretty proud of myself.

Of course, I faced five completely blank faces. So I did it again. Nothing. Not even a guess from Ottawa. Obviously they couldn’t figure out my genius.

I glanced over at Kit. Apparently her team hadn’t yet figured out that we had the same clues and she didn’t know any other way to portray a volcano than I did.

Completely exasperated, I simply made the “v” sign with the first two fingers of my hand.

“Volcano!” Lex shouted.

I smiled at him. What a great guy! As I took my seat and Silas stood up, I whispered what I knew to everyone else. From the shock on their faces, I guessed they couldn’t believe it either. We were just starting to discuss it when Alan shouted out that Inuit got the suggestion. There were now two points for Ottawa and one for the other team. Silas glowered as he sat down, probably because we hadn’t paid any attention to him.

Sami stood up and took the card from Julie. She looked pissed when she read it. So, she turned to look at Brick/Norman to see how he was faring.

Sami got our attention and pointed at the other team. Brick was sliding forward, then back in a weird flowing motion.

Isaac yelled, “The tides! The sea tides.”

Sami grinned and rejoined us, slapping him on the back.

“Wait! That’s not fair!” Julie shouted, her face turning red. “They guessed what the other team was doing. Sami didn’t play, just pointed to Brick!”

Alan looked from us to Inuit and back again. “Well, they did get it right.”

Brick and his teammates looked stunned. I guess they just now realized what we’d known all along.

“I say we give the point to Inuit!” Julie snapped, winning her no favors with us.

“Hey! It’s not our fault you’re too fucking stupid to give each team separate suggestions!” Sami got right up in her face. “We won. We played by your rules and I motioned. Isaac guessed it. Our point.”

Julie took a step back. Maybe she realized that Sami would beat the shit out of her. I had no doubt about it, myself.

“Ottawa wins the point. Let’s continue,” Alan answered.

Isaac rose to take his card for the next round. Julie gave Moe his card but held on to ours.

“Knock it off, Julie,” Alan said when he saw what was happening. But Julie started running in circles, keeping the card out of Isaac’s hands. Inuit was working hard on guessing Moe’s word. He looked like a beached whale, lying on his side in the sand.

By now, Alan had joined in and both he and Isaac were chasing Julie around the beach for the card. The guesses were coming fast and furious from Inuit. We didn’t have much time.

I stood up as Julie ran toward me and clotheslined her in the throat with my extended arm. She dropped to the ground and I stood on her neck until she released the card to Isaac.

Moe was now on his arms, dragging his body across the beach. Isaac hung his arms in front of him and loosely made a clapping motion.

“A sea lion!” Cricket said.

I pulled Julie up to her feet and dusted the sand off her. She clung to her clipboard as if it would save her life.

“Four out of six answers right!” Alan smiled at Julie. “Ottawa wins!”

Julie snapped her clipboard in half and marched off into the jungle.

“Ottawa, you win reward. But there is a twist. You have only two hours to drain this keg before the immunity challenge. If it isn’t completely empty before the challenge – you lose automatically. The losing team votes a member off, tonight.”

Oooh. That was bad.

“Whatever, dumbass.” Sami was already dragging the keg back toward our camp. Isaac and Lex jumped in and soon the three of them were practically running across the beach.

Lex tapped the keg with a speed I felt might have broken the laws of physics, and within minutes we were gulping down the frothy brew. No one spoke. I was actually afraid that someone from the resort would show up and take it away from us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Alan had swiped it from some vacationing Berliners.

“Mmmmm. . .” I groaned in delight after polishing off another coconut husk of beer. It felt so good going down. We just lay there in the sand, nursing that keg.

Sami filled her fifth mug of beer without any obvious effects of drunkenness. Maybe we could pull this off after all.

Cricket vomited for the third time. Okay. Maybe not. But Lex was doing okay. Isaac seemed a little bombed. Silas passed out after his third.

My buzz was kicking in. This beer was seriously potent. I nursed another mug as I watched Sami go for her eighth. Again, she had an amazing tolerance.

I looked down at the stopwatch Julie had left behind. Only an hour to go and we still had half a keg.

“Maybe we should give up.” Cricket hiccupped.

“How mush had you have?” I mumbled. Okay, so I was more than a little buzzed.

“Oh,” she thought for a few moments, then turned back to me. “Did you shay something?”

“I think we should take a break,” Lex said. “Some of you need to throw up to get this out of your system.”

Oh yeah! He was a barfender. I pictured him in a g-string.

“Especially you.” Two Lexes quivered in front of me as they took the huskkkk out of my fands. Blahhhhchhhh.

“I’m good.” Sami poured herself another one.

Lex led me off down the beach a little ways. I jammed my finger into my throat and puked into the surf. We stumbled back to the rest of them.

Sami, Isaac and Lex continued working on the keg while Cricket, the unconscious Silas and I watched. I plopped backward into the sand and stared up at the clouds, which resembled monkeys in suits for some reason.

“Missi?” I heard a voice murmur in my ear.

My eyes opened to see Lex, a little less blurry and only one of him, standing next to me.

“It’s time to go,” he continued.

I stumbled to my feet as saw that Sami and Isaac were carrying Silas. Cricket just looked green.

“Ish the keg gone?” I asked his lovely blue eyes.

“Yup.”

Jimmy the cameraman grinned and seemed to have sprouted two heads. Bert and Ernie looked more like the Muppets than themselves. How much did I drink?

We followed the crew into the jungle. Thank god it was a short trip or we wouldn’t have made it. Every single one of us was bombed. Even Sami couldn’t walk straight.

“This is a twisted show,” I complained as Lex walked into a tree.

We came into a clearing with an extremely complicated obstacle course. Oh shit.

The Inuit team took one look at us and smiled. Things were looking up for them. I for one, desperately had to pee.

“Ottawa!” Alan shouted, making us all flinch with pain. “You have to sit one person out. Who will it be?”

Silas answered by passing out, face down in the sand.

“I guess it will be Silas,” I said.

Alan explained the course in some dialect of the Tagalog language, while we struggled to stay upright. I have no idea what he said. I’ve never been to France. Wait. They speak French there. Tagalog is something else. It begins with an fffff. Phillippiano?

They led us to a raised platform where we would begin the course. The stairs were particularly challenging. Alan shouted and we began.

Sami took one step on the balance beam and fell off into the sand below. She didn’t move. Neither did we. If she was dead, we didn’t want to take any chances.

So, we watched as the Inuit team won their first challenge. It was nice to see them jumping up and down together with glee. I was happy for them. And I wanted a nap, a toothbrush, and complete darkness.

Somehow we made it back to camp. It hadn’t really hit us that we had to vote someone off in a few hours, just that the banging of the surf on the sand stop making so much noise. I lay down, pressing my forehead against the cold, aluminum keg. It felt wonderful. The rest of me felt like shit.

At that moment, an annoying little voice in my soggy brain told me there was something wrong. That’s weird. I was usually pretty good about sizing up a situation. Figurative alarm bells were going off and I had no idea why.

Sitting up, I looked at my teammates – all passed out in the sand around me. No one else seemed concerned. I tried to ignore the nagging intuition, but there was no use. Bombays rely heavily on instincts. When you feel that something is wrong, chances are it is.

But what in the hell was it? I leaned against the cold steel keg, my head throbbing. Maybe my senses were overreacting. I mean, it’s not like that hasn’t happened before. Like the time in the pool on Santa Muerta with the sharks. Oh. Wait. There really had been sharks in the pool.

“Get up!” I shouted as I jumped to my feet. No one responded.

“Get up! Now!” I yelled louder, and then grabbed my head as it ached.

Lex leaned up on an elbow. “Missi, can’t you just let everyone die in peace?”

The alarm in my brain was getting louder. Something very bad was going to happen. I kicked, pushed and dragged my teammates toward the jungle. I didn’t know why – a fact that they didn’t seem to appreciate. I had just pushed Isaac into the trees when the keg I’d been leaning against exploded and shot up into the sky.

We all watched as what was left of the smoking metal crashed to the sand. After a few minutes, we emerged from the trees to inspect the bomb that had been in our midst (and inconveniently pressed to my forehead earlier).

“Holy fucking shit!” To my surprise, that came from Silas, not Sami.

I took two of the discarded coconut shells and gingerly turned over the twisted metal. A small, smoldering lump was attached to one side. C4. Somebody tried to kill us using the old “bomb in the keg” trick. This was far more serious than sabotage.

Isaac raced to the resort and found the crew. Bert and Ernie were more than happy to have something to film. . .an enthusiasm I found slightly creepy. Alan contacted the police, and we all sobered up quickly during the interrogation. By the time they left with the twisted wreckage of the keg, our hangovers had turned into exhaustion. Lex talked me into trying to get some sleep.

“I’ll take the watch,” he said.

I looked at him sharply. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

He shook his head. “Most likely someone just wanted to scare us.” I couldn’t tell if he was lying to make me feel better. Eventually I succumbed to sleep, my head in his lap, grateful for his presence.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Spartans! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty . . . for tonight, we dine in hell!”

- King Leonidas, 300

I came to as dusk settled on the beach. My head was pounding, my mouth felt like I’d eaten a monkey – fur and all- and I noticed that half my team was asleep out in the sand. I never did well with hangovers, being a lightweight and all. Even though I was sober didn’t mean I didn’t feel awful.

“Missi!” Isaac whispered and I crawled over to where he and Lex were sitting with a bunch of bananas and a couple of coconut halves filled with water. I drank and ate like I’d never had food and water before.

“We’re trying to decide whether to vote off Cricket or Silas tonight,” Isaac murmured. We quickly looked over our shoulders to see Sami, Cricket and Silas still out.

Oh. Right. In spite of the explosion, we still had a game to play. And we still had Tribal Council coming up that night.

“I was thinking we should vote off Cricket.” Lex put his hand on the back of my neck and began to massage. I started to melt.

“But what about Silas?” Isaac pressed. “He’s just as bad as she is. They are both moody, surly and awkward during the challenges.”

Yeesh. I had no ideas for them. “We could pull what Inuit tried yesterday?” I suggested.

Lex shook his head. “No. They’ll be ready for that.”

“But I don’t want to vote anyone off!” I was getting a little whiny.

“Neither do we, but something has to be done.”

Isaac was right. We’d all signed contracts agreeing to play the game as it was. There was no getting out of it.

“Fine. I vote for Cricket then. Silas at least pulls his weight around camp and we can use him in the physical challenges.”

Lex nodded solemnly. “I’ll wake Sami and tell her.”

I felt like shit. I didn’t want Cricket to go home. She had been pretty helpful during the ropes course challenge. But she was also conveniently missing when the shelter caught fire. If she were the saboteur, it would be good to get rid of her. And if she weren’t, at least she’d be safe at the resort. Either way, voting someone off was a bad situation. The beer was wearing off and my tongue was starting to shed, but I still felt awful.

Silas came to and skittered over to me, taking a banana.

“So.” He peeled the fruit slowly and popped it into his mouth. “Who’s it gonna be?”

I didn’t have the heart to mess around. “You are staying. Cricket is going.”

Silas looked at me quietly for a moment. He’d never really spoken to me before. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.

“Okay,” he said. “How much time have we got?”

Isaac spoke up, “Not long. They should be here any minute to take us to Tribal.”

I wandered off into the trees to clear my head. Birds shrieked, snakes slithered and monkeys chattered – all amplified by my alcohol-addled brain. Within a few minutes I found Monty and Jack’s tree – at least the tree I usually saw them in.

“Boys!” I managed a stage whisper, then looked around uneasily.

“Hi, Mom.” Jackson unfolded himself upside down like a giant, red-headed bat. Monty was hanging next to him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have toothbrushes, would you?” I asked hopefully.

Monty laughed and handed me a bag. Inside were six toothbrushes and toothpaste, six sticks of deodorant and a bottle of aspirin. Damn, I loved those boys.

“We don’t really have any info for you,” Jackson said.

“It’s hard to find out about Isaac. It’s like he doesn’t exist. I’ve found a few references to an Isaac Beckett who worked in Vegas a few years back, but the info is old and a lot of it is sketchy at best. There’s nothing about the kind of work he did, which is weird. It’s like he tried to have all records of him erased,” Monty finished.

“Well, that would fit his M.O.” I tapped my chin. It was very likely a bad guy would be hard to trace. My fingers itched for my special computer equipment. But unless I knew how to power a laptop using a banana, it would be useless. Now lemons, I could work with. I used them to power radios all the time.

“Hold off till we find something on Vic,” Jack said.

“And there’s something else,” Monty added. “I think one of your teammates is sabotaging the show. I saw. . .” He cut off his words, shrinking up into the tree.

“Missi!” Sami was right behind me. I turned slowly with a grin.

“Hey, Sami.” I tried to be nonchalant. Maybe she hadn’t seen the boys.

“What the hell are you doing here? The dumbasses are gonna come and get us soon. You hear about Cricket?”

I interrupted her. “Sami, what do you think about Isaac?”

She looked up with a grin. “Hell, you want to fuck him too? Damn, bitch, you are greedy.”

I shook my head quickly. “No! No, I mean in the game. I don’t think of Isaac like that.” No. More like dead victim, really. Dead victim I was in danger of liking.

“He’s okay. I don’t think the son of a bitch is all as good a poker player as he thinks.”

“What makes you think that?” I didn’t recall any poker games around the camp fire.

“He’s just not good at bluffing. And he has no poker face. You can read his face like an open book. Like the times you’ve given him the cold shoulder you could see he didn’t like it. Like I said, bastard’s got no poker face.”

I smiled. “Oh, and you do?” I felt a little bad that she noticed my avoiding Isaac. But Sami was a different animal altogether and I had yet to figure her out.

Sami stopped what she was doing and gave me a hard look. “Well, I haven’t made it this long as the only female electrician in my union without bluffing.”

It never occurred to me that Sami might have had trouble in her profession. I mean, I worked in a usually male-dominated field with no worries. Of course, I worked alone and only the Bombays knew what I did. And if they gave me any trouble they knew I was a bitch at paybacks.

“How bad is it?” I was curious and I liked Sami.

“I could tell you stories that would make you shit your spleen.”

I didn’t press, mainly because I didn’t want to shit my spleen.

Sami continued anyway. “You know, folks think times have changed, but nothing could be further from the truth. Men are real bastards. They want to be able to say they have a woman working for them, but they treat you like a whore or an idiot.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad.” And you wouldn’t think so, would you? “Do you have any recourse through the union?”

Sami laughed angrily. “The union ignores me. When I complain about sexual harassment, they call me a bitch. When I tell the guys I work with I don’t want to sleep with them they call me a whore. It’s a no-win situation.”

“How do you deal with it?”

Sami grinned. “I call their wives or threaten to tell their daughters how they act. It isn’t a huge threat, but it works.”

I shook my head. “That’s horrible.” Suddenly I wanted to kill male electricians. I was lucky in that I didn’t really work in a sexist environment. Things tend to even up real fast when there’s the chance you can electrocute them with the lawn sprinkler. Actually, the Bombays have been pretty progressive over the centuries. I always suspected that went back to the beginning when the family realized the women were just as deadly as the men (if not more so).

“Yeah, well, dem’s da berries.” Sami stood. “Enough of this whiny shit. Let’s get back.”

As I followed her, I had a newfound respect for the woman. My guess was that very little in her life came easily. While I was impressed that she’d chosen such a male-dominated field, I was even more impressed that she hadn’t cracked. Or maybe she had. Maybe that’s how she ended up here.

The crew was AWOL again, so I doled out the toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant and aspirin to the group. Again, no one questioned me. That was weird. By the time Julie arrived we all smelled better. She looked at us suspiciously, but said nothing.

Each of us grabbed our torches and followed her in the direction of the Blanco Tigre. Even though we had minty fresh breath, we were pretty miserable (and by miserable, I mean hung over). Voting a member off was not something any of us wanted.

And then there was that other matter. The boys said they saw something or someone that looked like the show was being sabotaged. From the mysterious fire, lighter and disappearance of Cricket to the exploding keg fireball, I had too much to think about.

I really didn’t care about the show. Alan and Julie were useless as far as I was concerned. But I was worried about one of the contestants getting hurt.

That concern added to the fact the boys hadn’t been able to dig up anything on Isaac made me very nervous. I wasn’t going to kill him without some real evidence of his wrongdoing.

This whole mess was just going wrong. Well, except for the Lex part. He was smokin’ hot. And he liked me. But I could work on that after the show was over.

As if he read my mind (which made me a little nervous thinking of the fantasies I’ve had about him recently), Lex put his arm around my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, sure. I love screwing over a teammate. I’d do it every day if I could.”

Lex shook his head. “No, I mean after last night. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk about it.”

I nodded. “I’m fine. It just. . .” Just what? Freaked me out? Worried me? What should I say? “I guess I was a little shaken up. I’m okay now.”

“I think it’s pretty amazing that you saved us like that. How did you know the keg was a bomb?” he asked.

“I didn’t. I just had a bad feeling that something was wrong. It was pure gut instinct.” That was true. That and my super-intuitive superpowers.

“Well,” he gave my shoulders a squeeze, “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, Missi.”

I was just about to launch into an “Awwwwwwwww!” moment when that prick Alan spoke.

“Welcome to Tribal Council, Ottawa.” Alan had a torch lit directly under his chin to give him a scary face. How long was my mind wandering? I didn’t even realize I was here. I must try to stop doing that.

“As you know, one of your members goes home tonight. Missi!”

What? Did I do something wrong?

“Missi, what do you think of my little twist on the reward challenge this afternoon?” He smiled. Apparently he felt this was solely his show.

“Well, Alan, I thought it was dangerous of you to insist on alcohol poisoning. Using extremely strong beer and giving six people two hours to drain a whole keg is grounds for a serious lawsuit. My attorney will be in touch.”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit rough, but it was true. And I have to admit there was more than a little satisfaction in watching his face turn purple as I said it.

“Yeah, dumbass!” Sami shouted. “What kind of retards are writing this fucking show anyway? I’m gonna kick your ass when this is over.”

Lex chuckled softly behind me. Isaac winked at Sami and me. Silas was quiet as usual, and Cricket, probably realizing her number was up, said nothing.

“Well . . . um,” Alan tottered. “Let’s get on with the vote. And don’t try to pull what Inuit did last time.”

Julie pointed at me and I walked over to the pad of paper. They were using the hotel stationery again. But the pen said “Happy Joe’s Pizza.” Real authentic. I wrote Cricket’s name down, wincing as I did.

One by one my teammates cast their votes. No one looked happy. It was sad, really.

“I’ll go tally the votes.” Alan retrieved the lidless, clay pot and turned his back on us to hide the fact he was looking at the votes prematurely. Obviously, he didn’t trust us. And we felt the same way about him.

“The first vote is for Cricket.” He said as if he hadn’t already read them.

I looked at the camp counselor but her face was impassive. She was holding up pretty well each time Alan read her name.

“And the last and final vote is for . . . Cricket?” He looked at all the tallies then looked at her. “You voted yourself off?”

Damn. Wish I’d thought of that. Here I’d been feeling sorry for Cricket and she wanted to go! In spite of my hangover, I felt a little better.

“You can’t vote yourself off! You’re supposed to want to stay!” Alan threw his hands up. Clearly the game wasn’t being played the way he wanted it to. “What is wrong with you people?”

Cricket grabbed her torch and walked up to Alan, who stood there ranting and raving while she waited. After a few moments, she grabbed his snuffer and snuffed out her own torch.

“Me,” she said. “The tribe has spoken.” And then she walked off to the resort, leaving a stunned Julie to follow in her wake.

“Right. We’re done. Off you go.” Alan waved us away and we walked unescorted back to camp.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.”

- Mark Twain

“Man, this game is fucked up!” Sami said with a smile once we got back. Bert and Ernie hung with us, but they didn’t have their cameras on.

“Hey! Where were you guys last night? Not that we mind or anything. And where’s Jimmy?” Isaac asked.

Bert and Ernie shrugged. It was clear they weren’t going to answer. I had no idea why they were even here.

Lex and Silas built a nice fire and we opened up a few coconuts. Not a big feast, but the taste of Bavarian brew still lingered in my brain.

“How come you motherfuckers aren’t filming us?” Sami asked Ernie point-blank.

“Nothing’s really happening,” said Bert.

“Okay,” I began, “do you have any idea why we had to run through two challenges in one day?”

“We’re going over budget,” Ernie said. “Looks like we’ll be shaving a few days off the schedule.”

Isaac asked the question on our minds. “How in the hell did you go over budget? You aren’t overspending on the challenges. Charades costs nothing. And the rewards are lame.”

“Yeah!” Sami kicked in. “Where’s the money going?”

“Well,” Ernie squinted as if he didn’t completely trust us. “Alan’s using the Presidential Suite at the Tigre and running up huge bills with all the liquor and prostitutes.”

We just kind of looked at each other. Poor Inuit was starving to death and Alan was paying women to have sex?

“And then there’s his Hummer (I assumed they meant his vehicle), his driver, his daily hot stones massage. . .”

“I don’t think I can take much more of this. Please stop.” I begged. Picturing Alan naked with prostitutes was bad enough.

I told the group I needed to find coconuts and headed down the beach. Lex caught up with me.

“So, do you still think we made the right decision on our alliance?”

“Yeah. Sami is kind of a go-to guy, and Isaac seems okay.” Oh yeah, and I need him in my alliance so I can maybe kill him later. I thought I’d leave that part out.

Lex looked at me for a moment. “Something’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s not.” Yes, it is. “Aside from being on the world’s silliest reality show, hosted by a narcissist on a beach near a resort, I’m fine.”

“You just seem a little distracted.”

“You don’t know me very well. According to my family, I always seem a little distracted.” And I usually am when I’m about to kill someone. That’s just par for the course.

“All right.” Lex seemed to drop the issue. In all honesty, I was flattered that he was concerned about me. On the other hand, if he could read me like a book that would be a problem.”

“Changing the subject,” I fumbled for a segue, “what does a stunt man like to do for fun?”

He smiled. “You mean like on a date?”

I could feel all heat flushing to my skin as I floundered, “N-no! I mean, for fun. Leisure stuff.” I ended with a nervous giggle and hiccup. Real smooth.

“You’d be disappointed. I’m a pretty laidback guy. I like reading, going to movies, quiet dinners.”

All date things! “By yourself?” Gak! Why did I ask that?

“That’s how it turns out most of the time. How about you?”

“Well, pretty much the same, really. I’m kind of boring that way.” What was I doing? “I mean, not that I’m saying you’re boring! I’m sure you aren’t! I mean...”

Lex brushed my hair out of my face. “It’s okay, Missi. I think I understand what you are saying. And I don’t think you are boring either.”

“Okay, do you have any hobbies?” Why did I have to open up that can of worms? I sure as hell didn’t want to answer that question!

“I used to do a lot of sailing when I lived in California. I’d like to get back into that someday, but I’m kind of land-locked right now.”

Distract him! “Um, what did you like about sailing?”

“I love being outside. The sounds of the ocean are very relaxing and I like the rocking of the waves. There’s something very humbling about the whole experience.”

I could relate to that. I loved time to myself. Living on an island there was always someplace I could go to work through my thoughts when I was working on a project. And being the mother of twins made alone time sacrosanct.

“And you? What are your hobbies?”

Oh, you know, killing people in mysterious ways. Confounding CSI. The usual. “I like to knit. And I travel whenever I can. I jog for exercise. Nothing as profound as you.”

Lex smiled. “I think anything we do for ourselves is profound. It’s easy to forget how valuable life is sometimes.”

Damn. He was getting to me. Smart and philosophical too? I couldn’t stand it!

The howler monkeys began hooting it up as dusk settled around us. The fading sunset was spectacular. On Santa Muerta, I usually enjoyed these scenes alone. It was weird to share it with someone. Especially a man like Lex.

“I suppose you even find the howler monkeys soothing?”

He shook his head. “No. And I can’t understand why they aren’t extinct here.”

I laughed. “I’m with you on that one.” The yowling grew louder. “What I wouldn’t give for a blowgun right now.”

“I could make you one,” Lex offered softly. My immediate reaction was Oh yeah? So could I, buddy! But it had been so long since someone offered to invent something for me. Well, no one had ever done that. I was the one everyone came to for ingenuity. It was kind of nice to have someone else do it, so I just nodded.

Lex walked into the jungle a ways and returned with a foot-long piece of bamboo. I watched in amazement for ten minutes as he turned it into the perfect peashooter. Now, I would’ve done it a little differently, but I kept my mouth shut and helped him search the sand for pebbles.

A howler monkey dangled overhead at just the right moment. Lex put a pebble in his mouth and fired through the tube. The monkey howled in protest as he fled the scene. I knew the animal wasn’t hurt, just angry.

I kissed Lex on the cheek, and he pulled back in surprise.

“What do I get that for?”

“Because that is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” It may have sounded dramatic, but it was true. This man was the first person who ever invented something for me. And I thought it was terribly romantic.

We decided to head back and show everyone our new howler monkey deterrent. Isaac, Silas and Sami were sitting around the fire.

Sami sighed as we joined them in mid-conversation. “Those poor bastards over at Inuit. I don’t think they’ve eaten anything but fruit for the past few days.”

I sat up. “I’ve got an idea.” I pointed at the crew. “We’ll let you in on it, providing you don’t show the footage to anyone until the show is wrapped.”

Bert shrugged and Ernie nodded. Clearly loyalty to the show was a small matter to them.

I filled everyone in and they immediately agreed. Well, Silas mostly agreed. He’d apparently had enough of the bullshit.

Bert followed us with the camera as we made our way to the Blanco Tigre. I made my way to the front desk, trying to look like I didn’t just walk off a reality show.

It only took a few moments to book the El Conquistador Guest House. I have the number memorized on my black American Express Card. Once I had officially checked in, I gave Lex and Isaac the thumbs up and they left for the beach. Sami, Silas and Bert followed discreetly behind as the concierge showed me to the cabin. After explaining all the amenities, she left and my three co-conspirators joined me.

“Jesus Christ!” Sami sank into one of the leather-bound easy chairs. “This is more like it!”

Bert grinned. Ernie was most likely at Inuit, filming the arrival of Lex and Isaac as they escorted the tribe here. This was going to be great when they revealed this footage during the editing process. I would give anything to see Julie and Alan’s face in the editing room.

I ordered ten surf and turfs, white wine, and extra towels, fluffy robes, toothbrushes, toothpaste and deodorant. Then I took a quick shower before my guests arrived.

Being independently wealthy has its advantages. With a huge trust fund, I could make this show a little more livable. The Guest House was a smaller version of the hotel, with five bedrooms and five bathrooms. It was completely isolated, and I had it reserved for the whole stay.

Ernie promised he’d get the other camera crew on board (it helped that I’d created a drinking tab on my dime for them for the duration of their stay) and swore that Alan and Julie never left the Tigre at night. The bastards apparently considered it something the peons should do. They also expected us to live by the honor system. I was just coming out of the shower in my fluffy robe when a confused Inuit tribe walked in.

A couple of seconds after that, room service showed up with the robes, towels and toiletries and I sent everyone to shower up before the food arrived.

Lex came up behind me while I poked around the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around me and I could smell Irish Spring soap. That was interesting. I leaned back against him, closing my eyes.

“I think it’s great you’re doing this. But how can you pay for it?” He asked.

“Well, I charged it all to Alan’s room. I guaranteed a thousand dollar tip to the front desk if they kept it off the daily bill until we left.” Now, this wasn’t true, not yet at least. But I didn’t want any questions.

One by one, the rest of the contestants stumbled in, squeaky clean, wearing warm, fluffy robes. There was a knock at the door, and Lex answered it, ushering in three waiters with carts full of lobster and steak.

I warned Inuit to eat lightly so they wouldn’t get sick. No one spoke for a while. I think they were afraid they’d wake up from a dream to a mouthful of sand.

Sami finished first, pushing away from the table, “Now that was fucking fantastic.”

The others nodded and for the first time, some of them smiled.

“Here’s the deal,” I began. “Everyone will have their own key to this house. Eat, drink, sleep, whatever. Just don’t get caught. The cameramen will film us here, but no one will see that footage until this is over and we are safely home.”

I explained that there were five bedrooms with bathrooms, so we need to pair up. Lex and Isaac took one room, Sami and I another. Liliana and Kit, Brick and Dr. Andy, and Silas and Moe took the other rooms.

We sat and talked for a little while. EVERYONE thought this was a good idea. Around ten p.m. I called the front desk for a six a.m. wake-up call and ordered breakfast and suggested we all get some sleep.

“Thank you,” Liliana started, but I shushed her.

“We all decided to do this. Get some sleep. We’ll probably have a challenge in the morning.”

One by one everyone drifted off to a bedroom but me. I wasn’t even tired. And I had some thinking to do.

I poured a vodka tonic and slipped out onto the patio. While I felt good about helping the others and sticking it to Alan and Julie, I still had a lot to worry about.

Somehow I still had this contract on Isaac. And there was the boys’ comment about a saboteur. What if someone got hurt? I really didn’t like the chances the show was taking with our lives. And the thought of sabotage was ugly.

“Can’t sleep?” Lex’s voice came from behind me and I jumped.

“Not yet. Just trying to puzzle things out, I guess.”

He wrapped his arms around me and I leaned against him. Damn, he felt good. I just wanted to melt into his skin until morning.

Lex’s hands stroked up and down my back, igniting a fire I haven’t felt in eighteen years. Ooh, I wanted this man.

“Lex, I. . .” I started to speak but he smothered my lips with his. This man could kiss. And I didn’t get kissed very often. Actually, not since Rudy.

My brain started swirling as his hands slipped under my bathrobe and I remembered that I had no clothes on. I pulled away for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Too fast? It’s just been a long time and I don’t know how. . .”

This time I crushed his lips to mine and slid my hands under his robe. I guess that answered his question and mine. I pulled him to a chaise lounge and within seconds we remembered how this sex thing was supposed to work. It was a quickie, to be sure. But oh man, what a quickie. With a houseful of guests and a jungle full of monkeys and jaguars, I felt like I was kind of in a hurry.

It seemed so simple until he entered me. Then it started to get very complicated. Well, not physically complicated. But my brain seemed to wake up from a coma. I kissed him as he rocked into me and it didn’t take long for me to explode (figuratively for the first time since most of my explosions are actually quite literal).

We lay there in each other’s arms for a long time, staring at the stars (with a cautious eye for jaguars). For some reason, words seemed useless.

“Wow.”

I turned to face him, “Wow?”

“What? Is something wrong with wow?”

“I’d just rather hear something more dramatic, I guess,” I said and he chuckled.

“Missi, I want you to know that it has been a long, long, long time for me. I hope I didn’t force it on you.”

I sat up and turned toward him, closing my robe. “You didn’t. What do you mean it’s been a long time?”

“What? You think I do this all the time? I haven’t made love to a woman in seven years.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Of course I felt like an idiot as soon as I said it. Duh! I think he’d know if he’d done it since.

“Yes, I’m sure. My wife died seven years ago. It’s not something you’d forget.”

“Wow.”

“Wow? Is that all you have to say?” He chucked me under the chin teasingly.

“I’m a widow too. My husband died eighteen years ago. I guess it’s been a long time for me too.”

It occurred to me that this was a strange conversation and probably one we should’ve had before the hot sex. Why hadn’t it come up earlier?

“Surely you haven’t been celibate all this time!” Lex feigned mock horror.

I hit him with a pillow, “No. But my love life is staggeringly dull. Fortunately, my twin, teenage sons keep me busy.” Oops. I didn’t mean to mention that.

Lex leaned back, staring into the inky sky. “Fiona and I never had children. We just kept putting it off for later.”

I leaned against him. For once, my overwhelming motherhood seemed like a blessing.

“I bet you would’ve been a great dad.”

I could feel him smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“What, the nookie or the compliment?” I asked.

He smiled again and kissed my forehead. “Both. Definitely both.”

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted one of the bedroom lights going on. Lex and I scrambled to our feet, kissed briefly then went off to our separate rooms.

Sami snored as I drifted off, thinking about sex, Lex, and the fact that they rhymed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“The greatest happiness is to scatter your enemy, to drive him before you, to see his cities reduced to ashes, to see those who love him shrouded in tears, and to gather into your bosom his wives and daughters.”

- Genghis Khan

The drill worked like a charm. Everyone got up at 6, put their old clothes on, wolfed down breakfast and scrambled toward the beach to our campsites before Julie or the camera crew would arrive. Lex and I grinned goofily at each other the whole time. I felt like there was a balloon in my chest – swelling with helium. It was a very good feeling.

“When do you think they’ll merge us?” Silas asked me as we followed Julie to another challenge.

I was a bit shocked. Silas had never asked me anything.

“I thought you were mad at me.”

His right eyebrow went up. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of the. . .” I looked around to make sure Julie couldn’t hear. “Guest house. Not very authentic.”

Silas nodded. “Yeah. I was mad at first. But this durned show is lame. I don’t really care about that anymore.”

Wow. That was bizarre. Silas actually appeared to be three-dimensional. Maybe it was a good omen.

Howler monkeys screeched as we entered a clearing full of equipment. It was kind of like they were our heralds – you know, like when the king enters the ballroom?

“Today’s challenge is for reward. Tonight, both teams will go to Tribal Council and you will both vote off one member.” Alan intoned.

Oh shit. We were losing two this time? The budget must be dwindling faster than I thought. I looked over at Isaac. He winked and I returned it. With all that was happening, we were becoming close. Hell, he was in my alliance with Lex and Sami. And worse yet, I liked him. My gut was telling me he was a great guy. But my head countered with the fact that despite what Sami thought, Isaac knew how to play a person like a poker hand. Either way, I was definitely running out of time on this job.

“We will put you in teams of two. Each team has to figure out a puzzle. The first team to solve the puzzle gets reward.” Alan grinned. “Want to know what you’re playing for?”

Nobody nodded or said anything. It was obvious to everyone that the rewards were lame when we had a sweet guest house waiting for us back at the Blanco Tigre.

Our host frowned. “The winning team will go marlin fishing this afternoon.”

Open ocean fishing? That was a reward? Who were these people? I didn’t think even Silas would enjoy sweating in a rickety boat in choppy water to catch a huge fish.

“And Missi, you’ll be with Kit. That’s it, take your places!” Julie whined. I realized I hadn’t been paying attention again.

Each team stood in front of a table. They had blended the tribes, and I noticed that Lex was paired with Moe, Liliana with Sami, Isaac and Brick, and Silas was with Dr. Andy. Lex sketched me a wave and I goofily waved back – looking like a complete idiot.

“You may begin,” Alan, the real complete idiot, said.

Kit’s lower lip trembled. And we weren’t even at Tribal Council yet. Two long poles, pointed on one end each, were lying on the ground. A thick, blue piece of rope was draped over the table, labeled “1.” Next to it was a green and yellow piece of rope labeled “2,” and next to that was a red rope labeled “3.” I half-expected to see a bottle that said, “drink me,” and would’ve given a kidney to see a cake labeled “eat me,” but that just wasn’t the case.

Sorry! Where was I? Oh yes. Kit filled me in (because I hadn’t been paying attention – remember?) that somehow, we were supposed to figure out how to use the poles and rope to solve the puzzle.

I was completely lost. Looking around, the other teams had no idea what to do either.

“No one knows what to do. . .” Alan spoke his commentary for the cameras.

Lex tried coiling the ropes around one of the poles to see if a pattern emerged. Nothing. Liliana tried to tie knots in the various ropes and Silas was, I guess, measuring it using the length of his arms.

“Ten minutes in, and no one has got it right,” Alan continued.

I seriously thought about impaling him on the end of one of our poles. That would be fun. Did you know the Bombays were indirect relatives of Vlad the Impaler? According to family lore, he was a real prick – but very good at killing people.

“Dammit Lil!” Sami cursed her partner. “Now we have to untie all those fucking knots!”

Big tears began to roll down Kit’s perfect cheekbones. A crying model. Lucky me.

“Don’t cry,” I started, patting her clumsily on the back. “No one else knows what to do either.”

Of course, I was right. Frustration was running very high on this challenge. For once, the show was doing something tough.

“Twenty minutes and no clue among the players.” Alan was really getting on my nerves. In fact, everything was getting on my nerves. I was so stressed, I. . .

That’s when it hit me.

“Kit, grab your pole and hold it at an angle.”

The other teams weren’t paying attention but I had an idea. Carefully, I made a slipknot out of the blue rope and slid it over the end of the pole. Then I put ten loops on the pole, took the other pole and pushed the pointy end through the first stitch, front to back, wrapped the rope around it and pulled it backwards through the loop, pushing the one on Kit’s pole off. I now had a loop on my pole.

“You’re knitting?” Kit asked, sucking in a deep breath.

“I think so.” I didn’t say anything as I finished off the first row. Damn, this was hard. The poles were huge and hard to control. It took my whole body to make each stitch. I was really, really hoping I wouldn’t have to purl the next row.

“Missi, figuring it out. . .” Alan seemed happy that someone was. I wondered how the other teams were going to manage if they didn’t know how to knit. It hardly seemed fair, and I wasn’t that excited about marlin fishing, but I wanted to see if it worked.

The other teams paid attention, but unless you know how to knit, you were screwed. It appeared that I was the only one. So, they all sat down and watched me struggle with my giant needles. Great. Apparently they didn’t want to go marlin fishing either. And since both tribes were voting someone off, I guess they all figured they really had nothing to lose.

After two more rows, we’d used up the blue yarn and started with the green and yellow. Immediately I could see a pattern starting to merge. I thought about giving up, but now everyone was staring at me, so I couldn’t.

It took me all the way to the color variations in the red rope before I realized I was knitting letters. Kit did nothing but stand there but that was okay. I was completely exhausted as I knitted the last row.

“Missi and Kit win the challenge!” Alan shouted.

Yay us. I looked at the swatch of knitting. It was pretty good work – if I do say so myself.

“OP?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“Open! It’s supposed to say “open!” Alan was turning an interesting shade of red.

Julie started rooting around the other teams’ rope. “It should say that. I wonder if we got the rope mixed up?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because now they know the clue.”

I turned to Alan, “The clue to what?” This game was really pissing me off. I looked at our camera crew. They all three shrugged simultaneously. That looked pretty cool.

“The clue to the hidden immunity idol!” Alan sputtered as it I were four years old.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that?” I asked.

“I did!”

Kit and I looked at each other, then at Julie.

“Um, sorry, Alan,” she said very quietly, “but you must’ve forgotten.”

The host threw up his arms, losing whatever sense we had of him being in charge, and stormed off.

“Okay,” Julie stammered, “I . . . I . . . guess I’ll finish up then. Missi and Kit, for a twist, you get to pick another team to accompany you on the fishing trip.” Her voice grew louder as she realized the boys were taping her. “The rest of you can go back to camp.”

“We want Lex and Moe!” Kit shouted to my complete and utter surprise. Could she read minds? I was going to pick them anyway, but she didn’t even ask me. I didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.

Lex and Moe joined us as the rest of the two tribes tried to hide their glee about going back to camp. If I had to hazard a guess, I knew that the camp wasn’t where they’d end up.

“Just couldn’t stand the thought of doing this without me?” Lex asked with a smile that now had the power to turn my knees into jelly.

To my complete shock, Kit slipped her arm through his, batting her eyelashes. “No! We couldn’t.”

Oh shit.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Nobody will ever win the battle of the sexes. There's too much fraternizing with the enemy.”

- Henry Kissinger

“Oh my god!” Kit giggled, snuggling up to MY boyfriend. “You are sooooo funny!”

I sat there, simmering in the heat, hoping my next cast would accidentally toss her into what I hoped were shark-infested waters.

Lex looked pained as he pulled away for the one millionth time. There was absolutely no privacy on this boat. And for some reason we’d silently made a pact to not mention our budding romance. Now I regretted opening up the beach house to Inuit. Somehow, we’d have to get Kit voted off tonight.

“Hey! I caught something!” Moe shouted.

It was kind of a miracle, because we’d spent three hours already, getting a nasty sunburn and had nothing so much as a nibble. My hopes soared imagining he’d caught a shark I could feed Kit to. . .slowly.

“You know,” Kit said. “These shows really like it if two of the contestants hook up. It makes for a really good drama.”

That’s when I finally noticed how beautiful Kit was. Long, brown hair, blue eyes, long legs. Why didn’t I notice that before?

“Really?” Lex asked, his eyes boring into mine.

“Oh man! It’s huge!” Moe screamed.

“Oh yes.” Kit slid her arm through his for the seventeenth time since the challenge. I know, because I’d been counting. When she got to twenty, I was throwing her overboard – accidentally rendering her unconscious before she hit the water.

“Hey guys! Help me out here!” Moe begged. Rollo, our boat’s captain, stepped forward.

“In fact, it makes for really good ratings.” Kit tried to look thoughtful. “Did you know I’m a model?”

I ground my teeth and pictured killing her.

“I heard that.” Lex looked clearly uncomfortable, but had no way out of the situation. I was trying to figure out if Kit’s interest was real or whether she was trying to form an alliance. I had no proof, but was pretty sure the alliance she was trying to start with Lex had nothing to do with the game.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d liked her initially. Even felt sorry for her. But right now, that bitch was coming on to the first man I’d had sex with in . . . . well, in more than a decade.

“Here it comes!” Moe yelled as he and Rollo landed a huge fish. It flopped violently all over the deck. There wasn’t a lot of room for us to begin with.

Kit let out the fakest scream I ever heard and leaped into Lex’s arms. Poor bastard. He’d had no choice other than to catch her.

“Wow!” Moe stared at the fish and I started to feel a little sorry for him. We should be happy for him. This may be the most successful thing he’s ever done.

Lex kept trying to put Kit down but she scrambled to hang on, feigning fear.

“Good fish.” Rollo slapped Moe on the back.

“Thank God you were here to save me!” Kit cooed to Lex.

I turned my attentions to Moe. It was either that or punch her in the throat – and she wasn’t my Vic. The Bombays kind of frown on making hits without Council approval.

“That’s really cool, Moe.” I smiled at him.

He looked so happy. “Thanks, Missi! I’m so glad you invited me!”

“Well, I didn’t, but I would’ve, had Kit not said it first.”

Moe grinned. Hmmm. Maybe I could influence him to get his tribe to vote off Kit tonight. I turned to Rollo.

“Do you have a camera so he could have a picture with the fish?”

Rollo nodded and pulled a digital camera out of his cargo pocket. I helped Moe hoist the now dead fish up in the air. It was almost as long as me.

“I’ll e-mail it to the show.” Rollo said, after snapping the shot.

Lex managed to escape the Kit-octopus to help the captain put the fish below deck. Kit followed them, going on and on about Lex’s muscles. Yeesh.

The truth was he had very nice definition. Lex was a fine example of a man. This was good for me (who doesn’t want a smoking hot lover?) but bad for me in that the idiot Kit had also noticed him.

“Do you guys know who you’re voting off tonight?” Okay, so I’m not subtle. I only had a few minutes to influence Moe.

He frowned, shaking his head. “I have no idea. Do you?”

I feigned innocence. “Me? No! I don’t even know who I’d vote off in Ottawa.”

Moe looked toward the hatch. “Frankly, I’d like to get rid of Kit. She cries all the time. I just want to smack her.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I guess that would get annoying.”

He nodded. “She and Liliana really hate each other. Kit’s easy on the eyes, but does nothing around camp. Brick and Andy are okay.”

I only had a few minutes to work my magic. “I’m pretty sure after this vote we’ll be merged. If Kit’s bothering you, you should convince the others to get rid of her tonight.”

“Well,” Moe said slowly, “I could do that. But only if you’ll let me into your alliance.”

“Alliance? What alliance?” Did I mention I’m not a good liar?

“With Lex and Sami. I think Isaac’s in too.” Okay, so Moe wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

A high-pitched giggle came from the hatch. I offered Moe my hand.

“You’ve got a deal.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Pray that there’s intelligent life somewhere up above because there’s bugger all down here on earth.”

- Eric Idle, Monty Python Sings

Lex and I dropped Moe and Kit off at their camp. (Kit blew him a kiss. Bitch.)  We were just out of their line of vision when he pulled me off the beach and into the jungle.

“I am so sorry about that,” he began.

“You didn’t look like you were having fun,” I offered.

“No. Not with her.”

“Do you have fun with me?” I pouted a little.

“Most definitely.” Lex pulled me against him and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed back.

“Whoa!” He jerked backwards, rubbing his head.

I squinted into the trees and spotted a flash of red. At our feet was a small mango.

“You know what?” I said. “I think I have to go to the bathroom. You go on ahead to camp and I’ll catch up. Okay?” I really didn’t want him to go, but apparently two twin monkeys did.

“Are you sure?” He rubbed his head. “It seems kind of dangerous out here.”

I grinned. “Oh, it’s just a capuchin monkey. Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, you need to see what the buzz at camp is for who we’re voting off tonight.” I waved him away. “Go on! I’ll be there in a few.”

Lex looked doubtfully up at the trees, then at me. After a few seconds, he left.

“Boys!” I whispered, loudly. “I know you’re there!”

Jack jumped down, followed by Monty. They both stayed out of reach.

“Hey, Mom!” They said simultaneously.

“Stop hitting Lex! If it was a coconut it could have killed him!” It’s true. Did you know that a little, two-pound coconut falling from a high tree can have a landing weight of one ton?

“Okay. Fine.” Jack pouted.

“Did you find anything out about Vic?” I changed the subject. It was hard to be mad at them for too long.

Monty shook his head. “I’m going to try some aliases. There’s a strong chance his name was once Bruce Wayne – which is totally Batman cool. I’ve also found some mentions of him in Interpol files, but a lot of the wording is blacked out.”

“And we still don’t know anything about the sabotage.” Jack piped up. “But it’s a real threat. Alan and Julie have been talking to the police.”

“What? Why? What’s happened?” I felt like I was completely out of the picture.

The twins grinned and I thought for just a moment how I’d like to know where they got their information. This was fleeting, and rational thought took over – aka – I didn’t want to know.

“Someone took out an ad in the local paper claiming they burned down your shelter,” Jack answered.

“And there have been a couple of death threats,” added Monty.

“Rumor has it that the show might be completely shut down. I guess the head honchos at the network are considering it.” Jack said.

That could be good news. I could get off this low-budget mess. Lex and I could get to know each other, shack up for a while. . .

“Is the Council asking questions?”

The boys looked at each other, communicating silently in that twin telepathy of theirs.

“No.” I think they both answered.

“Mom,” Jack began.

“We’re worried about you,” Monty finished.

Jack nodded. “We don’t want you to get hurt.”

I waved them off. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I don’t really care about the saboteur. But I do need to figure out what to do about Isaa...I mean Vic.” The Council has zero tolerance for failure, meaning I could get taken out if I failed to do the job.

“We’re on it!” Jack shouted as they ran off to who-knows-where.

Back at camp, Sami was waiting for me. No one else was there.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Isaac and Lex took Silas on a banana hunt so I could fill you in. Fuck Silas. He’s out.”

“Alright.” It’s what I suspected anyway. But why did I feel so sad?

“Man,” she continued. “I heard about that bitch Kit climbing all over Lex on the boat. What the hell?”

I shook my head. “Well, I made a deal with Moe. He’ll try to get her voted off and we’ll add him to our alliance.”

“Fuckin’ A!” Sami laughed, and started smothering the fire.

I helped her. I was feeling a little stupid for being so petty about Kit. Anger flashed and I remembered how blatant she was. Okay. I didn’t feel too bad.

The men returned, and we sat around talking about the challenge.

“I’m really impressed with what you’ve done here, Missi.” Isaac grinned. Damn. He was trying so hard to become my friend and I was trying to hate him.

“Thanks, Isaac. Just doing my part.”

“Yeah, well, I just wanted you to know you are appreciated.” Isaac gave me a thumbs up and walked away.

“You know,” Lex said, “for someone who wanted him as an ally, you sure act like you’d rather not be on Isaac’s team.”

“Really? I didn’t realize I was giving that impression.”

“Did he do something to make you angry?” Lex asked as he rubbed my thigh. I tried to remain focused.

“No. He’s been fine.”

“So why the cold shoulder?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think I was acting that way!” Okay, so I was a tad defensive. Mostly because I’d been busted. And I hated getting busted.

Lex waved me off. “Okay, okay. Just cut the guy some slack. He’s a good man, and we need him.”

I watched as he got up and walked away. This was ridiculous. I should get a medal from the Bombays for having to be in this situation.

Lex was right. I had been distant toward Isaac. But only because I might have to kill him later. I couldn’t tell him that, but it made sense, right?

We picked up our torches for Tribal Council. Jimmy showed up alone, to film us before Julie arrived. Most of the camera crew pretty much had given up on the whole show and were just making appearances.

Everyone was quiet as we walked through the jungle. Maybe it was because Julie hadn’t ordered us to be silent. Maybe we were all feeling a little down about voting Silas off. Add that to the feelings of elation I experienced whenever I saw Lex and you have quite a soup. I like soup. Mom used to make this stewed monkey/guava soup that was fantastic.

“Welcome to Tribal Council!” Alan stood in the middle of a basketball court. There were bleachers on both sides. Inuit sat on his left and we were seated to his right. Other shows, like Survivor, built really cool sets. These guys just phoned it in. I noticed that Jimmy had left, and Inuit’s crew was filming this time.

“There’s a new twist tonight,” our host said. We all groaned. What were we going to have to do this time? Square dance each other off?

“Instead of voting off someone from your own tribe,” he began. “You’ll be voting off someone from the other tribe.”

What? We all looked at each other. What the hell were we going to do now? Granted, I could probably whisper to get everyone to vote off Kit. But we certainly couldn’t control the other team. And what if I got voted off before figuring out this whole Isaac thing?

“Ottawa,” Alan said, “Missi has been the clear leader in all challenges.” The smug bastard looked right at me. “Missi, do you think this makes you a target?”

Shit. “Um, I don’t know, Alan. The knitting thing was pretty lame. It was just luck that I knew what to do.”

“Kit!” Alan turned dramatically to Inuit. “Tell me why you chose Lex and Moe to join you for the reward.”

For once, Kit didn’t look like she was even remotely about to cry.

“Well, Alan,” she said in a sing-songy voice. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Lex and I have a little romance going on.” She wiggled her fingers at MY MAN!

Lex covered his face with his hands.

Alan turned back to us. “Is that true Lex? You and Kit make a cute couple.”

I could feel Sami’s arm on mine, as if she were trying to stop me from jumping up and ripping Kit’s throat out – which I am trained to do, by the way.

“No. I think Kit is a nice girl. But that’s about it.” Lex said quietly.

“So, Missi!” Alan faced me again. “Your head may be on the chopping block tonight. How do you feel about it?”

Me again? Man, this guy really hated me.

“I don’t know what to say to that, Alan.” And I didn’t. I was getting so sick of this stupid show. The good news was meeting Lex. The bad news was that the Vic was now one of my friends and I hated the host and his malignant assistant. What’s a girl to do?

“Ottawa! You vote first.” Alan pointed to a clay pot on a Blanco Tigre lectern in the corner of the court. Sami got up and went over to vote.

“Kit!” I whispered loudly. “Kit’s got to go!”

Sami came back and I got up, walking slowly to the podium. I wrote Kit’s name in huge, black letters, folded the paper and put it in the pot.

“I’ll tally the votes.” Alan retrieved the pot once we were all through.

“The first vote is for Kit.”

Kit chewed her lip but managed not to cry. Maybe she was getting used to the idea of being the first rejected.

“The second vote is for. . .Kit.”

We got a trembly lip from the model.

“The third vote is for Moe. Two votes for Kit.”

The bimbo sighed a little. One more vote and that would be it. Come ooooooooooooon!

“The third person voted off of Survival is Kit.”

Kit burst into tears and ran the length of the court, flinging herself into Lex’s arms.

“Thank you for not voting for me, Lex!”

“Kit! You have to leave the Tribal Council area immediately!” Alan shouted.

I watched in horror as she kissed Lex on the lips and ran off. Lex looked at me and shrugged.

Kit was led away, obnoxiously blowing kisses at Lex.

“Inuit! It is your turn to vote!” Alan commanded with a squeak.

We watched as the remaining four members of Inuit voted someone from our team off. It really was a crapshoot at this point. I only really knew Moe, so there was no way of knowing how anyone else would vote.

“I’ll collect the votes.” Alan was basically just speaking for his own sake. We were all pretty much ignoring him.

“The first vote is for. . .” he cast me an oily grin. “Missi. The first vote is for Missi!” Did he have to be so happy about it?

I looked across at the other team. Moe gave me the thumbs up. What did that mean?

“The second vote is for. . .” Alan frowned. “Silas. One vote for Missi, one vote for Silas.”

I couldn’t relax. It wasn’t over yet.

“The third vote is for Silas. One vote Missi, two votes for Silas.”

This could go either way, really. Lex reached for my hand. At least he didn’t want me to go.

“And the fourth and final vote is for . . . Isaac. Silas, you are the fourth person voted off of Survival.”

Silas nodded to us then went up to Alan to have his torch snuffed out. He actually looked happy to be going. I let out a loud breath. It was over. Damn.

“You are the remaining eight,” Alan said. “Tomorrow, your tribes will merge. For now, go back to camp and enjoy your evening.” Alan and Julie fled toward the resort and I saw that all the cameramen were now gone.

Ottawa and Inuit just looked at each other.

“Let’s just go to the guest house,” Isaac said. The others nodded and we made our way back to our own camp.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Some people try to pick up girls and get called an asshole. This did not happen to Pablo Picasso. He could walk down the street – girls could not resist his stare. Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole.”

- The Burning Sensations

A hot shower, a good dinner, two bottles of ice-cold beer and one fluffy robe later I was feeling better. Kit and Silas didn’t show up, so I guessed they were pleased with their own accommodations. No one really said much. We were tired and sick of this whole mess. In fact, everyone pretty much headed off to bed early. Sami didn’t call me dumbass when she said goodnight. Not even once.

I stepped out onto the veranda, trying to find some alone time to figure a few things out. The information the boys had given me wasn’t anything concrete. A few mentions in an Interpol file was not enough to condemn the man to death. As for the sabotage, the fact they were worried about me wasn’t new. They were convinced, however, that they were bulletproof. I remember thinking that at their age. Of course, I knew better now.  The death threats and sabotage were a little frightening – but really nothing compared to the punishment I’d get if I didn’t take care of my Vic.

The fact I’d received a vote made this whole thing real. The Council might let me off the hook somewhat if there were extenuating circumstances. But what those circumstances were was completely beyond me.

Still, I’d made it to the final eight. Vic was still within my clutches. And Lex and I were having sex. Not bad if you look at it that way.

“I thought I’d find you out here.” Lex came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

I pulled away. There was too much on my mind.

“Tomorrow’s the merge. I think the game will wrap up soon.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Ernie said there were major budget problems.”

Lex lifted my chin. “Are you worried about being voted out?”

I didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, I asked a question that had been bothering me since the beginning. “Why are you really here? Why agree to be on this show?” There, I’d said it.

He smiled. “Probably the same reason you’re on it.”

Damn. I couldn’t tell him that my reason was because I come from a long line of assassins and my job was to kill Isaac. That might hurt the alliance. But I had to come up with something if I was going to get any info in return. “You know how family can be.” Okay. Not a lie. Well, not completely a lie.

“Really? Why did you go through with it?” Lex asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I’d been in a rut for a long time. Maybe I thought it would be an adventure.” Again – not a lie.

Lex sighed and leaned on the railing. “Well, I guess it’s the same for me. My family thought I needed to do something with my life other than being a bartender in a small town. I did this thinking I’d never get picked and they’d leave me alone.”

“Backfired, eh?”

“Not really. I found you. I’d say that’s better than twenty-five grand.”

Once again, it surprised me that we hadn’t had this conversation before. Something about being around Lex always translated to sex first, get to know me later. Why was that? This wasn’t how relationships usually started out. Then again, most relationships didn’t happen on the set of a lame reality show in Costa Rica either.

I thought about what he’d said about the $25,000. It had never crossed my mind that maybe he needed the money. But he couldn’t be making much as a bartender. It was something I was completely unfamiliar with. I grew up wealthy, never worrying about money. Maybe this competition meant more to him than I thought.

“How did you go from being a stuntman to a bartender?”

Lex sobered. “Actually, I was a stunt master out in L.A. So was my wife. That’s where we met.”

So, Fiona was a kick-ass stuntwoman? I liked her already.

“What happened to her?”

“There was an accident during a stunt. I was in charge – had choreographed it and everything. It was my job to make sure she was safe. But due to a technical malfunction, she died. It was my fault. So, I moved back home.” His voice snagged a bit on the last few words.

I felt awful for asking. My arms went around him and we just stood there, holding each other.

“You know, that’s why I’m so attracted to you,” Lex said quietly.

I pulled back. “Why?” Surely he didn’t know about the stunts I’d pulled for jobs. And let me tell you – there was no stunt master planning for my safety.

He smiled. I liked the way his eyes wrinkled in the corners. “You take risks. You try things others wouldn’t. And you have a lot of compassion.” Lex waved his arm around him. “You did this for the Inuit team because they were suffering. You saved Kit’s life on the zip line and made sure they got across safely before going for the easy win. You remind me of Fiona. And you are more like me than she even was.”

“Oh.” Wow. I didn’t know what to say to that. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I was pretty sure I didn’t deserve it.

“I’d better get to bed.” I kissed him and turned away. “And Lex?” He looked up attentively. “Thank you.”

As I lay there in the darkness, listening to Sami’s snoring, I felt like crap. Lex had this glorified view of who I was. His job was about taking care of people, and he thought I was all about that too. Thing was, he’d change his mind about me in a minute if he saw my workshop on Santa Muerta or knew anything about who I really was.

To him, I was just Missi – a widowed mother who might be the answer to his prayers. If only I were that woman. But I couldn’t pretend I was. I was a hitman. An assassin – and a damned good one. I invented ways to kill people, and based on their level of evil, I could really make them suffer if I wanted to.

And yet, I was the woman who worried that the rival team wasn’t getting enough to eat and plunked down her own money to help them out. It’s funny. Lex thought he had me all figured out. Hell. I didn’t have me all figured out.

In fact, if it wasn’t for this idiotic show, I’d be blissfully unaware back on Santa Muerta making toys from the ‘80’s explode with enough force to kill a man. Wow. I hadn’t thought of my workshop since I arrived here. In fact, I hadn’t thought much about my work.

I was here for one reason only – to do a job for the Council. I was a Bombay and I had a Vic. Nothing else should have mattered.

Right?

I couldn’t sleep that night. Finally, at about five a.m., I quit pretending and took a cup of coffee out onto the patio.

“What’s up, Moe?” He was lounging on the deck in a robe when I stumbled upon him.

“Hey, Missi!” I liked how his face brightened when he saw me. It’s always nice to feel like someone’s happy to see you, and he’d earned big points by helping me out with the Kit fiasco.

I pulled up a chaise lounge and my coffee mug. It was too early for sunrise. I’d ordered breakfast but it wouldn’t be here for half an hour.

“So what’s got you up so early?” I asked.

Moe shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

I snorted. “That’s funny. Most of us can’t seem to get enough sleep around here.” I usually chalked that up to boredom.

“Nah. I never was that lazy.” Moe responded. I hid my smile. “Actually, being here has given me some ideas for when I get back.”

“Really? Then you’re the first one who’s been able to turn this charade into something positive.” Did that come out wrong?

“I’ve just been thinking. Sometimes getting away from home shakes you up. I needed that.” He shifted in his seat.

Huh. I wonder if the same thing has happened to me since I’ve been here. Well, I had a kind of boyfriend in Lex. And I’d call Sami and Moe friends. Being away from my monastic existence on Santa Muerta probably had been somewhat good for me. All the same, I still wanted to get my job done and move on.

We sat there quietly until there was a knock on the door. Sami looked at us with some amusement when we came back into the guesthouse. The laundry was delivered with the food and I slipped off to the bedroom to change before joining everyone.

Moe’s words made me think. I was getting some benefit from being here. But what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? If I had to take out Isaac, not much.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Misty watercolor memories...”

- Barbra Streisand, Memories

“As you may have guessed,” Alan was talking to us poolside at the Tigre, “both Inuit and Ottawa will now merge into a tribe of eight.”

I picked at the rubber sole of my shoe. Why did he always have to state the obvious? Like we didn’t know there were only eight of us left?

He reached into a bag and pulled out a bright yellow bandana. “You are now all part of team Tico.”

I sighed restlessly. Well, at least he got that right. A howler monkey went off, as if to give his approval.

“And you will set up a new camp together on the site of Ottawa’s old camp. Bert and Ernie will be your only camera crew.”

Sami snorted beside me. I guess the merge made the budget cuts easier to deal with. I wondered what happened to Jimmy? Maybe he got sent back to Canada.

“Today, you will spend the day getting to know your new tribe. You will not have any challenges until tomorrow. I will see you then.”

I waited for Julie and Alan to leave before snagging Ernie. “What’s going on?”

Ernie looked around before answering. “They’re flying back home to beg more money from the network. I’ve got to drive them to the airport. You won’t see anyone until tomorrow.” He motioned to Bert and the two of them took off.

I filled Team Tico in on the latest developments. Lex and I volunteered to throw together a rudimentary shelter for subterfuge, and the others decided it would be a good day to spend at the guest house.

“What was your husband like?” Lex asked softly as we worked.

“What? Oh. Rudy.” I thought for a moment. “He was great. You would’ve liked him.” I hoped my insecurity wasn’t showing. In all honesty, I hadn’t seen Rudy in seventeen years. My memory was rusty when I tried to think of him, and that bothered me.

Living on the island, I thought about him a lot. But since I’d been here, around new people and Lex, Rudy’s memory seemed to fade. Why was that?

“Are the boys like him?” Lex pressed.

“Monty is,” I answered without thinking. “He’s quiet . . . thoughtful. Jack is outgoing and a handful. Rudy was more like Monty.” But was that true? I could barely remember.

“I always wanted kids,” Lex said. “So did Fiona. It just never happened.”

An aching feeling I recognized as sorrow welled up in my throat. Lex obviously had no problem remembering his wife. How sad that they wanted children and never had them. My boys had been my life for nearly two decades. I couldn’t imagine life without them. As they prepared for college in the fall, I was preparing for the whole empty-nest thingy. And I was not looking forward to it.

I touched his hand. “As I told you before – I bet you would’ve made a great dad.”

Lex shook his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I guess I was just feeling a little melancholy.”

“Well, I’d be happy to loan you the boys anytime you want.” I laughed thinking about Lex chasing after Monty and Jack.

“I’d like that. Kind of like a fun uncle or something.” Lex said.

Yeah, a fun uncle who didn’t teach them how to kill people. That would certainly be a novelty to them.

Once we were finished with the saddest excuse for a lean-to ever, I sent Lex back to the guesthouse, and slipped away to find my boys. They’d better have something. I couldn’t go on much longer with all this confusion. Back at Santa Muerta, everything was safe. The only decision I usually had to make was how much C4 to order online.

“Mom!” Jackson’s voice caught me off guard. Apparently, I’d walked right past our tree.

“Where’s Monty?” I asked, always suspicious when both didn’t turn up together. In my seventeen years of experience with these two, I’d learned the hard way that if one was gone – the other was likely covering for a punishable offense.

“He’s in town, doing some research on the show.” Jack grinned a big, toothy grin. Damn, he was a good-looking boy!

“Forget that. I need stuff on Vic.” I really didn’t care too much about the show.

Jackson frowned. “Well, I don’t exactly have anything on him.”

“What? What have you been doing?” I threw a mom-tantrum. It surprised even me.

“Geez, Mom!” Jackson looked left and right. “It’s okay. No big!”

I sighed and took a deep breath. He was too old for shaken baby syndrome, but I was considering it. “Jackson. My son. My youngest by two minutes. The only reason I’m here is to do a job. If I don’t have a job to do, I’d just as soon not be here. Got it?” Wow. I sounded pissed. I wouldn’t want to be him arguing with me.

“Did something happen with Lex?” My little boy folded his arms over his chest. When did he get so smart?

“No!” I said a little too forcefully. “No!” I said it again as if repeating it would make it true. Hey, now there’s a thought! I wonder if I could do something with that in the lab? Suddenly, I felt very homesick.

“Mom, you’ve got that screwy look on your face. Snap out of it!”

I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s nothing.” I lied to my child. Truth was, it was something. Lex’s words bothered me. There was no way I could live up to the memory of his dead wife. And I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want me once he knew what I did for a living. I mean, he spent his career making sure people didn’t die on his watch, while I made sure they did on mine.

“Look. I’m just anxious to finish the job.” I lied again. And from the look on his face, I was getting good at it. “So I need to know whether to take him out or not.”

As Jackson shook his head to agree with me (or admit to himself that I finally had gone nuts), slivers of his red hair seemed to burst into flame as they hit patches of sunlight.

“I’ll find out. If I don’t know soon, we’ll just call the whole thing off and Monty and I will get you off the show.”

I hugged him before he fled. As Jackson disappeared, it hit me. How were they going to get me off the show? I shuddered in spite of the heat.

I didn’t go back to the guesthouse. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to get any closer to my Vic, but in all honesty, it was Lex and not Isaac I was worried about.

After buying a large sun hat and huge pair of sunglasses in the gift shop, I ordered a pitcher of vodka tonics and sat down in the most remote corner of the pool area. Now I know drinking doesn’t solve anything. And I have the alcoholic tolerance of plankton. But being alone with my thoughts seemed to be the best option right now.

Patience may be a virtue, but it never did right by me. I’ve had some pretty tricky hits over the years. The first time I used one of my inventions for a hit was, oh, about twenty-five years ago. It was 1982, something like that. I’m not that good at math. That’s weird for an inventor – don’t you think? Anyway, I had to take out a woman who’d engineered a major terrorist plot that killed a marketplace filled with innocent people in the ‘70s and was then living as a divorce attorney in Tempe. She was a real dragon-lady bitch. And she favored suits with huge shoulder pads. I could’ve just plugged her, leaving the cops to think it was the ex-husband of one of her clients. But I wanted to try something new . . . have a little fun with it.

At first I thought about exploding shoulder pads, but that would be hard to rig and what if it just blew her shoulders off? I mean – she’d look pretty silly and would probably survive. So I rigged her garage. I messed with her car’s ignition so that once turned on, it wouldn’t turn off. Then I built sensors for the garage door and door to the house that would lock when it sensed CO2. I guess they found claw marks around the doors where she tried to scratch her way out.

The detectives put it down to equipment failure. There was no CSI then so no one knew what to look for. From that moment on – I was hooked.

Shortly after that, I went through a James Bond phase where I experimented with everything from the deadly bowler hat Odd Job flings (for a vicious white slave trader) to the suffocating gold paint from Goldfinger (on a visiting nurse who murdered her senior charges once she put her in their wills). After about four hits though, I got bored and wanted to get back to developing my own stuff. Besides, no one got it. I was at least hoping to terrify people with the 007 Killer – but no one figured it out.

Of course, that was followed by the time I had to take out this Vic who worked in construction and dealt crack to middle-school kids in his neighborhood (they had only a 50% survival rate due to his lethal blend). I rigged a nail gun to backfire via remote. The gun shot the nail out backwards, killing the bastard instantly. I switched the gun out before the body was found. It looked like he’d committed suicide. I guess I rambled a little in the suicide note I’d left for him because the police spent months interviewing employees at Hostess Foods in an attempt to discover reason for the Vic’s obsession with Ding Dongs. I love Ding Dongs.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Probably my favorite job was where I invented a pair of stroke-inducing panty hose. You know how they have massaging nylons for people with poor circulation? It’s kind of the same theory, really, except that as you move, the hose constrict in a way that creates blood clots in the legs. From there, it’s only a matter of time before death by aneurism occurs. Of course, I had to trail the Vic for a while to make sure they worked. Boy was he surprised. Oh, did I forget to mention the nylons were for a man? Yup. A corrupt judge with cross-dressing tendencies who like to wear them under his robes. He’d had a weakness for mob money and was known to slap the brutal defendants in his courtrooms with nothing more than community service. Two of the guys he set free killed later went on to murder a prominent female district attorney who posed a threat to Cosa Nostra.

I’d looked into various means of death, but that was the only thing I could come up with. I even tricked them out with an old L’eggs egg. Remember those? They don’t make them anymore, do they? I think they came out the same time as Mork and Mindy – maybe they were cross promoting?

Oooh. This vodka was smooth. It seemed pretty strong but like I said before – I didn’t have a lot of experience drinking.

Anyway, as I was saying, I was pretty much obsessed with inventions by then. Let’s see. . .I had the sunglasses that sprayed poison in your eyes; rigging the garbage disposal and faucet to electrify the sink – when the Vic washed dishes he was shocked; the weight belt that crushes your spine – I got the inspiration for that having my blood pressure read; the remote-controlled brick falling from the building to crush your skull (timing is really important on that one); the floor wax that looked dry but was actually slipperier than Crisco on an eel; oh yeah – and the Super Viagra.

You know, I think I really missed an opportunity there. I actually invented the stuff before anyone else knew about it. But being a Bombay meant no future as a patented inventor, so what are you going to do?

Anyway, as you, of course, know, a vasodilator opens capillaries which can cause a dangerous drop in blood pressure. Too much of it, your blood pressure is so low you have a heart attack because your heart is pumping harder. My little blue pill (I should’ve sued them for that too) was ten times stronger. So when a certain pimp of kidnapped child prostitutes from Thailand took what he thought would increase the time of his erection, he keeled over before getting his pants off.

The coroner’s report (who knew they had coroners in Thailand?) said he had an erection that lasted more than ten hours after his death (Take that, Cialis!). I guess it made the news and everything.

Ahhhh. Memories. Like a fine pitcher of vodka and tonic on a warm day. I was starting to feel better, remembering my successes. But my head was starting to feel thicker – kind of like being stuffed up. I hate that alcohol does that. My glaucoma stash doesn’t have that effect. That’s a whole different thing. Unfortunately, I have a very low tolerance there too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“I’ve spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.”

- Westley, The Princess Bride

“Missi? What are you doing here?” Lex pulled up a chair next to me.

“Bitch is fucked up.” Sami grinned as she helped herself to my cocktails. Now if she would only stop quivering...

“I just needed a few mishuts.” I waved my hand and stared at it as it moved. It was quivering just like Sami.

“What?” Lex looked at the almost empty pitcher. “How long have you been out here?”

“Damn!” Sami cried out. “This is straight vodka! This dumbass should be dead!”

I shook my head and had to stop it with my hands. “No. There’s tomik init.” I’d asked for tonic. Maybe Sami was right? If so, was this sabotage too?

Lex frowned and sniffed the pitcher. “Dammit. Who served you?” When I didn’t answer he turned to Sami.

“She could’ve died from alcohol poisoning.” His words sounded like they were far, far awaaay. . .

Lex began to rotate in place like a spinning wheel. I was fascinated. How did he defy the laws of physics like that?

“Let’s get you back to the guesthouse.” He started to lift me out of the chair, and I walked sideways into a wall.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in bed next to Sami. It was completely dark outside, so why did it feel like the sun had taken up residence in my brain pan? I shrugged on one of the fluffy robes and stumbled into the great room.

Damn. No aspirin. What kind of luxury cabana was this?

“How are you feeling?” Lex appeared next to me, no longer rotating 360 degrees. Good for him. That could be dangerous.

“Great.” I lied. I was doing a lot of that lately. “I need aspirin.” Now that was actually true.

“Here.” He handed me a whole bottle of ibuprofen. “I picked this up in the gift shop after putting you to bed.”

It took all of my strength – which at this point was not considerable – not to throw myself into his arms. Instead I swallowed four capsules on the spot.

“I thought you were only supposed to take two?”

I waved him off. “I’ve developed a high tolerance to this stuff a while back.” It was true. Back home I chugged these pretty regularly, what with all the concussions from my explosions and what not.

“Apparently you handle medicine much better than you do alcohol.” Lex smiled before wrapping his arms around me. Mmmmm. He smelled really good. Like soap. I love that smell. I’m sure I smelled like a distillery.

I pulled back and smiled weakly. “Well, thanks for taking care of me. I guess I overdid it a smidge.”

He laughed. “A smidge? Sami had two glasses and got a buzz. She told me that back home it usually takes a case of beer for that to happen. That was strong stuff.”

I would’ve laughed, but my whole body threatened to explode if I even giggled. Everything – and I mean everything – hurt.

“It’s not funny, Missi. That could’ve been an attempt on your life.”

Okay. I stopped laughing as I remembered that my head had been on the keg seconds before it exploded. Damn. Had Isaac figured me out and started trying to kill me first?

“So why did you disappear like that?” Lex looked concerned and I loved him for it. I loved him for it enough to lie some more.

“I just needed some time alone. You know how it is, having a camera and everybody else around twenty four hours, seven days a week.” I hoped that sounded sincere.

Lex smiled. “I can totally understand that. It’s like being under a microscope. I wish I’d thought of it, actually.”

I hated myself. I hated lying to him and my sons. This job was killing me. And I had to lie to everyone here. And while Lex was being so supportive and thoughtful, I felt even worse.

“Well, goodnight.” I kissed him lightly on the lips and practically raced back to my room.

My monastic life on the island was never like this. I didn’t have to treat people badly and pretend I was someone else. I didn’t really have any stress in my life. As soon as I got back, I was going to come up with some evil sort of revenge for the Council for putting me through this.

That was a comforting thought, and my last one before I fell asleep.

We were running late the next morning as the eight of us careened into each other (the fluffy robes acted as shock absorbers) while grabbing fistfuls of bacon off the cart and getting ready.

We arrived at Camp Tico, looking well-fed and clean. The site hadn’t had any activity in almost 24 hours and it had been days since we’d lit a fire. Julie and Alan looked too distracted to care, but I was sure the audience would notice something wasn’t right when the show aired. Oh well – not my problem.

“Well, I hope you all slept well,” Alan began sounding a little sarcastic. “Due to some, um, changes at the network – we will be sending two of you home today.”

We looked around at each other and rolled our eyes. Obviously the changes at the network included a healthy round of budget cuts.

“So the two slowest people in today’s challenge will leave, becoming part of the jury.” Alan looked tired.

“You mean we’re voting two people off, right?” Moe asked, and I automatically brightened.

Julie shook her head. “We won’t have time for Tribal Council tonight. So the two of you with the lowest scores will exit the show.”

“If you’ll just follow Julie, I’ll meet you at the site of today’s challenge.” Alan stood there, waiting for us to leave. No doubt so he could re-appear at wherever we ended up.

The eight of us on team Tico followed Julie silently into the jungle. I don’t even think she noticed how quiet we were. Man, something was really eating them.

It took almost half an hour of hiking to get to a river bank deep inside the foliage. As we emerged from the jungle, I noticed a large crocodile lying on the bank. Crocs were native to this area and I’d seen them many times before. My teammates, however, had not. This I gathered from the screaming that followed.

“What the fuck is that?” Sami shouted down from the limbs of a nearby tree.

Everyone else pretty much said the same thing. Julie stayed a safe distance away, but tried to appear calm. Alan miraculously appeared and with a stick began to point at the crocodile.

“Alligators are native to Costa Rica,” he began.

“Um, no they’re not.” I couldn’t help it. The temptation to correct him was unbearable. I thought I saw Ernie grin from behind his camera.

Alan looked unshaken. “Yes, they are. And this is an alligator.”

I stepped forward. “No. Alligators live in parts of North America. This is a crocodile. An American crocodile to be exact.” He hated me already so I thought I’d just have fun with it.

“Whatever!” An angry Alan struggled to regain his composure. “Same thing.”

“Listen, dumbass!” Sami shouted down. “My friend says it’s a crocodile and I believe her. The question is – what the fuck is it doing here?”

I couldn’t resist giggling. Sami had my back alright.

“You will wrestle this alli. . .crocodile.” Alan said as one by one Team Tico’s jaws dropped. “You will be timed to see how long it takes you to drag the gator. . .I mean croc, to shore.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Sami shrieked and I could swear that dogs in the nearest village covered their ears.

“This time you’ve gone too far!” Isaac raised his voice – which startled me. “You can’t ask us to do anything life-threatening.”

The rest of the group murmured their agreement and Alan just held up his hands.

“This is a challenge! Would you rather I had you wrestle a miniature dachshund? For Christ's sake people! The name of the show is Survival!”

We barely had time to reply before he shrieked, “Missi! You’re up first!” Why was I not surprised?

Lex put his arm out to bar me from moving. Not that I was racing for the challenge, mind you. Crocs are very dangerous. And although this one seemed to be only four feet long, it wasn’t a guarantee some of us would come out in one piece. For a moment I wondered if what they had in mind for eliminating two of us was to feed us to the crocodile.

“You can’t make us do this,” Lex said in calm, measured tones that made all kinds of butterflies flip-flop around in my stomach. Then I thought about Fiona and realized there was more to his concern than I thought.

“If you refuse, you will be taken off the programme.” Alan sniffed indignantly. I wanted to feed him to the croc. It wouldn’t take long. We’d all just stand there on the shore, watching calmly as the croc grabbed him and pulled the smarmy host under. Soon, the thrashing would begin as the slimy reptile. . .Alan, not the crocodile, spun him around in the water until he drowned. Then if he was still hungry, we could feed him Julie.

“If you don’t do it, Missi,” Alan snapped, “Sami will have to go first.”

I knew how much Sami needed the reward money for this show. She wouldn’t refuse the challenge. At least I’d done this before (hello, I’m a Bombay!). Maybe I could buy some time or even injure the croc so it couldn’t hurt anyone else. As long as I could keep its mouth closed, I’d be all right. I took a deep breath and pushed away the protective arm Lex had wrapped around my waist. I immediately missed his warmth and support, but I had to do this. “It’s okay. He’s a small one. Just make sure everyone watches what I do, all right?”

Lex and Isaac tried to stop me, and I believe Sami would’ve intervened too had she come down from the tree. I just pushed through them and made my way to the animal.

Now, few people know this because I’ve never told anyone my trick when it comes to reptiles. We had a couple of freshwater crocs on the island and I’d studied them for a while to see if there was a way I could use them for work.

Besides the usual – hold them in a half-Nelson and get their tail tight between your legs so they don’t smack you around, there’s a spot where if you apply the right amount of pressure, they just go into brain-lock. Then you can do whatever you want for about ten minutes. Humans have the same trigger. For men, it’s porn. For women, it’s chocolate.

As I walked up to the croc, a native Tican emerged from the jungle and quickly wrapped a leather muzzle around the croc’s nose. Well, at least that was a bit of a relief. Crocodile jaws are very powerful. And if they get a lock on you and drag you into the water, you’re pretty much done for.

The Tican then dragged the animal into the water and motioned for me to go in. I was barely wading when Alan shouted for Julie to start the timer.

It really only took a minute or two to jump the poor beast from behind, lock my arms around him and my legs around his tail as I dragged him to shore. I didn’t even have to use my trick. The muzzle kept him from snapping and unless I miss my guess – the poor croc was drugged. What a lame idea.

“He’s drugged and docile,” I whispered to my team when I rejoined them. “Just do what I did and you should be alright.”

“Sami!” Alan called and I realized she’d gotten down and was standing next to me. “You’re up!” He’d regained some of his smarmy cockiness and I hated him for it. I’d give anything to see him turned into crocodile crap.

Sami froze for a moment. I thought she was going to give up. Not that I could blame her. The scariest thing she’d probably ever seen was the guy on the next bar stool at closing time when the lights came on.

To my amazement, she walked over to where the croc was being dragged into the water by his handler. Even more impressive was the fact that she managed it in three seconds less than me.

“Goddamned bitch gonna show me who’s boss!” She swore under her breath as she strutted back to us.

“So far, Sami has the fastest time, followed by Missi. Lex, your turn.”

My heart jumped a little as I feared he might get hurt. Then I remembered that the croc was muzzled and drugged and Lex was stronger than I was. Lex calmly waded into the water. I was so proud. He came back with a time that matched mine. And I liked the way his arm muscles bulged as he dragged the poor creature onto the bank.

One by one we watched as Isaac, Moe and Dr. Andy managed to wrestle the crocodile to shore. It seemed to be going well. Only Liliana and Brick/Norman remained. Surely the reptile was getting weaker by now.

Liliana straightened her back and walked into the water. To my surprise, she managed to grab hold of the animal and was just beginning to bring him to the bank when the muzzle sprang from his jaws and he started snapping. Liliana dropped him out of shock and the croc managed to grab hold of her clothes.

Once he got a good grip, he started spinning in the water, dragging Liliana with him. I ran into the thrashing water to save her. Isaac and Lex appeared beside me. Lex grabbed the beast by the body as Isaac held the tail. I brought my hand down as hard as I could, stabbing him between the eyes with my fingers.

It worked. The crock went slack and as the men dragged him onto the beach, I pulled Lilliana from the muddy river. She said nothing as she staggered toward the rest of the group. I was seriously impressed.

“Brick!” Alan acted as though what had happened hadn’t really happened. No one tried to fix the muzzle. What was going on?

“Hold on!” Isaac shouted. “We need to get another muzzle on him first!”

Looking around, I noticed that the croc’s handler was nowhere to be found. What did that mean?

“We move ahead,” Julie said steadily. Was she nuts? One of the safety precautions was gone!

“You know what?” Brick/Norman said in a squeaky, not-very-leading-man sort of voice. “I quit. I’m off the show, okay?”

Alan and Brick glared at each other for a few moments. Alan backed off.

“Liliana and Brick – you will go back to the Tigre.”

Julie agreed with Alan and began leading the two out of the area.

“The rest of you head back to camp,” Alan said, then promptly disappeared.

I made a mental note to put some scorpions in his bed later. That would be fun.

“Look at this,” Lex whispered to me on the way back to camp. He held out the harness. “It’s not broken.”

Sure enough, I could see it was cut midway through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. Guess I’ll just eat worms.”

- Children’s song

“Why would anyone cut the muzzle?” Lex frowned at me. It was the first time he’d ever frowned at me and I decided that I didn’t like it.

Isaac and Sami were quiet. We were sitting at the dinner table, the rest of Team Tico had already gone to bed. No one’s heart was in this contest anymore since it appeared the host didn’t care one way or another if anyone got hurt.

I picked at what was left of the turkey. “Maybe it’s Alan – trying to up the ratings.”

“That’s fucked up.” Sami glowered.

“It’s irresponsible,” added Isaac.

“It’s dangerous,” Lex said quietly.

My stomach back flipped as I remembered that Lex’s wife had died because of stuff like this. The others weren’t privy to this knowledge, so I tried to change the subject.

“Oh well. It’ll all be over soon enough.”

Lex frowned at me again. I really hated it. “What does that mean?”

“Um, I guess I meant that the show will probably go bankrupt before we can do another challenge anyway – then we can go home.” I shrugged for emphasis.

“Man, this shit stinks.” Sami shook her head. “I could’ve used that goddamned money.”

I forgot that these people were here because $25,000 was a life-changing amount to them. While Brick/Norman, Dr. Andy and Kit were here to get media exposure, Moe, Sami and possibly Lex wanted the cash to turn their lives around.

Guilt is a horrible thing. I remember my mother once told me it was a useless emotion. Of course, that didn’t stop her from applying it like a thick-cut slab of bacon whenever she could. But the fact of the matter was that I was here on false pretenses.

The only reason I was on this ridiculous show was to tail Isaac so I could kill him if I had to. A stab of the “useless emotion” got me in the heart when I thought of how I was throwing money around for this guest house. What did they possibly think of me? My guess was they wondered why I was even involved.

And let’s face it – I hadn’t even done my job. I never tailed Isaac or even tried to pump him for information. Hell, I hadn’t even remembered to pack my truth serum. It’s strawberry flavored with half the fat so it’s good and good for you!

My shoulders slumped. I’d screwed everything up. If I won the contest I would be nothing short of a jerk. Homesickness burned like Mountain Dew on acid reflux. I missed my house. I missed my kids. And I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

“I agree with Lex,” Sami said. I guess I also missed an entire conversation.

“Agree with what?” I asked before I could stop myself.

My three allies scowled.

“Missi, what’s wrong with you?” Isaac asked.

“Nothing.” I tried to think up a lie but came up empty. “I just spaced out.”

Sami sighed. “Lex thinks we should try to find out what the hell is going on so no one else gets hurt.”

“Oh.”

Lex’s right eyebrow went up. “Oh?”

Uh oh.

“Well,” I started uneasily. I couldn’t dedicate myself to one more thing. I had a job to do and the Council would hand me my ovaries on a Bombay-crested plate if I didn’t do it. “Don’t you think we should just leave it alone? I mean, the show is still on and we should just see it out. It’s probably not even sabotage – but an unfortunate series of coincidences.” Okay, what I meant to say was Let’s not risk one of you winning the money you seem to so desperately need. Problem was, I couldn’t “invent” a way to say that so it didn’t sound condescending. Word are much harder to put together than actual inventions. And I’m pretty sure I just proved that.

“Fuck this, I’m going to bed.” Sami rose and Isaac nodded, leaving Lex and me alone in a very uncomfortable silence.

“Missi, what is wrong with you?” Lex asked after a moment.

I threw my hands up. “What? What did I say?”

“Why are you here?”

Why am I here? So I can possibly kill Isaac. Duh.

“The same reason you’re here,” I answered. “The money.”

Lex stood and went off to bed, leaving me what to wonder what just happened. Obviously I said something wrong, but what? I didn’t like the way my lover was looking at me. Something had just changed in our relationship and I was pretty sure it wasn’t something good.

As I got to my feet to follow him, there was a short, sharp knock at the door. Figuring it was room service here to clear the plates I answered, only to find Ernie standing there.

“Julie and Alan will be at the campsite at six in the morning.” He winked. “Thought you’d like a head’s up.”

I closed the door and leaned against it. Great. My teammates now had another reason to be miserable and I got to deliver the news.

I didn’t sleep. Basically, I sat in the living room, fully dressed until five a.m. when I woke the troops with the news. No matter how you looked at it, this was a bad situation. Lex was right worrying that someone could get hurt, but I didn’t have any more time to devote to figuring out the mystery, Nancy Drew Club be damned.

“Are you alright?” Dr. Andy sat down next to me on the sofa. I looked around, but he was the only one there. Apparently the others were still getting ready.

“Sure.” I lied. “I’m fine.” I lied again. Damn, I was doing a lot of that. In spite what you might think, the Bombays aren’t big on lying. Well, at least to each other and the important people in our lives. We lie to our victims all the time.

“You look like you need to talk,” he said gently.

Looking around again, I found no trace of our camera crew. Maybe Dr. Andy was more than just the shallow media hog I made him out to be. That made me feel worse.

I was tempted to actually tell him my problems. He had a comforting, easygoing manner. But what would I tell him? What could I tell him?

“Lex and the others think the show is being sabotaged.” I thought that too but for some reason left it out.

He thought for a moment. “What do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I just want this mess to be over.”

“I don’t believe that Missi. I’ve seen nothing but compassion from you for everyone here. Why wouldn’t you care if someone may get hurt? It’s not in you to be apathetic.”

I looked at him archly. For a moment, the other castaways paraded through my mind. How many of them did I dismiss as two-dimensional? I called Brick/Norman Brick/Norman out of spite. Some compassion.

“No,” I lied yet again. “You’re wrong. I just want to win or go home.” Dr. Andy was right. But if he thought that, I couldn’t do my job. And what it all boiled down to was that I was getting too attached to the people on this show to do that job. If I didn’t complete my mission, I had a much worse showdown waiting for me at Santa Muerta.

“I don’t care about any of these people,” I added. “It’s only a game, after all.” Tough words, but would he buy it? I folded my arms over my chest for emphasis.

“Oh.”

That wasn’t Dr. Andy’s voice. It was Lex’s. I turned slowly to find him standing behind me with a shocked look on his face. Damn.

Lex turned and walked away but I just sat there frozen, staring after him. What had I done?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rusty: You'd need at least a dozen guys doing a combination of cons.

Danny: Like what, do you think?

Rusty: Off the top of my head, I'd say you're looking at a Boeski, a Jim Brown, a Miss Daisy, two Jethros and a Leon Spinks, not to mention the biggest Ella Fitzgerald ever!

- Ocean’s Eleven

Icy numbness crept over me, as if I was being slowly frozen from the top down (which is something I can do to a man, by the way – it just takes the right equipment. . .gah! Focus Missi!) as I walked with my five remaining teammates. No one spoke to me. I was pretty sure that was because Sami, Isaac and Moe were tired. Dr. Andy gave me a wan smile I’m sure was intended to cheer me up. Lex had a scary look of determination on his face.

“You okay?” Moe whispered from behind me.

I nodded, saying nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed. You know, he really was a sweet guy. I’d misjudged him too. Maybe he had a perfectly good reason for being unemployed and living with his mom. Maybe he had a rare, undetectable disease? I can make those. There’s a whole shelf of them in my lab, under the bobble heads.

I shook my bobble head, pretty sure I would burst into tears if I spoke. I’d really blown it. Lex was probably convinced I had played him – which made me look like an evil whore. If only I hadn’t opened my big, fat mouth and shoved my whole leg into it.

Alan and Julie joined us at the site shortly after we’d arrived. They had six men with them I didn’t recognize. Locals, I’d guess. Each one of them held what looked like a black sack.

“We are down to our final six,” Alan intoned with considerably less confidence than when the show started. “Each of you will be blindfolded and taken to a remote location. You will remove your blindfold and try to find your way back here, to camp, where I will be waiting with further instructions.”

Another lame event. Where were the cameramen? There were only two left – Bert and Ernie. How would they cover six people in different locations? Were they even trying anymore?

My thoughts were interrupted as a black hood was thrown over my head. Man, it was really dark in there. Black is a good color on me though. Not that anyone would see me, that is.

“I’ll see you back here soon,” Alan said as someone took my arm to lead me away. He smelled like fish and onions. Super.

What were they going to do? Time us and the last two to make it back would be voted off? I struggled to find the point of it all. Maybe this was just another way to try and kill us. Moving through a jungle blindfolded is dicey at best.

This wouldn’t be a tough challenge for me. Part of our training in the Bombay clan is to do the same thing on Santa Muerta as children. As we got older, we were taken to other remote locations in the world in an attempt to eradicate our fear of the unknown. One time, back in the early ‘80’s, Mom left me alone in a remote area of Tibet. How was she to know the Chinese army was just on the other side of the mountain? Anyway, once I got my hood off (they didn’t take them off for us – that would be too easy) and saw several thousand Chinese heading my way, it kind of took the wind out of my sails. There’s a real funny story about that and a yak herder, but that’s for another time.

I started memorizing the number of steps I was taking and the direction I was being led. Sounds and smells all contributed to where I was going, which seemed to be down the beach, away from the Blanco Tigre. Sand churned beneath my feet and the gulls cried out as we moved in a straight line. How stupid was that? At least make it interesting.

After what I deduced was about ten minutes, we turned left and in fourteen steps were heading into the jungle. Leaves crunched as I stepped on them and branches pressed against my arms. Again, we moved in a straight line. How original.

Howler monkeys shrieked and I could swear I heard the word “Mom.” I smiled beneath the hood. The boys were following me. I felt a little better knowing that they loved me enough to keep an eye on me. When a mango dropped on my head, I knew it was Monty and Jack. Good boys, but enough with the mangoes already.

After a few more minutes, we stopped and the hood was pulled off. A rather bored looking man shrugged at me and then disappeared into the jungle. Apparently, his job was done.

Monty jumped down, followed by Jack. They threw their arms around me and squeezed.

“Why are you crying?” Jack asked with a look of fear.

Monty, always the more intuitive one, took me back into his arms. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re here. It’s okay.”

I sobbed for a few moments, getting it all out. Then I told my sons what had happened.

“Whoa,” Jack replied. “You were harsh to Lex.”

“Shut it!” Monty snapped at his brother. “Can’t you see she’s been through enough?”

Jack hung his head. “Sorry, Mom. I’m one-half of an idiot.”

Normally I would’ve laughed at his typical swipe at Monty, but instead I wiped my nose on my arm. “It’s okay. Before you show me back to the camp, tell me you have something on Vic.”

The boys looked at each other for a long time. Too long a time, actually.

“You do have something I can use, right?” I asked again.

Monty shook his head. “Not really. It’s like he doesn’t really exist. I can’t even find anything that says he’s a poker player.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. This is the weirdest assignment ever. Isaac is the invisible man. He’s off the grid...completely.”

I behaved rationally, by screaming in frustration. Birds flew to get out of my way and howler monkeys voiced their admiration.

“There’s something else,” Monty added in a voice that always makes a mother’s insides shrivel. “We haven’t heard anything back from the Council.”

“What? Why would you contact them?”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “We thought maybe we could sweet-talk Grandma into giving up more on Vic.”

“Problem is,” Monty finished for his brother, “no one on Santa Muerta is returning our calls or text messages.”

“That’s not much, considering they don’t even know what texting is.” I guess I’d have to have a Blackberry course for them when I got home. I’m talking really remedial here. “But why wouldn’t they answer their phones?”

“We could go back to the island and see what’s going on?” Jackson asked.

I shook my head. “No. It’s too risky. If something’s gone down I don’t want you two involved.” In our business, there was always the possibility of a raid or espionage. I was less worried about the Council than I was about my boys. I know it sounds blasé, but we’ve been through drills for emergencies so many times I figured my mother and the others were handling whatever it was.

“I want you two to go find Isaac and tail him.” I should have been doing that all along. It was time to get this thing over with.

The boys nodded and with a quick hug were off on their new mission. I dried my eyes and turned to head back the way I came.

The long walk gave me time to think. It was easy to trace my way back, mainly because I just had to follow the footprints. Stupid show.

So, what was I going to do about Lex once the Isaac thing was sorted out? I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than I did. This man was the first I’d trusted. . .hell, slept with in years. My feelings for him were overpowering. I had really fallen hard.

And now, Lex thought I’d betrayed him in the worst way. That sucked. The question was, what would I do? Should I come clean and tell him I didn’t mean it? Would he even believe me? Maybe I should wash my hands of it and just let him think I was a horrible, manipulative witch. Then I could just go back to the safety of my island and forget about it.

But could I forget about it? Sure I could, I thought with no confidence whatsoever. It was just a sweet little fling. Meant to be over in a few weeks. I didn’t need a man – hadn’t I told my mother that when I left?

And what about the boys? No, it was too soon to cut them loose. They still needed a full-time mother. Monty and Jack had come here to help me. They deserved my complete attention. Having a boyfriend would just complicate things.

Another justification popped into my head. My sons knew I was an assassin and they didn’t care. Lex wouldn’t be able to accept that. And how would he feel once he knew my inventions were actually meant to kill people.

Once I’d talked myself into the idea that Lex would change me if he could, and the fact that I couldn’t change if I wanted to due to the blood oath I’d signed as a child, it didn’t really matter.

In fact, I was just about to talk myself into both changing my hair color and the prospects of finding a “boy toy” in Venezuela when I stumbled gracelessly into camp. I was the first one there. As long as Lex wasn’t the second, I might be alright.

Unfortunately, my luck wasn’t good. Who do you think strolled in minutes after me? That’s right. Lex. We sat in the sand quietly, intensely uncomfortable.

“So, I suppose you meant what you told Dr. Andy this morning?” Lex asked.

Damn him! Why couldn’t he just leave it alone?

“Yes. I did. It’s just a game.” I tried to sound convincing. Lex looked at me as if trying to see through my head. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve told him I had an invention for that. But I wasn’t feeling especially charitable. Mostly, I was deeply offended that he had to ask. If he really had feelings for me – he would’ve known I was lying to Dr. Andy. The bastard! Hey yeah! It’s his fault.

Moe joined us, sweating profusely and seriously out of breath. He doubled over to recoup as Dr. Andy joined us, followed by Julie and Alan.

“I see you four made it back okay.” Alan smirked. I wondered what he’d look like with a barbeque fork sticking out of his jugular. Pretty funny, I’d bet.

“Sami and Isaac will be here soon.” I grumbled just to be contradictory.

Alan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. You four now have a choice to make.” He paused dramatically. Julie leered. I pictured her with that same barbeque fork protruding from her forehead. That helped. Oooh! Maybe it’s a rusty fork! Then she’d get tetanus too. Wait, would it even matter if she had a pointy piece of metal piercing her brain?

“Isaac and Sami have been kidnapped,” Alan continued. “They are hidden somewhere in the jungle. You can go and look for them and if you find them, they will stay on the show. Or, you can avoid going after them, which will eliminate them from the team – making you the final four.”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

Julie piped up. “Yes. The choice is yours. Do the right thing and risk yourselves or do nothing and increase your chance of winning.”

Alan glared at her for taking the spotlight. Apparently, Alan didn’t like sharing. He probably didn’t watch Sesame Street as a child. You know, that would explain so much. I wonder if the Council would allow me to do a survey of our Vics – asking them just before killing them if they’d ever watched Sesame Street. I’d bet none of them did. Wouldn’t that be revealing?

I noticed that Bert and Ernie were here to tape now.

“If you fail to find them before sundown, your choice is made for you. We will join you in the morning to see what you have decided.” Alan and Julie exchanged smug grins and strolled up the beach toward the resort. I added our flaming torches shoved up their asses to my fantasy.

I snagged Ernie’s ankle as he tried to walk past me. “Where are they?” I growled. Burt looked at us, then started running up the beach. Apparently he was in no mood to be challenged.

“Where are they?” I repeated.

“I don’t know! They didn’t tell us what they were going to do with them!” Ernie began to whine. I let him go and he took off after his little Muppet roommate. Either I scared him or the show had totally given up on us.

“Well,” Moe said slowly. “I guess this solves our problem.”

Dr. Andy nodded. “It seems pretty clear what to do. Or at least, not do.”

I stood up. “What are you talking about? We have to go find them.”

Lex didn’t move or speak.

Moe stood up to face me. “I know they are your friends, Missi, but this is how the game is played. We have an opportunity to do nothing and get closer to winning.”

“I’m sure they’re locked in a room at the Tigre,” Dr. Andy said. “It isn’t a question of ethics here – it’s how the strategy works.”

I realized I was behaving contrary to what I’d just told Lex, but it really bothered me that no one wanted to find Sami and Isaac.

“Lex, let’s just you and me go. . .” I started.

He looked up at me. “I don’t know. I mean, I came here to win. And if they’re safe at the resort, there’s no reason to lose the challenge, right?” I could see Lex was struggling with this.

“But we have an alliance,” I pleaded.

Lex shook his head and stood up. “Apparently not. And since when did you care about anyone in this game?”

I watched with my mouth open as the three of them walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Delivery man: [inventorying the items he has just brought] Meat hooks, four lengths of chain, forty gallons of plasma, and an elephant syringe.

- Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman

“Stupid, selfish bastards,” I mumbled as I made my way into the jungle, looking for my missing teammates. “All they care about is this idiotic game. Sami wouldn’t have copped out for a room at the Tigre. She needs the money and I’m not going to deny her the chance to win it.” In case you’re wondering, I do talk to myself a lot. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an inventor or if it’s due to the fact I spend so much time alone. Isolated. On an island.

Sami and Isaac would’ve done the same for me. And I really wanted Sami to win. I got the distinct impression that she needed the money. If I hadn’t been a giant ass this morning, Lex would probably have been with me.

I couldn’t blame him for being confused. Now he figured it really was just a game and this was a chance for him to win. Lex thought I used him. Why should he trust me?

Because you slept with him, you moron! Okay, there’s that. We’d shared an intimacy that made me feel like my organs had turned to goo. Images of making love to Lex spooled through my brain like an X-rated film reel.

I really made a mess of things. Usually I like to make a mess of things. It’s how I make a lot of my discoveries. Like that time I spilled one of my chemical concoctions on Silly Putty – wow. You should have seen what that did to comic book pictures!

But in this case, someone got hurt. I knew trying out a relationship would end in fiasco. Didn’t I tell Mom I didn’t need a man? More like shouldn’t have a man.

What did Lex see in me anyway? He just met me. We knew nothing about each other except for some moments of explosive, sexual chemistry. Damn, he was good. That thing he did with his elbow was impressive.

There was also a sense of ease I felt when I was around him. Lex made me feel completely comfortable. It was like we’d known each other forever. When you meet someone like that, it’s like a sixth sense kicks in.

Great. Now I was utterly depressed. I had a great thing with a terrific guy and. . .and what? He overheard me saying that he meant nothing to me. Yeesh. Was I obsessing or what?

And what about the fact he wouldn’t help me find Sami and Isaac? He wasn’t the greatest guy! I tried to keep telling myself. In case you’re wondering, it didn’t work.

Several hours later (with a full-blown migraine), I still hadn’t found my missing teammates. I’d scoured the jungle, the beach and even the hotel. Stopping by the guest house, I ordered a tuna salad sandwich and Diet Coke. No one was around. Maybe it made them feel too guilty? It was almost three in the afternoon when I headed back out to check the remaining grounds of the Tigre.

Damn, it was getting late. I was only an hour away from dusk as I wandered onto the last hole on the resort golf course. It was then I heard what sounded like gravel swearing.

Just off the eighteenth hole was a little maintenance shack. I rounded the corner to find Sami tied up like a cocoon on the ground, swearing up a blue streak with her voice half gone. After untying her and breaking into the shack to get her something to drink, she calmed down.

“Bastards dragged me here and left me! I’m gonna kill ‘em!”

I let her rant for a while because she’d earned it. I even picked up some juicy new cuss words to use on my mother when she tries to set me up in the future.

“Sami,” I finally tried to calm her down. “Where did they take Isaac?”

Sami stopped shouting and stared at me. “They took him too?”

I nodded, and she began expelling expletives that didn’t even make sense. How could a jackass even have sex with a rat anyway?

She seemed okay to walk and together we made our way through the falling darkness to the guesthouse.

I stopped short of the tennis courts.

“Sami, you go on ahead to the guest house to tell them what happened, then check in at the campsite so you don’t get disqualified. Then head to the guesthouse and tell Lex. I’m going back out to find Isaac.”

I thought she’d argue with me, but she was obviously exhausted.

“Roger that.” She turned and vanished into the foliage.

After “borrowing” a flashlight from a drunk security guard who was napping on the putting green, I decided to check out the rest of the area.

My mood grew as dark as the night. Where was Isaac? Alan and Julie weren’t this good at hiding someone. Hell, they barely managed to think straight most of the time.

I hoped Monty and Jack had found him. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen the boys all day. That gave me heart palpitations that I was sure would leave a mark. Where in the hell were they?

Of course, I started to panic. My kids were missing, and so was my Vic. My boyfriend hated me, as did everyone who worked on the show. Weathermen have the “lake effect”; Survival had the “Missi effect.”

At least Sami appreciated me. That was some consolation. I was walking in circles and still no sign of Isaac, Monty or Jackson. Exhaustion descended like a wet, wool blanket in July. I needed to get back. There was the smallest hope she’d find Isaac at the campsite.

No such luck. Julie and Alan looked pissed. Moe and Dr. Andy seemed upset that their odds of making the final four weren’t as good. Lex glanced at me with what I thought was curiosity. Oh, why did I have to think that? Getting my hopes up would only complicate things.

“So, you’re finally back,” Julie sneered. I was seriously sick of her doing that.

“Since you found Sami, she stays in the game. Isaac, however, is off.” Alan seemed to be taking pleasure in my failure to find Isaac.

I was in some serious shit if I didn’t find him. I’d pretty much blown my assignment from the Council – something I’ve never done before. Not ever.

I followed the rest of the team back to the guesthouse. Sami was the only one who talked to me. I got the feeling the others let her know they weren’t too happy to see her, but she didn’t care.

Dinner arrived but my heart wasn’t in it. Food didn’t sound good. There was no room in my stomach for it. Between worrying about Vic (that’s a new one) and the boys and being treated like a leper by Dr. Andy and Moe and being loathed by Lex, I had enough action in there to last a lifetime.

“Thanks again for keeping me in the game, Missi.” Sami spoke so loud there was no doubting her intentions.

“You’re welcome. After all, we did have an alliance.” I shot a snide look at Lex.

“Could have fooled me after what I heard this morning,” Lex sniped. “You made it clear that you thought of this only as a game to be won.”

“What the hell are you talking about, dumbass?” Sami gave him a look that should’ve melted his face.

“Why don’t you tell her what you told Dr. Andy?” Lex pointed at me with his fork.

Moe didn’t say anything but tried to give me a supportive smile. I felt bad that he had to witness this. It wasn’t his fault I was a jerk.

“Let’s just calm down and talk this through,” Dr. Andy started.

“No thank you.” I threw my napkin on the table and slid my chair back.

“Who cares what the bitch said? She’s the only asshole who came looking for me.” Sami winked at me.

“She said she didn’t care for any of us. That this was a game and we didn’t mean anything to her,” Lex said quietly.

Damn. I’d hurt him more than I thought.

“She also acted like she didn’t believe there was any sabotage. And she didn’t think we should look into it,” he added.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oh, it was on.

“Well, maybe you are the one sabotaging the show.” Funny. Lex didn’t look like a man I wanted to kill.

“Why would I sabotage the show?” I have to admit I was pretty shocked at the accusation. I never saw this coming.

“Maybe you did it so you could guarantee a win. Although your generosity,” he waved his arms about him “indicates that you don’t need the money.”

Wow. That’s it. Just wow. I had nothing.

“Oh, I get it,” Moe said thoughtfully. “She sabotaged it so she could play the hero.”

“Uh, no. It’s not me,” I said numbly. “I lied to Dr. Andy. It was a stupid strategy, I’ll admit. I really do care about you guys.” I drew myself up to my full height. “But now that I see your true colors, Lex, I wonder how I let my feelings for you get so out of control.” I slid my chair dramatically under the table and went to my room, where I pouted. All night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”

- Dorothy Parker

Sami woke me in the morning, so I must have gotten some sleep. Apparently, I’d been crying, as was evidenced by my swollen eyes.

After soaking my face for twenty minutes with a cold washcloth, I ventured out to breakfast. In my absence, one of the other guests had ordered Danish and coffee. Whatever. It all tasted like sawdust anyhow.

We arrived at the campsite just seconds before Julie appeared. No one seemed to care about the consequences anymore. Last night took the fight out of everyone. Moe winked at me and Sami called me dumbass and that felt like a small victory. Lex never made eye contact.

Julie chewed on her lip. Strangely enough, she didn’t have her clipboard with her.

“I need all of you to follow me to the resort. I’ll explain once we get there.”

That was weird, but none of us really cared. I was wavering between quitting and killing everyone so my being rational was right out.

To our dull surprise, Julie marched us into a conference room. Alan sat at a long table with what appeared to be network brass and the local police.

“I need your attention.” Alan looked tired for the first time since I’d met him. “We’ve lost Isaac. The challenges for today are cancelled and the police have some questions for you. Please cooperate with them.”

My heart sank. I’d feared the worst and it had happened. Isaac was missing. I’d blown the job. The others looked around helplessly.

“What do you mean, missing? How could you lose him?” Moe asked with a catch in his throat.

Julie looked at Alan quickly, then responded. “He wasn’t where we had left him. We’ve searched everywhere.” She shrugged.

A lot of thoughts went through my mind. Isaac could have become the victim of foul play by the saboteur – whoever that was. Or maybe he figured me out and fled. Either way things couldn’t have been worse. I’d either screwed up or someone did the job for me. And where were Monty and Jackson? No one could’ve taken all three of them. My boys were too well trained for that. Unless they were unconscious . . .

An ugly, ovary-shrinking fear filled me. It never occurred to me that they could be in danger. If something happened to my sons, I would never forgive myself. And then I would never forgive my mother. One was mental, the other would be physical.

There was only one thing to do. I had to get to that mango tree. Hopefully Monty and Jack were waiting for me there. But how? The conference room was locked up tighter than brand new Tupperware.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” What? I did a little acting in college. “I need to get out of here. . .” My body swayed and my eyes rolled back in my head as I staggered to the door. To my surprise, no one tried to stop me.

“I’ll be right back.” I promised with a lie. As soon as the doors closed, I ran and without looking behind me even once, ran until I got to my meeting place with the boys.

“Monty! Jackson!” I shouted. Nothing. “Boys, it’s okay! I’m alone!” Still nothing.

I imagined everything a mother imagines when her children are missing – from terrorists to ice picks to disfiguring acid. Okay, everything that a Bombay mother imagines.

Snap out of it! What were the possibilities? This line of thinking slowed my pulse a bit. After taking a few cleansing breathes, I considered what might have happened. Either Isaac met with foul play or he was on the run. The boys were either with him or still looking for him. Okay. That seemed a little more realistic.

Then, crazy mommie took over my brain. If they were with Isaac, they were most likely in trouble or they would have contacted me. Right?

How long had I been sitting there? It felt like hours. Somehow I managed to convince myself that doing nothing was counter-productive. I started back toward the guesthouse. Sami and Moe would help me look for Isaac. They didn’t have to know that my sons were in the mix too.

“Missi?” Dr. Andy was standing outside the door to the guesthouse. He came up to me, studying my face. “You weren’t sick, were you?”

“You’re pretty intuitive, Doc.” I paused. “Can I ask you something, professionally?”

He pulled up two plastic chairs and motioned for me to sit.

I didn’t wait for him to ask. “You probably guessed that I’m worried about Isaac.”

“You think you are somehow to blame. But you’re not, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not the saboteur. I just feel like I didn’t look out for him.”

“Do you have any children?” He asked.

That got my attention. “Well, yes. Twin sons. They just turned seventeen.”

He nodded. “I remembered you saying you were a widow. It’s very textbook.”

I squinted at him. “It is? How so?”

Dr. Andy leaned back and crossed his legs. “You have a mother hen complex. Your husband’s death left you to raise two little boys. Now they’re grown and getting ready to leave the nest, right?”

Did hens have nests? “Well, yes.”

“That’s why you went after Sami when no one else would. That’s why you’ve looked out for all of us on the challenges and when there was danger. And that’s why you are obsessed with finding Isaac.”

“Um, okay. . .”

“You are facing your future. Your sons will go off to lead their own lives and you will be all alone. The whole world has started to become your nest. But you can’t save everyone, Missi. And you aren’t responsible for all of us. We’re adults, like you. You need to let go and move on.”

I thought about what he said. There was some real insight there. I guess I’d misjudged him too.

“That’s pretty good. I think you’ll go far as a television psychiatrist.”

Dr. Andy’s face flushed a deep crimson. “Between you and me, Missi, I’m not really a doctor. I’m not even a certified therapist.”

“Why are you telling me that?” I looked around but there were no cameras.

He looked to his left and his right before continuing. “I took a couple of courses online. I just wanted you to know that this talent is all natural.”

So he was bragging. I did not have time for this.

“I was a follower of the late Anthony Lowe – well, before his unfortunate death in Indiana. I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

“Great. I’ve got to go.” I pushed past him into the house.

Sami and Lex turned when they saw me.

“God damn!” Sami shouted as she ran to me. “You’re alright!”

I wanted to tell her she couldn’t be more wrong. Lex gave me a weak grin. What the hell was that about?

“I just came back to get some food and water and head out again to look for Isaac.”

“We’ll go too,” Lex said.

I turned to face him. “You don’t have to. Dr. Andy just informed me that I have an overdeveloped need to take care of people so it’s my thing. Do whatever you want.” I threw the things I needed into my tote, threw it over my shoulder and turned toward the door.

“Fuck that! We’re going with you.” Sami followed me out the door.

I noticed that Dr. Andy was gone. Where was he? Moe was still absent. Maybe the fake doc was counseling him now. Poor kid.

“All right, fine.” I sighed. “You two take the golf course – where I found you yesterday. I’ll head directly north, into the jungle. It’s the only area I haven’t been.”

They looked like they were about to argue and I stopped them. “There is no discussion. Come and find me if you don’t locate Isaac.”

They agreed, which was a good thing or I would’ve had to kill them. And I’m somewhat serious when I say that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Look! An undead monkey!”

- Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest

“Alright boys, Momma’s coming,” I said quietly as I made my way through the trees and vines. My attitude had gone from freaked out mother to Rambonator in a matter of seconds. This transition was important or I’d never keep my head in whatever situation I found.

This was the only area I hadn’t yet searched and I stayed close to the trail. I hoped something would surface to give me a clue.

Even though I’d spent a lot of years in the lab, I still knew how to launch into stealth mode. I’d spent my whole life learning how to be silent and invisible – which was probably a lot different from other families. But if I had to kill someone, I could. And if my kids were in danger, I’d take out anyone who had them, even if it was Isaac.

Thinking about that for a moment made me realize that I was finally in the Bombay zone. If Isaac wasn’t dead or in danger from some mysterious stranger, he was probably holding my kids hostage. And that, I just couldn’t have. Mother hen indeed. More like deadly-ninja-angry mother hen thingy!

I went over various scenarios in my head, preparing for any kind of combat there might be. I’d always been like that. It gave me quick reflexes and allowed me to think fast and implement almost anything as a weapon. I remember this one time when I had to kill a guy with a drinking straw. That was actually funny. Because if you hold your thumb over one end of a straw, it’s pretty much a deadly weapon...

Sorry, got off track there. Damn, this was taking a long time. I had to keep my mind busy or I’d. . .too late. I was thinking about Lex.

The man really had to hate me. After catching me saying I’d pretty much used him to win the game, he had to be upset. Forget the fact that it was a lie. I’d hurt him and that was very bad.

Truth was, I think I was actually falling in love with him. I shook my head to clear it.

Keep moving, Missi. I willed my feet to continue even though I felt like I was dragging my heart behind me like a deflated parachute. I tried to think of something else but the idea refused to budge from my brain.

What did you expect, Missi? That after the show you and Mr. Ethics would shack up together in your condo on Santa Muerta? Maybe he could use his stunt-planning skills – the ones he used so no one got hurt - to help you kill people?

I shuddered in spite of the heat. Forget Lex! Forget him! Focus on Isaac, Monty and Jack. Think of tough things. I pictured scorpions, poison, laser sights, anything to take my mind off of Lex Danby.

At least Sami still liked me. And Moe and possibly the fake Dr. Andy. Hell, Isaac liked me, even if he did figure out I was sent to kill him. I didn’t know if that was the case or not but it really didn’t matter.

I’m gonna harden my heart. I’m gonna swallow my tears. Oooh, a little Pat Benatar should help. Picturing the lyrics, I kept pressing further north until the trail ended. I’d been gone about an hour. Now what? Should I go back?

Just as I was about to turn around, I thought I saw a flash of red. Jackson? Maybe I should push on a bit further. I turned in the direction where I’d spotted it and followed.

“Boys!” I called out. “Monty! Jackson!” I didn’t want to yell too loudly in case they were in jeopardy.

After about five minutes I spotted a clearing ahead. At the far end was a dilapidated shack. How cliché was that? I mean seriously? A ramshackle lean-to in the middle of nowhere?

Could the boys or Isaac be there? It was a little obvious, but I had to check it out. I carefully made my way around the perimeter, trying desperately to be silent but my heart was pounding like tribal drums in anticipation.

The shack was only a few feet away. Rough-hewn planks spotted with holes where the wood had rotted away was all that stood between me and some answers. And through the holes, I could hear voices.

“Yeah, you boys almost had me.” I heard Isaac’s voice through the splintered wood. He laughed, and my blood ran cold. “It’s a good thing I caught on, or this would’ve been bad for me.”

Oh shit. Isaac was the baddie. And I’d led my boys into a trap. There was no way I was winning Mother of the Year.

“As soon as I get out of here, I’ll make sure your mother is taken care of.”

I heard the boys mumbling. Obviously they were bound and gagged.

“And it’s a good thing you had these sandwiches on you or I’d have to resort to cannibalism.” Isaac stated as if it was all a joke.

Damn, damn, damn! No one threatens my sons.

I hoped that Isaac’s monologue was distracting him as I slipped up to the door. Taking a deep breath, I flung the door open, jumping out of the way of potential gunfire.

“Mom?”

I leaned into the doorway. Isaac, Jack and Monty were sitting on the floor of the shack, eating turkey paninis.

“Mom!” Jack sprang from the floor into my arms and pulled me into the cabin. Monty closed the door.

“You’re. . .you’re okay?” I blinked. “All of you?” Well, this was a bit anticlimactic.

Monty cocked his head to the side – a motion he made when he thought I’d lost my mind. “Well, duh. What did you think?”

“I. . .I. . .I” was all I could manage.

Isaac stood up, grasping my shoulders in his hands. “It’s okay, Missi. We’re alright.”

The four of us looked at each other for a moment. They were safe. All three of them. No bad guys anywhere. I relaxed. And then I blew my stack, because I am angry-lethal-assassin chicken or something like that.

“Oh my god! You guys scared the crap out of me!” I stabbed a finger toward Isaac. “And the police are looking for you! They think you’ve been kidnapped!”

Jackson put his hand over my mouth as Monty brought his finger to his lips and peered out of one of the knot holes.

“Your boys rescued me, Missi.” Isaac shrugged.

Monty gave the ‘all-clear’ sign. Jackson flashed me a look that told me to shut up.

“Isaac is an officer from Interpol, Mom! Isn’t that cool?” Jack feigned fascination. Obviously, Isaac had no clue who me and the boys were, (which was good) so they were pretending they’d never met anyone from that agency before. As if.

I narrowed my eyes at Isaac. “Is that so?”

He flipped out his wallet and handed it to me. Yup. It was real alright. I’d made enough of these forgeries to know the real thing when I saw it. But what was going on? The Council would never ask me to take out an Interpol agent. We just didn’t kill the good guys. Maybe he was rogue?

“But I don’t understand. You said you rescued him?” I pointed at Isaac as if he were a fish or a plant.

“The guys from the show had him tied up on the seventeenth hole,” Monty explained. That was only one hole away from where I found Sami. Either these guys weren’t very imaginative or they just got bored and left them next to each other.

Jackson, as usual, added his take. “We thought something was up.” He left out the fact that they knew Isaac had been taken as a challenge and was actually in no danger. My kids were good at playing dumb.

Isaac started. “Some guy was leading me into the jungle and I thought I was just doing what everyone else was. Then the moron ties me up and tells me the others have to find me or I’m off the show. Your boys came along and found me and brought me here.”

I looked around the shack. Crumpled and deflated bags and boxes that once held a delirious array of junk food peppered the corners. On my left was the generator-run mini fridge I’d invented for my workshop. On top of that was a Playboy magazine.

“You two have been living here?” I shrieked. “I thought you said you were staying at the Tigre!” All this time I thought I was the only liar. My kids trumped me! Not like it was the first time, but it still bit.

Monty shook his head. “We did have a room at the Tigre. But we also made up this place to hang out.”

My eyes widened as I looked around the seedy building. “You made this?”

Jack nodded proudly. “Yup. We found some scrap wood and put it all together using paperclips.”

“And my fridge?”

The boys looked at each other. “Well,” Monty said, “we needed someplace to put the pop.”

It took only two steps before I was able to yank open the door. If I found beer in there, they were going to suffer. Slamming the door shut and grateful that there were only two pop cans and a water bottle inside, my rage was still boiling.

“And that?” I pointed to the magazine. On the cover was a dazed-looking blonde, half-naked in a library. She looked as though she was about to say, ‘Oh! I didn’t see you there! It was getting hot in here so I had to remove a few articles of clothing. Is that all right?’

Isaac turned away to hide a grin. Men. Monty and Jack froze. I’m not a prude, but I don’t like that crap. It’s hard enough raising teenage boys. And I understand their curiosity about the female body. But the thing about these rags is that they don’t show real women. Blonde Librarian looked like she’d had everything done but her eyelashes. And we are not giggling idiots either!

The boys hung their heads. “Sorry, Mom.”

For a moment, I debated the idea of letting them drown in an expletive-strewn stream of feminist dogma (swear-jar be damned). But then I remembered that they had Isaac and we had to get him back to the resort to call off the search party.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I hissed through my teeth at my young. “We need to get Isaac back before they call out the Costa Rican national whatever.”

“That’s just it, Mom.” Jack protested. “He’s in hiding right now – since the kidnapping stunt.”

“That’s why we brought him here instead of returning him to you,” Monty answered as if Isaac was a missing lump of head cheese.

I spun around. “Why are you in hiding? Can’t we just go back?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not yet. I have to make sure you guys are safe. The man I’m dealing with is very dangerous. You could get hurt just by being with me.”

I held my breath to keep from laughing. Yeah, right. We needed protection from him. If Isaac had a clue, he’d realize the three of us Bombays were far deadlier.

“Why?” I asked.

“I’m on a case,” Isaac said using the typical vernacular these guys used on civilians. “One of the castaways is an international arms dealer.”

“What? Who?” Was he joking? Uh oh. The Bombays had the wrong guy! I almost killed the wrong guy! But who was the right guy?

At that instant, the door crashed open and in walked my friend Moe, carrying a submachine gun. Huh, Moe wasn’t really the washed-up loser he led us all to believe he was. I guess I’d really, really misjudged him.

Moe grinned, this time a sickly leer. “Thanks for the lead, Missi. I never would’ve found him if not for you.”

“You followed me? How?” How did I miss a three hundred-pound man behind me? I have got to work on my skills.

He reached over and plucked a ladybug off of my tote bag. At least I thought it was a bug.

“Tracked you. I knew you’d find him.”

Ah. The old ladybug-that-wasn’t-a-ladybug trick. How did I fall for that one? I make them to look like flies. Far more believable than a pansy ladybug.

Moe punched Isaac with the butt of his gun, causing him to double over. “I’ve been trying to lose this son-of-a-bitch for two years.”

He turned the gun toward Isaac. “Tie him up,” he told me. Moe kicked a length of rope toward me. “Then tie up your brats.”

Well, that’s just great. I hate it when someone throws rope at me and tells me to tie up my own sons. Isaac sat down in front of me, demonstrating compliance and I tied his hands behind him. I was still in shock. Moe? Seriously?

Moe shoved Jackson toward me and Monty sat next to him. “Pretty clever – having your sons infiltrate the show. You probably could’ve won with a strategy like that.”

I said nothing as I tied first Jackson, then Monty, hoping my silence would encourage him to talk. Of course, he didn’t know I was using a special knot I’d invented when I was ten. It looked like a real nasty mess but in truth it fell away when you pulled the left tail. Monty and Jack gave me the thumbs up behind their backs, indicating they knew what I’d done.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt, Missi,” Moe continued, but not saying what I wanted him to. “I thought I could just lay low here for a while. Of course, if I knew this bastard was who he was from the beginning, I’d have killed him and moved on. Once my contacts at the Blanco Tigre told me he was Interpol, I put it all together.”

“Uh, if you knew someone was tailing you for two years, how come you didn’t know who he was?” Maybe that was a tad impertinent.

Moe sneered and turned the gun on Isaac. “I guess I’m not as smart as he thinks I am.”

“Don’t kill him,” I said slowly, stalling for time. “Just leave us here and run.” Then I almost laughed picturing a man as big as him running. I didn’t really expect him to take my advice. It was just something to say.

Moe shook his head. “Too late. I tried laying booby-traps but nothing worked. That damned zip line was beautiful. I had the wrong team on the right line, but those are just details. And then you screwed it all up.”

“You are the saboteur?” I couldn’t believe it. Big, clumsy, doofus Moe.

He paused and stared at me for a moment. “You thought I was a nobody, didn’t you?” He seemed surprised. “I must’ve done a good job fooling everyone.”

“No, I wasn’t fooled.” Yes, I was. He did a great job.

“It doesn’t matter anyway because now I have too many witnesses.” Moe leveled the gun at my head. Nasty way to die – having your skull split by machine gun fire. A bit overly dramatic if I say so.

“Knock it off. Kill me but leave the Miss and boys alone.” Isaac was dead calm.

I rolled my eyes. “Puhleese! Don’t give us that alpha male macho save-the-women-and-children-first schtick!” I pointed at the magazine. “You know, both of you, it’s hard enough to raise two boys without all the chauvinistic messages out there! Do you guys even think before you speak?”

Isaac and Moe looked at each other. They didn’t appear to have the same mind-reading skills my boys did.

“Missi,” Isaac started. “This isn’t the best time to. . .”

“Oh, and I suppose it’s okay to act like a gorilla when a woman is in danger. Is that it? Because I can take care of myself.”

Monty and Jack were looking at each other as if to say, ‘mental note – Mom needs Midol.”

“And you two!” I turned toward my whelps. “Women don’t want to be rescued! We’re not airheads and we don’t wear garters and stockings anymore!” Okay, even I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Enough!” Moe screamed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He pointed at me. “I have a gun! That means I’m in charge and I don’t need a feminist bullshit lecture from you!”

I crossed my arms and said. “Fine! The floor is yours, Moe. If that’s your real name.”

“Um, no. What kind of international criminal mastermind would I be if I used my own name? Not a very good one, I can tell you that.”

Isaac growled. “His name is Brad Underwood. A real, first-class asshole.”

Oh boy. Here we go again. I could just picture the two of them in puffy shirts and breeks, slashing at each other with fencing foils.

Moe raised an eyebrow. “You knew more than you let on. How nice.”

“And he’s responsible for supplying terrorists of fifteen third-world countries with all the weapons they need to kill innocent people.”

Great. Just great. The Council had given me the wrong guy.

I watched as the boys gently tugged at the knots in unison. Man, they did everything in perfect sync. Now that I thought about it, it was kind of weird. But then, this wasn’t really your average situation.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Old MacDonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o. And on that farm he shot some guys . . .”

- McManus, The Usual Suspects

Moe leveled his gun at Isaac, but for some reason didn’t pull the trigger.

“Just shut up,” Moe snapped. He was silent as he weighed his options. Unfortunately, I was convinced that each of those options included five four lifeless bodies. And I couldn’t allow that.

Moe held the submachine gun in a solid grip about mid-torso. Rushing him wouldn’t be a good idea because he could mow us down in seconds. Usually, the old adage is ‘rush a gun, run from a knife.’  In this case it was too risky. I had to do something and fast.

“I can’t believe I fell for that whole useless-fat-guy-who-is-really-an-evil-genius ploy!” I shouted dramatically. “You really had me going, thinking you lived in your mom’s basement, was unemployed and ignorant!”

Monty shot me a look that said, um, Mom, what are you doing? I ignored him.

“Wow. You really had me and everyone else fooled!” I slapped my forehead with cartoonish exaggeration but tried to keep sarcasm out of my voice. Moe looked at me quizzically, uncomprehending. At least he took the gun off of Isaac.

“Although you must admit, you were pretty convincing,” I added loudly. “I mean look at you! Who lets themselves go like that in order to go underground! That must have taken some real willpower on your part. Pretty impressive!”

Moe looked at me as if I was nuts, as if he couldn’t figure out whether I was insulting or complimenting him. And that’s what I wanted. It was time for Crazy Missi to take over.

“I mean you really had to work at putting on all that weight and acting that stupid. How much did you have to eat to get so fat?”

“Um, what are you getting at?” Moe asked cautiously.

“Oh! Am I stealing your thunder by monologing for you? It’s just that I’ve never met an international criminal and I never ever would’ve guessed you were one. Good job!”

Moe’s eyes went back and forth like a computer that couldn’t make something compute. Like in War Games. Remember that movie? Where Matthew Broderick asked the super-enormous computer to play tic-tack-toe until it wins – shutting it down in the process? I love that film.

“I always thought people like you were tall, dark and gorgeous, with a devious mind and nerves like steel. You sure had us all fooled.” I was starting to worry that I was going too far.

“Listen, bitch!” Moe sputtered. “Shut up before I kill you first!”

“That’s interesting! Keep us all guessing about who would be more valuable to kill first. You should write a book!” I sounded completely sincere, which confused him. Confuse-a-criminal. Maybe I’ll trademark that phrase.

What was my strategy? Well, Lex and Sami were heading in this direction now that they hadn’t found Isaac on the golf course since, obviously, he was right here. Talking loudly might get their attention. Talking like a madwoman was just to buy time. And for fun. In spite of the danger, it was a little fun.

I watched as both Monty and Jack slipped the loose ropes into their grip. Smart boys.

A twig cracked outside, and Moe spun toward it firing wildly. Taking advantage of the distraction, Monty and Jack sprang from the floor and tackled him. The big man went down like a sack of potatoes.

The door opened very slowly and I ran to it. To my horror, Sami staggered in, bleeding heavily from the shoulder.

“Dumbass!” Was all she said as she slipped to the floor, unconscious.

Lex rushed into the room as I pulled Isaac’s knot loose behind him. Lex kicked Moe in the head as Isaac removed the gun from his grip.

It was over. And we’d all survived it. A moan from the floor caught my attention, and I knelt beside Sami. A quick examination showed that while no internal organs were hit, she was bleeding fast. Too fast. The boys were busy making sure Moe was tied up securely and Isaac had his gun trained on the man.

“Lex,” I said and he turned to face me. “I need your belt and shirt.” Lex didn’t hesitate to pull off his clothes. I folded up the t-shirt to cover the wound and tied it on tightly with his belt. It wasn’t that good a tourniquet but it was all I had.

“We have to move her,” I said, even though I knew we shouldn’t. It was very dangerous. But she was more likely to get medical help back at the resort than here in the middle of nowhere.

At my direction, Lex tore several planks of wood off the shack walls (shirtless and looking soooooo hot as he did so) and using the leftover rope, we managed to stabilize Sami. Using the invention as a makeshift cot, Lex and I carefully moved toward the trail. Isaac pushed Moe ahead of him while Jackson held one end of his bonds. Monty, my lean and lithe boy, ran like hell to the Blanco Tigre to try to advance the assistance.

Isaac, Jack and their prisoner moved faster than we did, but I wasn’t pushing it. Sami had lost a lot of blood. Lex walked in front, with me in the back. She remained unconscious for a while, then started coming to, babbling incoherently about the unlikely sexual relationship between a chicken and a dog. Finally she passed out again.

Lex’s naked back distracted me to no end. The man had an awesome back – muscular in all the right places but not overly so. I shook my head to clear it.

“Why did you come looking for me?” I asked.

He said nothing for a moment. “I had to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m sorry I was such a jerk,” I started. “I really didn’t mean those things I’d said to Dr. Andy. Especially not about you.”

Lex spoke slowly, “No, I’m an asshole. I should never have accused you of destroying the show.”

Neither of us said much else for the rest of the way. We simply focused on getting Sami back safely. It was a tough trip. In spite of Sami’s lean physique, my arms ached as I carried my half of the liter.

We were met at the end of the trail by two paramedics, who took over carrying Sami to the ambulance. Lex and I walked through the staring resort dwellers (we probably looked pretty weird, covered in blood and Lex without a shirt) up to the conference center, where Julie ushered us into the room we’d been in earlier.

I looked around the conference room – which was full of television producers, policemen and what I assumed were network attorneys (they were wearing lawyerly shoes – dead giveaway). No one seemed to notice Lex, me or the boys. All the focus was on Isaac and Moe.

Monty and Jack hugged me, then went over to watch the chaos. I turned to Lex, and his muscular, naked chest.

“I’m sorry about your shirt and belt,” I offered.

Lex smiled. “You can have the pants too, if you want.”

That was all it took for me to dive into his arms. Lex kissed the top of my head. Whatever happened next didn’t really matter, as long as this moment would last forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Hey, where’d you get that piano?”

- Plankton, Sponge Bob Squarepants

It took hours for us to sort things out. The boys disappeared, returning twenty minutes later with a Blanco Tigre shirt for Lex. He laughed as he took it from them.

“Dude, seriously, put a shirt on before Mom goes crazy.” Monty grinned. I smacked him.

Lex pulled the shirt over his head. “No more mangoes?” He asked the boys. I guess he’d figured it out.

Jack laughed. “No more mangoes. We promise.”

The police were just hauling off Moe, taking the last few bits of Isaac’s statement. In the opposite corner, a red-faced Alan and worn-out Julie were being grilled by the network execs. I wondered how they got here so fast?

Ernie joined us, pressing a cup of coffee into our hands. “They flew down yesterday to check the show out. Brought a whole team of accountants with them to investigate what was going on.”

“They find anything?” Isaac asked as he joined us.

Bert shrugged beside Ernie. “About one hundred grand used for all kinds of kinds of deviant behavior.”

Ernie nodded. “They even found receipts for an in-room donkey show.”

Ick. I didn’t even want to think about that.

“So what happens now with the contest?” I asked, thinking about Dr. Andy, Lex and Sami.

Both cameramen shook their heads. “It’s over. The accountants have locked up the prize money.”

“That’s not fair! You dragged us all here and after what we’ve gone through you aren’t going to even award the prize money?”

Bert backed off. “Don’t blame us! We have nothing to do with it.”

“Will the show even air?” Lex asked.

“Afraid not. The attorneys are too afraid of litigation. No one will ever see this footage.” Then Bert and Ernie walked away.

I looked at Lex and Isaac. Well, this was fucked up, as Sami would say if she were here.

“Look,” Lex started. “It doesn’t matter. Isaac got his man and I got you. It’s okay.”

While I was all choked up over Lex’s words, I was mad as hell about Sami. What did she get besides a bullet?

“Missi!” That’s weird. I could swear I heard California Bombay.

Judging by the look on my son’s faces, I guessed my mother was standing right behind me.

“Mom? What are you doing here?” I asked as I dragged her off to an empty corner. Monty and Jack were suddenly very busy studying their hangnails. Cowards.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” she patted my arm. “I had no idea all of this drama was happening, and we were dealing with a slight cartel invasion.”

I didn’t even ask. In my family, this kind of thing happened. “Mom, you sent me here to tail a Vic.” I nodded toward Isaac. “A Vic who turned out to be an Interpol agent.”

Cali’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Well isn’t that exciting!”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You didn’t know that? How could you not know that? And why would you send me after one of the good guys? It’s against Bombay policy!”

Mom shifted from one foot to another. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk privately. I have a room on this floor.” Then she turned and walked away as if she knew I would follow.

I stopped and told Lex to meet me at the guesthouse later, then followed my mother to her room.

“So what was this really about?” I asked before the door fully closed.

“Well, dear, it was a setup.” Mom fiddled nervously with a bracelet. Upon closer inspection I realized it was one of my bracelets. Did she get rid of me so she could pilfer my closet?

“A setup? What does that mean?” My mood was darkening quickly, but I’d let her finish before I “accidentally” shoved her out her window.

“The whole thing was a ploy to get you out of your office, off the island and into a social setting.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to sign me up for a speed-dating seminar or something?” My nails were digging into my palms.

My beloved (and soon to be dead) mother cocked her head to one side. “It was my idea. A way to force you into a situation where you couldn’t leave. I thought maybe you’d meet a man. And you did!” She clapped her hands with glee.

“You sent me on a bogus mission to kill an innocent man just so you could force me to date? Are you insane?”

Cali tut-tutted like I was a moron. “That’s why I sent the boys, dear. To make sure you didn’t kill Isaac.”

I’m such an idiot. My mom set me up on this nightmare and the boys were in on it from the beginning. How could she get two minors involved? The wrong guy could’ve died!

The room started to spin and make flashing, popping thingies. The last thing I remembered before I hit the floor was that my mom was wearing my most expensive pair of shoes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Klytus:  Most effective, Your Majesty.  Will you destroy this Earth?

The Emperor Ming:  Later.  I like to play with things a while before annihilation.

- Flash Gordon

I came to in the guesthouse, not really caring how I got there. I was just grateful that it wasn’t a jail cell or a room with my mother’s rotting corpse.

“You okay?” Lex’s face swam into view over mine.

“I think so. Physically at least. I’m not going to promise you anything on the mental right now.”

He kissed my forehead. “I’ll take that.”

I sat up and looked around. This was the room I shared with Sami. My stomach lurched.

“How’s Sami?”

“She’s just fine. It was a clean shot. She’s being released as we speak. Isaac is bringing her back here.”

“And my sons?” I asked, blood on my mind.

“They told me to tell you they were going home with your mom. She’s nice, by the way.”

“What? You met Mom?” Knowing Cali Bombay, she’d probably already proposed to Lex for me. And knowing my boys, they would be hiding on the ropes course on Santa Muerta for months waiting for me to cool down. Bile started a perilous journey up my throat and I sat up to accommodate the fury. Actually, I was beginning to embrace the fury.

Lex pushed me back down. “You need to get some sleep.” He lay down next to me, holding me in his arms.

I leaned back against his chest. As much as I wanted to be part of the welcoming committee for Sami, sleep sounded like a good idea.

And it took very little time to fall into dreamland.

“Good morning, dumbass!” Sami stood in the doorway of my room, her right arm in a sling. She looked pale – which was impressive considering her deep tan, and thinner – which was scary since she was thin to begin with. The super-confident-take-no-prisoners Sami was small and frail.

“Sami!” I got up to hug her, very gently. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “I can’t work for a couple of months, but at least I’m alive! Thank you.”

“Sami! You didn’t swear once!” I laughed.

“Well, maybe I’m turning over a goddamned new leaf!”

I hadn’t realized how late it was until I saw that Isaac and Lex were eating lunch on the veranda. Sami and I joined them, eating as if it was our last meal on earth.

What a mess I almost made out of things. . .screwing up with Lex, almost killing Isaac, almost losing Sami. And yet I was so unbelievably angry at my mother and sons. That rage would have to be dealt with and soon.

Isaac cleared his voice. “We’re going to have visitors this afternoon.”

I looked up, a forkful of salad en route to my open mouth. “Who?”

Lex answered. “The network. They called an hour ago to tell us.”

“What do those fucktards want?” Sami asked.

“My guess is that they want to give us bad news.” Isaac replied.

“Really?” I said once my mouth was empty. “How much worse could it get?”

Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown (if those were their real names) slid four sheets of watermarked, vellum paper toward us. Smith and Brown were attorneys for the CAB network. As they explained, we needed to sign legal documents waiving the network of any wrongdoing. None of this was, of course, CAB’s fault and we should be grateful they allowed us an out of the show.

I slid the forms back toward them. “Shove it up your ass,” I said politely.

Lex, Sami and Isaac said nothing. They had my back.

Mr. Smith (who wouldn’t tell me his first name – which pissed me off) slid them back to us. “Ms. Bombay, you signed a release for when the programme commenced, agreeing to whatever terms the corporation determines necessary.”

“Billy,” I replied, assigning him a random name since the bastard wouldn’t give me his, “we’re not signing anything. In fact, our attorney is on her way down from New York right now to look into suing your network for ten million dollars.”

“My name is not Billy,” Smith answered tensely.

“Since you wouldn’t give me your name, I made one up,” I said. “You didn’t have me sign anything saying I couldn’t do that, did you?” I waited as he nodded. “So, Billy, my attorney has reviewed the documents we signed and says we have a ninety nine point seven percent chance of winning.”

All right, so I made that up too. I just wanted to watch them squirm. I didn’t have Mother or the boys to punish so these two suits would have to do. In all honesty, the Bombays have the best law firm in the world representing them. I was pretty sure we could at least score twenty million if we tried.

Smith looked at Brown, who I didn’t have a name for yet. Brown shrugged, which was good because I was thinking of calling him Seymour.

“What do you suggest, Ms. Bombay?” A vein on Smith’s neck twitched.

“I want you to award the $25,000 prize money to Ms. Sami Lee. I also insist that you pay her medical bills and pay full transportation home for her. Then I, Mr. Danby and Mr. Beckett will sign your forms.”

Smith’s eyebrows went up. “And Ms. Lee? She signs too, right?”

“Wrong. She doesn’t sign anything and you walk away hoping she doesn’t change her mind and come after the network.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. I had considered making them wrestle crocodiles too – without muzzles. But the others thought that might be a smidge over the top. Sigh.

Smith shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable.”

I sighed because it looked dramatic and using the remote, clicked on the tv. There, on the screen, was footage of Alan snorting cocaine off a donkey’s ass. In the corner of the screen was a little CAB logo. Alan then began to spill the dirty little secrets on seven of the twelve members of the networks’ board of directors. Did you know that Canadians are far more sexually repressed than we are? Ernie had given me the tape for free. I tipped him five grand for the favor.

Brown leaned forward, pushing forms toward only me, Lex and Isaac. “I think we have a deal, Ms. Bombay.”

The men returned with a check within the hour and the hospital confirmed that the bill had been paid. I let them have the tape. I had two more in my suitcase. A girl needs all the blackmail material she can get.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sam Treadwell: The man is a psychopathic killer.

Ginger: Don't impose your values on me, Sam.

- Cherry 2000

After helping Sami and Isaac into the car that would take them to the airport, Lex and I strolled back to the now empty El Conquistador guest house.

“I’m sorry, but there’s something rude I must ask you.” Lex said this while nuzzling my ear on the veranda after some explosive sex.

“Hmmmm?”

“How can you afford this place? The accountants didn’t mention a guest house on CAB’s bill, so unless you’re deeply involved in identity theft, you are paying for it.”

I stared into his lovely eyes for a moment. There was no way I could lie to him anymore. I’d jumped the shark on that one too many times. It was time to tell him the truth, and maybe face the fact that he’d run screaming out the door. Taking his hand, I led him into the house to the dining room where I opened a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine.

“Do you really want to know the truth?” I asked as I handed him a glass.

He nodded. “I really want to know.”

We sat down and I didn’t speak at first. I mean, how do you tell the man you love that you are an assassin and come from a long line of assassins?

“I’m an assassin and I come from a long line of assassins.” Ooooookay. Not exactly poetic, but there it was.

Lex nodded indicating he wanted me to continue. So I did. I started with the whole history of how a young Greek woman in 2000 BCE with a name I found totally unpronounceable, decided that she wanted to be an assassin. After that, I wound my way through history, leaving out the names of our victims of course, and ended up with my story. How Rudy died, how I retreated to Santa Muerta and blew things up for fun. I didn’t tell him about the bobble head doll collection. I’m not a total git.

As I sat back in my chair and swallowed the last of the five bottles we’d gone through, I could see he was working through everything I’d told him.

I failed to mention that if the Bombays knew I’d told him before he legally became a Bombay, he’d end up one of my assignments, but there’s only so much you should tell your date the first time.

The sun was rising, indicating we’d been up all night with this. How long would he need before he said anything?

And what would that be? Sorry, Missi. It’s against everything I believe in to even know you. We’ll always have Costa Rica.

“Missi?” Lex said for what I realized was the third or fourth time.

“Uh, yes?”

“You didn’t explain the money part.”

“I didn’t? Oh. Um, we all have huge trust funds. I’m independently wealthy.” That was easy. Hopefully all of his other questions would be like that.

“So Monty and Jackson are killers too?”

Okay, that’s a bit tougher than I’d hoped. Maybe I could come up with something really profound to explain this.

“Yes. I’ve been training them since they were five.”

Lex sighed. “You only kill bad guys, right?”

That sounded like a good sign. “Absolutely! Which was why I was so angry that the Council had sicced me on an Interpol agent.”

He looked out the window, then back at me. “I love you. I knew it that first night out there on the patio.”

I reached for his hand. “I love you too. I know this is pretty hard to accept and I understand that.”

Lex shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t know if I can handle it if my girlfriend has more money than I do.”

“Does, does that mean it’s okay?” Did it? I really didn’t expect him to accept it so easily.

“I don’t know if it will ever be okay, but this the package deal. If I want you, I have to realize who you are.”

“Um, okay. Does that mean you still want me?”

“I do. But we need to work on our relationship for a while until I get used to it. Is that alright?”

I nodded. Then I dragged him into the bedroom for some scorching hot howler monkey sex.

“Where are we going?” Lex asked as we stood on the tarmac in San Jose. He looked really good in his white linen shirt and new sunglasses.

“I thought we needed a little time away, just the two of us.” I spotted the Bombay jet and picked up my bag. Lex followed.

“We need to spend some time getting to know each other,” I added.

Lex’s eyebrows went up as we climbed aboard and the pilot greeted us. I was really impressed that he didn’t say anything about money.

We taxied down the runway and I leaned against him. Lex smelled like coconut and cocoa butter. That’s a good smell.

“You sure you can take more time off of work?” I asked him as the plane lifted into the air.

“Oh, I think I can swing it.” He leaned to kiss my hair and I sighed. This was only the beginning. We had two weeks ahead of us to explore the attraction that held us together. For now, we would take it slowly, getting to know one another.

But I had a good idea that everything was going to turn out just fine in the end.

EPILOGUE

“Let the others make statues of Apollo and Mercury and Hercules

. . .you’re the man I want to chisel.”

- Gracie Allen

It only took a few months and a lot of sex for Lex (Hey, that rhymes.) to decide I was more important than what the Bombays do. It took a lot of talking to draw it out, but somehow he chose me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for outsiders to marry into the Bombays. Men have to take the family name as their own and become part of a secret that has made many men lose their minds. The women seem to have no problem with it though. I wonder why that is?

After a quick trip to the mainland to get married and a two-week honeymoon in Mongolia, my new husband moved into the condo on Santa Muerta.

By this time, the boys were visiting colleges in the states nearly every weekend and I’d accepted that. Lex took to my workshop with bizarre zeal and together we’ve blown up a lot of stuff.

Of course, that meant he eventually found my B-list bobble heads, and after some counseling I think our marriage will survive it.

Actually, Lex’s talents as a stunt master have improved my game. He’s been able to look at my inventions in a whole new way. This is largely because before, he had to stop people from getting hurt whereas now, death is the desired result.

Mom threw a huge reception on the island when we returned from our honeymoon and the whole Bombay clan attended. Mostly this was because my relatives wanted to see what kind of man the goofy inventor would chose. Yes, I know what they all think of me. It’s never really mattered and they don’t care, especially when I can whip up cell phones that shoot lasers and still can hold five thousand songs.

It was wonderful to see everyone. Gin, Diego and Romi flew in with Dak, Leonie, Louis and Sofia. Liv and Todd and their kids were there. Coney gave me a beautiful felted bag he picked up during his travels. The wool had melted into the shades of a Caribbean sunset and I loved it.

In the end, it all worked out. Moe was tried and convicted and sentenced to a lifetime in prison - Duh. Sami started her own business, teaming up with a female plumber and carpenter. The company slogan is If You Want It Done Right The First Time, Hire A Woman. She’s doing very well. I sent her the “swear jar.” She mailed back a note saying, “Fuck you.” I had it framed.

As for Alan – he ended up a porn star in Thailand. I heard he’s pretty popular with the sex tourism trade there. I know, you’re thinking how predictable. I guess the network launched a huge lawsuit so he fled the country to avoid paying. Maybe I’ll get a contract on him someday. His stage name is Dick Dangleballs and he does this really weird thing with mayonnaise and rope you have to see to believe. What? It’s on YouTube.

Julie became a cruise activities director for a shipping line in Finland. She did okay for a while, until the entire boat – passengers and crew – mutinied, marooning her on an uncharted island near Kiribati, known to be populated with cannibals. No one has seen her since.

As for the others? Let’s see, Dr. Andy had a talk radio show in Mobile, Alabama. He had a pretty good run too. If only he hadn’t dared that suicide caller to actually take those pills. Now he works at the Department of Transportation asking people how their drivers license photos make them feel. One woman stabbed him in the shoulder with a pencil. He’s doing better now.

In happier news, Silas achieved his ultimate fantasy when he was killed accidentally by a canon misfire during a recreation of the Battle of Gettysburg. (I’ll bet he was ecstatic – he actually died at Gettysburg.)

To everyone’s surprise, Kit made it as a model. She’s the poster girl for the Society to Prevent Anal Leakage. I’ve seen her commercials and constipated-looking countenance everywhere.

Liliana has actually started creating art. No longer does she just think about it. Lex and I went to a show she had in a small town in northern Montana. It was pretty interesting to see busts of famous Montanans carved out of patchouli-scented mashed bananas.

I heard that Brick/Norman was doing a one-man show in L.A. about his experience on Survival. Of course, no one even knows what that is since the show never aired, but oh well.

Bob the politician finally ran out of political positions to run for in his hometown of Leavenworth, Kansas. After a disastrous, yet inspired campaign for County Coroner (on a platform that included the ability to slay zombies should the dead ever rise in the morgue), he decided to launch a bid for President of the United States. He’s counting on being a write-in. I guess Kit endorsed him so he may have the incontinence vote sewed up.

Turns out, Cricket and Jimmy the cameraman were screwing around during the show and she was keeping his hotel room key hidden in her pockets while with us. In the aftermath, they got Bert and Ernie to help them set up a film-making camp for blind kids in Banff. I’m pretty sure the irony is lost on them.

So everything worked out okay. Lex even has some great ideas for using stunts with my inventions on assignments. (I just loooooove the human catapult he came up with.)  Who knew I would really enjoy having a man in my life? Well, okay, my mother did. And after I’ve had my fill of tormenting her by spiking her tea with my severe, intestinal gas-producing and sleep-inducing powder (laxatives are sooooo juvenile and she’s a hit at Council meetings), I might just agree with her.

* * * * *

I SHOT YOU BABE

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

* * * * *

ebook Edition

Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Langtry

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.”

- Mark Twain

Okay. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. A pro football player walks into a bar. He falls to the floor clutching his head in pain and says, “I didn’t see that coming.” True story. Although maybe, just maybe, it would be more accurate to say the iron rod walked into the football player, but I’m telling it my way.

I managed to kick the guy in the ribs as he tried to get up, but one of his enormous hands (which, I assume, can only have made him good at his sport) grabbed my ankle and pulled me down to join him on the floor. It was at this point he seemed to gain the upper hand. The lumbering side-o-beef with legs climbed on top of me, bouncing my head off the cement twice. This did nothing for my self-esteem and probably wasn’t good for the “rugged attractiveness” women told me I had. Did you know you actually do see stars when your head is pummeled against something so unyielding as concrete? I know, it seems too cartoonish, but then, there it is.

I distracted my target by biting his forearm. I’m not fond of biting, but in this business, you have to think quickly. As he screamed, I punched him in the throat, and he crumpled over like a stack of dimes. With Vic (as in, my victim) facedown, I climbed on top and began my chokehold. Frankly, I was tired of using a chokehold. So overdone and not terribly elegant.

Vic struggled to get free, but unfortunately for him, he was losing strength. To my surprise, he got lucky and managed to flail out, catching me (quite to his surprise) in the gut with his elbow. I dropped him and he scrambled backward until he hit the wall.

I walked toward him slowly (for dramatic effect, of course). The bastard wasn’t going anywhere. Stupid athlete. They always think they can handle themselves in a fight. It was true he was much larger than me. But it was also true that because of this fact, he’d never really had to fight before. For his first actual battle, he was literally fighting for his life. A brilliant irony I thought would likely be wasted on him.

My fist hit him square in the face, and he slid down the wall. Through the gurgling blood coursing from his nose into his mouth just seconds before I sent the broken shards of his nose piercing into his brain, he asked, “Who are you?”

Bombay. Coney Island Bombay.  Actually, you can call me Cy. I only go by Coney when I’m working as a carnie. Most of the time I prefer eliminating the middle three letters from my name. It’s kind of like what I really do, which is eliminating bad people.

That might sound a bit simplistic. Sorry about that. But there really is no point in analyzing it any further. I know this because I have a Ph.D. in philosophy and it has driven me to distraction most of my life. It is possible to over think things now and then. After all, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

This, however, isn’t one of those times. This time, the cigar is more than it seems. The rather ugly, large cigar of which I speak (who now lay lifeless on his basement floor) was a popular sports figure who ran an illegal white slave trade on the side. I’ve never been much of a sports fan. It seems wrong to me that professional athletes make millions of dollars when scientists trying to cure cancer and teachers educating children live from check to check. This gig was my own small contribution to evening things out. You know. The old yin-yang thing.

My Vic was a professional football player who’d invested in an Eastern European slaver. The slaver sent young women all over the world to work as prostitutes. I use the past tense because I took care of that bastard a couple of days ago. The athlete was quick to join him in death.  It wasn’t pretty. And honestly, I don’t feel too bad about that.

Most of the Bombays tend to maintain a low profile when it comes to wet work. Making murder look like an accident seems to make them feel better. I don’t really go that route. My preferred modus operandi is to actually make it appear to be foul play. And if you knew how bad these people were, you’d probably agree with me.

Two days later, the police and media seemed to think the Russian mafia was responsible and when the evidence I left behind revealed his crimes, Vic’s jersey and status were yanked from the Football Hall of Fame. My mother and the rest of the Bombay Council were pleased. Dad, an Aussie, had to call to remind me that technically, my Vic didn’t play real football. But that’s Pop, always splitting hairs.

My family history is interesting, in a bloodthirsty sort of way. The Bombays have cornered the market on international assassination for hire since ancient Greece. Every infant born into Bombay blood becomes a killer. We begin training at age five and progress from there. There is no way out. Once you are born a Bombay, your fate is sealed. No one rebels unless they have a suicide wish. Occasionally, one does. What can I say? Every family has at least one idiot. Doesn’t yours?

The football job took place in Chicago, and a few days later I was in Omaha. The alarm went off at six a.m., and I sat up on the edge of my bed, running my hands through my hair. You might think I’m a morning person. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m actually more of a discipline guy. I get up to make myself functional. The exercise that follows is simply for masochistic purposes. I’ve been told I’m in excellent shape. It’s the discipline thing.

Wheek! Wheek! came the brain-splitting cry of my guinea pig, Sartre. The minute I wake up, she reminds me that it’s time for breakfast. She’s affectionate and sweet, but I’ve always suspected that she considers me to be little more than a servant.

“Here you are,” I said as I placed a small dish of strawberries, collard greens and baby carrots in front of her. Sartre grunted and began her feast. I walked to the door of my trailer to get the paper.

When I’m on the road (which is pretty much always), I like to park my RV in Wal-Mart parking lots. They seem to have a camper cult following. Every one I’ve stayed at leaves a newspaper at my door in the morning and has fresh coffee ready before the shoppers arrive. I like that. It’s a nice touch.

Opening the door revealed a bright, late August. I scooped up the paper and nodded to the older woman standing in the parking lot, across from me. It was then I realized that I hadn’t put any clothes on. Huh. I shut the door behind me (but not before winking at the lady) and after tossing the paper on a chair, threw on some running clothes. Ten minutes later, I opened the door to find her and several other women standing in the same place. I don’t know what they hoped to see, but clearly my having clothes on had been a bit of a buzz kill. Just for fun I grinned and shouted “G’day ladies” with an Australian accent (something I inherited from Dad). That seemed to do the trick. I believe one actually fainted.

A good jog always helped clear my head. With my Bombay-appointed duty over for the year and the carnival season coming to an end, it was time to make my plans for fall. I was pretty sure it was time for a sabbatical. I needed a break.

Back at the trailer, Sartre squeaked indignantly. I scooped her up as I flipped on the television to listen to while I threw breakfast together. Sartre wiggled in the crook of my left arm before sprawling out luxuriously. I found an orange and made some toast while the little pig ran up and down the table. There wasn’t much on in the news, as usual. I had a gig coming up in rural Nebraska. Just a county fair. Then the season would be over for me. Sartre nibbled on an orange peel, never taking her eyes off me. Huh. It’s sad when your own pet doesn’t entirely trust you. But that’s the nature of an assassin pet owner I guess. I gave her some of the fruit and she devoured it. An ad for Disney World came on and somehow managed to get my attention.

I clicked off the TV and pulled open my laptop. After a few more hours of research, I decided on my sabbatical: Disney World. I had a few connections there – a couple of my carnie brethren that had gone legit. I flipped open my cell phone and dialed. Within moments I had a job lined up from fall to spring. After that, who knows what I’d do? I was unattached. A loner, to be cliché - but it suited me.

Besides, I already have a career. I have travel, adventure, middle-aged women in the parking lot ogling my physique and the love of a good, elitist rodent. What else could I possibly need?

CHAPTER TWO

“Women; you can’t live with them, and you can’t get them to dress up in a skimpy Nazi uniform and beat you with a warm squash.”

- Emo Philips

Ah. The Saunders County Fair in Wahoo, Nebraska. The name says it all, doesn’t it? Nothing but dirt, horseshit and fried food as far as the eye can see. Sigh. It’s paradise. I checked the crankshaft on the Tilt-O-Whirl before admitting sticky children and beer-addled adults to the ride. People expect the carnie doesn’t really give a damn when he checks the safety bars and pushes the button to start the ride. But they don’t know me. I’m a firm believer in safety first because I actually like kids. Adults, however, are more complicated.

I grinned through my beard and turned on the ride, watching as the little cars swivel and swirl. I hadn’t had a barfer in two days, but I figured I was overdue. Sure enough, when the ride came to a stop, some green-faced teen was being led off her car. It didn’t bother me. When you eat five corn dogs with a cotton-candy chaser, then go on a ride that scrambles your insides like eggs, you have to expect a little carnage.

Oh well. This was my last gig before heading out to Orlando. I’d have to use the solution my brilliant scientist cousin Missi gave me to erase the tattoos. I’d miss the beard a bit. Even though I generally lived off the grid, I was still a bit paranoid. The disguise kept me from being recognized and the customers seemed to expect it. It came with the carnie image, and I hate to disappoint anyone. I was so involved in my thoughts it took me a minute to realize the woman standing before me didn’t want a ride – at least, not on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

She looked to be in her mid- to late twenties, with chin-length blonde hair, very little makeup and a slim build. I watched for a moment as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Definitely nervous.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

She stuck out her right hand as if she had never shaken hands before. I slowly grasped it in my own and she shook it. I could feel her heart beating in her palm. Must be the beard. It scares even Sartre.

“Um, I’m Veronica Gale.” She then seemed to roll her eyes and slap herself on the thigh – as if she thought it wasn’t wise to have given me her last name. I took no offense. I was used to such a reaction.

“Hello, Veronica.” I thought it might be rude if I didn’t respond. Of course, I still had no idea why she was standing there but thought I should at least make her comfortable. And there was something about her. She wasn’t mysterious; in fact I could read through her like tissue paper over a large-print picture book.

“I’m finishing up my master’s thesis on transient lifestyles and wondered if I could interview you?” Ms. Gale bit her lip, displaying a lack of confidence that I found a little adorable.

Ah. So that was it. An academic. You don’t see many in this line of work. I felt a twinge of nostalgia for the ivory tower.

“Okay.” I stepped past her and admitted more kids to the ride. “I’ve got a break in an hour.”

Veronica jumped back as if she hadn’t noticed the people around her. “Um, fine. I’ll be back in an hour.” She paused for a second as if her central nervous system had failed her. Finally she turned around and marched off.

Hmmm. A sheltered little thing with no life experience and plenty of attitude. How could I possibly resist? And who am I to stand in the way of a fellow academic and her quest for knowledge?

I checked all the safety bars and switched on the ride. I didn’t really have a break coming up, so I called one of the other guys on duty on my radio. Mort agreed to cover for me in a bit.

I was actually looking forward to talking to Veronica Gale, Master’s Candidate. I hadn’t had a date in a long time. Sure, carnies have followers – often wealthy housewives with a sexual fetish for tattooed flesh, but a real date? It was too depressing to think about. As I said, I’m a loner, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely for intelligent conversation with a woman. Most of my contact included very little discussion.

Mort showed up less than an hour later. When my “date” arrived a few seconds after, I suggested we hit the beer tent. We bought two drinks and settled at a splinter-riddled picnic table.

Veronica slid her beer to the side and pulled a notebook out of her purse. I smiled. She was starting to grow on me.

“Now, your name is?” she asked, sounding very official. This chick had to loosen up.

“Coney Bombay.” I watched as she wrote that down. She had beautiful, slender fingers. I like that in a woman. Veronica Gale wasn’t a hottie. She was pretty in an interesting sort of way. With large, questioning green eyes, a classic European nose, strong chin and dark blonde hair, I found her intriguing. I’d like to think she found me intriguing, but then I remembered her nervousness around me.  To her, I was just some sort of hobo who still had all his teeth.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Mr. Bombay.” All friendliness had gone from her voice. This woman was pure business now. At least that’s what she wanted me to think.

“Call me Cy. And no problem. This is the best proposition I’ve had all day.” I smiled, hoping to loosen her up.

It didn’t. Veronica scowled. “Fine. Cy it is. But this is not a proposition.”

“Too bad,” I responded, never taking my eyes off of hers. It unnerved her. Have you ever tried to keep your eyes on the person you are talking to? Americans aren’t used to it. They look away every now and then to fight their unease. Especially when you are a carnie. Veronica was no exception.

“Alright. What do you want to know regarding my…what was it? Transient lifestyle?” Hmmm…when you add the word lifestyle it made me sound like a hobo sporting platform sandals and lime green eye shadow.

“How long have you been employed by the…” Ms. Gale stumbled over her words in what appeared to be an attempt towards political correctness. “Um…”

“How long have I been a carnie?” I stepped in to rescue her. Now, why did I do that? I certainly didn’t owe this woman an explanation of my chosen profession. In spite of myself, I answered. “Almost twelve years now. I’ve worked with a number of outfits – this one for two years.”

“And what did you do before that?”

“I was a student.” Actually, I still consider myself to be a student. But for the sake of this interview, I thought I’d keep it simple.

Veronica looked me in the eyes. She didn’t seem to believe that twelve years ago I was in high school. I could’ve helped her out, but I held back.

“How old are you?” she asked. Clearly, this woman wasn’t one for social graces. I couldn’t figure out why that was. Usually I’m good at reading people. But was she asking me as a researcher or out of her own personal curiosity?

“I’m thirty-eight.” I could see her doing the math in her head. Eventually, the question would come up and it would confuse her. For some reason, I wanted to let her off the hook. What was wrong with me? I could see Sartre rolling her eyes back in her cage in the trailer.

“I have a postgraduate degree in philosophy. I spent most of my twenties in school. Like you,” I answered before she asked.

“Like me? What do you mean?” Veronica sat straight up.

I leaned forward and looked her in the eyes again. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you appear to be about twenty-six or so. My guess is you have been in school ever since kindergarten. I’m also guessing you’ll go for your PhD. as soon as you are through with your thesis.”

I expected her to be angry. Hell, I expected her to throw her beer in my face and walk off. She didn’t.

“Is it that easy to see?” Her question was strangely straightforward.

Shaking my head, I let her off the hook. “No. It just takes one to know one. I did the same thing until I ran out of degrees. Then I ran away and joined the carnival.”

Veronica sighed as if she’d been holding her breath all this time. She actually reached for her beer and drained half the cup. I waited.

“Did your family harass you about it too?” She seemed to ask the question with some degree of bitterness. The tide was turning in my favor.

“No. They didn’t really mind. They weren’t even surprised when I became a carnie.” That is actually true. The Bombays don’t care what your cover is. It’s merely important to have one. Well, unless you became an attorney. Then they’d probably kill you outright.

I  kind of expected Veronica to see my admission as heartening – something that would inspire her to give me her life story. She didn’t.

“So why did you take your education and throw it away for this?” She gestured around her. Did I detect disgust in her voice? How boring.

“Why not? I can’t see a better place to examine the human soul.” I folded my arms.

My interviewer snorted. “Well, Cy, it seems like a waste to me.”

So that was how it was going to be, eh?

“Tell me, Ms. Gale, what practical applications does your thesis have for everyday life?”

Her eyes snapped to mine. Gone was the brief vulnerability I’d seen earlier. I’d pissed her off. Oddly enough, I liked it.

“I don’t have to explain my intellectual interests to you!” Oooh. A defiant outburst. How original.

“But you are asking me to do that. Aren’t you?” I adopted a more distant tone. For a moment, I’d thought maybe this woman had something more to offer. Instead, she was just another overeducated snob.

“Let’s just keep this professional, Mr. Bombay.”

“Fine.”

She looked back at her notepad. “So, why do you choose to live outside the norms expected by society?”

“I see it as an apprenticeship to a future career in the entertainment industry.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Seriously? That’s interesting. What do you want to do?” Ms. Gale began to scribble on her notepad.

“I want to be a Henry Kissinger impersonator. That’s where the real money is.”

Veronica narrowed her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

I ignored her. “But first, I have work on my condescending attitude. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

She started to pack up her stuff.

“Of course, the Kissinger thing might be a bit overdone these days. In that case I’ll have to fall back on my dream of studying the effects of business cards on giant, hissing cockroaches.”

She rose to her feet.

“Now my cousin, she’s got some really lofty goals. She wants to drive an ice cream truck. You should talk with her.”

“Thank you for the interview. I appreciate it.”

“Was it something I said?” I clutched my chest dramatically.

Veronica Gale turned a lovely shade of red as she spun on her heel and left me. No sense of humor in that one.

Later that night as we packed up the carnival and I said good-bye to my friends for the last time, I couldn’t help wondering what would become of Veronica Gale. I’d given her some information she could use. Unfortunately, she would end up a dull college professor with no experience in real life. But I couldn’t help that. After all, Disney World and Sartre beckoned, and it was time to begin a new chapter in the life of Cy Bombay, carnie/assassin.

CHAPTER THREE

“I think crime pays. The hours are good, you travel a lot.”

- Woody Allen

The plain brown envelope was hand delivered by my cousin Paris during Spring Break. He was there with his sister, Liv, and her family, along with my cousins Dak and Gin and their families for a trip to Disney World. Paris and Dak were on a job, unbeknownst to their sisters, and I was pretty sure Dak didn’t even know his best friend was a courier, ferrying an assignment from the Bombay Council for me. That’s the way things work in this family. Everything is kept on a need-to-know basis.

I ripped open the envelope. Another job. Who would it be? A drug kingpin? Mafia? Serial killer? It didn’t really matter because he’d be dead shortly. No point standing on ceremony.

Inside was another envelope – this one with a note from Mum with little hearts drawn on it. Apparently, I’m still her “little Squidgy.” That was somewhat comforting. I dropped her note in Sartre’s cage and she immediately began to shred it.

The arrogant face of a man named Fred Reid stared up at me. Why did I always get the big guys? Mr. Reid looked to be about 265 pounds, maybe six foot four. At any rate, he was much bigger than I am. While I used to not mind a challenge, in a couple of years I’d be forty and not as spry as I used to be.

According to the dossier, Freddie (or Vic, as we call them in the biz) was the son of the English Ambassador to the U.S. Beyond a keen understanding of the words “diplomatic immunity,” Fred was nothing more than an ignorant thug. He’d been picked up on numerous occasions for attempted murder, selling and buying narcotics, and was the top suspect in a number of cold cases that often included the murder of people who were supposed to testify against him. Oh, I was going to have fun with this one.

Vic was scheduled to appear at a fundraiser in Miami with his father in two days. Not much time to prepare, and I was scheduled to work at Disney World.  While that never stopped me before, I did believe in professional commitment. And I liked running the Kali River Rapids ride. Unfortunately, taking out the Vic came first.  Finding a replacement at Disney wouldn’t be tough. It helped to be wealthy enough to bribe coworkers. And since many were college students, finding a replacement was even easier if I threw in a bottle of booze. I always made it the good stuff because I remember the crap I used to drink in college. There’s nothing like a little Grey Goose vodka to break up the monotony between Mogen David and Lancers.

The drive to Miami was nice. Sartre chattered the whole time, indignant about having to leave the trailer behind in Orlando. It was like a giant playpen for her. But I needed to be in the chi-chi hotel where my Vic stayed in order to make it work, and I didn’t want to leave her with someone else. Besides, I liked the companionship, even if the conversation was a bit one-sided.

Sartre calmed down when I gave her some fresh spinach leaves to munch on. I only wished women were that easy.

The Miami Del Rey was located on prime beachfront property. The pink, Art Deco building stood out among the more modern high rises. A five-star hotel, the Del Rey was known for its obliging staff, which catered to the wealthy and spoiled. I loved these places – you know the type – where they don’t have a reservation desk because that would be too gauche. Instead, there’s a woman sitting at a small table in an obscure corner of the lobby. She gave me my room key and made arrangements to have my luggage transferred to my room. She also slipped me her phone number. Sigh.

I reached the door to my room with no problem. Sartre was obediently quiet in my satchel and raised no alarms. She’d been through this drill before. Once inside the room, I unpacked my things, including a collapsible cage for the pig – something I designed myself.

The file included the various peccadilloes of my Vic, along with his schedule. Tomorrow was the fundraiser, but Reid had the bad habit of not showing up for such events. Miami was a city crawling with vice, and with his love for gambling and—I did not make this up—“gender illusionists,” my guess was Reid would be otherwise occupied that evening.

Which left tonight to do the job. Using a cheap, pay-as-you-go cell phone, I called the front desk and asked for Reid’s room. They connected me and I started the trace on my laptop. His room number came up almost immediately, thanks to my cousin Missi, who had come up with this particular technology a few months back. It looked just like a memory stick with a kitten hanging from a branch and the words Hang in There on it.

I changed into a nondescript, black suit and headed up to Reid’s room. Walking past to make sure I wasn’t being watched, I slipped back to the room and knocked on the door. Upon hearing no answer, I slid my all-purpose room card into the slot and was rewarded with a click as the door popped open.

Once inside, I quickly checked the room for surveillance cameras and finding none, began to search for ideas that would help me take this bastard out. It would have been easy to hide and wait for his return, but it was obvious that more than one person shared the room.

I was running out of time. I needed to find something that would tip me off to his whereabouts or plans. It only made sense to kill him outside the hotel. That would take suspicion off of me.

Footsteps in the corridor made my heart beat a bit faster. This was an adrenaline rush, not fear. I didn’t believe in fear – it only made things worse. A key card slid through the lock. I only had a split second to dive into the bathroom and close the door.

Someone was moving about the room, opening drawers and turning the TV on and off. I heard nothing for a few moments. Had he gone? I waited – not an easy thing to do in a hotel shower. I hated hiding. Personally, I preferred the direct approach. Less bullshit and more fun.

After ten more minutes of examining the tiles for mildew, I gave up. Vic must have left. Even so, I slipped noiselessly from the shower and opened the bathroom door. As I started across the bedroom, I heard a cell phone ring. I froze. It was then that I noticed my Vic, stretched out on the bed, oblivious to me as he answered his phone.

I remained where I was, frozen like a statue. Vic was babbling some nonsense on the phone. I was certainly in his peripheral vision. You’d think he would notice a strange, blond man in a black suit standing in mid-stride just a few yards to his left. I’d like to think I’d notice something like that. It gave me a few seconds to think about how I could kill him.

Looking around without moving my head was a new experience for me. The room was devoid of heavy statuary, .45s with silencers (that would have been too convenient, I suppose), or even a letter opener. I had nothing on me – this was just meant to be a surveillance job. Well, I had my passkey room card, but what could I do with that besides give him a nasty plastic cut? There wasn’t enough time to wait for his cell phone to give him brain cancer, and the landline wasn’t big enough to bash him in the head.

Vic clicked off the phone and that’s when he noticed me standing there. Thank god too, because I was getting sick of acting like I was frozen in time. The funny thing was, he just laid there on the bed. Maybe he was blind?

I couldn’t be so lucky. He hurled the cell phone at me. I guess he could see after all. I dodged the high-tech Treo as it smashed into the wall and into a million little, shiny pieces. Technology today.

I reached for the lamp on the nightstand only to find it was bolted down. Fantastic. It gave Vic just enough time to regain his senses and spring from the bed – a feat that impressed me considering his size. I was even more impressed when he landed a ham-fisted punch to the side of my head.

Bringing my knee up, I connected with his groin, groaning at his lack of foresight. Most men expect that kind of contact and block it. Not this idiot. He actually began to whimper the word “Mommy,” over and over. The two of us stumbled a little, him with swelling testicles and me with a bit of a concussion. Instead of stars, for some reason, I saw the kitten on the memory stick Missi had given me. So, after regaining my senses, I dragged his doubled up body to the terrace. Vic groaned as I pushed open the French doors and looked over the edge of his private veranda. It was about six stories down to the pool. If I managed it just right, I’d be out the door and in the stairwell before he smashed into the concrete just to the left of the pool.

Vic was still in a fetal position. What a loser. I wished all my Vics fell so easily. He was heavy, but I managed to get him to the low fence at least before he rallied and decided he didn’t fancy a swim.

The son-of-a-bitch landed a pretty strong kick to my shin and it stopped me in my tracks long enough for him to rise to his feet. Good. It would be much easier to shove him over the railing if he was standing. With a running start I barreled into his abdomen with my shoulder and he went over like a Slinky. I didn’t wait to see what happened. His scream told me he was on his way down and I was overdue in my own room. After a brief stop to wipe down the lamp I’d touched, I fled the scene of the crime.

“That did not go well,” I informed Sartre as I returned to my room. She looked at me sideways to indicate that that was exactly what she expected from me and went back to munching on a carrot.  Since she was of no help whatsoever, I stripped off my clothes and looked in the mirror.

My face was red and starting to swell and my right shin was bleeding. I used styptic powder to stop the blood and opened my shaving kit. Missi had invented a sort of steroid that when injected stopped the bruising process in its tracks. When I traveled, I kept the solution in bottles labeled “insulin.” No one ever questioned me.

The steroid would take about half an hour to work, which meant I couldn’t leave the room until then. Killing Vic in the hotel made for an interesting dilemma. The authorities could launch a room-by-room search and unless there had just been a recent rash of brawling, I’d be the only patron who looked like he’d been in life and death struggle.

Sirens blared outside and I knew it would only be a matter of time. The question was:  should I stay or should I go?

CHAPTER FOUR

“The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, ‘You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done.’”

- George Carlin

After an hour, curiosity drove me out of the shower and into a pair of linen trousers and a silk shirt. I needed a little intel on the situation and figured I’d get it where most people do – from a bartender. I know, you thought it was more cloak and dagger than that, didn’t you? It may be hard to believe but bartenders have been my most important sources for years. I remember this one time in Ireland when I was being stalked by these IRA operatives. I’d be dead right now if a bartender named Paddy hadn’t let me know I was about to leave the bar with the service unit director’s girlfriend.

Back in Miami, the bar was called FIVE, and the bartender was called Arturo. It was pretty crowded, and I could tell that the “accident” had caused a lot of problems for the hotel. Sorry about that.

Arturo opened up easily when I waved the $100 tip in his face. All he knew was that the manager said some VIP had fallen from the balcony and the place was crawling with State Department flunkies. I decided to stay put for a while. Besides, they had an excellent scotch selection and I had a front-row seat to the madness.

“Twenty dollars for a Chablis?” I heard the blonde next to me complain. “Are you serious? “

I knew that voice immediately. I slid the money to Arturo and he took the hint and handed the lady a Chablis.

“What? I didn’t order this!”

I hoped Arturo wouldn’t rat me out.

“The gentleman did,” I heard him say. Thanks.

“Well.” The woman turned around to face me. “No thank you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Please, Ms. Gale. I never could resist a damsel in distress.”

Veronica Gale froze before me. “How did you know my name?” She clutched her purse, eyeing me nervously. She looked good. Really good. This little academic drone cleaned up nicely with a revealing, yet plain little black dress and three-inch heels.

I held out my right hand. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Coney Bombay.”  I watched with amusement as recognition fought with logic across that cute face of hers.

“You…you’re that carnie…” Veronica stuttered. It was so sweet, I was thinking of calling her Ronnie for short. “How did you…? What are you…?” She seemed to be completely incapable of ending a sentence.

“Tell you what,” I started as I pushed the glass of wine back at her. “Take a deep breath and I’ll explain it over dinner.”

Ronnie picked up her glass and drained it in one swallow. I’ve never seen a woman do that before – in fact, I was pretty sure she’d never done that before. And I found it somewhat arousing.

“I can’t afford a drink here. What makes you think I can afford dinner?”

I signaled Arturo, who picked up the phone to make the reservation immediately.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? After all, I’m buying.” I stood and guided her by the elbow to the elevator that would take us to The Parisian – the exclusive rotating restaurant at the top of the hotel. Veronica never said a word. She just stared at me as though she was still trying to work out what a guy like me was doing in a five-star hotel. I kind of liked that.

“What are the odds we would run into each other again?” I asked once we were seated in the plush, chocolate velvet booth.

“I’d say one million to one.” She attempted a smile. It was hard to tell whether she was happy to see me or not.

“And yet here we are.” I placed the white linen napkin across my lap and ordered a bottle of white wine. In French.  Yes, I wanted to impress her. I had no idea why.

“Yes. Here we are.” Veronica looked around, and I wondered if she had changed her mind about having dinner with me.

“Well, thank you for accepting my invitation. I’d be willing to bet seeing me was somewhat of a shock.”

The sommelier arrived and opened the wine. He poured a small amount and I tasted it. After nodding my approval, he poured for both of us.

After a few sips, Veronica hiccupped (rather charmingly, I might add). “This is a lot different from the drink we shared a year ago.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So, why are you here?”

“Sick friend. A carnie. You’d like him.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“He doesn’t have any teeth.”

Veronica sighed. “I guess I deserve that. I’m sorry I was so rude last year. I shouldn’t put labels on people.”

“Apology accepted. So why are you here?” I volleyed.

She squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Conference. I’m presenting my thesis.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“I already gave it this morning.”

The waiter arrived and took our orders. We sized each other up for a moment.

“I should apologize also,” I said. “I was a bit rough on you.”

She nodded. “Yes, you were. I like what I’m doing. I love school.” She flung her arms up. “Why does everyone find that upsetting?”

“Who is everyone?”

“My family, my friends, the faculty. They all think I need to take some time off and go somewhere. See stuff. Do things.”

“I would agree with that.”

“Why?”

“Because I was like you. I stayed in college for eight years. I did some traveling here and there”—mainly to kill people, but no need to mention that—“but I always returned to my ivory tower.”

Her eyes changed. No, the look in her eyes changed. She had a look of faint recognition within those green depths.

“Why did you leave the university?” Was she really interested?

“Because the minute I got my PhD., they offered me a teaching post. It scared the hell out of me. In that moment I saw my body aging while standing in the same place over the years. I saw the same people around me, the same city, teaching the same kind of students over and over. And I didn’t like it.”

Veronica shook her head. “I don’t understand. It sounds wonderful to me.”

Our food arrived. The sommelier wisely brought another bottle of wine and poured. Veronica watched with hungry eyes. I’d forgotten that she was a student. Most likely, a dead-broke one. I wondered how she could even afford the hotel…unless the university was footing the bill.

“So you became a carnie? And now you can afford all this? I don’t get it.”

I smiled and tucked into my steak. It was amazing – medium rare. Just the way I like it.

She giggled without waiting for my reply. “I shouldn’t drink this much. I rarely drink at home.” And then she guzzled another glass of wine.

“Well, enjoy it. I want you to.”

We didn’t speak while we attacked our food as genteelly as possible. I was starving. The fight with Vic had taken a lot out of me, and I hadn’t had the heart to devour Sartre’s fruit and veggie cache.

After half an hour, Veronica sat back and sighed. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I grinned. I love to see women eat. It is so boring to see girls nibble at salads all the time.

“It was delicious. And the wine was excellent.” She leaned across the table. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“I’m all yours,” I said, a little more truthfully than she probably imagined.

“How can you afford this hotel? This dinner?” She was blunt. It was adorable.

“I manage.”

“You must have really done something with your plans as a Kissinger impersonator.” She grinned.

I laughed. “And I get dental too.”

“But seriously…” Veronica wasn’t letting me off the hook. It must be that Midwestern say-what-you-think mentality. It reminded me of Australians and Dad.

“I inherited some money.” And that was all I was going to say about that.

“Must be nice,” she responded with a smile. Pushing her plate away, she looked up at me. “I’m done. What should we do now?”

I leaned in. “What about the conference? Isn’t there somewhere you have to be?”

“No, tonight’s banquet was called off. Somebody died here or something. I guess he was supposed to speak.”

“How awful.” I didn’t really mean it. I felt like a hero saving her from a boring speech and a rubber chicken dinner. Killing this Vic saved my lady fair.

“Yeah. Some diplomat’s kid.”

I divided the remaining wine into our two glasses and tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible. “How did he die?”

“No one has said, but the consensus is he had an accident.”

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, as if on cue. I took it out and checked the screen.

“If  you’ll excuse me for a moment, Veronica, I have to take this.” I left the table before she had the opportunity to ask me what kind of calls a carnie would get that would interrupt dinner.

I found a nice, quiet corner and answered. “Hello, Mum.”

“Squidgy!” Mom shouted with enthusiasm. “Nice work!”

“Tell him it’s all over the news!” I heard my Dad shout in the background.

Mom mumbled something at him, then returned to me. “Anyway, well done. And word is you helped Paris and Dak with their assignment. You’re such a good boy.” I could actually feel her fingers closing on my cheeks.

“Thanks, Mum. Anything else?”

“No, why?” she asked, as if anything was important enough to tear her little boy away from her.

“I’m on a date.”

Mom promptly exploded. “You are? Oh, Squidgy! How wonderful!” I heard her mumble something to Dad about grandchildren.

“Mum, I’ve got to get back.” I didn’t want Veronica to run off.

“Okay! Have fun!” I thought I heard her say “Get married,” but that might have been my imagination.

I returned to the table and joined Veronica. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”

“Who was it?” Ronnie asked. I found her complete lack of tact refreshing. I really did.

“My sick friend. He’s rallied. He says, ‘Hello.’”

“Hmmm.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet he did.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Of course not.” She wobbled indignantly. “I’m just a little buzzed. That’s all.”

Veronica stood. Then she toppled back into her chair, giggling. Oops.

She giggled again. I liked it. But I was concerned that she’d had a bit too much to drink. And for some reason, I was pretty sure that Veronica Gale wasn’t much of a drinker.

I motioned for the check, and within a few minutes I was leading one tipsy anthropologist back to where she thought her room might be. All I had wanted to do was loosen her up. But if this woman got any looser I was afraid her head would come off.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lieutenant John Chard: The army doesn't like more than one disaster in a day.

Bromhead: Looks bad in the newspapers and upsets civilians at their breakfast.

- Zulu

Thirty minutes later I was convinced Veronica had no idea where her room was. And to tell you the truth, I was getting a little worried. The hallways were filled with suits – men I assumed were from various government agencies. And they noticed that I was dragging a drunk woman around with me aimlessly through the hallways.

“Excuse me, sir.” asked a tight-lipped man in a boring black suit for the seventh time. “Are you lost?”

“No, I—” was cut off completely as Veronica launched herself into my arms and kissed me. It was nice. I enjoyed it. Maybe not half as much as the federal retinue watching us. Against my will, I came up for air.

“I’m taking her to our room right now,” I answered as Veronica burst into a fit of giggles.

“Yes! We’re goin’ to our room!” she shouted enthusiastically.

Once inside my room, I locked the door and looked out the peephole. No one there. That was good.

“So, what now, sailor?” Veronica flopped drunkenly onto my bed and promptly passed out.

“What now, indeed.” I sighed. Very carefully, I removed her shoes and dress. For a moment I felt guilty staring at her in her underwear. She really was a lovely young woman – slender and shapely. Too bad she was something I didn’t like in a woman…unconscious.

After covering her up, I sat in a chair by the door, watching her and listening for any movement outside. My thoughts drifted to the memories of women past. If I were a gentleman, I’d say there weren’t many. Of course, then I wouldn’t be a gentleman because I’d be lying. No, I’ve had my fair share of women over the years. Nothing permanent since, well, since Frannie Smith. I liked to keep things detached.

It just wasn’t in me to find one partner and settle down. I liked living off the cuff. And I guess if you think about it, I was already in a monogamous relationship with a guinea pig.

Sartre squeaked as if she knew I was thinking about her. I pulled her out of the cage and onto my lap. She snuggled up, and I stroked her fur as she purred and fell asleep. Great. I couldn’t seem to keep any women awake.

There was one meaningful relationship in my sordid past. Shutting my eyes couldn’t make the memory of one Frances Smith go away. The pain that stabbed my heart was just as fresh as the day she said good-bye. Frannie. She broke my heart.

Isn’t there always one love who can take your heart and give it a slow, painful death? Nothing worked. Leaning back and closing my eyes, I allowed the inevitable wash of college memories to flow. It’s funny how your brain disobeys you. I didn’t want to think about that. Fortunately, Sartre sunk her teeth into my flesh and it all went away, dissolved in a mist of pain.

That was the pig’s way of letting me know she had to pee. And since I didn’t want to get soaked, I decided to put her back. I threw in a few carrots and sat back down in the chair, willing myself to sleep.

I didn’t sleep much. Sitting up in a chair, fully clothed, will do that to you. Morning slipped through the sheer curtains, stealing across Veronica’s face. She looked like she was lost. She kind of was, just didn’t know it.

I decided to grab a quick shower. As I stepped out into the room wearing nothing but a towel, Veronica suddenly sat straight up. This time, she looked terrified.

“Oh God. Oh no! We didn’t…did we?” The blanket slipped from her chest and she clawed at them to cover herself.

I smiled. “What? You don’t remember?” Technically, I wasn’t lying. Granted, there was a certain amount of sordid innuendo there, but I really hadn’t confirmed anything.

Her eyes widened. I hoped it was more that she regretted not remembering a night of passion with me. However, it appeared she was more concerned that she had. This woman was uptight indeed.

“Relax,” I said. “You were so drunk we couldn’t find your room, so I brought you here. Nothing happened.” Now why did I say that? I could’ve had a good time with this.

“Oh,” she said. Did I detect a note of regret? Or was that what I wanted to hear?

I tossed her the big, fluffy hotel robe, and she slid into it and dashed for the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked a few moments later as she stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was smoothed, face washed and teeth brushed. I wondered if she used my toothbrush. It wouldn’t have bothered me if she did. A germaphobe, I ain’t.

I looked down at the yarn and needles in my lap. “Knitting.”

“You knit?” She seemed shocked.

“Yes.” I held up the scarf I was working on. It was a lovely café au lait, baby alpaca. I have to admit – I’m a bit of a yarn snob. Only the best will do.

Veronica reached out and touched the scarf, fondling the fibers. It was a definite turn on.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered and pointed to the curving rows that ran through it. “What are these things called?”

“Cables,” I answered. “They thicken up the fabric, and I like the way they look.”

“You told me you’re working in Florida. Why are you knitting a wool scarf?”

“I’ve got a trip coming up.”

I wondered why she didn’t press me for more information. Maybe she wasn’t that curious when it came to me.

“I think it’s cool that you knit,” she said with a lopsided smile. Damn, it looked good on her.

“Thanks. It’s kind of my form of meditation.”

“Like yoga?”

“No, more like Buddhism.” That was true. I found working with yarn and needles very soothing. It gave me something to do while I thought about whatever I wanted to think about. Knitting was something of a Bombay family tradition; although to the best of my knowledge I was the only man who did it. That didn’t bother me.

“Well, I guess I’d better get back to my room,” Veronica said abruptly.

I nodded. “I’ll walk you there.”

“You don’t have to. I may have forgotten last night, but I know where it is now.”

“I insist. Besides, I want my bathrobe back.”

She cocked her head to one side. “I was just going to put on my dress from last night.”

“Then everyone from your conference who sees you will know what you were up to last night. At least in a robe, they might figure you’ve just been for a morning swim.”

A look of fear spread across her face. She nodded and I picked up my keys and led her to the door.

I started laughing exactly one minute and thirty-four seconds later.

“What?” she asked as she reddened.

“Come on! You are two doors down from me. And you couldn’t remember that?” I chuckled and followed her into her room.

“I had a lot to drink,” she said, not a little defensively.

As I wandered around her room, Veronica grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom.

She was a slob. Not in a bad way, just kind of messy. There were no half-empty pizza boxes but papers and files were strewn haphazardly about the room. The phone rang and I jumped, knocking over a stack of papers.

Damn. I knelt down and began picking them up. I couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t research for her anthropological thesis.

“What happened?” Veronica knelt beside me and I could smell soap and shampoo. Lavender. Very nice. She must have taken the world’s fastest shower.

“Sorry.” I indicated the papers. “Your phone rang and I inadvertently knocked this stuff over.”

She grinned. “You? Clumsy? That’s outstanding.”

“Enjoy it. You won’t likely see it again.”

Veronica laughed and even though it was at my expense, I liked it.

“So what is all this?” I held up a piece of paper with forensic information on it.

“Oh, um, just a pet project. It’s nothing.” She grabbed for the paper and started shoving as much as she could into the folder.

I pointed to a photo I recognized. “Hey, isn’t this Senator Anderson?”

She frowned. “You recognize him?”

“I do keep in touch with the world. Of course I know who he is. I think most Americans do.”

Senator Will Anderson had been a maverick up-and-coming Democrat. A fire-and-brimstone type, he dominated the political scene, going after corrupt politicians. Everyone seemed to like him. His name was brought up often as a potential presidential hopeful.

“He was found dead of a heart attack, right?” I asked as I handed her the picture.

Ronnie frowned at it. There was something more to her expression than just regret that his life ended too soon.

“I worked on his campaign all through college. He was amazing.” She looked at me with a nervous grin, then shoved the photo into the file. My stomach clenched, just a bit. I ignored it.

“So why do you have a four-inch-thick file on him in your hotel room? He died four years ago.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine.”

“Politicians who die before their time are a hobby for you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Veronica sighed heavily, as if exhaling years of pent up frustration. “I’ve always believed that foul play was involved.”

I nodded. “I’ve heard that theory too. In fact, isn’t there some sort of cult following of people who think there was a government conspiracy involved?”

She looked angry. “There’s a lot that doesn’t add up. It would be disrespectful to ignore the evidence.”

“So, this is like the Kennedy assassination conspiracy?”

“Someday, we might actually know who was on the grassy knoll that day!”

I knew who was on the grassy knoll. It was something the Bombays learned early in their training. Well, that and how to hog-tie a Vic using four twist ties.

I held up my hands to stave off an attack. “Okay, I’m sorry. I tend to play devil’s advocate sometimes. Mea culpa.”

Veronica studied me for a minute before responding. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit sensitive about this.” She tossed the file on the bed. “I thought he was going to change the world.”

“A lot of people did. So you carry this huge file with you everywhere you go?”

“I feel like I’m getting close to finding something. Every time I reread this stuff, I find something I didn’t notice before.” She shook her head. “You probably think it’s stupid.”

“No. I think it’s admirable. And I’d like to be so lucky to have a beautiful woman like you trying to avenge me. Even if I did die of a heart attack.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ve got to get back to the conference. I’ve missed one seminar already and the university is paying my way.”

I took the hint. “No problem. I have to check out today anyway.” I walked to the door and stopped as I opened it. “It was great to see you again, Ronnie.” I noted the stoic look on her face as I left her standing there and returned to my room and the guinea pig who loved me.

CHAPTER SIX

“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.”

- Mark Twain

A month had gone by, and the feds decided that my Miami Vic had been drunk and fallen accidentally to his death. The State Department complained, but there wasn’t enough to go on. Vic’s father, the diplomatic envoy to the U.S., resigned. All was well.

Things were going okay. Spring was ending and so was my contract at Disney World and my scarf was finished. I had places to go and things to do.

One of my hobbies, in addition to knitting, is the study hand-to-hand combat from other countries. I already had black belts in Kung Fu and Aikido, and I tried to travel and train whenever possible.

I would pick a remote spot, live there for a few months, observe their techniques and try them out. I’ve studied Pencak Cilat in Indonesia; Karate in Okinawa, Zulu stick fighting and kickboxing in India.

My latest plan was to hit the Naadam festival in Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia. I was hoping to compete in wrestling and archery. And maybe learn some new technique in the process. In my line of work, I appreciate any tricks I can get. And the philosopher in me loved exploring the innate desire men have to fight one another.

Mongolia, even in the summer, can be cold as hell. Even in the Gobi Desert. Especially in the Gobi Desert. Hence the alpaca scarf.

Since last fall, I’d been working out at a local gym, perfecting my wrestling moves. It was tougher to practice archery and horseback riding, but I found a couple of stables that nervously allowed me to do it. My strongest effort would be the wrestling.

Everything was in place. Sartre and I would fly to L.A. (I knitted a little bag to take her in using buffalo yarn so she’d be cozy), then take the Bombay Family private jet to Ulaan Baatar. We’d stay for a few weeks to prep, hook up with our guides and train. Sartre could hang out, munching on the grasses of the steppe while I got my ass kicked over and over in the competition. I couldn’t wait.

As I spent the last few days getting organized, I couldn’t help wondering what happened to Veronica Gale. I hadn’t heard from her. Not that I’d expected her to call, but I thought maybe I’d hear something. I’d left my e-mail and cell numbers in her room. Still, I never really invited her to contact me.

The strange thing was, it really bothered me that she didn’t call or write. And the fact that it bothered me, bothered me. I never wanted attachments before. So why now? Why here? Maybe I was getting old and afraid of living alone? There was something about her I found intriguing. More so than any other woman since, well since a long time ago.

I put those thoughts aside and finished getting organized. There were a lot of arrangements to be made. Fortunately, Sansar-Huu in Manzushir Khiid was handling a lot over there. I’d sent him my measurements for my zodag, shuudag and gutals or boots, the uniform I’d be wearing. Or should I say, I’d be barely wearing. The outfit resembled a purple Speedo and a pair of silk sleeves attached to resemble a barely there bolero jacket. I’d learned that the reason the jacket was so open across the chest was to discourage women from secretly entering the contest by pretending to be men. Frankly, I’d like to see that. I was hoping at least one or two women would give it a try.

Sansar-Huu had also managed to find me a true tahki, or Mongolian pony, for the competition. These horses were descended from the original horses used by Genghis Khan as he took over Asia and Europe. I had a thing for Genghis Khan. I’d written my master’s thesis on how such a violent man peacefully embraced people of all races, religions and cultures. Of all the countries I’d visited over the years, this one was special.

I didn’t think I stood a good chance of winning. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to throw my hat into the arena and give it a shot. By heading out now, in the beginning of June, I’d have a little over a month for training (which of course, wouldn’t be enough) and be able to participate in the smaller, local Naadams before the main festival in Ulaan Baatar. I was looking forward to visiting my friends again. In fact, I hadn’t been back in fifteen years. But I had kept up my language lessons after leaving the Ivy League. For several years I had a carnie colleague who was second generation Mongolian. Chudruk kept me on my toes language-wise. He had since moved back to the homeland of his parents. His father was a former Naadam champion, and I hoped to learn something from him.

The day I left, my cousin Missi, came through with Veronica’s personal e-mail address. That kind of research wasn’t my thing. But Missi could find an amoeba in a mountain. I’d have to remember to pick her up something special from my trip.

So, I sent Veronica an e-mail.  It was simple, just inquiring how she was doing and mentioning that I would be in her area at the end of the summer. I got a reply back immediately.

Veronica Gale is out of town for the summer. Please leave a reply and she will get back to you in the fall.

Damn.

Sartre traveled like a pro and managed to stay nice and quiet while I smuggled her into Mongolia. She was a good sport. Now, I realize that sneaking a rodent into a foreign country isn’t usually a good idea. But this little pig went everywhere with me. She was kind of a security blanket. I wondered what the philosopher I named her after would think of that.

“Sain bainuu!” Sansar-Huu called out as he met me on the tarmac.

“Sain ta sain bainuu?” I replied with a hug.

“Fine, my friend!” he continued in English. “And how are your animals fattening up?”

I laughed at this traditional greeting and patted my sling holding Sartre. “Fattening up just fine.” My pig squeaked in protest.

Sansar-Huu, whose name meant “Son of Cosmos,” laughed as he took my duffel bag. After shouldering my backpack, we walked across the tarmac to where a very beat-up Chevy truck stood waiting.

“What? No camels?” I teased.

Sansar-Huu proudly patted the rattletrap. “I just got this! My new truck!”

We climbed inside and began to make our way over the bumps and potholes that dotted the road. My friend was very proud of his newest acquisition, and I was happy for him. It always amazed me how two different cultures could call something “new” and it didn’t at all mean the same thing. His truck was a far cry from what we would consider new in America. And yet he was just as excited about it. Vehicles were a rarity here in the countryside. To have anything with an engine was a big deal. Sansar-Huu was probably considered a wealthy man.

I sighed and relaxed. There was something very relaxing about being in a place untouched by modern society. No cell phones ringing all over the place. No one on a laptop in a Starbucks – mainly because there was no Starbucks. People lived off the land. They ate what they grew. Life was straightforward. I often thought that these people knew something we didn’t. Maybe the real nirvana is in places like these instead of a loaded-up spa in Malibu.

“Your friend is here. He brought his family here to meet you,” Sansar-Huu said with a smile.

“Chudruk is here?”

He nodded. “They set up camp near the stream. You did not tell me his father is Yalta. My family was very happy to meet him in person.”

“My apologies, my friend. I didn’t realize they would travel here to see me. I thought I would meet up with them along the way.” That was more in keeping with the way Mongols think. Time is almost too abstract for them. Date books and planners were irrelevant here. You just go until you meet up with someone.

“It is alright. Your ger is ready.” He grinned. “My wife set it up two days ago.”

I leaned my head back against the yellowed glass of the truck. Good. I was tired. International flights always wore me out. I didn’t want to get to our camp and have to spend more time setting up my tent. Sartre complained with a loud wheek! I pulled her out of the sling and held her on my lap.

“What is that?” My host asked.

“It’s my pet guinea pig.”

Sansar-Huu laughed loudly. Animals were treated differently here. Dogs were kept outside always, no matter what the weather and they certainly never got up on the furniture. The people here ate everything else. I explained to Sansar-Huu that Sartre was my friend. He laughed even harder. Oh well. You’ll have culture clash sometimes. And as long as they didn’t try to eat her, like some friends of mine in Peru tried to do two years ago, we’d be okay.

We entered the Bogdkhan Uul Strictly Protected Area, paid for our tickets into the park and drove on. The scenery was breathtaking – fragrant cedar trees beside crystal streams and verdant grasslands. I stared out the window as Sansar-Huu rambled on about the weather. Eventually we came over the crest of a small hill to see the valley below, framed in the shadows of sunset, filled with small white dots. Those dots were our tents, or gers. This was where I’d be living for the next few weeks.

I had met most of Sansar-Huu’s family years ago. I’d kept in touch through letters. But his family had grown quite a bit in the last decade and a half. Sansar-Huu had told me he and his wife had five children. But I counted at least two dozen running around in the waning sunlight, laughing.

We pulled up about fifty yards from the first ger. A smiling woman with a weathered face and thick, long braid came out and toward me, arms outstretched. This was Odgerel, Sansar-Huu’s wife.

She began speaking in rapid Mongolian. I barely kept up. I think she said something about her goats being happy to see me, or the mare was too busy drinking alcohol to say “hello.” Apparently, my Mongolian was rustier than I thought.

I got settled in my ger, and set up the small, collapsible cage I’d packed for Sartre, then made my way to Sansar-Huu’s ger for dinner. My muscles ached from the bumpy drive and a full day of travel. I sat on the floor, enjoying the company while I ate sheep stew, then after a few bowls of vodka, made my way back to my tent and bed. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

“Coney! Coney Bombay!” The cry from the door woke me, and I staggered to my feet.

“Come in!” I shouted, throwing clothes on quickly. Chudruk threw my door open and stepped inside with a smile. The years had been kind to him. Tall for his people, he was sinewy and strong. His name meant “fist.” I never knew why.

Chudruk and I embraced, patting each other on the back. Within moments I had started a fire in the stove in the center of the room and was boiling water for tea. Mongolians prefer it with milk and salt. Sometimes they add animal fat. I was a real trooper about trying new things, except for when it came to tea. I brought Earl Grey and a pound of sugar with me on this trip.

“Ahhh,” Chudruk said as he drank deeply. “I do miss Western tea.”

I tossed him a second box of Earl Grey and a large bag of sugar. “I brought you a little extra. I remember that sweet tooth of yours.”

He nodded. “I’d never had sugar until I went to the States. It ruined me for this place.” He stuck the tea and sugar in his jacket. “But that’s okay. I’ll survive somehow.” He tossed me a felt bag.

“This is beautiful. Who knitted it?” The bag was a gray that graduated halfway down the bag into black. The felt was strong.

“My mother made it for you. For your training.” He motioned to the opening. “Look!”

I pulled out an open-chested jerkin made of turquoise silk, a pair of purple silk underpants and a pair of leather boots, upturned at the toes. The embroidery on the boots and uniform was exquisite. Threads of silver and gold trailed and entwined impossibly across the surface of both garments.

“You have to train in this too.” He pulled a pointed-topped cap from his jacket. “I almost forgot.”

I shook my head. “I brought some training clothes.”

Chudruk smiled. “I promised the guys I’d upload some photos of you in this on my Facebook page.”

“Fantastic,” I growled as I stripped, then put on the outfit. I felt like an idiot prancing around in what basically constituted a Speedo, two sleeves and pointy boots.

“I don’t want to ruin them,” I tried.

Chudruk waved me away as he tried to avoid doubling up with laughter. “No! You look great!” Hey! Where did he get that camera? “Say ‘goat cheese!’”

I was still scowling as I stepped outside to find thirty-some Mongolians waiting for me. The women smiled and giggled. The men laughed with something I suspected was more mocking than anything else. Chudruk laughed and dragged me over to an older man, who appeared to be a shorter, older version of my friend.

“Coney,” he began “This is my father. Yalta.”

My new coach nodded abruptly in my direction, and I returned the nod. Shaking hands wasn’t a common activity here.

The crowd faded away. There was a lot of work to do before the day’s end, and everyone was needed. I had given the two families a male and a female dairy cow and six goats each. The animals had been delivered just before I arrived. This would pay for my boarding and for the rudeness I’d be displaying by training and not helping out. These people never asked for it. But I wanted to thank them.

Yalta and Chudruk led me down to the stream, where my friend continued his introduction.

“My father does not speak English, so I will translate. He is the winner of three national Naadams. He has the rank of bull. And he has agreed to train you.”

“Tand bayarlaa.” I thanked him. This was a big deal. A man like Yalta was as important in Mongolia as Joe Montana or Johnny Depp was in America.

“The first thing you have to do is fifty pushups in the stream.” Chudruk translated his father’s rapid-fire Mongolian.

“In the stream?” I asked, hoping he was kidding. The water in a creek like this came from melting snow in the mountains. It had to be about twelve degrees.

Yalta frowned and nodded. He seemed to take my question as an affront. I did as I was told and got in the water. My skin felt as if it was frozen hard, but I kept going until I had done fifty. As I got to my feet, I tried not to shiver. The two men were whispering as they watched me.

Yalta pointed to a large stone next to the stream.

“Pick it up,” Chudruk translated. “Twenty-five overhead presses, please.”

What could I do? I struggled to lift the stone. It was as wide as my shoulders and probably about seventy-five pounds. Still, I did what I was asked. My brief complaint earlier would no doubt turn on me later. I didn’t want Yalta to think I couldn’t handle the first five minutes of training. I still had a whole month to go.

Four hours later, bruised and exhausted, I slipped into my ger, ate a smuggled in protein bar and chugged two cups of tea. Yalta had decided I was weak and needed rest. I didn’t protest. I didn’t even remove my uniform or boots – just buried myself under layers of wool blankets. I think I even fell asleep with my hat on.

I’d like to think it was jetlag, combined with my pitiful training back in the States. I’d prefer to believe that instead of the fact that I wasn’t as young as I used to be. And that hurt. Still, I was completely and utterly useless. And tomorrow, I’d do it all over again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Narrator:  You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.

- Fight Club

“Wheeeeeeek!” Who needs a rooster when you have a demanding guinea pig? I brought my arm up to move the blankets and my muscles threatened to assassinate me. The pig continued to protest and I was worried she would wake up the whole camp.

I managed to toss some fruit mixed with hay into the cage and collapsed back onto my cot. It was dark, and the stove had long since run out of fuel. There was a chill in the air that was not helped by my skimpy clothes. After lighting the kerosene lantern, I filled the stove from a bucket of dried dung and lit a match. It only took a few moments for the space to warm up.

The ger was basically a round tent covered in felted wool. In the middle of the tent stood a small stove. The pipe disappeared through a hole in the roof. To the left of the door, I had my cot, two trunks for my things, two stools and a rug. A box of cooking and eating utensils stood next to the bucket of dried manure. This may be the first time in my life I was happy to be the proud owner of a bucket of shit. A simple life, really.

I stood and started stretching to relieve my aching body. Fortunately, I had some life-giving ibuprofen in my backpack. I took three with the tea I’d warmed up on the cookstove. The heat flowed down my throat. and I started to feel a little like myself again. Wow. Five straight hours of bizarre, sadistic exercises and wrestling one-on-one with a famous athlete. Maybe I wasn’t doing so bad after all. And what time is it anyway, seven or eight at night?

A quick look at my watch made me do the traditional cartoon double-take. Five AM? How was that possible? I’d been sleeping since one o’clock in the afternoon!

Sartre paused in her eating to give me a disapproving “wheek.” She sure told me.

I reached into my duffel to grab a fistful of protein bars. I was just reaching for my third when I felt something in there that I did not pack. That’s weird. It felt like…like an envelope.

I pulled it out and dropped onto my cot with a sigh. There was no mistaking the Bombay family seal. This was a job. But how in the hell did it find me all the way out here? I looked around for hidden cameras. I wouldn’t be surprised to find photos of me in my flattering uniform in the family newsletter. Assassins are mean pranksters.

After throwing on a sweatshirt and jogging pants, I carefully opened the door and slipped outside. Sansar-Huu’s truck was rusting in the same spot he’d parked it two days ago. There were no vehicle tracks in the long, steppe grass. No hoof prints. Nothing. I circled the camp, then made my way back inside.

How did a Bombay manage to get this to me out here? And why now? I’d done two jobs in the last nine months. That was more than enough for a year. In fact, we usually had only one job a year. That’s why I’d planned this trip. I figured my particular services weren’t required.

The envelope was plain, the standard eight-and-a-half-by-eleven inches. The only thing that identified it as a Bombay job was the blood red wax seal stamped with the family crest. I set the envelope on my lap. Then I picked it back up. The curiosity was too great. And since I had no early morning cartoons or Pee Wee Herman cable reruns out here, I had to get my entertainment somewhere.

The only sounds coming from the camp were those of nature. No human was awake yet. I still had time. Very slowly, I broke the seal and slid open the envelope. The face of a European stared up at me. This was no Mongolian. How far would I have to go to get this done?

After reading the file, I put everything back in the envelope and shoved it to the bottom of my duffel to burn later. It was pretty cut and dried. My Vic was a Dutch mercenary named Arje Dekker. Usually, I didn’t mind mercenaries. In fact, sometimes they maintained the balance of civility in foreign countries rife with infighting and a week military. This bastard, however, was different.

Selling out to the highest bidder, Dekker had no problem who was paying him to do what. Interpol was investigating several accusations of extreme torture perpetrated by Dekker, mostly on women and children in a troubled African nation. This was one of the times I was grateful the Bombay Council didn’t give me too much information.

Apparently Dekker was hiding out in none other than Mongolia. There were reports he was going to be at the national Naadam in July in the capital. I was to use any means necessary to make him “disappear.” And suddenly, I had no problem with mixing business with pleasure.

“You are supposed to throw him to the ground.” Chudruk managed somehow amidst hysterical laughter. “He is an old man and you are young.” He doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

I stood up and dusted off my shorts and T-shirt. It had taken twenty minutes, but I convinced Yalta to let me train in my own clothes. The zodag and shuudag were just too much, and I suspect I was wearing them to merely entertain my hosts. I kept the gutals on. Since this game was played on foot, I knew I had to break them in.

Yalta grinned and slapped his thighs, indicating he was ready. I slapped mine in reply and we got to it. This time, I managed to keep him in a lock until he kicked my legs out from under me. In my mind, that was a victory.

We went through the same scenario no less than twelve more times, dammit. Still, I didn’t complain and kept working. By late afternoon, I was covered in sweat, dust and bruises while Yalta’s deel sported nary a wrinkle. But that was good, right? I wanted a coach. A real zazul to help me. Not so I would win. There was no way I could go up against men who had been doing this since they were toddlers. I just wanted to experience it. And not embarrassing myself in the process was also good.

Why did I want to put myself through this? Well, why not? To me it was more of a question of what I didn’t want out of life than what I did. I could have had a normal life as a college professor in some little town in New England. I’d spend my days lecturing countless kids on why the words of a guy who died three hundred years ago were important and relevant. Then I’d head home to grade papers, eat supper and watch TV or read until I fell asleep. If I were lucky, I might have a wife and kids to break the tedium. Eventually the college would force me to retire and just maybe I would travel a little or maybe I’d read books on my front porch until I died.

The truth was, after spending all those years studying philosophy, I realized that nothing written by Hobbes, Aquinas or Kant told me anything about life. Granted, I understood the idea that philosophy was the study of why we are here…the meaning of life and such. And yet, it somehow wasn’t. To me, these old, dead guys felt that the only way to live your life was to sit and think of what it all means. Then they died not even knowing if they were right. What the hell?

And then there was the part of me that was Bombay. I was born into a career I did not ask for. I was a hired killer. Try wrestling with the ideas of Mahatma Gandhi while learning how to field strip a Remington sniper rifle. It just doesn’t work. Well, there is that time I was stringing garrotes while listening to Niccolo Machiavelli's classic on tape, but that’s an isolated incident.

Somewhere along the line, I became fascinated with the idea that while mankind aspired to apply thought and reason to life, they actually used violence to live it. Isn’t that interesting? Not terribly deep, but it struck me as interesting. So, I took some serious martial-arts training on campus. This was about the time I was in love with a young woman named Frannie Smith, so I had other interests, like sex.

When Frannie dumped me right after graduation, I knew I would have to be a nomad. I rejected the very idea of having a normal life. That’s how I ended up a carnie. And that’s when I started these little sabbaticals. Neat, huh? I’ll bet you were expecting something else. Trust me, aside from being a knitting assassin/carnie with a black belt in aikido and proud guinea pig parent (I have the bumper sticker on my trailer), I’m not that complicated.

“You really gave us a show today.” Sansar-Huu and Chudruk sat down next to me on a rock beside the stream. They hit it off immediately, so now I had two of them giving me a hard time.

“I aim to entertain.” I pulled off my boots and stepped barefoot into the icy water. It felt wonderful. I felt alive. Battered but alive.

“Oh, you are, my friend,” Sansar-Huu answered. “My wife wants to know if you will actually eat dinner tonight or are you planning to insult us by going straight to bed again?”

I wiggled my toes in the cold water, enjoying the shock. “I am sorry I offended you, my most gracious host.” I wasn’t being facetious. I really was sensitive to the fact that my non-appearance at dinner as a guest was noticed. You can’t go to a country like this, where hospitality is an important part of life, and act like an arrogant American.

“I will be there and bring my appetite.”

“Good,” Chudruk said. “And be thirsty. I’m bringing airag.”

“I can handle it.” At least I hoped I could. Airag, or koumiss as it is sometimes called, is a potent alcoholic drink made of fermented mare’s milk. I know, it doesn’t sound tough, but the first time I drank it I lost my voice – and the lining of my esophagus – for a day and a half. And these men were serious drinkers. I would have to walk a fine line of drinking enough to make my hosts happy and not too much that I’d be in a coma in the morning.

“Just be ready,” Chudruk said. “Yalta is going to start with the mekhs.”

There was a word I didn’t know. “Mekhs?” I asked.

“It means…” He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment. There was no dictionary or internet out here on the steppes. I hoped he could figure it out. The light came into his eyes and he smiled. “Techniques. My father is going to show you how to wrestle the way his father and grandfather taught him.”

Stepping out of the stream onto the grass felt good. I toyed with washing up but decided against it. The sun was low in the sky and I wanted to make sure I changed before dinner in Sansar-Huu’s ger.

The two men rose and started to walk away as I put my boots back on.

“By the way,” I shouted. My stomach rumbled and I realized I was very, very hungry. No power bars tonight. Tonight, I was going fully native. “What are we eating?”

Sansar-Huu waved and shouted back, “Testicle soup!” As he turned away, I had the distinct feeling that he was smiling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Tick:  Gravity is a harsh mistress.

- The Tick

The next few days went as you can imagine. I survived the testicle soup and found it really was not that bad…if you imagined it more like Campbell’s chicken and dumplings, and had a lobotomy to rid your brain of the meaning of the word “testicle.” The mind works in mysterious ways.

As my training continued, I found, like I always did, that my stamina increased. So did my stubbornness. And slowly. Very, very slowly, I started to understand what I needed to do. In my opinion, fighting is eighty percent mental. Every time I was thrown, I learned something. Granted, I wasn’t as good as even the most amateur wrestler, but I was beginning to understand the physics of this form of wrestling. (Psst…it’s all leverage.)

I asked Chudruk to forget the archery and horseback portion competitions (partly this was because I was afraid Sartre would see the horse as a compatriot in her mocking of me). It would take everything I had to get through the wrestling. And I had my first Naadam in a couple of days. Trying to concentrate on two sports didn’t make much sense. All of my faculties would be needed to stay upright and avoid as much humiliation as I could. I knew I would lose my first few competitions. But the longer I stayed on my feet, the more I would learn.

The Naadam was a local competition, lasting only one day. These were held throughout the country with the crowning event being the National Naadam, which was three days, in mid-July. I wanted to prove myself. So I started training harder. Before Yalta made it to the stream where we worked, I was already there and had completed sixty, then seventy pushups. I could lift larger stones over my head. I even managed to catch my zazul off-guard, tripping him to where he landed on one knee. It counted. Anytime you catch your opponent off-balance so that a hand, knee or back hits the ground – it counts. I didn’t even gloat when I helped him up.

Of course this also meant that I’d had a couple more evenings of airag and various, questionable boiled sheep parts. But I didn’t mind that anymore. Sansar-Huu and Chudruk’s families were becoming my families. And I didn’t have to kill anyone to be part of it. That was very refreshing.

Everyone but a couple of teenagers traveled with me to the Naadam. The smaller children promised to feed Sartre. They were fascinated with her. She was less so with them, but throw in some fresh grass and she was in hog heaven.

Yalta had two grandsons in the competition besides me. Apparently, they did not need him as much as I did, because it seemed to me I used up most of his time. Chudruk gave me a gift – a beautiful chocolate-colored deel made by his mother for my first competition. I was grateful and told her I would try even harder not to fall in her honor. She thought this was very funny.

Sansar-Huu surprised me with my own peaked hat. It was black and square with a sort of steeple at the top. I thanked him, feeling a little overwhelmed by the generosity of these two families.

As we all piled into Sansar-Huu’s truck, I wondered if I would see my Vic, Dekker, at this Naadam. I didn’t expect to. My intel only said he would appear at the national event. And it didn’t say what he would be doing there. Would he just be a spectator or a participant? If he was anything like me, I’d have guessed he was planning on wrestling too. He was a man of action. It would be unlike him to just sit and watch. On the other hand, he could just be curious or passing through. There really was no way of knowing why he was there so I gave up trying.

The truck bumped along, jostling the riders in the back. I had tried to give up my passenger seat to Odgerel’s mother, but they insisted I sit up front. I was their guest, they explained. If I had pressed the matter, they would’ve been insulted, so I did as I was told. If I didn’t, I suspected we would have testicle soup every day for the rest of my visit.

My friend and guide pointed out the various wildlife along the way. There was so much life here. So much stark beauty. I felt at peace in this place. As I looked out the window, I tried to picture Genghis Khan and his men, riding on their horses beside me as they made their way toward China or Russia, Persia or Europe seeking conquest.

Genghis Khan was the reason for the Naadams. He believed that wrestling, archery and horseback riding were the three manly games that tested his men’s mettle for the battlefield. He was a sacred son here. And his nomadic ways were still revered by the very people in this truck.

We arrived at the site of the games two hours later. Men walked around in their wrestling uniform or carried large bows. There were horses everywhere. A couple of gers formed a circle in the grass, where, I was told, the wrestling games would take place. Yalta went to arrange for my competition as I removed my deel and donned my zodag and hat. As I warmed up, my thoughts went to my training. I imagined every possible action and reaction. My brain prepared to think without me. It had to be instinctive. My concentration was focused on the possibilities.

“You will wrestle seventh,” Chudruk said to me quietly.

“Do you know who?” I asked, my eyes darting around, measuring up the other athletes. There was quite a range from short, skinny guys to men who qualified for sumo wrestling. Yalta had explained that the match-ups weren’t based on fairness but randomness. So, a neophyte like me could end up fighting a seasoned champion in my first match.

“Not yet. Does it matter?” My friend answered.

It did to me. I was kind of hoping to wrestle a four-year-old who’d had some cold medicine recently, but figured that was too much to ask. As to their laissez-faire attitude on match ups? That made sense. On the battlefield, you didn’t have the opportunity to pick your opponent or the luck of having to fight someone weaker or the same size as you. Why should that tradition end now just for my comfort?

The very first match was actually between Yalta’s grandson, Zerleg and a favorite who had won many competitions and even qualified at the rank of arslan or lion. Zerleg was a tall, thin youth about seventeen years old. His name meant “savage,” and he was anything but. From what he had told me one night, he wanted to be a poet. Wrestling was something he was doing for his grandfather’s approval. Chudruk thought he had talent.

I watched as both young men did the devekh, or eagle dance. They each stood at opposite ends of the circle, walking around their coaches, flapping their arms like an eagle. It was a very graceful dance. An interesting introduction to a fighting competition.

Both men slapped their thighs, indicating their willingness to begin. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. This was the first time I was seeing this tradition in person. The athletes walked slowly around each other, crouched and ready for grappling. In a split second, Zerleg’s opponent reached forward and the two men were locked, hands on each other’s shoulders, straining against the other’s strength.

I’m always surprised when people watch matches like this, or Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and think nothing is going on. Action has come to a standstill and the men seemed to be holding still. Nothing could be further from the truth. Very small, very important movements are being made, like a chess game of the flesh. You may not be able to make it out, but the grapplers are inching their way, inflicting their will on millimeters of movement. And each flicker, each strain is a physical action that must be countered or one man will be thrown.

The men stand still for so long, sometimes I start to wonder if they’ve frozen this way.

“Sometimes, the bukhs will stay this way for hours,” Sansar-Huu whispered in my ear. “Sometimes a match can last all day. It usually isn’t allowed at the national level, but sometimes here…” He shrugged.

I watched, transfixed, as Yalta called out to his grandson. It was obvious he was encouraging him, but I wasn’t sure how. Would I understand what he was saying to me when it was my turn? I hadn’t thought of that. I was quite familiar with the language, but if it wasn’t for Chudruk, translating for his father, I would still be doing pushups in the stream.

The old men sitting on a blanket up front never blinked as far as I could see. These were the judges and whatever they said would be final. Their eyes squinted against the summer sun, missing nothing. I suspected they would do better than the controversial computer at the Olympic games.

On the grass, Zerleg and his opponent continued to strain. Sweat drizzled down the side of my face. It was about sixty-five degrees here, and yet I was perspiring in nothing more than briefs and an open-chested blouse. Hmmm…maybe I should wear this when I work back home. Hello, ladies!

Zerleg made an aggressive move. He slipped his right shoulder down to his opponent’s hip and made a play to sweep him off his feet. I could feel my shoulders turning rock hard with tension. For a second, Zerleg seemed to have the advantage, as both of the other man’s feet swung up off the ground. But with an amazing recovery, he managed to land flat-footed. Zerleg was so startled, he missed the fact that he was being shoved backward by the other guy’s hands. He was on the ground, stunned as the call was made that he had lost and would not be competing any further.

The opponent threw his arms up in the air and grandstanded for a moment. Zerleg reached up for assistance and the victor scoffed and walked away. I’d seen that look on the face of many a bully over my lifetime (and fortunately, I’d been able to kill a few). Yalta helped his grandson up and patted him on the back as they walked off the playing field. The boy looked miserable, but as his grandfather and coach kept whispering in his ear, he finally broke into a sad smile. This was his first match. He did very well.

I joined in congratulating him and his spirits seemed to rise. Although I don’t think that was as much because of me and his family as the cluster of giggling teenage girls waving at him from across the field. Within moments he had put on his deel and was walking over to them. I had to smile. He may have lost the game, but some of his poetry would likely score him some points today.

The other matches were equally as tense and no less dramatic. By the time the fourth contest ended, I realized I needed to take my eyes off the field and focus on my own upcoming competition. I sat down on a blanket with Sansar-Huu’s wife, Odgerel, and closed my eyes. My thoughts were devoted exclusively to all that I had seen today and what Yalta had taught me. The sounds around me were tuned out until it was just me picturing how it would or could go down.

“Coney!” Chudruk shook me. “It is your turn.” He led me to the field, to where my zazul, Yalta, stood quietly. I turned only to see who my competitor was. It was the bully who’d defeated Zerleg. As I began my eagle dance, I pictured what I had seen him do before. He was my size and weight. It would be more evenly matched than it was with the boy. But this man had experience I didn’t.

My dance ended, I crossed the field to my opponent and slapped my thighs. He grinned and did the same. Our contest had begun.

I had decided that I wouldn’t walk around him but immediately make the first move, which I did, grabbing him by the shoulders. He gripped mine with hands that felt like steel, matching my strength. Jesus. What do they feed these guys? Is it the soup?

We strained against each other, our heads looking down at our legs for an opening…a sign of weakness. Sweat made it difficult to hold on, but I didn’t give in. My fingers and arms burned, but I knew that if I eased up in the slightest bit, it would be all over. And that’s when I knew that this was going to be much harder than I ever imagined.

And I thought this was a good idea…why?

CHAPTER NINE

Luther:  “Warriors, co-u-me out to play-i-ay.”

- The Warriors

I gritted my teeth, which hurt, by the way. It felt like I was going up against a steel beam, which also seemed silly. Now I understood why my training involved wrestling with boulders. This was damn near the same thing.

My opponent kicked at my feet, hoping to knock me down. I looped my right leg around his right leg and tried to trip him. He didn’t budge. It was like trying to topple a redwood tree. I got my feet planted before he could take advantage of my being off-balance. We continued to strain.

At some point, it became clear that we could very well be like this all day. He had the best of me and knew it, but I refused to budge…a typical Bombay trait. Soon, however, I would have to break. My muscles weren’t trained for this kind of torture and were rudely beginning to complain.

I’ve been told that because of my pale blue eyes, I have an unnerving gaze. Maybe that would work against an opponent who only ever saw brown eyes grimacing back at him. It was crazy and a little stupid because my concentration would shift. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I looked up and stared at the top of his head. What was I thinking? He wouldn’t look up. Why would he? I continued to stare at his sweat-soaked, dark hair as I held him off at the shoulders. The longer I did, the more I realized that only he could see the position of our legs and feet, giving him the advantage. But I didn’t look down. Look at me, damn you! I thought over and over.

By some small miracle, he actually looked up! I was about to wonder if I was telepathic but abandoned that idea, directing every ounce of energy that wasn’t shoving against this brick wall into my glare. Our eyes locked just like our bodies. Great. So much for that idea.

Until I felt him give a little bit. Not more than a slight shift maybe in his elbow perhaps. I stared as hard as I could, even though it felt a little ridiculous. The stress was unimaginable. I’ve never, in any fight, had an opponent who didn’t budge in any way. Even his flesh was hard. I decided it was time to use something that had worked for me on other objects of prey. I winked at him.

His eyes widened slightly, and I felt a fleeting slip of victory. Without looking down, I moved my left leg around his and shoved with every ounce of strength I had left. I felt his stance shift. His shoulders gave slightly. I had him! In just a second, he’d be down on the ground and Zerleg would sort of be avenged.

I knew the second I did it that taking my eyes off him was a mistake. But something glinted in the distance, just behind his ear. There was no stopping my wandering eyes as I found the source of my distraction. Blonde hair. There was a woman with blonde hair standing there, her eyes wide and her mouth shaped like an “O.” I couldn’t stop myself. It was too late and as my opponent took advantage of my breaking concentration and I fell backwards to the ground, the very surprised face of Veronica Gale watched.

I never took my eyes off of her as I rose to my feet and walked over to my coach.

“You did really well.” Chudruk clapped me on the back. Yalta nodded.

“Thanks.” I knew I had done well. It didn’t make me feel better. I wanted to beat that smarmy son-of-a-bitch, but my guard had been lowered and he kicked my ass.

“No, really!” Sansar-Huu laughed. “You lasted longer than anyone else has. Not bad for your first match.”

I turned toward my friends. They were complimenting me. I needed to cool down. No one expected me to win. This was my first Naadam. In their minds, the fact I’d lasted so long was cause for celebration.

“Tand bayarlaa,” I said with more feeling this time. And I meant it. Cooling my heels was a good idea because I was pretty sure if I spoke to Miss Gale now, I’d explode.

We walked back to the others and they all joined in the congratulations. I only half-listened as Zerleg in particular grinningly told the story in more detail than I remembered. Apparently, he was satisfied that I’d avenged his loss. At least that was something.

My brain buzzed. What the hell was Ronnie doing here? This was no mirage. I saw her. And what are the odds she’d be in Mongolia…let alone this tiny fragment of it? I wanted answers to these questions, but not yet. First I had to honor my friends, who’d done so much to get me this far.

“To Coney!” Chudruk pushed a glass of vodka into my hands and raised a toast. Both families cheered as I drained my cup. The warmth surged through my veins, which was good because I was still wearing my uniform and it was a bit chilly.

“Cy?” Veronica’s voice caught me off guard and I turned to see her at the edge of the crowd. The Mongolians stared at her. I wondered if any of them had ever seen a blonde woman before.

I nodded to my hosts, then crossed over to her. She looked me up and down, then did something unexpected. Veronica Gale burst into laughter.

“You…you look great!” She giggled.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I growled.

This drew her up short. “You, you’re mad at me?”

I wrestled mentally with this one. “No,” I lied.

She pointed at me, eyes wide in astonishment. “You are mad at me! Unbelievable!”

“I’m not mad at you,” I said quietly, clearly indicating that I was. “I’m just upset at losing my concentration and losing the match.”

Her eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. “You blame me for this! Don’t you?”

I took her by the elbow and guided her away from the others. “No. I don’t blame you for this.” Because that would be unreasonable. “I blame myself.” Liar.

Veronica did not look convinced. “Right.”

We stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Then I realized I was actually happy to see her, in spite of being pissed off.

“Let’s take a walk.” I said as I took her hand and led her away from the festival. We didn’t have to go very far to find a place to be alone. We must have looked odd to the Mongolians – two blonde Caucasians – bickering. Veronica just held on to my hand and followed.

It surprised me how intimate it felt to hold her hand. I don’t have many opportunities for that. Most of my liaisons since college didn’t feature enough time for that simple, affectionate act. Holding Ronnie’s hand made me feel the stirrings of an emotion I’d long since given up on.

There was a collection of rocks about two hundred yards from the party. I sat down on a large, flat stone and Veronica joined me, dropping my hand and drawing her knees up under her chin. It was pretty adorable.

“What are you doing here?” The walk had given me a chance to calm down.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She met my gaze defiantly. It seemed as though while my anger had dissipated, hers was just heating up.

“I’m here to participate in the festival.”

“I’m here to observe it,” she said flatly. I guess she was pissed off with the way I’d acted.

“Why?”

“It’s part of my doctoral thesis. And I’ll be interviewing natives and outsiders at the national competition. I came early to get a grasp on everything.” Veronica looked away for a moment, as if she didn’t want to meet my eyes.

“Another paper, eh?” I grinned.

“I take my education very seriously.”

“I believe that. But what will you do once there is nothing left to study?”

Her shoulders slumped and I wished I could’ve taken the words back. “I don’t know.”

I decided to change track. No point in beating her up over this. I’d done it enough before.

“So, tell me how coming here relates to your thesis,” I said with what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile as I sat there on a rock in pink briefs.

“My dissertation examines the ways men choose to glorify violence through everything from tribal war games to murder and assassination. Unfortunately, my thesis committee considered my writing ‘too stiff and dry,’ so they wanted me to observe these war games up close and hopefully apply to my research.”

“But the National Naadam isn’t for another few weeks,” I pointed out. “Why come early?”

“My professors thought it would be good for me.” She cocked her head. “Do I seem dull to you?”

I laughed. “No. Not at all. I had fun with you in Miami.” And I did too, I realized.

“Well, the people I work with think I don’t know how to live. They believe I think ‘fun’ is a four-letter word.”

My laughter came a little harder. “At least you didn’t correct them there.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What do you mean by that? Of course I told them ‘fun’ has three letters.”

Wow. She needed to lighten up.  “You know what? I understand why they sent you here now.”

She fairly growled. “Well, I don’t get it. Honestly – Mongolia? Why couldn’t I find something like that in Paris? But no, I have to pick something located in a barren wasteland where the language is impossible. Fine. I’m here, but I don’t have to like it.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Was I the only person who found this little stiff engaging?

“I mean,” Veronica continued, “who in their right mind thinks of Mongolia when going on her first vacation since starting college seven years ago? Well, it’s too late to back out. It was nice of Professor Bialsky to arrange for a grant and everything since I couldn’t afford the trip otherwise. But why do I have the feeling in the back of my mind that they are trying to get rid of me?”

“Are you talking to me or yourself?” I asked.

“You are laughing at me.”

“Only on the inside, I swear.”

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t be laughing so hard if you had a mirror.” With that she folded her arms.

I looked down at myself. My body was in peak condition. It wasn’t terribly embarrassing to be wearing such a skimpy uniform.

“I mean, what’s with the little panties and tiny shrug?” She started smiling at last. “And the little pointed hat and curly-toed boots? I can’t figure it out!”

“All right, Ronnie. Here’s your first lesson.” I then explained the reason for the open-chested zodog and the fact that the “panties” were for ease of movement.

Unfortunately, I had no idea about the little hat and elflike boots.

Her mouth dropped open and for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth when she was sober.

“You mean this, whatever you called it”—she fingered the edge of my sleeve—“is to keep women from competing? Seriously?”

I nodded. “Genghis Khan referred to this as the Three Manly Games. He used them to not only train his warriors, but to also pit political rivals against each other. He obviously believed the sport shouldn’t be tainted by women. And the Mongolians concur.”

She snorted. “Sounds mighty sexist to me.”

I shook my head. “Genghis Khan wasn’t exactly a feminist, but he had high regard for women. He revered his mother and his favorite wife. They had a lot of power for women of that time. But he felt that this was a man’s world and sport.”

“You sound like you admire him.”

“I do. The man came from nothing. He was a peasant and a bastard, and ended up ruling an area stretching from Russia to China to India. He did this with a group of archers on horseback. He opened up the silk road, introducing East to West and his sons and grandsons ruled Russia, China and India until the 1920s. There’s a lot to admire about a man like that.”

Veronica sat silently, digesting the information. As a cultural anthropologist, I knew she was interested.

“I read an article before I came,” she said as she stared off into the distance, “where they said that a large percentage of people in the world can trace their DNA back to Mongolia. That must be why.”

I let her think for a while, soaking up her interest with affection. I loved learning. I missed the ivory tower a bit. Watching her think was somewhat erotic for me.

“I have an idea,” I said after a while. “Why don’t you come with us? Stay with me and my friends. You’ll soak up the culture and observe the training. And in my downtime, I can try to give you some insight into the…” I paused. “How did you put it? Violent interests of men?”

“Oh.” She looked uncertain. “I don’t know…”

“Where are you staying now?” I asked.

“In Ulaan Baatar.” She pointed to a rickety truck that made Sansar-Huu’s beat-up Chevy look like a Rolls Royce. “The driver brought me out here just for the day.”

“I can’t think of a better way for you to do what your committee wanted you to do than by joining us. And instead of feeling completely alienated back at the HoJo or whatever, you can learn about these people, their nomadic culture and have a built-in translator.”

She considered this for a moment, much to my delight. I wanted her to stay. Wanted to be with her. Veronica Gale brought out something in me that had been dormant a long, long time. And I knew I could help her. And maybe there would be sex. I liked sex.

“But my things are in the hotel room…” she protested weakly.

“I’ll see if my friends can pick them up.”

We sat for a moment, looking at each other.

“Okay,” she replied, and I felt a wave of relief. “I’ll do it.”

I stood and took her hand, hauling her to her feet. “Let’s go take care of the details. And then, your education begins.”

CHAPTER TEN

Villager:  If he’s the best with the gun and the knife, with whom does he compete?

Chris:  Himself.

- The Magnificent Seven

Sansar-Huu immediately volunteered to let Ronnie stay with his family. I was a little surprised until I remembered that the Mongols are famous for their hospitality. Veronica became somewhat shy around them. She was definitely out of her comfort zone. Odgerel patted a spot beside her on the blanket, indicating Ronnie should join her. I nodded in encouragement. With one last look up at me, Ronnie sat down and was immediately handed vodka. She sipped at it carefully and smiled when she recognized it. Oh, this was going to be fun. I couldn’t wait for the family to slaughter a sheep and divvy up the carcass for us to eat right there on the floor.

Zolban, Yalta’s other grandson, had done quite well and was in the finals. Part of his success was luck. He had managed to draw competitors much smaller than he was. Tall like his brother, Zolban was heavier, hewn with a great deal of muscle. He was much more outgoing than his sibling and took to wrestling very naturally. I was curious to see him go up against an athlete closer to his level.

I’d managed to get into my sweatpants and deel. Sitting in my uniform felt awkward. Others did it, but I wasn’t them. And it took the comedic wind out of Ronnie’s sails. When Zolban was called up to wrestle, she joined me in front, slipping her hand into mine. I looked at her more closely as she observed the field. Her short hair blew in the wind. She wore a T-shirt and sweater, with jeans and hiking boots. Watching the curiosity on her face inspired me. I remembered when I couldn’t wait to learn everything and anything.

Zolban was going through the motions of his eagle dance and I noticed with surprise that his competitor was none other than the man who bested me and Zerleg. This was going to get interesting.

“His name is Sukhbaatar.” Chudruk appeared at my side. “It means Axe Hero.”

Veronica looked at my friend with interest. “That’s a tough name.’

He nodded. “He is favored to do well at National.”

The combatants slapped their thighs and we turned our attention to the field. Both men were matched for height and weight. The only difference was experience, as Chudruk whispered. Zolban was a bit newer to the sport.

Unlike his cautious brother, Zolban dove immediately for Sukhbaatar’s hips. His opponent broke free and grabbed Zolban ankle. Zolban spun on his heel and slipped from his grasp. Apparently, this match was going to be quite different. Sukhbaatar had to fight for every inch and it became clear immediately that Zolban’s very aggressive and active fighting style was a problem for him. I noticed Zerleg cheering for his brother on the other side of Chudruk.

Sukhbaatar charged Zolban’s hips, but Zolban stepped just out of reach. He spun behind Sukhbaatar and from behind managed to throw him to the ground. The crowd roared, and I noticed with some pleasure that Zerleg was pumping his fist in the air in celebration. Yalta even sported a slight grin.

Zolban did not grandstand. He merely nodded modestly at the crowd, then walked over to his opponent, extending his hand. Sukhbaatar’s face was bright red as he slapped Zolban’s hand away. The crowd jeered. No one, no matter what culture, thought bad sportsmanship was acceptable.

The families celebrated the win with cooked mutton bought from a vendor. More vodka was passed around, and we all got pleasantly drunk as the day drew to a close and the competition ended. By besting his opponent, Zolban achieved the coveted rank of zaan, or elephant. Both families, Sansar-Huu’s and Chudruk’s, celebrated the win as if they were all related. This was the way of the steppes. They now had a connection and I was more than a little touched that I was the catalyst.

I insisted that Yalta and Zolban ride in the cab of the truck while Veronica and I climbed into the back with the others. The darkening sky brought a chill to the windy road as we drove along. I was warm in my fur-lined deel, but Ronnie began to shiver. I put my arm around her and pulled her close. She resisted at first, then relaxed against me. The alcohol buzzed warmly in my veins and I felt good.

Our friends chattered around us and I translated a bit for Ronnie. She laughed at the jokes a few moments later than they were told – and at many mangled translations I attempted, but I could tell she was starting to feel comfortable. That convinced me I had been right to invite her. In a sterile environment of a hotel in the big city, she wouldn’t learn anything.

Eventually we arrived at the camp. Ogderel invited Ronnie to share their ger, but I insisted she be put up in mine. Too much cultural overload was not a good thing. It would be better if she was with someone she knew. Someone who spoke English. Someone who wanted to have sex with her. Yalta sent the boys over with an extra cot and blankets. Ronnie watched nervously as I set her up on the other side of the tent.

She sat quietly on her cot, cuddling Sartre while I made some tea. It was warm in the ger. The felt walls kept in the heat put out by the small cookstove.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

I kept unbuttoning my deel. “Getting undressed.”

Ronnie’s face had a look of sheer panic. “Surely you aren’t going to strip right here in front of me!”

“You’ve seen me in nothing but a towel. Get over it.”

“I’ll-I’ll go outside and wait.”

“Why?” I asked, even thought I knew the answer.

“Can’t you just sleep in that?” Patches of red spread over her cheeks.

I shook my head. “It chafes and isn’t very warm.” I found it hilarious that in spite of her modesty, she didn’t look away as I peeled off my zodag, leaving nothing but my shuudag. In fact, she looked a little frozen with fear.

“Well, since you can’t take your eyes off of me, I’ll turn around.” I smiled. With my back to her, I pulled off the briefs, leaving me completely naked. For a moment I entertained the thought of turning around…just for the fun of it. But the fact that she was nervous about being here changed my mind.

Did I imagine it, or was there a brief intake of air coming from this modest young lady? I slipped on a sweat suit and socks and turned around.

Veronica looked stricken. And maybe a little excited. I couldn’t tell. It made me wonder if she had sex very often. Now why did that pop into my head?

She accepted the tea gratefully and drank. “This is good. I was afraid you would give me more vodka. Or what did they call it?”

“Arikh. You’ll only see that in the cities and at festivals. For the most part, we will be drinking airag.”

“What’s that?”

“Fermented mare’s milk.”

She blanched. “Thank god you have tea.”

“And that’s another thing I should warn you about. They drink their tea with salt and animal fat.” I watched with amusement as she grimaced. “But I have the good stuff.”

She shook her head. “I never thought I’d hear tea called ‘the good stuff.’”

I smiled. “There’s a lot you will have to get used to here. We eat a lot of mutton and goat cheese. Just remember to stay away from tarvag.”

“Why?”

“It’s marmot. And they still carry the black plague.”

Ronnie’s eyes widened. “I guess I really am immersed in Mongolian culture now. What do we do during the day?”

“We aren’t expected to help out, but I think you should. It will give you a little more experience. And Ogderel speaks some English. I’ll be training. You are always welcome to watch Yalta kick my ass.”

This made her smile. “I’d like that.”

I nodded. “I knew you would.” Exhaustion pulled at me, begging me to sleep. Veronica put the guinea pig back in her cage and slid between the blankets on her cot. I turned out the lantern.

“Good night, Ronnie,” I said quietly as I climbed into my bed.

“Cy?” she replied in the darkness. “Thank you for bringing me here, and for explaining and translating and everything.”

“You are very welcome.” And I meant it. Veronica Gale was getting under my skin and I enjoyed it. In fact, I wondered, as I heard her breathe across the ger, whether I would actually get any sleep at all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Those who are easily shocked should be shocked more often.”

- Mae West

I decided to let Ronnie sleep in. She looked so comfortable snuggled beneath the wool blankets. Actually, I wanted to get in there with her warm, sleepy body. Wrap myself around her soft flesh…

Shaking my head to clear it, I shrugged on the rest of my clothes and after chugging some tea and eating a couple of protein bars, went outside to meet Yalta at the stream.

“Pop says you did real good yesterday,” Chudruk said with a grin.

“I could’ve done better,” I replied.

He nodded. “Yes, you could have. But you were distracted.”

I could feel my face warming in the cool, morning breeze. Was I actually blushing? I didn’t think I had it in me.

Yalta put his hand on my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes and spoke slowly so I would understand. Yeah, that made me feel better.

“You are good. You will do well at Naadam.” Was all he said. At least, that’s how I interpreted him. For all I know he called me an idiot unworthy of castrating sheep.

“Tand bayarlaa.” I thanked him, but wasn’t so sure I deserved the praise.

We trained for a few hours. This time, Yalta stressed technique more than strength training. I felt honored. He was showing me that I’d gone beyond his expectations. I was a Westerner who had made a good showing at the local Naadam. We had another one in a few days and Yalta told me he thought I could win at least one match.

I worked very hard. His faith in me was a great honor, and I wanted him to understand that I knew that. This is what I came here for. To test myself and learn. Maybe I wasn’t too different from Veronica after all.

As we made our way back to camp at midday, I noticed that my fair and lovely roommate was sitting on the grass with Ogderel, making cheese. The Mongolian was speaking English slowly and Ronnie seemed to understand.

“There is your man now.” Ogderel pointed at me with a smile.

Veronica blushed a bright scarlet. “Oh! Um, he’s not…well, we’re not…” she stumbled, at a loss of how to explain our situation.

“Sain bainuu!” I greeted the women, plopping down in the grass next to Ronnie. It was then I noticed she had Sartre with her. The gluttonous pig was between the women, chowing down on the cool, damp grass.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought her out here…” Veronica bit her lip.

I scooped up the pig. “Not at all. And you had her between you so the falcons wouldn’t get her.”

She nodded. “I was worried about that.”

Sartre squealed, struggling to get out of my grip and back to the juicy grasses. I placed her back between the women and she regally ignored me.

I stood. “I’d better get back to the ger. I want to have some tea during my break.”

Veronica looked at her hostess, then looked at me. She nodded and I took it to mean she was okay with that idea. Back in the tent, I stripped off the sweat-soaked shirt and replaced it with a dry one. After creating a fire on the stove and setting the kettle on, I lay back on my cot to await the kettle’s whistle.

Every inch of my body ached. And I was extremely proud of that. Being here and working toward my goal gave me a sense of peace. Funny, isn’t it, how training for violence can make one feel that way. I stretched my legs out, kicking something with my foot. Odd. Everything should have been stowed in the trunks.

I sat up and saw that there was a suitcase with wheels and a briefcase sitting next to my bed. Must have been Ronnie’s. Sansar-Huu made good on his promise and brought back her things from the city. I chuckled, thinking of Veronica trying to roll a suitcase on the steppes. My laughter came harder when I thought of her trying to plug in her laptop.

“Is something funny?” The source of my amusement entered the ger. She was smiling. I loved it when she smiled.

“Sorry. I just noticed you got your things.” I pointed at the cases on the floor.

She rushed forward. “Oh! That’s great!” I watched as she opened the case and began sifting through it. I was hoping she might pull out a slinky negligee or thong. But not Veronica. All of her clothes were plain and practical.

“I guess I won’t need my laptop.” She frowned as she held the plug.

“Paper and pen will have to do.”

“I brought some, but not much.” She pulled four large notepads out of her bag and I wondered what she considered a lot.

“How much do you actually need?”

Veronica sat on the bed, looking thoughtfully at the hole in the roof where the stovepipe went. “I need to make notes and I have to do that interview…” She pulled a digital recorder out and checked the batteries.

I leaned back on the cot and closed my eyes. “If you need any help from me, I’ll be right here.”

There was no response.

The next two days were a blur of training. I noticed Ronnie watching me a couple of times but tried not to let her distract me. Most of the time I made it back to the ger, I passed out before she showed up. This bothered me because I wanted to enjoy my time with her. And that bothered me because I was supposed to be focusing on training. Sartre spent most of her time in Veronica’s pocket. I woke up at one point to find her sleeping next to my neck, but that was the most attention I got from her.

The day of the Naadam, I found my uniform washed and waiting on my trunk. I wasn’t sure who to thank for that. After wrestling myself into it and shrugging on sweatpants and my deel, I headed outside to find everyone in the truck, waiting for me.

Veronica patted the front seat in the truck next to her. Yalta’s grandsons sat in the back with him and the rest of the family. Sansar-Huu was driving. I spent the trip chewing on protein bars and while my friend told my alleged girlfriend about the scenery. My thoughts drifted to my training and the techniques Yalta had taught me in the last few days. I was so focused, I almost missed the conversation going on next to me.

“Cy was so drunk, we found him out in the fields, curled up and sleeping with two goats.”

Veronica laughed and looked at me. “You have an interesting taste in women.”

“Well, I do find you attractive…” I replied, watching as her face reddened. “And that wasn’t my fault. It was my first time with airag and this bastard told me it wasn’t potent.”

Sansar-Huu nodded. “It was interesting how those two goats followed you around for days afterward.”

I remembered that. Coney’s concubines, they called them at the time. Nice.

“I take it you don’t date much?” Veronica asked with a little too much interest.

Chudruk chose that moment to pop his head through the little windows to the back of the truck. “You should see his little black book!”

I made a mental note to exact my revenge later.

“What little black book?” Ronnie’s eyes grew wide. Surely she wasn’t that naïve.

Chudruk was practically bursting. “Oh, you know, the groupies. Cy has them in almost every city we hit.”

My gut twisted at the reminder. I was hoping Veronica wouldn’t ask about that.

“You brought that up when I interviewed you,” she started. I couldn’t decipher the look in her eyes. “Something about women with carnie fantasies?”

This time, all three faces stared at me. I read amusement in Sansar-Huu’s and Chudruk’s faces. But Ronnie’s features had darkened. I wrestled with how much to tell her.

“Come on, spill it,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s for my research.” She didn’t look like she really wanted to know.

Chudruk settled himself in the window. He wasn’t going anywhere, which would make lying impossible. I sighed. There was no way out of this.

“There are some women who have a carnie fetish.” That was simple. Maybe I could stop there. I looked around so I could distract everyone by shouting, “hey, there’s a yak” or “is that Genghis Khan?”

“And?” Ronnie asked, biting her lip.

“It’s usually bored, wealthy housewives. Something about having sex with a carnie turns them on.” I started slowly. She continued to stare. Okay. Fine.

I continued. “I have a few women in some of the places we go who make sure I call them when I’m in town.”

“And you have sex with them?”

“Yes.”

Veronica looked like she wanted to punch me. “So, you’re a slut.”

I shook my head. “No, I just have a casual sex life.”

“Why sleep with them? They are using you!”

She was going from zero to volcanic in five seconds. “Don’t take it personally, Veronica.”

Chudruk decided this was the time to intervene. “Cy is the most popular. He has all of his teeth and is very clean.” Oh yeah, that helped.

“You have the perfect life, my friend.” Sansar-Huu sighed…not helping at all.

“It’s no big deal,” I started to explain. “I only hit most of those towns once a year. And it’s not like I do it for money or anything.”

“But they are using you!” She repeated.

I shook my head. “I don’t see how. Seems to me I benefit from it as well.”

If we weren’t in such tight quarters, she might have put her hands on her hips. “And how do you do that? You are just a hollow figurehead…an object of desire to them.”

“I fail to see what is wrong with that,” I answered honestly. “I have no attachments in my life and Sartre doesn’t seem to mind. Why can’t I have sex with anyone I want to?”

“What…what about diseases?” she sputtered.

“Believe me, these women take care of their bodies. And I always use protection.” I was starting to get a little annoyed by her anger. This was my life, wasn’t it?

Veronica folded her arms across her chest and stared straight forward.

Chudruk, on the other hand, didn’t shut up. “Do you still see that one blonde from California? Man, she is so hot.”

I turned to him. “You mean Katya?” I was pissed off by Ronnie’s holier-than-thou attitude. “Yup. Saw her last year. She’s very flexible.”

Ronnie practically screamed. “You are such a poodle!”

This caught me off guard. I’ve been called many things in my life…from a greasy goon to a coldhearted killer. But this was new.

“She just keeps you in her purse! On a leash!” Veronica was losing it.

I shook my head. “Not Katya.”

“Oh, and she’s special, huh?” Ronnie snorted.

“No. She’s just lonely. Her husband is an orthopedic surgeon who bought her online as a mail-order bride from the Ukraine. She has a master’s degree in engineering, but no options at home, so she hooked up with a doctor and thought she could have a professional life in the U.S.”

Veronica was very silent.

“Unfortunately, her new husband is extremely possessive. Her bodyguards are like prison guards. Katya isn’t allowed to have a job or work.”

“But that’s illegal!”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you. But he’ll divorce her if she protests and her citizenship could be revoked. She’d be right back where she started, in a Soviet-style, crumbling apartment block, sharing her apartment with a family of eight.”

Ronnie’s anger had turned into interest. “How can you see her then?”

“She takes her niece and nephew to the circus. Her sister-in-law picks them up there, she dodges the bodyguards and I usually find her in my trailer.”

Chudruk slid the window shut and Sansar-Huu seemed overly fascinated with his steering wheel.

“So, without you, she’d be nothing more than a prisoner in a gilded cage,” Veronica said slowly.

“Don’t feel that it’s all like that. She’s the exception. The rest are just a hot lay.”

I could see her anger rising again. “Why would you tell me that?” she asked.

“Because for one thing, this is helpful to your research. And for another thing, I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.” I grinned.

Needless to say, the rest of the ride was very, very quiet.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I am the punishment of God...If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.”

- Genghis Khan

Veronica ran off with Ogderel as soon as we parked the truck. Sansar-Huu walked with me to the fighting ring.

“Why did you tell her that last part?” he asked me.

“What?”

“Why did you tell her that most of the time you are just having sex for fun?”

“Because it is none of her business what I did in the past. And I didn’t like being judged.”

My friend nodded. “You are right, but you have a lot to learn about women.” I watched him as he walked away, knowing he was right. But it pissed me off that Veronica, who was supposed to be objective in her studies, would be so angry with the way I’d lived my life so far. This was the main reason I stayed away from attachment in the first place. And here I was, getting involved again.

I didn’t owe Ronnie anything. I was just an oddity she examined and judged…a footnote in a thesis. Actually, I was starting to get angry with myself for the feelings I had for this woman. What had I been thinking? That I could change her? Loosen her up? What an idiot!

Focusing on the competition was my main concern. That was why I was here. Right? I took off my deel and pants and started warming up. Yalta, Zerleg and Zolban joined me. All three of our matches were in a few hours. We concentrated on watching the games, taking note of the other athletes and their weak spots. I was determined to forget about Veronica.

I was so wrapped up in the contest that I barely made it to do the eagle dance for my own match. Clearing my head as I moved around Yalta, I ran through everything that could happen and how I would counter it. I slapped my thighs and made my way into the ring, squaring off against my opponent.

This time, I didn’t look him in the eyes. That barely worked last time. I wanted to try ignoring his face and concentrating exclusively on his movements. In fact, this strategy worked so well I had him on his back inside of a minute.

“Great job,” my opponent growled in English at my feet.

I offered my hand to help him up. He grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet. My competitor wasn’t Mongolian. Instead, I was staring into the face of Arje Dekker…my assignment.

“Don’t see many Europeans here,” he said as his eyes wrinkled into a smile.

“I’m American,” I said smoothly, hiding my shock behind a warm grin.

“Well, you kicked my ass,” Arje answered. “Hopefully, I can regain my dignity later.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as I started to turn away.

He didn’t answer, just chuckled as I walked toward my coach. I was in shock. Even though I knew my Vic was in Mongolia, I didn’t think I’d see him until the national event. It never occurred to me that he would be here doing what I was doing.

Yalta and the boys clapped me on the back, and Chudruk joined us.

“You followed his technique!” Chudruk noted. “Yalta is very happy with you.”

I nodded and tried to turn my attention back to the competition. In a few hours I would have to fight again. My brain was a hot mess between Veronica and Dekker. Focus was looking like a pipe dream at this point.

Zerleg lost his match, but narrowly enough that his grandfather was very proud. Zolban defeated his opponent easily, and I was once again starting to get caught up in the festive atmosphere. The Naadam was going well for us. Too bad my professional and personal life sucked.

This was too much. I understood the idea of coincidence. But to have both Veronica and Dekker here? Maybe something else was going on. In the Bombay family, you knew that just about anything was possible. After all, I never did figure out how they got the assignment to me.

I pulled on my deel and joined the others, who were having tea about one hundred yards from the ring.

“Where’s Veronica?” I asked Ogderel. I don’t know why. I didn’t particularly want to speak to her.

Sansar-Huu’s wife pointed over her shoulder, and I looked but couldn’t see her. I stood, chugging the hot tea and wandered in that direction. Imagine my surprise when I spotted her talking to…of all people…Dekker. They seemed to be deep in conversation. This was bad. Dodging behind a ger (and feeling like an idiot for doing so), I tried to sort this out.

It made some sense to think they would spot each other. Caucasians tend to stand out here. If Veronica asked what he was doing here, she’d have another guy like me to interview.

I peeked around the edge of the tent and saw that they were smiling. Damn. What if Dekker was hitting on her? What if Ronnie decided he would be better to hang out with than me? She didn’t know him. I didn’t know him either, but I had his number. Arje Dekker was one mean bastard.

I looked again and saw that they were gone. Shit. I walked over to where they had been talking, toeing the flattened grass where they had stood. I cursed Veronica for making me angry and for running off with a dangerous man she knows nothing about. Then I cursed myself for acting like a ten-year-old.

“There you are!” a male voice said behind me. I turned to find Vic and Ronnie standing there like old chums.

“You were looking for a rematch?” I asked casually.

“The two of you know each other?” Veronica asked.

Dekker nodded. “He tossed me to the ground like a rag doll earlier.” He stuck out his hand. “Arje Dekker.”

I shook it. It would look too strange if I didn’t. “Cy Bombay.”

“Ronnie tells me you are here for the same reason I am.”

Ronnie? He calls her Ronnie already? That’s my nickname for her!

“I figured that out when I helped you up earlier.” I forced a grin.

Something dark flashed in Arje’s eyes. I recognized it. I’d seen it many times before. People who don’t have a conscience tend to look that way. I was grateful to see it. It reminded me who he really was.

“I thought it might be good to interview you together.” Veronica held up her notebook as if that explained everything. “You might have some similar experiences.”

“Maybe later…” I mumbled.

“After your next fight then. Before we leave with the others,” she said firmly. At least I was happy to hear that she was still planning on staying with me.

“We’ll see.” I broke off and walked back to the others. I did not want to be around Dekker any more than I had to. The whole idea of being interviewed with that man was more than I could handle.

I thought of the look in Veronica’s eyes…like she’d just hit the jackpot. That was troubling. The fact that Dekker was in the country and would be around wasn’t the problem. The problem was Ronnie. She knew him now. When he died, she might even feel sorry for him. This was a complication I was not used to. Instead of just killing him, I’d have to find a way to make it look like something else. I’d done it before, but that was outside my comfort zone.

After rejoining Yalta and Zolban, I decided to use my anger in the upcoming fight. The idea burned inside me like a white hot brand. My energy started to rise and I pictured defeating Dekker over and over again, using every trick Yalta had taught me. I knew I wouldn’t face him again – he’d lost his one chance. But pretending it would be that slimebag seemed to help. I could actually feel my aggression spiking.

My first chance at this contest was a lucky one. The next opponent would be much tougher and I had to get it together. Forcing everything else from my thoughts, I concentrated on my upcoming match and allowed the bloodlust to take over my senses. I felt sorry for the poor guy who would get me. He might win, but he’d be missing body parts. And that felt a little satisfying.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rusty:  How was the clink? You get the cookies I sent?

Danny:  Why do you think I came to see you first?

- Ocean’s 11

“Whatcha doing?” asked a distinctly familiar voice into my right ear as I watched the following matches from the sidelines. I didn’t jump with surprise. Bombays don’t do that. But I was a little more than surprised to see my cousin Missi standing next to me.

“Hey, cuz. What brings you to the farthest reaches of the planet? In the neighborhood and thought you’d say ‘hi?’”

She threw her arms around me with affection and I squeezed back. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that startled. The family had a way of popping up where you least expect them.

“Business,” she said. Missi was a bit older than me, with two teenage sons. She was cute with her short, messy hair and eyes that never missed a thing. She was the Bombay Family’s inventor of weapons – something that saved my ass on more than one occasion.

“Business, eh? So are you the one who slipped me the envelope?”

She shook her head distractedly. “No. Monty and Jack did it.” She craned her neck to the left. “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

Wow. There were a whole mess of white people in this little hamlet. That would be hard to explain to the locals.

“No.”

“What’s up with the panties?” she asked, turning her attention back to me.

“Uniform. They are supposed to make movement less restricted.”

“I see.” And actually, I think she did.

“Why are you here, Missi?” The question did beg to be answered.

She smiled at me and I laughed. Missi had this kooky sort of presence that made her incredibly loveable…like a deranged Muppet. Underestimating her, however, could be deadly. She once created a bicycle helmet fitted with a pneumatic bolt gun that pierced the brain of its victim, killing him on the first leg of the Tour de France. She managed to switch out helmets while acting like a concerned, good Samaritan. They never did figure that one out.

“Mom wanted you to have this.” Missi handed me a cell phone.

“I have a cell phone.”

She shook her head. “Not like this one. I guess you probably noticed that your cell doesn’t work here.”

I nodded. And it hadn’t bothered me.

“This phone uses Russian and Chinese satellites.” Missi popped open the phone to show me an expanding screen inside complete with Qwerty keyboard. “You can communicate with us in real time via video. That way the Council can keep track of you.” She winked, indicating she knew I wouldn’t like this.

“I’m not happy about this job,” I said. “Vic is too close. He’s getting to know my friends here. I don’t like that. And the last thing I need is the Council breathing down my neck.”

Missi nodded. “Seems we’ve been getting more of these types of assignments lately. I blame the Internet. There’s no anonymity anymore. Just one, huge global community center.”

“That doesn’t help me.” I scanned the crowd and noticed several people looking our way. “People are starting to notice you. You’d better head out.”

Missi glanced around. “Well, we’re off. I promised the kids we’d hit Tokyo on the way home for some tech stuff.” She walked a few steps away, then turned back. “Oh, and could you get me some good cashmere yarn? Or maybe a felted bag? Thanks!” And with that, she was gone.

Most people might be a little unsettled by such a visit. But most people weren’t Bombays. The question was, how had she found me? There was a rumor that ran through our generation wondering if Missi had somehow implanted us all with either tracking or explosive material. After this little family visit, I was beginning to believe in the former.

I looked at the phone in my hand. My next fight would start in a few minutes and I was wearing nothing but panties, boots and sleeves. Where in the hell was I going to put it?

“Cy!” Sansur-Huu called, indicating it was my turn to wrestle. Great.

I shoved the phone in my boots, hoping it was sturdy enough to survive the fight. Kicking wasn’t really part of the game.

I had to push my conversation with Missi (and wondering how she and the boys got in and out of there unnoticed) out of my thoughts or I wouldn’t win this fight. As I did the eagle dance and slapped my thighs, I’d rekindled my anger toward Dekker. My opponent, a rather large man with maybe fifty pounds on me, grabbed my shoulders.

My opponent didn’t stand a chance as I threw him onto his knee, winning the match. Good thing I wasn’t really angry or he might not have survived. As I stalked off amid cheers from my friends, my anger dissipated a bit.

“Who was that?” Ronnie asked as I slipped my deel back on. I’d have another match soon, but it was starting to get chilly and I was covered in sweat.

“The loser,” I said shortly.

“No, the blonde.” She looked upset. It took me a second to realize what she was talking about.

“Oh, that.” What was I supposed to tell her? That my cousin from South America dropped by for a quick visit and drop off a cell phone you could bounce off Chinese satellites?

“Yeah, that.” Veronica folded her arms and I almost laughed.

“Another grad student working on a thesis,” I lied.

Her face contorted for a moment as she wrestled with this information. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy that.

“Who is she?” Ronnie tried again. I would’ve been surprised if she hadn’t.

“Some woman.” That was technically true. The fact that I knew her wasn’t necessarily important.

“One of your ‘groupies’?” I could swear I actually saw the words in frost hovering in the air.

“Yeah. I have blonde, wealthy, bored housewife followers here.”

“Are you sleeping with her?” Wow. This chick didn’t give up. I couldn’t remember ever having someone jealous or possessive over me.

“I can honestly say I’ve never had sex with that woman.” True.

“I…” she began.

“Veronica.” My tone turned to ice. “I’ve had enough. Drop it.” I stalked past her before I would have to throw her to the ground. Besides, she’d now empowered me with enough anger to win the whole damned competition. I wanted to keep it that way.

“Keep her,” I said to Chudruk, “away from me.” I pointed at Ronnie. My wingman nodded solemnly. Women could be a huge distraction in sport. I didn’t wait to see how he would do this as I headed for Zerleg and Zolban. My new cell phone rubbed uncomfortably against my shin. I’d had enough of women for the day.

My next two matches lasted mere seconds as I bartered my fury for victory. It was my third fight that didn’t work out. I tripped over my own feet and fell to the ground. Exhaustion, mental and physical, was getting the best of me. I shrugged on my deel and climbed into the truck and passed out without talking to anyone.

A jolt brought me bolt upright and I found that the truck was moving.

“You’re awake.” Sansar-Huu laughed.

I looked around. The two of us were the only ones in the cab. Dark shapes murmured quietly from the back.

“Where’s Ronnie?” I panicked a little, worried she might have opted out of coming back with us. But where would she go? My nerves tightened as I thought she might have gone off with Dekker. That man was a killer.

“In the back,” Sansar-Huu said. “She was mad at you and decided to sit there.”

I leaned back against the headrest in relief. I’d been hard on her. If she went with my Vic, all kinds of terrible things might have happened. Even worse, she might have slept with him.

That stopped me. Why did I care about that? I’d just spent the trip down here informing Ms. Gale that I was no virgin. I didn’t really think she was. But the thought of someone else having her was like a cheese grater running over my stomach.

I didn’t say much the whole way back. It was probably my mood that kept the driver quiet too.

I was in my ger, stripping off my deel as Veronica walked in and threw her notepad on her cot.

Turning toward her as I took off my sleeves and boots, I asked, “Well?”

Ronnie looked me up and down and actually gulped. I was wearing only the “panties” as Missi called them. I was in great shape and I knew it.

She crossed her arms over her chest. It was kind of a turn on. “I suppose you are expecting an apology?” she said. Her tone indicated I wasn’t going to get one.

I hooked my thumbs in the front of my pants. Veronica gasped, as if worried I was going to rip them off in front of her. I toyed with that very idea before crossing the room, taking her into my arms and kissing her.

She resisted at first, but I held firm. Her body hardened against mine and all rational thought was overridden by desire. Apparently, the same thing overwhelmed her also, because she kissed me with everything she had. In fact, I was a bit shocked to find a tiger in my arms.

Veronica Gale ran her hands up my arms to my hair, twisting her fingers through it. I reacted the only way I could. Reason fled and my hands slid down her back and waist to her taught, round ass. I pulled her hard against me. She acknowledged my arousal with a moan that melted my spine and set fire to my brain.

Sliding my fingers upward I pulled her sweater up and over her head with a firm yank. The need burning in her eyes caught me off guard and drove me completely mad. I unfastened her bra and pulled it from between us. She gasped again, a sound that was quickly becoming the most erotic I’d ever heard. Her full, perfect breasts throbbed, filled with ragged breath. I gently reached for them, palming each nipple. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone.

Ronnie spun me around, pushed me to a sitting position on the cot and climbed on top of me. I took her right breast into my mouth as she ground her pelvis against mine, driving me crazy. Running my tongue over her nipple, a tidal wave of emotion welled up inside me. This was going to be way more than just some casual sex.

“Ohhhhh…” Ronnie moaned and the tidal wave turned into a monsoon. With one movement I had her beneath me. I don’t even remember our clothes coming off, just this sudden sensation that I was inside her. As I looked down into her eyes, I saw for the first time, a completely carefree Veronica.

This made me ache for her. I wanted more, even though that was physically impossible at the moment. Taking my time as I moved, I studied her features. She was warm, and open, possibly for the first time with me. It was as if Veronica gave up fighting me for once. It was a heady feeling no wine could ever produce.

She cried out as she came, and the sensation quickly brought me to my climax. Veronica glowed as she pulled me toward her for a kiss.

“I think we should fight more often,” I said as I pulled her warm body against mine.

“That was pretty hot,” she said, burrowing closer to me.

I felt a sense of heavy satisfaction I couldn’t remember experiencing before. This felt so right. Like all the stars were in perfect alignment. Like all was at peace in the universe. Sleep smothered me with its lumbering breath as I fell head over heels into something I could never, ever understand.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Agent 47:  Because that suitcase holds perfectly my blazer sniper rifle, two .45s and a gag for talkative, irritating little girls like yourself. Do you want me to stop and get it out?

Nika Boronina:  I don't know - do you think we have time for foreplay?

- Hitman

The sound of the door of the stove creaking woke me up and the first thing I noticed was that I was in the wrong bed and naked. The second thing I noticed was that I was alone. As I shifted under the covers, the scent of Ronnie’s body gave me a drunken sensation of pleasure.

Ronnie was bent over the stove, feeding the fire. She wore nothing but her underwear and as a result, I became hard as a brick. Rising up on my elbow, I watched her in silence before she noticed me and ran back into my arms.

Her skin was chilled and I did my best to warm her up. The panties came off with the flick of my wrist and within moments I found myself deep inside of this woman. Words could not express the sensations I felt as I moved slowly within her. Ronnie’s throaty moans only drove me harder and faster and it seemed that we both came too quickly. Damn.

“Think we can play hooky today?” she murmured.

I laughed at her choice of words. Was everything related to school with her?

“I suppose I earned my stripes yesterday…” I answered.

She giggled and the sound went straight to my cock. “You earned more than that last night.”

My arms circled her body. I wanted nothing more than to just hold her beneath the warm wool blankets, in a tent in the middle of nowhere. It seemed so perfect.

“Is that your phone?” Veronica turned her face up to mine and I realized that a phone was in fact ringing. She reached into my boot and pulled out the cell Missi had given me yesterday. It was playing “We Are Family” by Kool & The Gang. Cute.

“How in the hell do you have a phone that works here?” Ronnie sat up as I pulled the cell from her grip. For a second I was distracted by the sight of the blankets falling off of her breasts. Sigh. They were certainly magnificent.

“Yes?” It took all my willpower to focus on the phone.

“Squidgy!” Mom squealed on the other end.

Veronica mouthed the word, “Squidgy” with a sort of glee that told me I was a dead man later. I got out of the bed and walked to the other side of the ger.

“Hello, Mum.” I thought I heard Ronnie giggling behind me but chose to ignore it. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to get a report and make sure you were warm enough out there.” This, I knew, was code for the job. But anyone overhearing would just think my mother was concerned.

I looked back at the lusciously topless Veronica as she held herself to keep from laughing out loud.

“Don’t worry, Mum. I’m keeping warm enough.” This proved to be more than Ronnie could bear, and she burst out in howls.

“Squidge,” Mum said slowly, “are you with a woman?” Good old Mum. She knew how I operated and yet avoided calling me a man-slut.

“Yes.” I don’t know why I bothered with the truth. It was certainly more than I’d ever given her before when she interrupted me with a woman.

Her voice changed. “You are with someone?” She said “someone” as if she were really saying, “my future daughter-in-law and mother of my many, many grandchildren?”

“Yes.” No point in giving the woman too much information or she might start ordering her mother-of-the-groom dress.

“So does that mean—” she started.

“It means I can’t really talk right now,” I cut in. I could hear Dad yell “Go get her m’boy!” in the background. Lovely.

Mom hung up without saying goodbye. It was probably for the best considering she’d be texting me soon for the correct spelling of Ronnie’s name for the wedding invitations.

Bombays were a strange lot. As suspicious as we are about outsiders, nothing seems to thrill our killer mothers more than the idea of their children marrying and settling down to make more assassins. Maybe it was a business thing.

“How is Mum?” Ronnie asked with a grin.

“Mum, who?” I said as I slid back into bed. The last person I wanted to think of as I dove beneath the covers for Ms. Gale’s lovely pussy was my mother. Fortunately, I had no problem forgetting she ever existed.

“Cy?” Chudruk called from outside the tent a few hours later. I was too exhausted to answer. Ronnie turned out to be tireless in the sack. Much as I didn’t want to leave that cot—ever—I figured I needed to replenish some vital bodily fluids or I would die.

“Are you dead?” My friend read my thoughts through the thick felt.

“Just a minute,” I called as I carefully slid out from underneath a sleeping Veronica. I guess she had to recharge somehow. After putting on a T-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes I quietly joined Chudruk outside.

“You look like hell.” He smiled. “Rough night?”

“And morning,” I answered, running my hands through my hair. “Sorry I missed training.” I looked back at the door. “I was detained.”

Chudruk nodded. “It’s okay. Everyone’s taking the day off. I was coming to offer you the comfort of my goats, but I see you found other entertainment.”

I laughed. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll need goats for a while.”

“Well, the offer still stands.” He held out a cloth-wrapped bundle. My stomach growled in appreciation as I opened it to find bread, cheese and milk. I nodded and took the bundle inside to give my sleeping woman breakfast in bed.

Ronnie pushed her hair away from sleepy eyes. “Was that Chudruk?” She smiled when she saw the food.

“Yes,” I answered as I handed her the cup of milk. “He had a tempting offer, but I told him I was giving up goats for you.”

“Wow. It’s good to know I can hold my own against a couple of smelly goats,” she said between sips.

I scratched my chin. “Oh, I don’t know. These are cashmere-producing goats. Very rare and very expensive.”

“Come on!” Ronnie rolled her eyes. “They’re just goats.”

Shaking my head I replied, “Not really. You see, cashmere only comes from Mongolian and Chinese goats.” I stroked her stomach. “The hair on their bellies creates pure cashmere. These goats can’t live anywhere else in the world. And over the course of a year it takes three to four goats just to produce enough for one sweater.”

Veronica looked at me strangely. “How do you know that?”

I swallowed my food before responding. “Knitter, remember? And I love working with cashmere. It’s really expensive though.”

She said nothing for a moment. “You know, every time I think I’ve got you pigeon-holed, you completely freak me out.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” If I had hackles, they would be rising about now.

“When I say freaking out, I don’t mean to insult you,” she started.

“I don’t like the idea of being pigeon-holed. Now that’s insulting.” I kissed her on the forehead before getting out of bed and putting some clothes on.

“Why would that insult you?” Veronica frowned as she started dressing too.

“Because nobody should be a textbook anything. People are complicated. There’s no black and white.” I reached for Sartre, who began wheeking loudly, presumably for breakfast. “The fact that you thought you had me pegged when you first met me shows how wrong you turned out to be.”

“Wrong?” There was an edge in her voice that was hard to miss. “There are entire behavioral sciences built around categorizing people. Just because you are so different doesn’t mean the majority of people are.”

“Different? You mean because I’m an overeducated carnie who likes to knit and study different fighting styles? You know more about me than almost anyone else and you still don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

She was getting mad now.  It was obvious in the way the large carotid artery throbbed in her neck. “Oh, I don’t know you, do I? Even you are predictable in some ways.”

Oh really? Would she even guess that I’m an assassin?

I watched her as she pulled some notebooks and opened them on her cot. Apparently she was ending this conversation with the last word and planning to engross herself in her work to shut me out.

“People aren’t predictable. We just like to think that because it makes us feel safer.” I walked over to her cot and picked up a folder. “Take this guy—Senator Anderson. I mean, what do we really know about him?”

Ronnie snatched the file out of my hands. “Senator Anderson was a great man! He was going to change the world!”

Wow. She went from zero to white hot in seconds. Apparently I’d touched a nerve.

“His life was an open book!” she sputtered. “Unlike you!” Veronica slammed her notebook shut just before she slammed the door to the ger. I picked up her file on Anderson, then looked back at the door.

Within just a few hours, I’d managed to seduce this girl and piss her off to volcanic proportions. I really did have a way with women.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Debi:  I should have worn a skirt.

Marty:  I should have brought a gun.

- Grosse Pointe Blank

Ronnie’s notebook was a loving homage to a dead politician. I remembered when I first heard of Senator Anderson. He’d been campaigning at a county fair I was working about ten years ago. William Anderson was a small-town nice guy who spoke from the heart in plain English fused with common sense. Many people compared him to Kennedy with his youth, good looks and optimism. Others saw him as a down-home Bill Clinton. Whatever side you agreed with, almost everyone thought he was presidential material right from the start.

I remember seeing him talk while I ran the Tilt-a-Whirl. The man definitely knew how to work a crowd. And people liked him. He crusaded against big business and corporate America. Anderson came from blue-collar roots and it showed. And everywhere you looked, he was followed by a throng of college students eager to be part of his mission.

I couldn’t blame them. I liked him too. I just wasn’t into politics. Not my thing. Oh, I can chew on an idea for weeks. But politics frustrate me. Not because I can’t understand them…but rather because I do. And then there was the fact that politicians occasionally showed up on the Bombay hit lists. That was part of the problem.

It didn’t surprise me that Veronica had been a follower of Anderson’s. There was a lot to like about the man. I’d like to think if he lived, he might have made the changes he spoke of. But the fact of the matter was, he didn’t. Senator William Anderson had died of a heart attack before he’d had a chance to take the national stage. And the country mourned him, as his most ardent supporters cried out conspiracy theories.

“I never said he wasn’t a good man,” I murmured. Veronica tried to slip into the ger unnoticed, watching me as I read her notebook.

“You questioned his ideas,” she said as she took long strides to where I stood and snapped the notebook from my grasp.

I looked her right in the eyes. “So?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s just a man. That’s all.” It irritated me that she had this dead guy on a pedestal. Life was for the living.

“He could’ve changed the world. And he was cut down in his prime.”

I sat down on her cot. “So, you are one of the conspiracy theorists, eh?”

Ronnie turned sharply toward me. “It’s not a theory. There’s a lot of evidence that says he was murdered.”

That was something I did understand, in a way. After all, the Bombays have been pretty good about hiding their tracks over the centuries and tended to be at the center of some conspiracies. It was the nature of the game.

“Ah, but which conspiracy? The Right? The Left? Fundamentalists? There are so many.”

Ronnie sat next to me. “Don’t make fun of me, Cy. This is something I’ve always felt very strongly about.”

“I can see that.”

“If they can kill a man like that, what hope is there for someone else to come along and take his place?”

“That’s a pretty bleak thought.”

“I believed in him. I volunteered with the campaign. When I wasn’t studying, I was campaigning. It was my whole life.”

“That’s not much of a life. Living only for other people.”

She didn’t say anything. I felt bad about arguing with her. It was pretty obvious I had cut her to the quick.

“I’m sorry. I have a talent for being argumentative.” It comes with a philosophy degree. Or maybe people who argue just tend toward philosophy. And sometimes they become lawyers. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about that.

Veronica stared at me, and deciding I was worthy of continuing the conversation, began. “My parents died in an explosion. I wasn’t really raised by family, so much as shipped off to school. I loved learning, but the people came and went in and out of my life too much. When Senator Anderson came to town, I found a family in his other supporters. And I really believed in him.”

I took her hand, stroking her fingers as they rested in my palm. “He had a heart attack. It happens.”

She waved her hand over the papers on her cot. “I’ve been researching his death for years. I’m convinced he was murdered. And someday I will prove it.”

“And you are doing this in addition to your thesis? That’s a lot to take on.”

She nodded. “Well, as you’ve seen, I don’t have much of a social life. Mongolia is the first time I’ve been outside the U.S.”

“I hope you’ve learned something here.” And I did, too.

“Yes and no.” Ronnie didn’t add to that and I decided not to push her.

“I’ll help you.” Now why did I say that? That was strange.

Her eyes flicked up to mine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ll help you. I’ll help you with your thesis, and I’ll help you with your investigation.”

She stood up quickly. “Why? Why would you do that?”

I stood also. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve been a dick. Maybe because I have feelings for you. Maybe I’ve been knocked on my ass too much lately. The fact is, I said I’d help you and I will.”

Veronica threw her arms around me. “Thanks, Cy.”

As I buried my face in her hair, I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

“The Naadam is just a few days away,” Chudruk was telling me as I nursed a bruised shoulder. Zerleg, Zolban and I were now training together, and those boys were a lot younger than I was.

“I know. Look, I didn’t plan to win. I just wanted the experience,” I managed through gritted teeth. My shoulder might have been sprained. And that would suck.

He shook his head. “That is obvious.” He ducked as I playfully tossed my hat at him. “Yalta wants you to stop messing around with Veronica.”

He had my attention now. “What?”

A wide grin spread across his face. “It will sap your strength.” He punctuated his less-than-great news with a shrug.

“Oh. I see.” And I did. It was a typical requirement made of fighters in all types of disciplines from boxing to martial arts. The idea was that sex before a fight took away your aggression, making you weak.

“No problem,” I said, rising to my feet. “Tell my zazul not to worry.”

Chudruk laughed as he walked away. He laughed even harder as he passed a very red-faced Ronnie as she came toward me.

“You’ll never guess what Odgerel just told me!”

“That we had to cool it on the sex until after the Naadam?” I answered casually, as if I was asking for the time.

You know, I didn’t think it was possible for a person to turn purple with embarrassment. Huh. I guess you really do learn something new every day.

“How…how…” the poor thing attempted.

“Because I just had the same conversation with Chudruk.”

Veronica turned to look at the retreating man. “So that’s why he laughed.” She turned back to me. “Cy, this is humiliating! You mean to tell me they all know?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Really, Ronnie. We’re not in high school. This is hardly scandalous information here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we are adults. And in most cultures around the world, sex is a natural and casual thing.” I felt a spike of pain in my shoulder and started to rub it.

Veronica walked around me and rubbed my shoulder for me. “Are you saying I’m a prude?”

“Yes.” Uh oh. The massage stopped. “And no.” It started up again. “You certainly have no problem getting in the mood. But I think your experience with the way other cultures see sex is somewhat limited.”

She said nothing, so I continued. “Remember your reaction to hearing about my sexual past?”

“Yes. I was shocked by the fact that you were some sort of gigolo.”

That made me laugh. “A gigolo? I never accepted money. I think of it more of a rock star with groupies.”

I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was rolling her eyes behind me.

“Oh yeah. A carnie is just the same thing as a rock star.” Was it possible to actually see sarcasm as it floated past you in the air?

“Well, something like that. Anyway, you just have to get past those Midwestern morals and loosen up.”

She slapped me on the shoulder. It took everything I had not to wince. “I admit I’m a bit conservative about sex. And I admit that the romance of this place had its way with my mind…and body.” She walked around to face me. “But I will certainly have no problem with celibacy over the next few days.” Ronnie stuck her tongue out at me and walked away, swaying her hips as she went.

Somehow, I had the feeling that the gauntlet had been thrown. And I was going to lose.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tony Stark:  *They* say that the best weapon is the one you never have to fire. I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it, that's how America does it... and it's worked out pretty well so far.

- Iron Man

Zolban, Zerleg and I wrestled the rest of the afternoon. My shoulder burned with pain, but I blocked it out mentally. After a few hours, I was favoring my good shoulder and the boys were exploiting my injury to their advantage. Not that I could blame them. As Yalta had explained, any opponent would do the same thing.

After soaking in the ice cold stream for a while, I soaked a T-shirt and wrapped it around my joint. All the way back to my ger, I thought of nothing but the hardcore aspirin I had smuggled in for something just like this. In combination with some hot tea and rest, I should be better in the morning.

I stepped into my tent and shut the door. Ronnie was playing with Sartre on a blanket on the floor. My mind was absorbed with finding the painkillers and once I swallowed them, I sank down on my cot and unwrapped the rag from my shoulder. It was swollen and sore. But the meds would take care of that. I turned my attention to my tentmate and stopped cold.

Ronnie smiled seductively. How I’d failed to notice she was naked was beyond comprehension. The woman was actually nude, on a blanket in front of me. I started toward her.

She held up her hand to stop me. “No sex, remember?”

I started to peel off my shorts. “Oh, I’m not worried about that superstition.”

“But I am. And ‘no’ means ‘no.’”

“Then why are you laid out like a flesh buffet?” I loosened the stays on the shuudag.

“Me?” Her eyes grew wide in feigned innocence. “I was just overly warm.” Her hardened nipples and goose bumps said otherwise. I sat down on the floor next to her.

“Now who is thinking like a puritan? Nudity is not as important in other cultures, Cy.”

I was one breath away from her. The scent from her skin made not touching her unbearable. I pulled her onto my lap, her breasts pressing against my chest. If she was still serious about celibacy after feeling my cock against her, then I would…

“No.” Veronica pushed off me and giggled as she scooped up Sartre and moved to her cot.

I sat there in complete confusion, not to mention sexual frustration. Was she for real? Apparently, the game was afoot. Ronnie was taking her vow of celibacy until the match was over to new heights by throwing in torture…just for fun.

You know those commercials for erectile dysfunction where they warn you about calling a doctor immediately if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours? Well, mine lasted for a lot longer than that. And the nearest doctor was too far away to visit. I was beginning to wonder if Ronnie had switched my aspirin with Viagra. At one point that night I was pretty sure I was hallucinating. Either that or there really was a telephone pole attached to my groin with seven bluebirds and a turkey buzzard sitting on it.

I would like to say that I could justify her playful behavior. But every time I saw that sweet little ass or her bare shoulders, (hell, even a naked elbow was driving me mad) I began to think I knew absolutely nothing about women.

In addition to my constant state of arousal, almost the entire camp was readying for the move to the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar for the national Naadam. From rounding up the animals to taking down the gers, everything was a flurry of activity. Even Veronica was too busy helping Odgerel to spend much time naked in our own ger – a fact which made me eternally grateful. Yalta had stopped training to allow us to help.

Ronnie and I were to take down our own ger. And to my surprise, she was very excited about it. The hardest part for us was removing the felt cover. But once we had it off, collapsing the lattice frame and packing everything was fairly easy. We worked very well together. And that surprised me too.

Most of the women who’d wandered through my life over the past decade were mere sexual nomads at best. They joined me in my bed, then left. I was used to that. But none of them ever hung out with me, did chores with me, or even engaged in everyday conversations with me. Sure, there were one or two women on the carnie circuit. But I never really worked with them directly, nor did I get involved with them physically. I wondered why that was now, but I never did at the time.

There was something so simple, yet amazing about spending time this way with Veronica Gale. On this trip, we could be working on chores side by side one moment, then committing all sorts of carnal delights in bed the next. And we were together all the time. There was nowhere to go on a proper date. No movie theaters, no fine dining, no computers, television or radio even. Just two people in the wilderness.

I didn’t know what would mess with my brain more, the relationship or the purity of the whole thing.

“And we should have dinner with Arje when we get to the city.” Veronica interrupted my thoughts on Veronica as we hauled the stove to the truck.

“What?”

“You know, Arje Dekker? We met him at the last Naadam. I think he was Danish or something.

“Dutch,” I said absently. Now there was another problem entirely. I still had my assignment to take out Dekker. My complications had just taken on complications for themselves. “I don’t know if we will have time,” I mumbled.

“Of course we will. We’ll be there for three days!” She was careful to punch me playfully in my good shoulder.

“We might not even run into him.” I had to discourage her from the idea of hanging out with my Vic. At some point, Dekker would be dead and Ronnie would probably be somewhat pissed off about that.

She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Cy! You said you would help me with my thesis. And Dekker will add another dimension to it.”

“I know, but…” Damn. I had said that.

“You promised.” Ronnie narrowed her eyes and it sort of turned me on. Hell, everything she did turned me on lately. She was in for one hell of a six-hour-long ride when this whole thing was over. I might even throw my first match just to spend the rest of the festival naked in her arms – I was that desperate.

“Fine.  If we see him, we can make some plans for lunch or something. But that’s it.”

I was grateful when she accepted this with a smile and we continued working. However, I had the sneaking suspicion it was far from over.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Have you noticed that our caps have got little pictures of skulls on them?”

“Hans, are we the baddies?”

“Well, maybe they’re the skulls of our enemies?”

“Maybe. But is that how it comes across? I mean, it doesn’t say next to the skull, you know, yeah, we killed him. But trust us, this guy was horrid.”

- German SS Officers skit, Mitchell & Webb

The only good thing about the conversation on Arje Dekker was that now I had to plan his death. And that worked like saltpeter on my exploding libido. As I helped load everything onto camels, horses and one pickup truck, I worked on how I would dispatch this asshole. There were a lot of problems with this particular hit.

First of all, I was competing. My focus should be on the match, not the job. Secondly, Veronica was friendly with Dekker. Because of this, the hit would have to be after the interview but before the end of the festival so he didn’t get away. And I’d have to make sure she didn’t know about it. Thirdly, my usual modus operandi wasn’t going to work here. It would have to look like an accident. For Ronnie’s sake. The last thing I needed was to provide her with another conspiracy to stalk. She would find out about Dekker’s death sometime, because of the internet and her ability to do research. It was a given she would look him up.

I toyed with the idea of ‘accidentally’ snapping his neck in competition. It would be tough. As I’d learned already, each micro movement is critical. Dekker would have to fight in a way that would allow me to overpower him. And that was a total gamble. It went without saying that I would have to somehow manipulate the assignments to be matched up with him…a near impossibility here where nothing was computerized.

If the opportunity presented itself, I could attempt it. But I had to have other options with better odds. Maybe I could maneuver the lunch date to happen at the conclusion of the festival. If I played my cards right, I could find out where he was staying and when he was leaving. Then, after escorting Ronnie back to our friends, I could slip back and kill him.

That seemed more reasonable. But how exactly would I do it to make it look like either an accident or natural causes? If I knew his weaknesses, whether physical or psychological, I could exploit them. Unfortunately, the file Missi planted had no information where this was concerned.

An idea presented itself. I slipped away from the others and dug the cell phone Missi had given me out of my coat.

“Hey, Cy.” Missi didn’t sound like her usual, kooky self.

“You all right, cuz?”

She sighed. “I’m a contestant on an upcoming Survivor-type reality show. So, in answer to your question, not really.”

“Why would you do that?”

“For work, of course.”

Must be an assignment. But even though it sounded intriguing, I didn’t have time to ask.

“Sorry to get to the point of the call, but can you forward me some medical info on my friend?” Chinese and Russian satellites be damned, this line was still far from secure. Fortunately, the Bombays learn how to say a lot with a little from an early age.

“I’ll see what I can do and text it.” Missi hung up. Back to business.

“Worried about the match?” Zerleg asked. I didn’t even know he was there. Some catlike reflexes I have.

“No,” I answered truthfully.

The teenager sat down on the grass beside me. I took this as a sign he wanted to talk, so I joined him.

“What is it, kid?” I asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nothing,” he answered. Which in teenage boy talk meant, ‘everything.’

“Right.”

“It’s just…” Zerleg started. “It’s just that I don’t know why I am doing this.”

I admired his grasp of English. There was an accent there, but his grammar was flawless.

I crossed my legs. Might as well be comfortable. “I assumed you were doing it because you wanted to.”

“I did. And I do.” He waved me off and rose to his feet. “I just have cold feet. Thanks for listening, though.”

I watched as he walked back to the others, hands thrust deep inside his pants pockets. While I was grateful that the boy had confided in me, I was also relieved that he hadn’t. I didn’t need any more drama on this trip. For the first time since I arrived, I was actually looking forward to going home.

The next morning the entire camp began to move out. Sansar-Huu, because it was his truck, drove Yalta, Zerleg, Zolban and me to get us there early for some last-minute training. Veronica, to my surprise, insisted on traveling with Odgerel and the others. It was a gesture that made my heart skip a beat. I remembered when she arrived and was so worried about being lost in this foreign place. Now she was one of them. I liked that.

I sat in the back with the boys, insisting that Yalta have the passenger seat. Cool breezes dried the perspiration from the hot sun as we drove through the countryside to the city. Zolban was in high spirits – probably due to his success in the previous competitions. Zerleg was silent. Moody almost. Since we would be in the truck for a long time, I decided to ask him about the conversation we almost had.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Zerleg said over the wind.

Zolban laughed. “No, it is not!”

Zerleg looked quickly from me to his brother and told him to shut up in Mongolian.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked casually, hoping my tone would seem inviting.

“Go ahead!” Zolban punched his brother in the arm. Zerleg looked away.

“He wants to go to university.” His brother told me.

“That’s good,” I replied.

“Not good,” Zolban said eagerly. Clearly he relished his role of tattletale. “His girlfriend doesn’t like it.”

“Oh. I see.” Zerleg looked up at me sheepishly as I spoke.

He took over for his brother. “She wants to live on the steppes. She thinks my wanting education is stupid.”

“But you want to go to school, right? Be a poet?”

He nodded.

“Can’t she come with you? Or visit during breaks?” I suggested.

“I don’t want her to. I want to meet other people. See the world.” Zerleg wasn’t meeting my eyes now.

“You don’t love her?” I asked gingerly.

The boy shook his head. “We do not have anything in common. I am not interested in her.” He leaned forward. “What would you do?”

Both boys looked at me eagerly, as if I would dispense words of wisdom on this matter. I used to be confident about women. But ever since Veronica Gale stormed her way into my life I was pretty sure I now knew less than nothing.

“What do your parents think?” That sounded like an intelligent way to stall. Technically, I was still an outsider and the family would probably frown on any influence I had over the boys.

“Bah!” Zerleg spit. “They want me to stay here too. Like Sasug, they want me to be a sheepherder.”

“Sasug?” I asked, a little confused. “Doesn’t that mean ‘smelly’?” Maybe my Mongolian wasn’t that good.

Zolban nodded. “Yes. But it actually means she smells good. At least, that is why they named her that.”

The boys seemed confused by my confusion so I let the matter drop. I’d never really gotten the hang of Mongolian names and their various shades of meaning. All I could do was continue my profound respect for their culture and leave it at that.

“Have you told your family how much this means to you?”

Zerleg nodded. “Grandfather and Uncle Chudruk are on my side. But they have little influence.”

I had not met the boys’ parents or Sasug. They had not accompanied them on this journey. Zolban said they would be at the Naadam, though, so I wanted to be careful what advice I gave. Besides, who would listen to advice from a single carnie/assassin whose most meaningful relationship has been with a guinea pig.

“I think your grandfather is a wise man and can help you,” I answered.

“What would you do?” Zerleg pressed. “If I were your son, what would you say?”

I thought about this a minute. “I would tell you to follow your heart,” I said, hoping they would get it.

They didn’t.

“What do you mean?” Zolban asked. Apparently, he had a stake in this too.

“You should pursue what you love, and not what you don’t. By marrying a woman you do not love and working at something you do not enjoy, you are hurting everyone. If you love education and poetry, you should pursue them both.”

Zerleg’s face brightened and he threw himself into my arms. And although I was glad he was happy, I wondered if this was going to bite me in the ass later. One more thing to add to our trip – a couple of angry parents and one pissed-off girlfriend. Not good.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Pamela Landy:  This is Jason Bourne, the toughest target that you have ever tracked. He is really good at staying alive, and trying to kill him and failing... just pisses him off.

- The Bourne Ultimatum

The road to Ulaanbaatar was paved with trucks, yaks and horses. The sights and sounds were an exotic tonic for my nerves. I should say that I usually do not get nervous. However, I usually do not have this much going on. I tried to scan the crowds as we moved toward the edge of town, on the very slim chance I could spot Dekker and maybe take him out before Ronnie arrived. No such luck.

Plan A was still to ambush him after our meeting. Missi still hadn’t sent me any information, and I was on edge. There’s always the old standby of slipping on a banana peel (which has worked so many times it’s ridiculous) or falling in the bathtub, but I wasn’t sure I could maneuver it after two days of wrestling (or if he was staying someplace with an actual bathtub)…if I was lucky enough to advance through the competition.

In the end, I’d do whatever I could to finish the job. There was no other option. And if it had to look like foul play, I could make sure Ronnie knew how bad this guy was. Damn, this woman was making my usually mess-free life a mess.

As we pulled into the campground area, I found these worries slipping away. It was as if the world exploded in color. The brilliant blue sky fused with the blindingly green grass. People were covered in bright silks of every color imaginable. The cool air softly mingled with the heat from the sharp sun. Sounds of music and laughter competed with the smells of food and beer. It was home to me. A carnival. I felt like I belonged.

Yalta barely waited for the truck to come to a complete stop before he hurried us into a practice session. In fact, men were wrestling all around us as we went through our routine, warming up muscles that were tense from riding in a beat-up truck down bumpy roads for hours on end.

My shoulder was feeling better, and that gave me a small surge of confidence. I’d need it. All the wrestlers around us looked either a lot younger or a lot bigger than me. There was no doubt they all had more training too.

“Focus, Coney!” Sansar-Huu swiped me on the back of the head playfully, and I resumed my workout. Something about hard work in the hot sun surrounded by bloodthirsty, happy people made me feel stronger. By the end of our training session I was spent but relaxed. Sansar-Huu shoved a cold glass of beer in my hands and I gulped it down. I’d really missed cold beer. That seemed to make the carnival setting complete.

“Hey! Cy!” Veronica’s voice gave me a little shiver I was not prepared for. I turned to see her walking toward me. Her smile filled me with something I hadn’t felt in decades.

“Look what Odgerel made for me!” She spun around in a silk deel the color of an orange sunset. The trim was brown fur, and for some reason this made her green eyes sparkle. I was stunned. Ronnie looked lovely in it. Ironic, isn’t it? The deel covered everything. And yet she never looked more beautiful.

I pulled her hard against me, kissing her deeply. She responded to my body and it occurred to me that I might need her deel to cover my arousal. But I couldn’t let go of her lips, her body. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ tonight.

Veronica sighed and buried her face in my chest. I just held on to her, afraid to let her go…go where?

“Oh!” She laughed as she finally pushed away. “I forgot to tell you! Arje is here!”

Well that was a buzz kill. And I wouldn’t need her deel to cover me anymore. “Great,” I managed.

“We’re going to meet him for a drink! Come on!” With a smile that cut right through me, she dashed off into the crowd. I barely managed to shrug on my deel before I spotted the two of them, sitting on a blanket by the tent with the beer.

“Sit down!” Ronnie motioned me toward her.

“Dekker.” I nodded my greeting and extended my hand. I had promised Veronica I would help her and a simple courtesy was as much as I could do. Besides, the sooner she interviewed him, the sooner I could kill him.

“Bombay.” Dekker took my hand and shook amiably enough, but there was a deadly caution in his eyes. I couldn’t blame him. Why shouldn’t he be suspicious of me? If he really knew what I was going to do to him in the next two days…

“I told him about my thesis, and Arje agreed to an interview,” Ronnie was saying to me. I pulled myself out of my thoughts of murder and became the nice guy she knew me to be.

“So, Ronnie says you’re a carnie?” Dekker asked. It pissed me off that he used my nickname for her. And it pissed me off that she didn’t mind it.

“Yes. A carnie with a strange obsession for fighting methods.” I laughed forcibly. “So what is it you do?” Normally I don’t ask Europeans that. They consider a question like that to be extremely rude. For once, I didn’t mind playing the obnoxious American.

“Oh, I’m in the military…” he answered blithely. Of course he wouldn’t say he was a bloodthirsty mercenary who has taken the lives of women and children for the highest bidder. The intel I’d had on him mentioned an episode of ethnic cleansing he’d engineered in Africa. There were pits full of mutilated mothers and children, left to struggle for their next breath as  he fled the country to his vacation home in the Bahamas with a suitcase full of euros.

“Really? That’s amazing!” Veronica cried. “I could use a proper military perspective on my thesis.”

I hated that she gushed over him without knowing the monster he truly was. It took everything I had to remain calm and casual on the outside.

“Damn,” Ronnie said. “I wish I’d brought my digital recorder.” Her face brightened. “I could run back and get it!”

I interrupted before she could leave me alone with this bastard. If she did, she’d just find him in pieces when she returned. And I couldn’t have that.

“Let’s just make plans to meet up again,” I said quickly. “I’d like to get back to camp and rest for a bit.” I turned to Dekker. “My zazul’s been working us since we got here. Don’t know about you, man, but I’m too old for this shit.”

Dekker grinned. “I’m right there with you on that, Cy.” He looked at Ronnie, taking her hand in his. “Say tomorrow around noon?” Before I could crush his spine (something my grandmother taught me how to do using my elbow), he bent to kiss her hand and strode off.

“You aren’t jealous, are you?” Veronica asked as we made our way to the camp.

“Of course not,” I answered. But I was. The thought of Dekker speaking intimately to her, touching her drove me crazy.

“I think you are,” she teased, and took my hand in hers. It was soft and warm. Just like her body that first morning after making love all night. The tension in my shoulders released a bit.

“My shoulder is just bothering me,” I lied. “Zolban threw me and I think I sprained it.”

Veronica frowned, then looked at my right shoulder. “Oh. Well, I’ll take a look at it when we get back.”

I laughed. “And just what are you looking for? Have you ever seen a sprained shoulder before?”

“No.” She winked. “But I’m sure Odgerel has something involving goat intestines and yak urine I can put on it to make you feel better.”

I tightened my grip on her fingers. “Oh, I think you can do something better than that.”

“No. I promised Chudruk.”

This caused me to jerk to attention. “Chud? Why did you promise him that?”

“Because he has some money riding on your performance here.”

I looked at her sideways. “I didn’t think a girl like you approved of gambling.”

“Well, let’s just say I’ve loosened up a bit in the last few weeks.”

“Maybe you could give me a demonstration of how loose you are willing to be?”

She pushed me away. “Not if I want to lose the money I’ve bet on you too.” Veronica laughed and ran toward our group. All I could do was stare. That woman was full of surprises.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

[Dilios is putting a patch over his eye.]

Spartan King Leonidas: Dilios, I trust that "scratch" hasn't made you useless.

Dilios: Hardly, my lord, it's just an eye. The gods saw fit to grace me with a spare.

-300

Veronica Gale spent the rest of the day tormenting me with her orange-silk wrapped body. Odgerel actually did have a paste made of yak urine and some other questionable matter for my shoulder. Ronnie didn’t even wrinkle her nose as she smeared the gunk on my shoulder. To my amazement, it worked.

The two of us wandered through the festival atmosphere of the Naadam. Tomorrow the matches would begin, complete with opening pageantry featuring the rich culture of Mongolia. As we made our way through the maze of musicians, dancers, food vendors and people, I realized that I wasn’t feeling homesick. Not that I ever do. But I always have a sense of the fact that I’m away from home. To me, home is my trailer. It doesn’t matter where it is, that’s my home.

Strange as it may seem, whenever Ronnie held my hand, I was transported back to my sense of home. Apparently, a flesh-and-blood woman was taking the place of my sweet, tricked-out RV.

I pondered that idea only briefly. Philosophers, as I’ve mentioned before, have a tendency to over think things now and then.

The sun was setting and we needed to head back to the campsite. There would be a loud, raucous dinner followed by an all-night party that would not include Zerleg, Zolban or me. In fact, Yalta insisted that the three of us share a ger during the festival to eliminate any distractions. I had the sneaking suspicion he included Ronnie as a distraction. To her credit, she graciously accepted Odgerel’s invitation to stay with her family. There would be no sex tonight.

It was difficult to sleep with all the noise around us. Okay, it was difficult for me to sleep. The boys passed out immediately and snored like they were dying. I tossed and turned. It was weird to share my living arrangements. Even worse, Sartre was staying with Ronnie. Sansar-Huu’s children were smitten with her. I didn’t even have the comfort of my pig.

Well, I knew one thing that would help me sleep. And I was pretty sure Veronica would give in if I could just get to her. I slid on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and slipped out of the ger.

In spite of the party that was still going on, it was pitch dark outside. No electric lights here. But that would make it easier to sneak into Sansar-Huu’s ger. Now, where was it?

I tripped over various things as I stumbled in the direction of the tent. Everyone must either have been asleep or have moved to another location. I hoped Ronnie had decided to get some sleep. Of course, if I had my way, there wouldn’t be much of that going on.

I was making my way around the side of the tent when I heard something behind me. There was nothing there. That wasn’t unusual. People were all over the place and the ones still up where probably drunk. I turned my attention back to the door of the ger.

I heard something whisk through the air and then my vision was flooded with stars and pain. My arm shot out behind me instinctively and I managed to grab the weapon. But whoever had been on the other end let go and disappeared before I could identify them.

“Cy?” Veronica stood in the doorway wearing a T-shirt and shorts. She was vertical, then horizontal. No wait, I was horizontal. At least that was what I was thinking as everything went black.

The Naadam field was packed. Following an exquisite version of the eagle dance, I turned to face my opponent and slapped my thighs. The giant guinea pig before me did the same and we approached each other to begin. It was hard to get a grip on his silky hair. And he looked so cute I didn’t really want to fight him. But I was here to win.

“Cy!” Chudruk must have slapped me. As I looked up into his face, I realized I’d been dreaming.

“I’m okay.” I started to sit up but a blinding pain forced me back down. There was blood on my hands. I had been hit.

Sansar-Huu held up a thick branch. “He hit you with this. We found you when Veronica screamed.”

I looked around and found her sitting beside me, her face twisted with concern.

“Someone hit me?”

“I didn’t see who it was.” Veronica grabbed my hand.

Odgerel started examining the wound on the back of my head. I could feel the heat from the lantern she held.

“You won’t need stitches, I think,” she said slowly. “But you should not wrestle.”

Yalta came into the ger, and everyone went quiet. He examined my wound and looked into my eyes. Then he spoke to Chudruk in Mongolian. I think he said my testicles should be fed to the marmots. Man, I really needed to work on my language skills.

“Pop says you do not need to wrestle. The decision is up to you, though,” Chudruk said solemnly.

I looked at all of them. It was generous of my zazul. And he did have two more athletes competing. On the other hand, I came all this way just to do this. I trained for a month for an event that happens only once a year. These people…my friends…gave their hospitality to me.

“You shouldn’t compete,” Ronnie said firmly. “You have a concussion at the very least. You need to see a doctor.”

Sansar-Huu nodded and Odgerel clucked sympathy. Sartre peeked out of Ronnie’s hands and gave a firm, loud wheek!

I got up and shook my head gently. “When is my first match?”

Yalta spoke to his son.

“Pop can arrange for you to fight later in the day. He has a friend here in Ulaanbaatar who is a doctor. I will go find him.” And with that, Chudruk left.  I grinned. He knew me so well.

“No!” Veronica shouted. “He’s concussed! He could have brain damage.”

I shook my head, which, by the way, hurt considerably. “This is a grappling sport. There won’t be any more injury to my head. I can’t let everyone down.”

To my astonishment, Chudruk re-entered the ger with a tall man in a red deel, carrying a satchel. How did he do that so quickly? Maybe I was really messed up to the point that hours had actually passed instead of minutes?

We were all quiet while he examined me. Dr. Baatar asked me the usual questions to determine my level of confusion. He looked at my pupils and inquired about the pain. When he finished, he closed up his bag.

“You seem to be all right. But I worry about that headache,” he said in perfect English. “Other than that, you have no symptoms of vomiting, confusion or memory loss. Your pupils are not dilated.” The doctor tapped his head. “But if the headache gets worse, no wrestling.”

I watched as Yalta slapped him on the back and Chudruk walked him out. Ronnie was staring holes into me. That was one thing about relationships I did not miss having another’s will imposed on me.

“My friend.” Sansar-Huu sat down beside me. “Are you certain of this?”

“It is not necessary for you to fight,” Chudruk added. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come back.

“Guys, look. I’m fine. I’m going to participate,” I insisted. To my left, I could feel Veronica’s eyes go into laser-beam mode.

Yalta nodded and left, as did everyone but Veronica.

“You cannot wrestle,” she said once everyone had cleared the tent.

I reached back and gingerly touched the back of my head. It was tender, but the bleeding had stopped. The dried blood would have to be rinsed out before I fought. I didn’t want my opponent to know I’d been injured. Fortunately, the doctor had not wrapped my head.

“I said,” Ronnie repeated, “you are NOT going to wrestle.”

“I heard you.”

She sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

I turned to her. “Look, has it even occurred to you to wonder who hit me and why?”

That stopped her short. “Is that even important at this point? Is that why you are doing this? To show whoever it was that he didn’t stop you?” Veronica threw her hands up in the air. “This is about pride?”

“Actually, no. I’m not that shallow. This is about the fact that I worked very hard to do this. It’s not even about winning. It is about following through.”

Her hands came to rest on her hips. “So it is about pride.”

“No. It isn’t. And don’t tell me what to do.”

“So you’re like a child who does it because the parent says not to do it.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You think of yourself as my parent? That’s kinky. Especially for you.”

“Uh, no. I don’t. I just think you are being unreasonable and immature.” Her voice took on a dangerous timbre.

“Or maybe I’m being responsible.” I rose to my feet. Daylight was sparking under the doorway, and I needed to get back to my cot to rest. It took all of my strength to stride nonchalantly to the door.

Unfortunately, Veronica followed. “You are just plain stubborn. What is it with men?” Her questions came and went unanswered as I concentrated on walking casually to my tent. Whoever had hit me, for whatever reason, might be watching. And yes, my stubborn pride wanted them to think I was just fine.

I opened the door to the ger and slammed it behind me in Ronnie’s face. It was rude, but I needed some peace and quiet. The boys were gone, probably too excited about the festivities.

Ronnie didn’t take the hint and entered the tent.

“Don’t shut me out, Cy, just because I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

I lay down on my cot and closed my eyes.

“Don’t lie down! Aren’t you supposed to stay awake with a concussion?”

“Veronica,” I said through gritted teeth, “my head hurts, so I doubt I will get any sleep. I just need some time to concentrate on my training. I don’t mean to be rude, but will you please leave me alone.”

The hostility in the air crackled expectantly. I wondered if Ronnie was the violent type who would hurl something at me. Instead, I just heard footsteps then the banging of the door behind her.

I should’ve been focusing on my techniques and working out how I was going to fight with my balance off. Okay, so I had lied to everyone about how badly I was hurt. And yes, I was a stubborn bastard. The vanity of men…I’ve considered it personally and academically throughout my life. Well, at least I’d just given Veronica Gale, PhD candidate, more material for her thesis.

This was exactly why I wanted to remain single. A relationship with a woman meant having someone around to tell me I was too weak, or old, or sick to do something I wanted to do. I liked danger. And a woman would try to talk me out of it. It was exhausting to think about.

What was I thinking anyway? Getting involved with Veronica like that? It interfered with the basic tenets of my philosophy…freedom. The only female I was beholden to was an eleven-inch-long rodent who was dependent upon me for her needs. Sartre never criticized me. Okay, maybe I could tell the difference between her general noises and her unmistakable sarcasm. But she never held me back. Never pigeonholed me. Never, ever told me what I could not do.

Here I was, a free thirty-eight-year-old man. Sure, I had my Bombay job. But that allowed me freedom too. Freedom from a desk job and other responsibilities. And it paid very, very well.  For the most part, I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I traveled the world to follow my interests on the slightest whim.

What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with Ronnie? A naïve professional student with no tolerance for violence or the things I found interesting? What was I going to do when this was over? Move her into my trailer? Take her with me from carnival to carnival? The woman had goals! She probably wanted some professorship somewhere quiet and safe! I’d tried that once. It didn’t work for me.

So who was going to win here? No one. One of us would have to give up what we loved. It was against everything I believed in to do that. And I would hate myself if she compromised her dreams for me. Even though I was lying down, my head began to throb even more.

And what about my job as an assassin? There was no way in hell Veronica would ever be able to accept that. How could I tell her that I killed people for a living? I suspected that even though I only killed really bad people, she would still have a major problem with that. My very nature was in direct conflict with every cell in her sweet, little body.

There was no hope for marriage. The Council gave everyone in Bombay family until the first family reunion to let their spouse know about their job. Even if I timed it just so and had five years (the distance between reunions), I would never have the courage to tell her. And that would spell her death sentence. The Bombays were pretty black and white about spousal acceptance.

Damn. I really screwed up this time.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Indiana Jones:  It’s not the years. It’s the mileage.

-Raiders of the Lost Ark

“Cy?” I could hear Chudruk’s voice from the doorway. How long had I been thinking about all of this?

“Come in.” There were other things I needed to be concentrating on.

“Pop got you a match for the end of the day.” Chud sat on Zerleg’s cot. “Veronica is watching the opening ceremony with the others.”

I sat up. “Thanks. I think I really pissed her off.”

He laughed. “Women, eh?” Chudruk scratched his chin. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with a woman for more than two hours.”

I tossed my hat at him. He ducked. “When do the boys fight?” I didn’t want to talk about Veronica.

“Zerleg fights in the first round. Zolban later.” He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Did Zerleg talk to you?”

I nodded. “About the girl? Yes.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into this conversation. It was a family affair and I was the outsider. But it did give me something else to talk about than my problems at the moment.

“He’s a good kid,” Chudruk replied. He seemed to be talking to himself more than me. “I want to see him go to school in the States. He’s smart. He should go to school.”

“Well, you know how I feel about education.” If I gave too much of an opinion, I might insult the family’s stance.

“He said you encouraged him. I’m happy about that.”

“What does Yalta want?” I was going for noncommittal here.

“He thinks he should go. He thinks Sasug, the girlfriend, has the face of a camel.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I guess some problems are universal.”

“Well, it will work out. My brother and his wife will come around.” He stood up and smiled. “You should get some rest. I’ll come back for you about an hour before your match.”

Chudruk left and I laid there in the muffled quiet. Then I reached for my cell phone and made a call.

“I heard you did well!” I slapped Zerleg on the back a few hours later as I stood in the arena with him and his brother. My head still hurt, but I had been energized hearing how the boy won two matches that afternoon. Zolban and I would fight later.

“Thanks, Cy!” Zerleg’s face was glowing with glee. I couldn’t help noticing he kept looking over at a small group of girls in the crowd. One of the girls was dressed in Western clothing – wearing a mini-skirt, black T-shirt and large sunglasses. She was a lovely Mongolian girl, probably from the city.

“Who is that?” I asked him.

“Oh!” His face turned red. “That is Opia! She is a university student here.”

“I see.”

Veronica was in the stands with the others. Only athletes and their zazuls were allowed on the field. Zolban was jumping up and down. He was up next.  I spotted Chudruk waving from the bleachers. Ronnie ignored me. I was grateful for that.

Yalta nodded at Zolban and the two of them walked toward the field. Zerleg dragged his attention away from the giggling Opia. We watched anxiously as Zolban did his eagle dance around his grandfather, then slapped his thighs and approached his opponent.

To my shock, it was Arje Dekker he was to fight. Looking quickly into the stands for reasons I have yet to comprehend, I saw Veronica give the son-of-a-bitch a little wave. Dekker nodded at her and my gut twisted.

Zolban attacked aggressively, his usual modus operandi. Dekker did the same, refusing to take a defensive stance. This could go bad for the kid. Dekker had a lot of experience in offensive measures.

While the boy was younger and stronger, Dekker had presence of mind. Again and again I watched as Zolban attacked, looking for cracks in Dekker’s façade. Arje countered every movement. He struggled to hold on, but maintained his stance. Zolban was trying to wear him down. The two locked arms several times, holding still for agonizing minutes on end. My head pounded. I desperately wanted to see Dekker beaten. Zolban pulled back, then charged again, nearly knocking his opponent off of his feet. The crowd was silent. No one seemed to know where this was going.

The boy reached for Dekker’s thigh, lifting his leg from the ground, and threw him. I watched with great satisfaction as the Dutchman fell to the dirt with a thud.

“You did it!” Zerleg bounced into his brother’s arms and the two embraced.

I didn’t take my eyes off the field. Dekker rose slowly to his feet and dusted off his knees. He slowly looked up into the stands and smiled and nodded. I traced his gaze to Veronica, who smiled back, concern playing across her face. Concern that had recently been on that face for me.

I watched as he made a signal, pointing off field. Then, to my anger, she nodded, stood up, and walked away. Perfect.

It was especially galling because Arje Dekker was the primary suspect in my attack. The last person I wanted Ronnie going off with was someone who had snuck up behind me and hit me over the head, leaving me to bleed out, unconscious, in the dark.

Then again, Dekker had no reason to attack me. He barely knew me. He certainly had no idea I was going to kill him. The Bombays were pretty good about things like that. Maybe he wanted Ronnie for himself? It seemed hardly likely he’d resort to a caveman like approach to knock me out of the competition.

And what about the weapon? Men like Arje didn’t travel unarmed. If he wanted me gone, he would’ve stabbed me.  It would be more effective and easier to make it look like some drunk tried to roll me for a few togrog or even American dollars. Why use a tree limb? No, that didn’t seem very likely.

So maybe it was just a chance mugging. A Westerner would be a prime target in any country. Even though I’d been at a few local Naadams, there were many people here who didn’t know I had Mongolian connections and would see me as an easy mark. It was late and dark when I slipped from my tent. There were more than 500 contestants and thousands of visitors here. Too many suspects to make it easy to pursue.

“It is time, Cy.” Chudruk clapped me on my back, snapping me back to the present. I glanced at the stands. Veronica wasn’t there. She would not see me wrestle. Fine. It was going to be over after this anyway. So why did I feel so bad?

Making my way to the field, I tried to focus on the match. My opponent faced me and we slapped our thighs to begin. My mind fought to keep focused on what would happen.

He was a very large man, and in his eyes I could see he was ready. I had been careful to wipe away the dried blood from my wound. It would have stood out too much against my blond hair. My sore shoulder was red, but maybe he wouldn’t notice. If he grabbed too hard, I would wince and it would all be over.

Unfortunately, the first thing he did was grab both shoulders. Pain shot through my shoulder into my arm. I stood as still as I could in an attempt to show no pain. My arms were beneath him so I brought them together, up and through his hold to break it. Sweat poured down my face as I struggled with the agony of using that shoulder. As the hold broke, I reached for his knee and pulled it up as hard as I could. He fell. It was a miracle. I stared in disbelief as he sat on the ground. Instinctively I reached down to help him up. My opponent took my hand and yanked in an attempt to right himself. Unfortunately I had offered him the wrong hand and my shoulder screamed. He patted me on the back and I walked toward Yalta, my features placid, not betraying the twisting pain beneath.

“I cannot fight again today,” I said to Chudruk in short, gasping breathes.

“Is it your head?” he asked, his face dark with concern.

“No.” I laughed bitterly. “No, it’s the damned shoulder.”

“But you must fight again, Cy!” Zolban cried out. “You have to win again to qualify for tomorrow!”

I understood that. But I also understood that I still had to kill Dekker. But now my shoulder was dislocated shoulder and it would only get worse if I continued to wrestle. The Naadam, for me, was over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Verbal:  A man can convince anyone he's somebody else, but never himself.

-The Usual Suspects

I watched from the edge of the arena as Zolban won his second match. The thrill was bittersweet. I knew I shouldn’t be pissed. I had done what I’d come here to do and succeeded. But it was over. It had to be.

Dr. Baatar managed to pop my joint back into place and I managed to not scream during the process. It was a minor victory, if a hollow one. I didn’t feel sorry for myself. How many men get to do something like this? And I’d managed to win with multiple injuries. In the past, I would’ve considered this a perfect experience.

So why didn’t I consider it that now? The boys were advancing and I was happy for them. Zerleg was up in the stands, flirting with Opia. I could only guess that they were talking about poetry by the way she looked at him. Good for him. Zolban was off with his friends. Yalta made him swear off the beer, but I knew his buddies would be celebrating for him tonight.

Back at the ger, the three of us sat on our cots dissecting the boys’ matches as I helped them plot their moves for the next day. I promised to cheer for them, and Yalta convinced me to be on the field to help him coach. That made me feel good. It also made me realize that I was no longer twenty-one. Hell, I’d be forty soon.

Yalta had accepted the passage of time and moved gracefully from athlete into his role as coach. When would I do the same thing? Was Veronica right? How long was I going to travel around the world, fighting men younger and better trained than me?

Whoa. This idea shook me to my core. I was aging. Me. In fact, I was considered old in most of the countries I trained in. And while my experience helped me win today, my body had given out on me. Granted the concussion was not an age thing, but the shoulder was. I listened to the boys as they fell asleep, oblivious to all but victory and glory. They weren’t even twenty, but here in Mongolia, they were men. Back in the U.S., they would still be considered children.

I remembered that age. I was invincible. Bulletproof. And while forty wasn’t old back home, men my age usually settle for softball and golf, not full contact sport. Here, people were more philosophical about aging. They embraced it as the next level in life…one to be respected and revered.

When would I have respect for my own age? Was that what Veronica was trying to tell me? Hell, she was in her late twenties. Why would she worry about my age?

I hadn’t seen her since she left the stands after Zerleg defeated Dekker. That worried me, but I didn’t check up on her because I assumed Odgerel was in contact. I wanted Ronnie to come to me. I wanted her to say she trusted my judgment and that this was my life to do as I wished.   But she hadn’t. There wasn’t so much as one word from her.

Oh well. I had pretty much decided it was over anyway, right? There was no way I could reconcile our divergent lives. No, it was better this way. After tomorrow, she’d hop back on a plane to her little ivory tower thinking of this as just an adventure before settling down in a classroom somewhere.

It saddened me to think this was the only living she would actually do, but it was her decision to make. Just as I owned my life, she owned hers. It was no longer fair for me to judge her or tell her what to do. There. That was mature. Yay me.

Exhaustion pressed on my chest like a weight. I’d been awake since before dawn. I had wrestled and been broken in both body and soul. The pain I felt emotionally had outstripped the physical pain. Sleep wasn’t going to be defeated, and I gave in willingly.

I woke up early the next morning, feeling sore and stiff, but excited by the boys’ spirits. Today was the last day of the Naadam, and it was possible they could win, returning to their families in victory and impressing a girl or two.

I gave them the last of my protein bars and after several cups of tea, I started warming them up with exercises. I put on a pair of khaki pants, my gutals, a T-shirt and my deel, and coached them until Yalta arrived. I saw Ronnie leave with the others to head to the stands. She did not look at me.

We arrived in the stadium, and the boys translated for Yalta and me as we watched the other matches, sizing up the competition. I felt honored that Yalta considered me his assistant. I tried to be helpful and respectful. Zolban was up soon and we were watching his opponent warm up.

“Look.” I pointed at him for Yalta and spoke in Mongolian. “He favors his left leg. I wonder if he injured his right one yesterday.”  Sure enough, as he turned, we saw a large bruise darkening his right calf. Yalta told Zolban to use his foot to hook him on his sore leg and bring him down. When it was Zolban’s turn, the match lasted all of one minute.

I felt better, standing in the sun and being useful. The day’s competitors were seasoned, and these bouts took longer. Zerleg barely managed to squeak through his first event, but he won and that was what was important. The boys were scheduled for their second competitions at the same time before noon. Yalta and I split up, and Zerleg and I walked to the opposite end of the field for his match.

“Nervous?” I asked as I stripped off his deel.

He was looking anxiously at the stands. “Yes.”

I admired the honesty of these people.

“Don’t win for Opia,” I said. “Win for you.” When I noticed he was still staring at the bleachers, I added, “Or don’t win and you can spend the rest of the day charming her with poetry.”

Zerleg laughed at this as the judges indicated they were ready. I stood still as the kid did his eagle dance around me and it hit me what an honor this was. He considered me his zazul and was showing me his respect. I felt a sense of pride others might feel when their son hits a home run or daughter aces that spelling bee. Wow. I didn’t see that coming.

The opponents squared off, and I had to stow my feeling of euphoria. It was time to help him from the sidelines. And strangely enough, I really enjoyed it.

“Watch his left arm!” I called. Zerleg didn’t have to acknowledge this. I knew he understood. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. Zerleg shifted to the right as his opponent tried to sweep his legs using his left arm. The dodge worked. The young men locked their shoulders and began to strain. They appeared evenly matched for strength. Zerleg would have to win on his brains this time.

Chudruk appeared at my side and the two of us continued to shout encouragement. We watched as the two wrestlers moved back and forth, appearing to rock each other. Neither side gave one inch. This was going to be a long match. As Chudruk made suggestions, I realized that all I had was one, minor glimpse into the world of this sport. There was so much more I would need to devote my life living here to learn. I froze on the spot.

Zerleg went for his opponent’s knee. This was the big moment. His competitor somehow managed to step back, saving himself. Zerleg had overestimated his strength and stumbled forward, his right hand catching the ground. It was over.

“You did great, kid.” I patted him on the back.

Chudruk smiled at his nephew. “You made us proud!”

Zerleg grinned. It wasn’t all about winning here. He had done well. And his prize was a pretty, educated girl beaming at him from the stands. I noticed that as he walked over to her, he didn’t even bother to cover up with his deel. Tonight he would be celebrating a victory of sorts.

We walked back to the others to find that Zolban had lost his match too. But Yalta was grinning ear-to-ear. For us, this competition was over. And everyone was happy.

I checked in with the others before heading back to my ger. I still had one thing left to do. Dekker would be getting ready to leave. And it was my job to make sure he didn’t.

I still didn’t have a plan for the hit. Before I formulate one, I’d need to know where Dekker was staying. I really didn’t want Veronica to have the answer, but she was the best lead I had at the moment.

“Have you seen Ronnie?” I asked one of Sansar-Huu’s children. They were playing in the grass with Sartre.

The girl nodded, then in Mongolian told me that she had gone east, toward the steppes. I winked and left them to their play.

The campground faded into a large, grassy meadow on the edge of the city. For a moment I wondered if I had misunderstood the kid. I couldn’t see anyone. I decided to keep walking for a while before turning back. The grasses were tall and if Ronnie was sitting on the ground, I’d have a hard time seeing her.

It was the giggling that kept me from turning around and going back. She was here, all right.

“I can’t believe you did that! Did you really blow up a plane by accident?” I heard her say. My blood turned to stone. There was only one person she could be with.

I saw her hair rising above the sea of grass. Then I saw him. Veronica was sitting on a blanket, holding a pen and notebook, while Arje was stretched out on his side next to her. My hands formed fists. I was going to kill him right in front of her.

“Cy!” Veronica jumped a little. That was somewhat satisfying. “What are you doing here?”

Dekker didn’t bother getting up. “Bombay,” he said gruffly.

“I was told to find you for our interview,” I said grimly.

“Oh.” Ronnie stared at me, her mind trying to work out when she had said this and to whom.

I sat down and joined them. “Sounds like you’ve started without me.”

“How did Zerleg and Zolban do?” Ronnie asked, her voice wavering a little. Did she feel guilty? I wondered how she was going to feel when she watched me rip Dekker’s throat out in front of her.

“They both lost.” I wasn’t interested in making her feel better about playing hooky.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said quietly, avoiding my eyes.

“I was just telling Ronnie about my work.” Dekker’s voice had a strange edge. He was challenging me. But for what? Ronnie? Or just that need men have to best an opponent who has taken them down?

I took a deep breath. If I was going to kill him, it had to look like it wasn’t premeditated. I replaced my naked fury with a relaxed smile.

“I bet you have some good stories,” I said.

Dekker did not relax. You couldn’t cut the tension with a Ginsu knife. Ronnie’s skin flushed red. It was clear she had never been in this situation before.

“Really, guys, this is no big deal. Maybe we can meet up for dinner or something?” She tried to smile but was too nervous. For a moment I allowed myself the luxury of wondering what she was thinking about.

“I don’t think Bombay is interested in talking.” Dekker’s voice was rough…ugly with intent. He rose to his feet, fists clenched.

I remained seated but slowly took off my deel. It was a gift, after all, and I didn’t want it ruined by what was about to happen. I’d been fighting men all of my life. I could spot a gauntlet being thrown down a mile off.

“And why is that?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“I think you know why.” He spat the words. There was no mistaking his intent. But where did this come from? Was he fighting because he wanted Ronnie? Or did he know why I was here?

Fighting men have a sixth sense. It is something that has kept them alive on many occasions. The failure to develop this ability means certain death. The seventh sense is one of self-preservation under dangerous circumstances you set in motion yourself. If I survived this, I made a mental note to tell Ronnie so she could use it in her thesis.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to think about this because Dekker charged while I was still on the ground. I would’ve rolled neatly to the side, but Ronnie was behind me and would bear the brunt of his weight. I lay back and using my right arm to shove her away, I brought my feet up and lifted Dekker up and over to the ground behind me.

I was on my feet before he could recover. Ronnie wisely ran off to a safe distance.

“Go back!” I shouted before Dekker charged again. He came at me like a linebacker, his shoulder lowered. Apparently he was going for a “ground and pound” play. I stepped to the left, swiveled and kicked him in the ass.

“Go back!” I shouted at Ronnie again. She just stood there in shock, shaking her head. Great. Now I’d have a witness.

Dekker jumped up and delivered a roundhouse kick—to my good shoulder, thank god. He’d switched from tackling to kickboxing. I took the blow and landed a side-kick to his solar-plexus. He stepped backward, regained his balance, then tried a front kick to my right shin. I managed to dodge, hooking his extended leg with mine and twisting him off balance.

Even though I studied it, I’ve never really gotten into kickboxing. The idea of fighting on one leg seems too risky. Now boxing, there was a sport, I thought, as I landed two jabs with my left and an uppercut with my right to his jaw. Dad was a boxer. It’s all about the footwork.

Dekker punched at me, missing my nose but hitting my cheek below my left eye. That was going to look like hell later. I went for a counterblow, but he blocked it. I took advantage of his somewhat doubled-over stance by grabbing the back of his head and bringing my knee up hard into his abdomen. I followed this by bringing my elbow down on the back of his head. He toppled and fell.

“Stop it!” Veronica had found her voice and decided this was a good time to let us know.

It distracted me just enough for Dekker to pull me to the ground. He climbed on top of me and began swinging at my head. Bastard managed to land a few blows. That was what I got for being distracted by a woman.

I punched him in the throat and knocked him off me. I was just about to get to my feet when he kicked me in the side of the knee, bringing me back down. Great. This was going to take all day.

Why wasn’t Veronica running? Didn’t it occur to the woman she could get help? She sure as hell wasn’t trying to help me, not that I could blame her with fists and feet flying all over. Still, she needed to go. At the very least, so I could kill this bastard once and for all!

I hit the ground hard on my bad shoulder and in spite of myself, couldn’t stop from wincing. Dekker saw that and began a rapid burst of punches to that very same shoulder. How sporting of him.

“Stop hitting him! He’s injured!” Ronnie screamed.

Dekker paused long enough for me to see a look of comprehension come over his face. He grinned and drove his elbow into head. As the stars faded to an inky smear I thought, At least that solves that mystery.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy."

- Guy Fawkes

“Where’s Ronnie!” were the first words out of my mouth as I came to. I wasn’t even sure whether I was still in the grasses or in a ger. Opening my eyes was an exercise in practical pain.

“Quiet, Cy,” Odgerel soothed. Other faces swam into view, including my newest BFF, Dr. Baatar.

“Where is she?” I pressed weakly. This time I knew better than to try to get up.

I could see Sansar-Huu look at Chudruk, who looked back at him. That didn’t seem good.

“Just be still,” Dr. Baatar said quietly.

In spite of the pain, I struggled to move. Why wasn’t anyone answering me?

“You have had a second impact to your concussion. You could have brain damage.” That caught me up short. I lay back down.

The doctor handed me some pills, which I took without question. He spoke in Mongolian to my friends and I gave up even trying to understand them. Instead, I looked around the room. Everyone was there. Well, almost everyone.

“You have to rest. The doctor did not see any signs of damage, but you can’t leave here tonight,” Sansar-Huu said once Dr. Baatar had gone. “He will be back in the morning. You may need to go to the hospital for a CT scan.”

“Alright. Fine. Just tell me where Ronnie is and I promise I will rest.”

“She came and told us where you were, then she left,” Zerleg said.

“We haven’t seen her since,” Zolban added.

I struggled to get up. “I have to find her…”

“Cy!” Odgerel shouted. “You cannot go anywhere. Ronnie will be fine. Just tell us what happened.”

I hated to admit it, but I wouldn’t be of help to anyone in this condition. I slowly lowered myself back down and  filled everyone in on the fight.

“I’m afraid Ronnie’s gone after Dekker,” I finished.

“Why?” Chudruk asked.

“I don’t know. To chew him out. To ask him why.” My words were starting to spin around in my mouth and they sour.

Sansar-Huu, Chudruk, Zerleg and Zolban took off immediately to search the campground. Odgerel and Yalta insisted on staying with me. I watched as my zazul took a chair outside to sit in and keep watch. I felt sorry for Dekker if he came back to finish me off.

“She has feelings for you, you know,” Odgerel said as she put a cold cloth on my head.

“Does she?” Deep down I knew she was right. I just had a hard time believing it.

“Yes. And you have feelings for her.”

I didn’t say anything. I was too worried about Ronnie. Why did she run off like that? What could she have been thinking?

“Veronica was very upset when she came here to tell us you were hurt,” Odgerel continued.

“It wasn’t her fault,” I said.

She looked at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

So I explained my jealousy over Dekker was flirting with her and how Ronnie knew all about it.

“I was an ass,” I concluded.

My friend laughed. “Yes! You were!” She went off to admonish the kids who were laughing at something. A second later she placed Sartre on my chest. As I started to stroke her fur, she purred. And it seemed I was back to where I’d started.

It was kind of soothing, lying on the cot, petting my pig while the kids played on the floor. Odgerel sang songs that made the children giggle as she went about the preparations for dinner. I tried to think about what I needed to do to kill Dekker, but my head hurt too much. The pills the doctor gave me helped a little, but did nothing for the fear I had for Ronnie.

Sartre slid down into my armpit, snuggled up and went to sleep. That was soothing. A couple of times the kids tried to snatch her up, but their mother was always there to step in. I tried not to think of what Dekker might do to Veronica. So I tried to imagine that I was in my own ger with Veronica. What would our children be like?

This may have been the first time I ever thought about having kids with anyone. Oh, I loved kids. My cousins have some really funny children. I just never wanted any of my own. Most of the women I messed around with had families of their own. It just never came up. Part of the reason was that once they turned five, they had to start school. My life wasn’t meant for settling down and joining the PTA. And at five, Bombay kids had to start their training.

I suppose with our combined educations Veronica and I could home-school as we traveled. Although I didn’t think my wife would like me training our children to become hired killers. What strange thoughts go through your head when you’ve been clubbed by a Dutch mercenary at a Mongolian wrestling festival.

Zerleg and Zolban burst through the door, rudely awakening Sartre. She let them know her displeasure with a loud wheek then set about chewing on my T-shirt.

“We can’t find her!” Zerleg said, out of breath.

“We looked everywhere!” Zolban panted.

Within the hour, Sansar-Huu and Chudruk returned with similar information.

“Two men I know saw her leave the grounds with Dekker,” Chudruk added.

It was silent in the ger for a few moments. I handed the guinea pig off to the children and they immediately fattened her up with grass.

“Why would she go with him?” Zolban asked. His uncle shot him a look. It occurred to me that everyone here thought Veronica had chosen Dekker over me. They didn’t know what kind of man he was, what kind of danger Ronnie was in.

“I think I need to tell you a little something about Arje Dekker. Odgerel, could you send the kids outside for a few moments?”

Yalta came in when the kids went out. Chudruk translated. I told them I’d met Dekker on the circuit and read about him in the news. This seemed to mollify my friends. When I told them about the atrocities he’d committed, they were horrified. These were the descendants of the great Genghis Khan. They knew about the horrors of war. But the brutality of what Dekker had done shocked them.

“I don’t know why he has targeted me, and I don’t care. What I do care about is making sure he doesn’t hurt Veronica to get my attention.”

I had just finished when there was a knock at the door. Sansar-Huu’s oldest poked her head in and handed Zolban a note.

“She says a boy dropped this off.” He handed the note to me.

My name was on the outside. The eyes of everyone in the tent were on me as I opened it.

Meet me at the abandoned block of flats outside of the city. He included directions. How thoughtful. But what time? And would he have Veronica with him? He didn’t mention to come alone.

I looked around the room. There was no way I could involve my friends in this. But I would need a ride.

Sansar-Huu turned off the headlights and coasted into a crumbling parking lot. It was almost midnight. And very dark. I felt for the flashlight in my pocket.

“We will look around for Veronica,” he whispered, pointing at Chudruk.

“Just stay out of sight. I’ll yell when it’s over,” I replied. This time I was taking no chances. Chudruk had given me his set of throwing knives…a sport I’d taught him when we worked together in the States. My goal was to find Dekker so my friends could find Veronica. We were a block from the meeting site.

Dekker had chosen a pile of rubble that used to be a Soviet-designed apartment building. There were many places he could hide. This was the perfect location for an ambush. Whatever happened, it had to be quick and quiet. I wanted this man dead once and for all.

My friends would go on foot around the perimeter, carefully searching for Ronnie. Both men were armed with old semiautomatics. We only had two guns, and I thought it would be better if they carried them. I could work quickly with knives.

My plan was to walk into the middle of the complex. Dekker wanted to see me. Well, that’s what he was going to get. I waited until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then I headed in.

The air was sharp, in spite of it being July. The clinking of broken cement clanged on twisted, exposed rebar as rats slithered in the darkness. I wanted to find him right away. I was going to kill Arje Dekker if I had to do it with my bare hands. Fortunately, I can do that. It’s simple leverage, really.

I heard footsteps off to my left. They were moving quickly in my direction, so I ducked into a broken entryway. The darkness smothered all light. The steps grew louder and I tightened my grip on one of the knives. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, then started running the opposite direction.

Lunging from my doorway, I flipped on my flashlight only to see a shadow ahead round the corner. I was so busy concentrating on what was in front of me, I failed to look down. Something large tripped me. I fell, immediately twisting to my right. Pulling out the knife, I hurled myself at the body. It didn’t move.

I shined the flashlight and found the unconscious form of Veronica Gale on the ground in front of me. This left me with a dilemma:  I could run after Dekker, or get this woman to safety. This wasn’t her fight. She wasn’t supposed to be here. The choice was clear.

I carried her back to the truck over my good shoulder and placed her gently in the passenger seat. I started the car and drove to the ruins, honking the horn again and again. Chudruk and Sansar-Huu emerged from the darkness and climbed in.

“He drove off.” Chudruk pointed toward the airport.

“She’s bleeding,” Sansar-Huu said. “She’s been hit in the head. Her breathing is shallow.”

I wasn’t even surprised to see Dr. Baatar at the hospital. He admitted Veronica and me, giving us both CT scans and thoroughly checking us out. He assigned us to a room for the night and Chudruk stayed to stand guard while Sansar-Huu went back to the ger. I passed out once the doctor convinced me Ronnie was all right. I slept like a stone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Evey Hammond: [reads] Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici.

V: [translates] By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.

Evey Hammond: Personal motto?

V: From "Faust."

Evey Hammond: That's about trying to cheat the devil, isn't it?

V: It is.

-V for Vendetta

I’d been around a lot of dirtbags in my life. And I’d gotten to kill most of them. But none of them had ever been a real threat to me before. Maybe partly because I was younger but mostly because I was unattached. Bad guys had no leverage, nothing to threaten me with that would actually scare me in any way. Some of my cousins had been through rough times with either their kids being kidnapped or the people they loved threatened in some way. But not me.

This was new. Veronica was in danger. Because of me. And my Vic had escaped his sentence because of my mistakes. This was unheard of. I don’t think anyone in the Bombay tribe had to chase a Vic. We always took them out where they stood.

My confidence, for the first time in my life, was shaken. I couldn’t just walk away from this one. And I didn’t know what to do. My number one task was to hunt down Arje Dekker and kill him so that Veronica was safe.

“Uh…” Veronica shifted on the hospital bed.

“Veronica?” I asked gently, closing the gap between our beds.

“Cy?” She looked up at me and frowned, then closed her eyes.

“You’re all right. The doctor says you are fine. We’re booked on the next flight home.” There was no reaction. But even if she was unconscious, it made me feel good to tell her that she was safe. Of course, I left out that the next flight home was on the Bombay Family’s private plane, but I figured she didn’t need to hear that.

My biggest concern was Dekker. He was gone, and I was convinced that he knew that I was going to kill him. And I would kill him. There was no doubt about that.

Chudruk and Sansar-Huu went back to get Veronica’s and my things. I stepped out of the room to make a phone call.

“Missi?” I said quietly as my cousin answered. “I’m going to need the family jet and some information on Dekker’s whereabouts.”

“Hey, Coney!” came a voice that was not Missi’s. “It’s Monty. Mom’s on assignment.”

Damn. I really needed her. She was the one person who could get me what I needed. Leave it to the Bombay Council to send her out when she was our best techie.

“The jet will be there tomorrow morning.” Monty’s voice interrupted. “Who’s Dekker?”

Montgomery Bombay was one of Missi’s twin teenage sons. “Look, Monty, I appreciate the help. But you don’t have the chops yet to…”

“Okay, got it. Arje Dekker, on a flight to Berlin then on to London. I can have you two land at Heathrow at the same time.”

“Um, okay.” You know, I shouldn’t be surprised by anything that happens in this family.

Monty sighed on the other end. “I just hacked into the system. It’s not like it was hard.”

“Sorry, kid. I underestimated you.”

“And I’m not a kid. You guys should figure that out. Mom trained me. “

“Sorry, Monty.” And I meant it. Underestimating any Bombay was a dangerous venture. “So what’s my ETA in London?”

A few minutes later I hung up with everything I needed to know.

By the time Chudruk and the boys showed up, Ronnie was sitting up and eating. An hour later, she was moving around the room. She made it clear she didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I could give her that. But once we got on the plane, I would have to know. Which meant I would also have to give her some insight into who Dekker was.

We slept hard that night. And in the morning Sansar-Huu and the others met us with the pickup and all of our gear.

“Thanks, Chudruk.” I hugged my friend and shook hands with Zerleg, Zolban and Yalta. I would truly miss them.

“It has been good to see you.” Chudruk smiled.

I turned to Zerleg and held out a slip of paper. “The dean at Yale is a good friend of mine. He owes me money. He is expecting your call.”

Zerleg looked at me, then at his uncle. He took the paper with a nod and flung his arms around me.

“You have a full scholarship, if you want it,” I wheezed as the boy crushed me to him. I didn’t tell him that the scholarship was from the Bombay Trust I established at the Ivy League school. He didn’t really need to know that.

Veronica stared at me, but said nothing. She continued her silence as we made our way to the airport and onto our private jet. It wasn’t until we were seated and I pulled Sartre out that she finally spoke.

“You have a private jet? And how did you get Zerleg into Yale?”

“Ah. She speaks. There must be intelligent life in that body after all.”

Sartre sank her teeth into my finger. Apparently she was on Ronnie’s side.

“Don’t give me that crap, Cy.” She gripped the armrests as the plane taxied down the runway. “When are you going to tell me who you really are?”

I gave her a look. “Who I really am? You mean I still don’t fit neatly into one of your stereotypes?”

“I’m not sure you’re even human!” she shouted. “How is this possible? How does a carnie have a private plane at his beck and call?”

I pulled a carrot out of my pocket and gave it to the guinea pig on my lap. She took it as if she were the queen of Sheba and deserved such things.

“My family owns this jet. We are independently wealthy.”

Ronnie sat back and chewed her lip. “I guess that explains how you got into Yale and your connections for Zerleg.”

“Don’t piss me off, Veronica. I got into Yale because of my brains. My family doesn’t believe in undue influence over things like that.” And that was sort of true. Undue influence to get your kid into a good school…no. Undue influence to use the CIA to bail your kid out of a minor skirmish in Botswana…yes. It just depends on how you look at it.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes.

“You said you don’t know who I really am,” I asked calmly. “What did you mean by that?”

Veronica chewed her lip. Something was up.

“Did Dekker say something to you?”

She nodded. “He told me I really didn’t know you. Who you are. What you are.”

Well that stopped me in my tracks. What did Dekker know about me? I was off the grid. Hell, I didn’t even have a social security number.

“Oh, yes,” I said quietly. “You should definitely take the word of a man who kidnapped you and dumped you unconscious in the worst part of town.”

She threw her hand up into the air. “What is it with you men anyway? How in the hell did I end up in this weird situation? I was perfectly happy in my little apartment at the university. But now I’m on a carnie’s private jet after being kidnapped by some Dutch wrestler in Mongolia!”

“That is a lot to think about. Maybe you’re bad at decision-making?” I teased.

“The only bad decision I made was to think I had feelings for you, Coney Island Bombay!”

Now that hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“The illegal, we do immediately. The unconstitutional takes a little longer.”

- Henry Kissinger

Luisa,  the family’s staff on the Bombay private plane, interrupted us with plates of pastries and cups of tea. She smiled at me, touching me briefly on the shoulder before returning to her suite at the rear of the jet. She’d been with us for years, replacing her mother, Inez, who had worked with us since the 1950s. Luisa was petite and gorgeous with a knockout grin and sharp mind. She was only twenty-five and most of my cousins had hit on her from time to time – with no success whatsoever. I never did. Maybe that’s why she always flirted with me.

“And who was that?” Veronica asked, her voice a bit strained.

“That is Luisa,” I answered, sipping my tea. It was Darjeeling. My favorite.

“She’s a bit forward, isn’t she?” The jealousy she was trying so hard not to show was adorable.

“She likes me.” Why should I tell Veronica that Luisa and I were just associates? She wasn’t giving me anything on Dekker.

“Is she one of your carnie groupies?” The words had a sharp edge to them.

“No.”

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and fumed in silence for a moment. I took the opportunity to eat and drink. The silence was tense, but I needed it to figure a few things out. First of all, what was I going to do with Ronnie? She would have to go home so I could continue to pursue Dekker. Maybe she’d take Sartre with her. That would give me an excuse to look her up when this assignment was over.

And what did Dekker mean when he said he knew who I was? I was a carnie, a drifter, totally forgettable to most people. What could he know? The Bombay family of assassins has been a closely guarded secret since 2000 BCE. There was no way any Vic could know about us.

Then again, a man like Dekker had many, many enemies. It made sense that he would guess there was a contract out on him, even if he didn’t necessarily know exactly who was targeting him.

Because of his contact with Veronica, he knew my name. He knew I was a Bombay. A chill slid down my spine. He could get to my family. That was bad. Very bad. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Monty. Within minutes he replied with an expletive I was pretty sure his mother didn’t let him use.

“Isn’t it dangerous to use a cell phone on a plane?” Veronica asked.

“No,” I answered, slipping the phone into my pocket.

“Aren’t you interfering with the plane’s guidance system or something?”

“No. It has nothing to do with that.”

Curiosity bested her interest. “Why not?”

I turned to look at her. “The real reason they don’t want you to use cells on a plane is because you might crash the cell phone service by taking up too much of the power from towers on the land.”

She smirked. “And yours won’t ?”

“No. Mine is special.”

Sartre squeaked and lunged off my lap toward Veronica. Ronnie responded by taking the little pig into her arms. Traitor.

“When we get to London, I’m getting off. The pilot will take you to your nearest airport. Will you take Sartre with you?”

She frowned. “You want me to go home? What are you going to do in London?”

“Take care of some business. I’ll pick up Sartre when I’m done.”

Ronnie shook her head. “No. I’m going with you.”

“What?  No. You aren’t.” I hadn’t anticipated this reaction. I thought she’d just want to get as far away as possible. At least, from me.

“You are going after Arje, aren’t you?”

“That’s between me and him, Veronica.”

She snorted. “Oh yeah. I wasn’t involved at all.”

I thought about this. She was right. But I didn’t want her to get hurt again. And I needed time to sort out my feelings…without her around.

“I’m not going home, Cy,” she said firmly. “That’s the deal.”

“This isn’t your fight,” I replied. “He hurt you to get to me.”

“Then how do you know I’ll be safe back home?”

She was right. The safest place for Veronica Gale was with me. But I didn’t want her to be there when I killed him.

“And you are not backing out on your promise.”

My eyebrows went up. “My promise?”

She nodded smugly, “You said you’d help me solve Senator Anderson’s murder.”

Shit. I did. Didn’t I? “I can do that once I’ve taken care of Dekker.”

“And just what does ‘taken care of’ mean, anyway? Are you going to kill him?”

Veronica’s words vibrated through me. She hit too close to home. Did she think I was going to kill him?

“What did Arje Dekker tell you about me?”

She looked uncertain. “He said you were hired to kill him. Is that true?”

“No.” Yes.

Her shoulders relaxed. “Who is he? And why did he attack you like that?” It kind of warmed my heart a bit that she was more concerned about him hurting me than him hurting her.

“He’s a mercenary. The worst kind. A mass murderer on a global scale.”

Ronnie looked shaken. “What do you mean?”

So, I told her. I told her everything about the nice Dutchman she thought was so cute. And I left nothing to the imagination. She deserved to know the truth. And yes, I wanted her to hate him. Sue me.

“Oh my God,” Veronica whispered when I was through. “I…I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry Ronnie.” And I was. “But now you know you can’t stay with me. A man like that will kill you next time. He’s just not the sentimental type.”

“Why don’t you just call Interpol or something? Why do you need to go after him?”

Good question. Too good. I had no answer. What was I going to say?

“Do you think someone like him was responsible for Anderson’s murder?”

“What?” I hadn’t expected that response. “Ronnie, there’s no evidence Anderson was murdered.”

She actually unbuckled her seat belt and stood. “You said you would help me. You promised.” Veronica wavered a little unsteadily on her feet. Maybe she’d left the hospital too soon. I led her over to a divan and forced her to lie down.

“And I will. But you have to realize that one of the possibilities is that Anderson died of a heart attack.”

She nodded, but it was only a physical agreement. Her eyes told another story.

“Look, we have a few hours. Let’s go over what you have.” Then I can make good on my promise and change the subject. Maybe by the time we landed at Heathrow I could convince her to go home and drop this case. A two-for-one deal, if you will.

Veronica’s file on Senator Anderson was three inches thick. And because she had the time, she had managed to review more than one hundred and sixty two suspects. These suspects had, at one time or another, threatened the senator. Unfortunately, she included people who had threatened to have city hall nab him for not mowing his grass in with the serious threats, two pastors, a thirteen-year-old paper boy and a conservative talk show host.

“Okay. Let’s narrow this down a bit,” I began.  “I mean, do you really think Oprah’s hair stylist wanted to kill a senator?”

“Yeah, I know.” Ronnie sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I guess I went a little crazy. Then again, the woman did make his hair look ridiculous. But I see where you’re going with this.”

“There has to be a motive for murder. And I’m still not convinced it was anything more than a bad heart.” I held up two medical forms. “How in the hell did you get these?” Wasn’t anything confidential anymore?

“From another theorist.”

“Well, they prove that the man had a rotten ticker. And there’s a lot of stress in holding public office.”

“I know that, but something about the whole thing just doesn’t feel right. You know?”

“Fine. Let’s go through these names, then.”

The rest of the flight went quickly as we went through each name on her extensive list. Veronica was willing to concede that Anderson’s elderly kindergarten teacher and his neighbors weren’t proper suspects. I had to admit, her notes were pretty thorough. Anderson did have a lot of enemies. There were a lot of people who felt he was too revolutionary in his ideas.

“Alright. So we have it narrowed down to four people and you have excellent penmanship.” I stretched my arms above my head. The shoulder was starting to heal now that I wasn’t taking a beating every day. “But I think your research is pretty one-sided.”

Veronica was making piles from the pages we sorted. “How so?”

“Well, you only have information from major newspapers, liberal magazines and networks here. What about alternative papers, independent radio, the international press?”

“Well, I admit, I haven’t really gone that far.” She looked tired and more than a little concerned. I suppose I could’ve given her a hard time about the basic tenets of scholarly research, but I just couldn’t do it. She’d been through too much.

I pulled her close and silently held her in my arms until the plane landed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Emperor Zhark:  What’s the point in possessing a devastatingly destructive death ray if you can’t use it?

- The Well of Lost Plots, Jasper Fforde

London. One of my favorite cities. I did some post-graduate work once upon a time here and loved it ever since. It was a city where history came alive and grappled with itself. I still had some valuable contacts here. And it gave me an idea.

“Who are you calling?” Veronica asked.

“A friend who can help you.” And hopefully take you off my hands and keep you safe while I flush out my Vic.

A few minutes later, I was hustling Ronnie through the airport toward the baggage claim.

“Richard works for the Sentinel. It’s the largest independent paper in the world and it can give you a more unbiased perspective.” I said as I hailed a taxi.

“He’s waiting for you at the door.” I told the driver where to take Veronica and to see that she got there safely I threw in one hundred euros. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

Ronnie looked at me in a way that said she wasn’t sure about this idea. But I was. And I could feel it as I shut the door on her and smacked the cab, sending it on its way.

“Monty,” I said into the Bluetooth I’d just inserted. “Where is Vic?”

“Hey, Coney! It’s Jack!” Missi’s other twin greeted me on the phone. Great, now I’d have to explain what I was doing all over again.

“We’ve been following him on the airport security cameras   ever since the plane landed. He’s in the shopping area,” Jack said before I could reply. “Did you know Mom’s a contestant on a reality show?”

“I heard that,” I said quickly as I made my way through the terminal. “Where in the shopping area?”

“Looks like a toy store or something. It’s hard to tell.”   Hold on. I’ll find out what toy stores are there and map it for you on the phone.” Jack said and within seconds I could see a little red dot standing in a room about two hundred yards on my right.

“Keep it on until I make visual confirmation.”

“Roger that,” Jack answered. I was pretty impressed with the boys. I made a mental note to knit that bag Missi wanted using the cashmere I’d gotten from Mongolia.

It should be said that it isn’t easy walking fast without looking like you are walking fast. There really is only one place where everyone moves that way. And that is an airport. As I closed in on the location, I congratulated myself for getting rid of Ronnie and fulfilling my promise to her at the same time.

“You should be within range now.” Jackson’s voice rang in my ear. Oh yeah, the assignment.

“I see it,” I answered. Dekker was standing with his back to me. Apparently he didn’t think I would catch up to him. That’s his fault for underestimating technology in a place as paranoid as an international airport.

I suppose I could have said something clever or tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. That’s what they do in movies. But that’s not how it is done in real life. I came up behind him and grabbed him by the neck. Forcing his head down I managed to make it connect with the table full of stuffed badgers in front of him.

Unfortunately for me, the table had stuffed badgers on it and I wasn’t able to stun him. Arje Dekker pushed up and back, shoving me into a display of fluffy bunnies. By the time I steadied myself, he’d turned around and realized who I was.

“Bombay!” Dekker cried and reached for something to throw at me.

I stood there in shock as a Slinky collided with my forehead. My hands felt around me and grasped something square and plastic. I whipped the Etch-a-Sketch at his head, the tablet careening off his chin. As he recovered from the blow, I grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him deeper into the store. I hoped there would be a back door somewhere since I noticed we were drawing a small crowd.

Dekker kicked out, connecting with my left shin and I dropped him for a second. That was all the time he needed to grab a weapon. Without thinking I pulled a similar item from a box. And that’s how we ended up fighting a duel with plastic light sabers.

We must have looked strange – two middle-aged men slashing away at each other with toy swords complete with sound effects. I managed to land the majority of blows and went for the final thrust, only to have the collapsible light saber, um, collapse. So I threw the handle at him and grabbed him again, dragging him toward the back wall.

Dekker reached out and snagged a display. I threw him through it, causing no less than thirty or forty Teletubbies to begin singing nonsensically. By now I was getting worried. The shop probably had surveillance cameras and we’d put on quite a show. In fact, I’d bet Jackson was laughing hysterically. I was a bit surprised none of the staff intervened or even rebuked us. No doubt airport security had been called.

I pulled Dekker by the collar toward the back door. It was a bathroom. No exit. Dekker shoved me backward and locked himself inside. Fantastic.

There was shouting in the distance. The authorities were on their way. Killing Vic was out of the question. “Jack, can you do something about the surveillance cameras?” I asked quietly while taking off my jacket and started messing with the doorknob. It was a simple lock, easy to pick if I had the right tools.

“Already did. They have nothing but static,” he responded. “It’s a neat little program Mom came up with…”

The boy was chatty, just like his mum. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll check in with you later.”   I hung up and found a chemistry set and punched through the box. Science kits usually have probes and other tools you can use to pick a lock. Unfortunately, the box had that plastic clamshell casing that keeps everything pretty and safe inside. I didn’t have time for this frustration. Ignoring the sharp edges that tore at my flesh, I ripped the plastic apart and retrieved the tools.

In spite of my rusty lock-picking skills, I managed to get the door open quickly and dragged Dekker out of the bathroom and into the mall. It isn’t easy to look normal when you are bleeding and you are dragging a man behind you (who clearly has no interest in going with you) who is also bleeding. It wouldn’t be long before we attracted enough attention to cause trouble. And I didn’t have time for that.  If I took him to the plane I could secure him and go after Ronnie. But the hangar was too far away. I was much closer to the baggage carousel.

Pulling my protesting Vic behind me, I stepped outside and hailed a cab. To his credit, the driver didn’t give my situation a second glance and soon we were headed to the newspaper where Ronnie was researching.

The ride was short but I had enough time to bind Dekker’s hands behind him using his seat belt. The cab pulled up to our stop and I paid him and dragged Dekker out and into the building.

We’d just entered the elevator when I realized my Vic was apparently quite the Houdini. As the doors closed, he lunged. I swung my arm up and stepped aside, clotheslining him in the throat. He didn’t go down like I’d hoped.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Dekker growled as he punched me in the head.

“Don’t know the meaning of the word,” I replied, kneeing him in the gut.

And as the Musak played The Girl from Ipanema, Dekker and I pounded the hell out each other in a three foot-by-three-foot lift. Arje remembered my weak spots and was getting the best of me with several punches in my shoulder. I managed to crack his nose. The snapping sound made me feel a little better.

Soon the linoleum was slick with blood. Dekker leaned for a side kick and succeeded in plunging his foot through a hole in the wall he created. I punched him in the groin and took a lot of satisfaction in his cry of pain. I hadn’t even noticed that the elevator had stopped until we both fell forward through the open doors.

“Cy? Arje?” Veronica said as she stood over us.

Ronnie?

Before Dekker could react I slugged him hard on the chin, driving his head back and rendering him unconscious. “Stay where you are. I’ve got to get him out of here.” Veronica stared, wide eyed.

Somehow I managed to rise to my feet and drag Dekker across the hall to a bathroom. What was it with me and bathrooms lately? I handed Veronica a few paper towels and asked her to clean up the bloody smear that trailing down the hall. She didn’t say a word.

Ronnie joined me in the small bathroom a few minutes later with red-stained paper towels.  I locked the door behind her, leaning against it to catch my breath.

“So, this is  the Sentinel’s offices,” I gasped as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yup.”

I made my way to the sink and started washing up. “I’m sorry to cut short your research, but we have to leave. Now.”

Veronica looked pale. She shrugged.

Somehow  I had to kill him in front of her. If I didn’t, he would continue tracking her down. And I couldn’t have that either.

“Um, I…” she started, but couldn’t seem to finish. “Why did you two end up here?”

I shook my head. “No time to explain.  He’s dangerous, Ronnie.” I hoped she caught my meaning.

“Can’t we just call the police or something? Then they could lock him up…”

“No. If he wants to, he’ll have no problem hunting you down anywhere. This ends now.” On the outside, I was calm. On the inside I was shaking. I’d never killed anyone in the presence of a non-Bombay before. And I was pretty sure that would spell the end of my relationship with Miss Gale.

Ronnie pulled on my arm. “Let’s go! Let’s just go!” She struggled to hold on to a stack of files. I avoided looking into her eyes. I didn’t want to see what I thought was in there. It made me sick inside to even consider killing Dekker in front of her.

Looking down at the unconscious and bloody man before me, I realized that there was only one way to handle this. And it may have been my worst idea ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Bob Wiley: What are you doing with the gun, Dr. Marvin?

Dr. Leo Marvin: Death Therapy, Bob. It's a guaranteed cure.

- What About Bob?

The idea of doing a good job is instilled in every Bombay from the minute they begin their training at the age of five. We are taught to make sure each assignment is completed with no screw-ups. Every Bombay has their own modus operandi. And every one of us takes pride in completing the assignment in a timely manner.

My friend at the Sentinel showed us the freight elevator in the back and we were able to at least make it to the ground floor undetected. The doors opened and I spotted a janitor’s closet. It took two, extra large garbage bags to cover the unconscious Vic. Ronnie convinced me to poke holes in the bag around his face so he wouldn’t suffocate. That was too bad because I was hoping I could tell her I “accidentally” asphyxiated him.

I sent Veronica to find a cab and she showed up with my former driver. I guess the guy liked the three-digit tip I gave him. He said nothing as I loaded Vic’s body into his trunk.

“Your hands are bleeding.” Ronnie took my hands in hers and examined the torn up knuckles. “You got that from…” Her eyes darted between the driver in front of us and the trunk behind us. “From the elevator?”

I shook my head. “No. They got torn up trying to open a toy.”

“I hate those things!” The driver spoke up with a grin in the rearview window. “It should be criminal to make the plastic covers for toys!”

I gave him a nod that hopefully conveyed something like, “yeah, me too. Stop talking to us.” He seemed to take the hint and focused on getting us back to the airport. I’d texted the pilot and he found us an alternative way in so we wouldn’t have to go through security checkpoints.

“Well, I hope they have some bandages on the plane.” Veronica said quietly as she continued inspecting my wounds. “You could get a serious infection.”

I didn’t say anything. Frankly, I was wiped out. Dekker was far too dangerous to be dragged around, alive. But Ronnie wouldn’t let me kill him. Oh sure, I could just off him anyway. That’s what I would’ve done pre-Veronica Gale. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him with her right here. It was just too complicated.

So how it came to pass that Arje Dekker was tied up in one of the family jet’s bathrooms was still unsettling even after we took off.

“Sorry, Cy,” Veronica apologized for the eleventh time since we smuggled him on board. “We’ll come up with what to do with him.”

I ran my hands through my hair. Yes, I supposed she was right. I had no clue how to manage it, but oh well.

“How did your research go?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.

“Well,” Ronnie started, “I found some information. Richard was very helpful.”

“Are you stalling?”

“No.” But the way she looked nervously from side to side said otherwise.

“Then what did you find out?” I reached for her files. She handed them to me hesitantly.

The look on her face made me pause. “Would you rather tell me or let me read it for myself?”

Ronnie shook her head slowly. “I’ll tell you. It’s just that…well I found something out that kind of upset me.”

It’s always a shock when your heroes fall. It’s even harder to watch the face of someone you care about when they realize what they believed was a lie.

“Senator Anderson was involved with a couple of women who weren’t his wife.” She fidgeted with her hair.

“Okay.”

“He apparently”—I noted how she said the word as if saying it that way would make it less true—“was involved with a couple of prostitutes from the same escort service.”

My heart wrenched as she held out two photos. I knew this was hard for her. The pictures revealed a man in flagrante delecto with two women at the same time. While I was impressed, I thought it wouldn’t be wise to say so.

“I guess he wasn’t all I thought he was.” Veronica said finally.

With a sigh I gathered her into my arms. Something inside me begged to never disappoint her like Anderson had.

“Nobody’s perfect, Ronnie,” I said softly as she pulled away. Why was she pulling away?

“I thought he was. I thought he was perfect. Why didn’t these photos run in the U.S.?”

“It’s hard to say. The media isn’t always as objective as we’d like them to be.”

“And if I didn’t know this about this after all my research, what else didn’t I know?” Her calm voice wavered, betraying the agony beneath her words.

“Probably a lot.” I had some strong opinions here but decided this wasn’t the time to bring it up. The fact is that many politicians are corrupt or crooked or easily seduced. Usually sexual deviances were just the tip of the iceberg. I was a bit irritated that Veronica had put this man on a pedestal in the first place.

“You don’t understand, Cy.” She dropped her head into her hands. “This guy and his volunteers were my family when I didn’t have one.”

“I can understand that. But the fact that you are in education should tell you that things aren’t always what they seem. You’ve learned to look at people and ideas from all sides before drawing conclusions.” Right? She had to do that. It was part of the core of knowledge. Critical thinking meant you didn’t hedge your bets.

“You mean like what I thought about you?” She motioned toward the back of the plane. “Or Dekker? Yeah. I’ve been really good at drawing conclusions.”

When dealing with women, you have to tread carefully. Somehow I expected this was one case where she wouldn’t necessarily want me to agree. Then again, if I sugarcoated the truth, how was I helping her learn?

“But you know better now,” I replied.

She looked up sharply, fire in her eyes. I knew it. There was no right way to play this one.

Veronica stood and stalked toward the back of the plane, then plunked herself in a chair by the window.

Okay, that conversation was over. I wasn’t going to follow her back and smooth things over. She was wrong. She even admitted it. How mature to throw a fit like that.

Besides, I had other problems. One was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in my bathroom. And the problem was that he was still breathing. Not good.

Maybe I needed to cut Veronica Gale loose once and for all. Just drop her off at her precious university while she still believed that Anderson’s only sins were sexual. It was a mistake to send her to the newspaper. What was I thinking? This kid had one hero…one! And I imposed my will to make her see what a fool she was.

And yes, she’d been wrong about me. But why did I care? Lots of people had misconceptions about Coney Island Bombay. I never cared before. And it wasn’t like I wanted her to know what I really was. So why did I want her to see me differently?

I got up and moved past the sulking Ronnie toward the tiny bathroom where Dekker was.

“Hello, Arje,” I said as I closed the door and sat down on the toilet seat.

Dekker glared but said nothing. Mainly this was because of the duct tape covering his mouth. He was pissed off, but it didn’t matter. I had him tied up pretty good. So what made me reach over and rip the tape off of his face?

“So, you probably know you are going to die,” I said as simply as I could.

“But I’m not dead yet, Bombay. Why is that, I wonder?”

“You can thank Ronnie for that. She gets a little freaked out by violence.”

Dekker grinned. “Yeah. Funny how she ended up around us.”

I toyed with asking him what he thought he knew about me, but changed my mind. “What is it with women anyway? Why do they question our need for fighting?”

Arje looked at the door, then at me. “I don’t know. Never really had a relationship with anyone other than whores. And they were paid to keep their mouths shut. But I know what you’re saying.”

I leaned back against the wall. “I like fighting. I enjoy competing. I know it’s barbaric.” And I did too.

Dekker sighed. “And I like war.”

I looked up at him. “Yes, but you also like killing innocents along with soldiers.”

He nodded. “You’ve heard the rumors then. I’m surprised someone like you would believe everything you read.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“I just expected more from you, that’s all.”

“So you are saying that you don’t kill innocent people?  I guess you are just misunderstood.”

“No, I’m not saying that, Bombay.” Dekker said slowly. “You of all people should know that sometimes, bad things happen to good people. It’s the nature of war.”

I let his words chill me for a moment. He was right. No matter how careful or just any war is, sometimes innocent people get killed. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“The way I hear it,” I pointed at him directly, “and my sources are good, you don’t seem to mind it when an unarmed woman or child gets in the way.”

Dekker’s face darkened with something I couldn’t read. “Believe what you want to.” He turned his face away, indicating the conversation was over.

I replaced the duct tape over his mouth. “That’s right. I remember why I’m going to kill you.” As I stood up, I paused. “Thanks, Dekker.”

What the hell was I thinking, talking to him like that? Man, Veronica Gale was really messing with my head. I needed to get rid of her, then get rid of Dekker, find my RV and immerse myself in carnival sawdust and stale corndogs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Longbaugh:  A heart is the only thing that has value. If you have one, get rid of it.

- The Way of the Gun

We landed at the Cedar Rapids, Iowa, airport several hours later. The pilot would get the plane refueled by the time I returned. As the plane taxied to a halt, I’d like to say that Veronica and I made up and had sex the entire time. I’d like to say that. But I can’t. We barely spoke. I don’t know why I was being so stubborn about this. But then, she was being stubborn too.

The saying, ‘two wrongs don’t make a right’ popped into my head. I ignored it as I rented a car and loaded Ronnie’s things into the trunk. We drove in silence to Iowa City. It was an unbearable twenty minutes. I decided that this was the very reason Ronnie and I could not have a future together. I’d take her home, then get rid of Vic and go home myself.

The only time she spoke was to give me directions to her apartment. We pulled up in front of a Victorian house with a wrap-around porch. To my complete surprise, a very attractive young man about Ronnie’s age came out the front door and hugged her. Who in the hell was that?

“Hi.” The guy came up to me and shook my hand. “I’m Drew. Thanks for bringing Veronica home.”

Home? Home was with this guy? Whoa. What was going on here? I looked at Ronnie. She stood there with her hands on her hips. What did that mean?

I shook his hand, trying to control my temper. “Cy Bombay. And it’s no problem. She’s all yours.” I shot a look at Ronnie, who threw her hands up in the air while Drew grabbed her luggage.

“You failed to mention Drew.” I said evenly.

She grinned. “I guess you can’t pigeonhole me either.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t know everything about me, Cy Bombay. You think you have me pegged, don’t you?” Her anger was rising. At least, that’s what the red color climbing her neck said. “It makes me so angry that you could be mad about Drew when you play your story so close to the vest!”

“What story? I don’t have a story!” Okay, so I did. And it was a whopper. But that was beside the point. I’d been up front with her about my life, my education and my history with women.

“Well for one thing, why do you have a Dutch mercenary tied up in the bathroom of your private jet?”

“You should know.” I was getting pissed off now. Did she forget that Dekker tried to kill her? That he tried to kill me?

“I don’t know! I don’t know why you couldn’t have let the authorities in Mongolia have him after he kidnapped me! I don’t understand why you couldn’t deal with Interpol or any other authorities! Why didn’t you just let the airport security in London deal with him instead of dragging him along with us?”

She had me there. All of those points made sense. There really was no way to tell her without explaining that killing Dekker was part of my job. That was something I knew I could never tell Veronica.

“Are you going to kill Arje, Cy?” Her question flopped out of her mouth onto the ground in front of us. I watched it flail around on the sidewalk until it died. I had no answer for her.

Ronnie drew herself up to her full height. She’d made some kind of decision. “I will tell you the truth about Drew. I love him. That’s all you need to know.” She spun on her heel and went inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

It took everything I had to get back into the car and start the ignition. Unfortunately, I looked at the window and watched as Drew draped his arm around Veronica and kissed her forehead .

I made the twenty-minute trip back to Cedar Rapids in eight minutes. During that time, my brain was turned inside out. Why didn’t she tell me about this Drew character? Clearly they had a relationship by the way he touched her. And that looked like a house, not an apartment I dropped her off at.

Oh my god. She totally played me with that innocent bullshit! And I fell for it for the first time in fifteen years. She even pretended to love my guinea pig! Sartre was made a fool of! Well, I couldn’t stand for that.

The pilot wisely said nothing as I climbed on the jet and told him to take me to Santa Muerta to dispose of Arje Dekker.

I don’t remember much of the flight. I had a major headache, and I don’t get headaches. Ever. Somehow we crossed Central and South America and landed on the Bombay Family’s private island before I could string a sentence together.

Mum was standing on the airstrip, waiting for me. Apparently, the pilot let them know I was coming and she’d made the trip to meet me there.

I dragged Dekker off the plane and tossed him roughly onto the tarmac. Mum threw her arms around me, but I felt like I was made of stone.

“How was your trip, Squidgy?” she asked.

“It sucked.” I pointed to Arje. “I have to kill this guy.”

My mother looked from me to Dekker. She pulled out her cell and dialed.

“Carlos?” She spoke in perfectly accented Spanish, asking one of the staff members to come and get my Vic and take him to the holding area. None of the staff on the island spoke English, and every last one of them was male. They never asked questions and got paid handsomely for their work. Carlos wouldn’t have to kill the Vic. That was a Bombay job. But he could take him to a room below the main level that was basically an escape-proof cell.

“Come on, dear,” Mum said, taking my hand. “When was the last time you ate?”

I didn’t really feel like eating. But I allowed her to take me to the dining hall and set before me a plate of my favorite food. In case you are wondering, it’s tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. With all my worldly experience, that is what I want to come home to.

Mum watched me eat without saying a word. She knew something was up. She also knew that I wouldn’t talk before I was ready. I felt like a stubborn child, but was in no way interested in a conversation about how Veronica Gale played me for an idiot.

So my mother chattered on about my cousins, Dad and the weather. I took in the information but it never registered.

“Why don’t you let us take care of your Vic?” Mum’s words caught me up short. “You look like you could use a break.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s my job. I just need to get some sleep. I’ll take care of him tomorrow.”

She nodded, patted my hand and left. I finished up and after liberating a bottle of twenty-five year old scotch from the bar, headed up to my room.

As I mentioned, the Bombay Family has their own island. This is where the Council stays most of the time and runs the actual family business. My cousin Missi and her sons live here year-round. The island is our home base. We have family reunions here every five years where we get to hang out, have our evaluations and sometimes take a turn on the ropes course.

Santa Muerta is virtually invisible to the rest of the world. The main rule is that everyone goes inside between 4pm and 6pm to avoid notice from the various spy satellites overhead at that time. The island resembles a resort with a main building where every Bombay has their own suite of rooms.

My room was just as I’d left it less than one year ago at the last reunion. Bookshelves covered the walls, full of well-worn books. The furniture was overstuffed leather – perfect for curling up and contemplating the mysteries of life.

I took a glass and two ice cubes with the bottle of scotch out onto the terrace. There was a great view of the ocean. The scotch was an Islay single malt. It went down smooth to mend my frayed nerves. But it did little to ease my mind. How in the name of Immanuel Kant did I get mixed up with Veronica Gale? I thought I had her all figured out. Boy was I wrong.  The irony of this thought was not lost on me, but I was too upset to be rational. Was her whole “poor little orphan girl” thing some kind of con? If so, why me? And who the hell was Drew?

Thinking back to the first day I met her didn’t help. All it did was give me goose bumps. I pictured her and remembered what she said. But there was no clue – nothing that made her seem other than how I’d pegged her.

My thoughts reeled back to Miami and how we met there. But no matter how many times I replayed the scenes, I found nothing that tipped me off. Mongolia swam into view but the memories were too fresh. I felt nothing but pain and embarrassment when I remembered the month there with her.

My scotch went dry as I contemplated how I could have done things differently. The surf crashed against the rocks and I sympathized. Those rocks were taking the same beating I did. Veronica had gotten under my skin in a way no woman had since Frannie Smith.

I poured another glass, wincing at the name of the first woman who played me for a fool. I guess that all these years my subconscious controlled my desire for a relationship to protect me. And I blew it by falling for Ronnie.

Damn. Did I really just think that? I turned the idea over in my mind, searching for holes. But no, it was too late. I had fallen in love with her. And she made me look like an idiot. I pictured her even now sitting with the handsome Drew, laughing at how she played me.  Would she tell him that she slept with me? Probably not. The woman was a liar. And I’d saved her life.

Then again, she’d only been in danger in the first place because of her connection to me. I couldn’t really blame her for that. My thoughts turned to my prisoner three floors below. Chances were the staff had fed him. For a moment, I felt kind of friendly toward him. I had no idea why.

The sun set on my gloomy mood and I nursed the bottle as the sky changed from turquoise to navy. No matter what I did, I still felt worse than stupid. And as I drank, my mood darkened.

Various thoughts popped into my head over the course of the evening. I thought of looking up Drew and killing him, but he wasn’t the real culprit. Isn’t it strange how your mind plays tricks on you? I imagined him making love to her and ended up hurling my bottle into the sea. That sucked because I didn’t like littering.  Veronica Gale made me look like an idiot, and she made me litter. I hated her for that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Samuel:  Your resume is quite impressive. Sixteen years of military experience, extensive counter-terrorism work. I’m surprised anyone could afford you. What’s the catch?

Creasy:  I drink.

- Man on Fire

“Are you going to kill me, or what?” a tired and bored Arje Dekker asked me an hour later. I sat across from him in the holding room. He was chained to the wall in a way that allowed him to move around a cot, chair and toilet. I was perfectly safe. A little drunk but okay.

“I just don’t get it,” I droned on for the fortieth time. “How did I miss it?”

Dekker rubbed his eyes. “I’ve told you, I don’t know. I thought she was this naïve little schoolgirl too.”

I sat up. “I never thought she was naïve.” I poured Arje another paper cup half full of scotch and withdrew to a safe distance.

He drained it in one gulp. That made me sad inside. It was no way to treat such a good single malt.

“Look, Bombay, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? We’re men of action.”

I giggled at his words and he smirked.

“Men like us don’t get used by women. We use women.”

“I don’t use women, Dekker.”

An ugly smile crossed his face. “Oh, no? Ronnie said you had all kinds of rich, housewife carnie groupies. Are you telling me you weren’t taking advantage of their fantasies to get laid?”

“You know,” I said a little too slowly, “your English is really good for a Dutch mercenary.”

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then just leave so I can get some sleep before I’m killed.”

I shook my head. “A little extra sleep isn’t going to help, my friend.”

“And drinking yourself into a stupor over that little bitch isn’t helping you either.”

“Hey! Don’t call her that!” I rose to my feet to do…to do what? He was right. So I sat back down.

We didn’t speak for a moment. I did refill his glass. To his credit, he drank slower this time.

“I don’t know why you are talking to me about this,” Dekker said quietly. “I’ve got no experience with feelings toward a woman.”

I lifted my glass to the light and turned it slowly, examining the amber fluid. “Well, I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”

He snorted. “And you thought that someone was me? I am surprised. After all, you see me as some kind of genocidal monster.”

I was a little defensive. “I’ve seen your file, Arje. I’ve seen what you have done to women and children. Just for fun.”

Dekker shook his head. “Back to that, are we? What do I have to say to make you think about that?”

“Are you denying it?” That would be stupid. I don’t believe everything I read. But the Bombay network has always been completely accurate. Why would they lie about it?

“Yes. I am denying it.”

“Well that’s damned convenient.” I shouted. “Now that you face your death, I not surprised that you’d recant.”

“How can I recant something I never said in the first place?” Arje said quietly. “You are the one with the faulty source, not me.”

I started to pour another glass, but stopped myself. “Let’s drop it. I shouldn’t have come down here.” I stood and collected my bottle.

He looked me in the eyes, causing me to sit back down.   “I guess if I was to have any regrets, that might be the big one.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “It would’ve been nice to be in love. You got that over me.”

I snorted. “Yeah. And I really picked a good one.”

Arje Dekker got up from his chair, walked over to his cot and laid down on it. “Turn out the lights when you go. I need to get my beauty rest for the execution to come.”

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to talk more. But I did as he asked and left him. I took the bottle of scotch with me. I’m not a total idiot.

Sartre’s shrieks woke me from a dream where Dekker and I were in the Brazilian jungle fighting off a tribe of Amazonian women who all resembled Veronica Gale. Staggering from my bed, I pulled some fruit from the basket on the table and broke it up, tossing it inside her cage. While she jumped greedily on the mango, I had the distinct impression she was pissed off at me for my lack of presentation.

A knock at the door revealed my mother and father, holding a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits. I wearily let them in. After all, it had been a long time since I’d had eggs. There aren’t many chickens in Mongolia.

“That’s my boy.” Dad smacked me on the back, launching my hangover into overdrive. I excused myself to clean up a bit. One shower later I was clean. Hung over, but clean.

“Your mum says you aren’t yourself,” Dad said with a grin. “She thinks it’s because of some lady friend in Mongolia.”

“I’m alright,” I managed as I finished my second helping of eggs. The food was giving me a little strength. “It’s nothing.”

My parents looked at each other. They’ve always been able to read me. I’ve been lucky in that they never once questioned anything I did. They seemed just as proud of my decision to become a carnie as they were when I got my Ph.D. from Yale. This prying into my emotional affairs was something new.

“Squidge,” Mum started, “I’m a little worried about you.”

“Why?” I’d given them no reason to worry. How did they know?

Mum handed half an orange to Sartre, who was our living centerpiece, before continuing. “You haven’t killed your Vic yet. That’s not like you.”

Oh. This was pretty unusual for a Bombay. There had been rare occasions when one of us would drag a live one home, or there wouldn’t be holding cells on the property. But keeping one alive so I could get relationship advice from him must have seemed a bit strange.

“I saw the surveillance tapes and know you went in there, but we’re having some difficulty with the sound.” Mum frowned. “I don’t know what we were thinking sending Missi off on assignment. Nothing works here without her.”

“You were spying on me?” I asked.

Dad nodded and my mother shot him a deadly look, causing him to dive into another helping of sausage.

“I was worried about you. Is there something you are trying to get out of him before you take him out?”

That sounded good. “Yes. He has some information I need and he’s not coughing it up.” She would believe that. Obviously a Vic wasn’t going to spill his guts before we literally spilled his guts. He’d try to keep any information he had to prolong his lifespan.

“Oh. Okay.” Mum looked distracted. “So, when will you do it then?”

I sighed and leaned back from the table. “Soon. I promise. I just have to do a little research first. That’s all.”

We finished breakfast and after kicking my parents out of my rooms, I hit my laptop. There were a couple of things I wanted to look up before I did anything else.

The next two days were a blur. I spent a lot of time online and calling in favors to get some information. My mother made frequent visits to see when I was going to clear my assignment. I didn’t see the other members of the Council, but I knew she was getting pressure on this.

The hardest part was forcing myself not to find out who Drew was. It wasn’t easy, but I was so torn up about Veronica’s admission that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Drew seemed like a nice guy. Who was I to say otherwise? Besides, cyber-stalking him would probably just make me mad. And I might find out he’s a better man than me. That would suck bigtime.

“So, what do you think?” I said to Dekker on one of my late night visits to his cell. I made sure to permanently disable the sound on the surveillance cameras. It was just enough to confuse the Council but not enough to incur Missi’s wrath when she returned.

Dekker rubbed his face. “Jesus, Cy. Will you just end it already? I swear that your drama is making me want to kill myself.”

“Come on, just one more answer.” He was right, this was beyond weird. I was the first to admit it. But something about these midnight sessions made me feel a little better. I thought that Dekker should be happy he was helping in some minor way. Apparently, he wasn’t.

“Okay, okay. I think you should just confront her.”

“What? You’ve been telling me all this time that I should forget about her! How can you flip-flop like that?”

“Well, that was before you did all this research and found out what you did. Now that you know the story, you should let her know. Then you can end it.” He held out his hand. “Now can I please have my cyanide pill?”

“You want to die now?” That was a shock.

“No. But this is beyond annoying. You are keeping me alive to be your analyst. And after all this time, you still haven’t asked me about the truth.”

I shook my head. “Not this again. Everyone on death row says they are innocent. And more than likely, they’re not. Why should I believe you?”

Dekker spread his hands wide. “I’m not going to beg. I’ve done some bad things in my career. But you keep accusing me of genocide and torture. And while I’m guilty of many things, those two are not on the list.”

I cocked my head to the side, feeling a little like a spaniel who thinks he might have heard the word ‘treat’ but isn’t sure. “Look. My evidence is credible. And you admit you’ve committed acts of evil. Why should I believe you?” Seriously, this saw was getting dull.

“Why do you insist on pigeon-holing me?” He said quietly and the words shook me.

“What…what did you say?”

“You heard me, Bombay.” Dekker steepled his fingers. “I have killed a lot of men. Most of them were armed. I’ve given orders for torture to retrieve information. But I’ve never directly participated, nor have I ordered the torture of civilians. I’ve been paid handsomely for my work. But I’ve never tolerated the torture or murder of women or children.” He punctuated his monologue with a shrug.

I stared at Arje Dekker for a long time. His words wormed his way through my brain and froze there. They caused just enough doubt…just enough to make me stop and think. Oh, there was no doubt when it came to the fact Dekker was a gun for hire. There was no doubt that he’d chosen whoever paid him most, good or bad. But the fact that some of what he said made me question my beliefs was important. Dekker might, indeed, be innocent of the gravest offenses – the ones that would make me want to kill him.

“You are right.” I said finally. “I did pigeonhole you.” His expression did not change as I continued. “And maybe that makes you right about other things too.” I stood up, gave him a brief nod, and left Arje Dekker alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dignon: Just hear me out. It’s called Hinckley Cold Storage. Here are just a few of the key ingredients; dynamite, pole-vaulting, laughing gas, choppers – can you see how incredible this is gonna be? Hang gliding, come on!

- Bottle Rocket

I knocked on the door and stepped back to await an answer. Nothing. I rapped a little more firmly. Still nothing. It was two o’clock on a sunny afternoon. I decided to wait it out on the swing on the porch.

A few neighbors gave me odd glances as they came and went, but no one said anything. It was a hot day, but I sat in the shade and there was a slight breeze. My quarry would be home soon enough. And then I would have the answers I needed to send me back to my RV. I might even be able to hook up with a few county fairs before State Fair season. The thought of that made me smile.

“Cy?” Ronnie seemed shocked as she came up the sidewalk. She looked around furtively. “What are you doing here?”

I rose from my seat and said nothing as she approached. I didn’t owe her anything more than what I had in my hands. I’d fulfilled my promise. That was all that was important.

What I’d underestimated was the effect seeing her again would have on me. My stomach shrank and my heart skipped several beats, no matter how calm I tried to appear. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.

The sun illuminated her pale, blonde hair. The pale skin that had made me shiver in Mongolia was replaced by a bronzed glow. It took everything I had not to scoop her up and carry her up to her bed. Until I remembered that it wasn’t just her bed, but Drew’s as well. The lust was instantly replaced with anger. Anger was good. I could handle anger.

“Don’t worry,” I said as nonchalantly as I could (which was considerably less nonchalantly than I’d hoped). “I just had to drop something off.”

She looked around. “Did you talk to Drew?”

“Again, don’t worry. I have nothing to tell him. What happened in Mongolia stays in Mongolia.” She started to speak, but I didn’t want to hear it. “Besides, I’m just fulfilling my promise to you.” I handed her the envelope I had brought with me and turned and walked away.

“You are an arrogant idiot,” she shouted after me, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of turning around. Mostly because she was right about the idiot part. I didn’t need anyone to remind me of that.

“Quit running away from your problems and talk to me, dammit!” Ronnie shouted.

I turned and stormed back to her. “You are not my problem. I am my problem. The fact that I fell in love with you on the steppes of Mongolia is my problem. But you don’t love me. You told me that last time I was here.”

“I never said I didn’t love you.” She said quietly.

“You said you loved Drew. That was enough.” I left out the other complications, mainly that she would never fit into my world and her mere existence would constantly remind me of my faults. I could never tell her that.

“Why do you want to walk away?” She asked.

“I don’t want to. I don’t like walking away. I just feel that this is what is best for both of us.” What is best for me. “I want you, and I can’t have you.”

“What…what does that mean?” Ronnie’s voice quavered, cutting me to the quick.

“Trust me, Ronnie. Pigeonholing me is just the tip of the iceberg. You don’t want to know about what’s beneath the water.” Oooh. That was good. A Titanic reference. Was that the best I could do?

“You are saying I don’t want to know who you really are?”

I shook my head. “I’m saying I don’t want you to know who I really am.” With that, I turned and headed for the car.

Goodbye, Veronica Gale. And that would be the last time I would ever let my heart get in the way of my dignity.

I was mildly surprised as I drove away that she didn’t run after me. What did I expect? That she’d throw herself at my feet and beg my forgiveness? That clearly wasn’t going to happen. I must admit I did check the rearview mirror. She looked pissed. Her arms were folded over her chest and her face was red. That was a little bit satisfying.

Within twenty-four hours, I was back in my motor home, driving aimlessly around the state of Ohio. Why? I don’t know. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Sartre mellowed somewhat after her international adventures. I took in a movie now and then and had dinner wherever I stopped for the night. I was getting my groove back by burying the memories of betrayal.

Ronnie didn’t e-mail me. Not that I expected her to after what I’d dropped off. I’m sure she was not happy to find a complete file on the wrongdoings of one Senator William Anderson. Oh yes, the sexual liaisons were just a small part of what that man had done wrong. I gave her a two-inch-thick file folder detailing some pretty shady money laundering schemes involving the French government and several accounts of bribery in a “pay to play” scam he was running. I was pretty sure she hated me now.

I didn’t feel the need to give her too much information. I wanted an I told you so moment but didn’t want to crush her completely. Oh, and I also looked up Drew. It wasn’t hard to find out who he was. Not that I would do anything with the information, that is.

Turned out Drew was Drew Connery, a Rhodes Scholar and former campaign manager for the Johnson County Democrats. He ran a website on the conspiracy theories behind Senator Anderson’s death. Well great. I hope she shared the information I gave her with him. Let them both stew in their sullenness.

Okay, so I entertained a few fantasies of smashing his face in, strapping him to a space shuttle or feeding him to a pool full of piranha. But I think there’s something to be said for not acting on that.

I went back to Santa Muerta to make sure Dekker was alright. The Council hadn’t killed him. Without consulting anyone, I took him with me off the island. It was a pretty drastic act on my part. But until I could sort things out, I wasn’t quite ready to kill him. And if I didn’t, the Council would.

“Why am I here?” Dekker asked as he sat in my favorite chair drinking my favorite scotch.

“Because I don’t want to kill you.” I said as I chopped up a salad for Sartre.

“And why don’t you want to kill me?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Dekker chuckled at that. No doubt he found this whole scenario amusing. I’d rigged up an ankle and wrist collar system loosely based on the invisible fencing idea for dogs. If he tried to lunge, kick or leave, he’d be shocked senseless.

“Nice place you got here.” He continued. “Like a mobile command base.”

I nodded. “You should see my summer home. It’s a Volkswagen micro bus.”

My guest laughed at that. That was odd – thinking of him as my guest instead of my Vic. It was only a matter of time before the Council caught on to the fact I hadn’t cleared my assignment.

Interestingly enough, just as I thought this, my cell phone rang.

“This is Coney,” I answered, hoping it was just my dad calling with the football scores. I didn’t really follow the game but he didn’t need to know that.

“Coney? It’s your Aunt Carolina. “Where is Dekker?”.”

“What? You mean he’s missing?”

“I’ve sent you something.” She hung up before I could respond. Within seconds, a UPS courier knocked on my door.

“Dude, you are hard to find,” I pimply kid said as I signed the release for the package.

“Apparently not.” I replied as I shut the door in his face. Sartre mistook the sound for the fridge door and began wheeking. I tossed her some spinach and sat down to open the envelope I’d been sent.

Son-of-a-bitch.

If I were to look at things philosophically, I would have to say that I am not a paranoid person. I knew the Council watched us to an extent, but I didn’t think they knew everything about us.   At least, I didn’t before I opened that damned envelope.

There were a lot of things going through my mind as I drove through the night to Iowa. I injected Dekker with a sleeping agent. He let me. Maybe he was tired of all this too. Once the caffeine kicked into overdrive, even stranger thoughts took over. I toyed with the idea of the existence of God. Something larger than me seemed to be at work here. That was the only way to explain how I got a summons from the Council asking me to return to Santa Muerta with both Dekker, and one Veronica Gale.

Oh sure, it might have been a coincidence. I’d feel a whole lot better if that were the case.  It would be so convenient to believe that. But this all seemed too arranged. After five hours of trying to figure out how it all happened, I gave up and pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot in the Quad Cities to get some sleep.

I reread the file. There was no doubting its intent. I was being ordered to bring these two people before the Council. They had a lot of questions. And it was my guess they wouldn’t let either Ronnie or Arje live through the day. That wasn’t like the Council. Well, it was exactly like the old Council. But our folks were in charge now and they were different. Things weren’t as clear-cut. There was such a thing as wiggle-room.

I probably don’t need to mention that I didn’t sleep well. I thought about leaving Dekker here and just going myself to the island. I sure as hell didn’t want to involve Ronnie in any of this. But if I left them here, it could be a trap and someone else from the family might grab them or worse. What a mess. Freud didn’t have dilemmas like this.

As I downed my coffee the next morning, I realized something. I was in Carolina Bombay’s hometown. I could stop by and see her and ask her about my orders.   Yes. That would work. Aunt Carolina would have to give me something to work with. Mainly because I wouldn’t leave her house until she did.

I called first because I’m not rude. Carolina sounded thrilled that I was in town. By the time I got to her house, my cousins Gin and Dak had joined her for a little family reunion. In spite of the fact that this was business, I was happy to see them.

“Coney!” Gin squealed as she hugged me. Dak grinned from behind her, holding his son’s hand.

“Hey, cuz. Great to see you two.” And I meant it.

Carolina emerged from the dining room carrying a tiny, redheaded infant. She introduced the baby as Dak and Leonie’s daughter, Sofia.

“You guys sure are settling down,” I observed. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined Dak married with kids.

“So when will this happen to you?” Gin asked.

I winced. A month or so ago, I would’ve thought it possible. Now it seemed like I would never start a family. With a twinge of surprise, I found myself feeling sad about that.

I took the baby from my aunt and cradled her in my arms. “I don’t think so.” Sofia cooed and promptly fell asleep. She smelled like talcum powder, and I realized I was sniffing her head.

“Yeah, right.” Dak laughed.

I tried to smile. I really did. But something about holding that baby made me feel sick inside. I cursed the Bombay Family  for taking this chance away from me. Carolina brought out some wine and cheese, then took the baby back. I watched her expression of unadulterated bliss.

“I know Georgia would be a wonderful grandmother,” Carolina said, looking directly at me.

“I think you’re right,” I said. But that was impossible. First of all, my idiot brother Richie had to go and get himself killed – which was okay because I’m pretty sure any spawn he had would’ve born the mark 666. And secondly, well, unless I got a surrogate, there wasn’t much hope for my procreating.

“What brings you to the area?” Gin asked as her daughter, Romi, burst in the room only long enough to grab her cousin Louis and run off.

“An assignment. Your mom called. I thought I’d get some details.”

I watched as everyone looked at one another. While it wasn’t unheard of for Bombays to talk over their assignments it was still pretty rare.

“Should we leave?” Dak started to rise to his feet.

I waved him back down. “No. Stay. It doesn’t matter to me.”

In fact, the only person it would matter to was Carolina. She was a member of the Council. If it was top-secret, she’d let us know.

My aunt seemed to think about this for a moment. “No, it’s okay. What did you want to know?”

“Why do you want me to bring these two people back to Santa Muerta?”

“What two people?” Gin asked. ”

“My girlfriend and my former Vic.” There was a stunned hush. I don’t know if that was because they were surprised I had a girlfriend or the fact that any Vic was considered ‘former’ and not ‘late.’

She nodded. “You didn’t clear your assignment. You brought Vic to the island, then took him off…alive. We want to know why.”

“And the reason I am supposed to bring Veronica Gale into all of this?”

“We think she knows too much.” Carolina said slowly. She knew she had to be careful. Both Gin and Dak had involved their mates in the Family and almost had to kill them.

“I was careful.” I said, hoping that would be enough.

“We have to make sure.” My aunt said evenly.

“I can’t let you kill her. I won’t allow it. If we leave her alone, she will never know anything.”

Carolina shook her head. “You know the rules, Coney. Unless you marry her and tell her everything, she is dangerous to the family.”

“That’s not going to happen, Aunt Carolina.” I felt a stab of pain. I wanted to marry Ronnie. But there were too many complications.

“What?” Gin shouted. “That’s so wrong!”

“What are you complaining about?” Dak asked her. “You’re retired, remember?”

His sister shot him a look that would’ve eaten paint off a wall. “That doesn’t matter. I still think it’s unfair.”

Carolina spoke up. “This is the wrong business for fairness, Gin.”

“I don’t like it either,” Dak said. I was thinking I might not have to say anything at all. “The Council once put a hit on my wife.”

His mother nodded. “I can see that. However, sometimes there are gray areas when it comes to a job.  It’s not easy to come up with reasons all the time. You will just have to trust that the Council knows what it’s doing.”

That stopped us all short. Trust wasn’t exactly a typical family trait with the Bombays. In fact, it was usually quite the opposite.

“Well I think that’s bullshit.” Gin spat.

Carolina snapped, “You will not swear around Sofia!” She even covered the sleeping infant’s ears.

“It is bullshit, Mom.” Dak’s temper was rising. “I think there should be a family meeting about this.”

“We’ve never had a family meeting to decide how the Council does things. Not in four thousand years,” Carolina said calmly. “The business is evolving.”

“And what if we refuse?” Gin asked. Clearly she forgot that she was the only Bombay ever given retirement. But I admired the fact that she was sticking up for the rest of us.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Carolina snapped.

Dak stood up and pointed at his mother. “This is wrong. And you know it.”

“What do you think, Coney?” Gin asked.

“I think I’m tired of this whole mess.”

Dak frowned. “What do you mean?”

I stood up. “I’m sick of the fact we can’t get involved with people without the scrutiny of the Council wanting to know everything.”

“And what about your Vic, Coney?” Carolina asked calmly. “Why didn’t you clear your assignment?”

It was a good question. A fair one. “I just didn’t feel like it.”

Gin and Dak looked from me to their mother, who stared open-mouthed at me.

“Coney, you know the rules.” Carolina said steadily. “You have no choice. We have a client who paid us to have Vic killed. You don’t get to say no.”

I shrugged. “Well, this time, I did.” I understood this was earth-shattering. Dekker wasn’t a saint. He was a bad guy. But there was more to it than that. And maybe after four thousand years, it was time to say enough.

“Do not put us in this position.” Carolina pleaded. “I don’t want to sign your death warrant. I don’t want to do that to your mother. She’s already lost Richie.”

“Do what you must.” I said, wondering if she would kill me right then and there.

“Mom?” Gin said weakly as her brother sat down and dropped his face into his hands. “Mom, you can’t take Coney out. He must have a good reason for not killing his Vic.”

“You aren’t going to do that, right?” Gin repeated. I knew what was going through her mind. It was the same thing Dak and I were thinking. This would either be the end of the Bombay Family Business or the end of me. The shock crackled in the atmosphere that hung around us like lead weights.

Romi shouted from the yard and Louis came running in. “Grandma! Romi got a splinter in her elbow!” He tugged on his grandmother’s sleeve and she passed the baby to Dak and left. Louis would probably get an extra helping of dessert tonight.

“Oh my god,” Dak said. “It’s you or the business.

“It is about time. I can’t stand it that you are all still working.” Gin added. “Coney, are you really going to stand up to the Council?”

“Yes. I’m through.”

Dak spoke up. “You know, our generation of the family has really been through the shit. And I’m willing to go to bat for you, Coney.”

“I thought we’d gotten rid of the bad Council,” said Gin, referring to a coup that forced our grandparents into early retirement.

“Why would Mom behave just like her mother?” Dak said.

My mum was on the Council too. Which meant that she knew about this and didn’t tell me. Another wave of shock engulfed me. How could this have happened? And what in the hell were we going to do about it?

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dubanich: “Do you know anything about airplane design?”

Nate: “Yeah, I could give it a shot. You know, you get me a pencil and one of those little rulers.”

- Leverage

Dak, Gin and I wasted no time. We dropped the kids off with Diego and Leonie and locked Dekker in Gin’s basement.  After we picked up our other cousins Liv and Paris and strategically retreated to my latest Wal-Mart parking lot home.  We needed to talk through this latest family development. But in true Bombay form, none of us felt safe discussing it where we might be overheard.

“I’m so sick of this family,” Liv said as she held Sartre in her arms.

“What are we going to do about it?” asked Paris. It was a good question. Now that we knew this was happening, something had to be done. The five of us agreed we didn’t want to do this anymore.

“Thank god you got this assignment.” Gin flipped through the file. “I would’ve taken him out without talking to him.”

Dak nodded. “All my files have had a laundry list of bad deeds that would make Saddam Hussein blush.”

“So why now?” Paris asked. We all turned to stare at him. “Why didn’t we fight this a long time ago?”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know if you guys should be involved. This is my problem.”

“It’s time. I think I speak for all of us when I say we want retirement.”  Liv said.

“I’m tired of the fact that it’s taken for granted you can’t trust anyone in the Bombay Family,” Dak replied. He looked tired. Shock will do that to you.

“I’ve always trusted you guys,” Gin said slowly.

“I don’t want to be responsible for killing off an entire generation of Bombays. I’ll do it alone.” Paris jumped to his feet and started pacing – no easy feat considering there were five people crowded into my RV. “Well we have to do something. I’m tired of it too.”

Liv reached out and patted her brother on the arm. There was something about that gesture that soothed me. And I realized that Gin was right. I’d always trusted my cousins – the Bombays of my generation. This was a new thing in the family. As far as I knew, that kind of camaraderie had always been discouraged before.

“I’m not going to kill Dekker ,” I declared. “In fact, I’m not going to kill anyone anymore.”

My cousins turned to stare at me. Was the solution really this simple?

“Okay…” Paris spoke up. He was always the more practical and cautious of us. “But how are we going to do that without getting us all killed?”

“Good question,” I said. “We will have to work together.” That sounded good. How would we do it?

“Coney?” Gin asked. “What made you question this particular hit?”

Dak looked at her in that brotherly way implying she was nuts. “I’d like to think that any one of us would have eventually done that.”

She shook her head. “Not necessarily. I mean, with all the training that’s been forced on us throughout our lives, we’ve been ingrained not to question anything.”

We all thought about this for a moment. No one wanted to admit it, but she had a point.

“Something about this hit stood out.” Gin persisted in a way that made me itch metaphorically. “What was it?”

I knew the answer. I wish I didn’t, but I did. Veronica made me question the hit. And while I would like to believe I was smart enough to think critically regarding assignments, the truth was we were trained to avoid dealing with the truth when it was inconvenient. Bombays were so brainwashed we might let something like this go by once. Hell, maybe even twice before asking about it.

“I’ve gotten involved with someone who made me realize you can’t judge someone by their file.” I said slowly, unsure how much I should reveal.

My cousins prompted me silently with their stares. There was no easy way out of this. So I spilled my guts. I told them everything.  About how this woman made me question everything around me. And how Dekker had become my father confessor. And most of all, how I was just sick and tired of the violence and death that surrounded us.

I went into more detail about Ronnie. There was something very intimate about relating the story of my relationship to my cousins. I guess I’d gone it alone so long I didn’t think I’d ever need someone to talk to. Gin, Dak, Liv and Paris listened patiently as I started with meeting Veronica in Nebraska to our angst-filled meeting when I dropped of the envelope containing Senator Anderson’s sins. I guess I gave them a grateful distraction from our immediate problem. Once I finished, Gin pulled out her cell phone and ordered pizza while Dak ran across the parking lot to score a case of beer.

“Wow,” Liv said softly. The look in her eyes told me she was impressed.

“And you didn’t want to kill him?” Dak asked. Gin punched him in the arm. “Not even a little bit?”

I laughed and took a swig of beer. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I did a little bit.”

Paris stared into space, chewing thoughtfully. “There were rumors of murder after Anderson’s death.” He shrugged. “I knew he was a prick so I never thought anything about it.”

“Well you can’t serve Veronica up to the Council.” Dak said. “That’s a bit of a deal breaker.”

Gin punched him again. “And what about this Drew thing? Why didn’t you give her a chance to explain? Maybe once she found you, she didn’t want him anymore.”

Liv nodded.  “You should have told her how you felt, Coney. Maybe that would’ve changed things.”

Paris leaped to my defense. Good man. “She totally played him! This Ronnie never told Coney she was already in a relationship.”

“Love is a little more complicated than that, little brother,” Liv said. “You should never assume anything.”

Gin nodded. “Coney can’t do this. . . And we can’t continue on like this...”

“But you’re retired!” Dak cried out again. “This doesn’t even affect you!”

Gin shook her head. “As far as you guys are concerned, this does affect me.”

“Okay,” Liv said. “So let’s do it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

John Smith (at the anniversary dinner in a fine restaurant):  So what do we do, Jane? Shoot it out here? Hope for the best?

Jane Smith:  Well, that would be bad because they would probably ask me to leave once you are dead.

- Mr. & Mrs. Smith

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I said to Sartre as I drove the remaining sixty miles to Iowa City. The guinea pig looked up at me from the passenger seat as if to say she didn’t think she should be riding without a seatbelt.

My cousins and I had agreed on this course of action the night before, but we’d had a lot of beer and may not have been thinking clearly. What we were about to do flew in the face of the Bombay Family. We were confident that Missi would be on board with it, but there were five other cousins we hadn’t consulted. Were we making a mistake?

Sartre wheeked, implying that I was driving too fast. Maybe I should have put her back in her cage.

The thought of seeing Ronnie again twisted my intestines in a way I did not find very comfortable. Seeing Drew again was a necessary evil. Seeing them together would probably melt my eyes. But if I left them here and went off to confront the Council, they might just get picked up anyway. The safest place for Ronnie was with me. Unfortunately, they could use Drew to get to her. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, both had to come with me.

I pulled off of interstate I-80 and coasted into the very edge of the city. Stopping at the first car rental agency I found, I traded my RV for a black Kia minivan. What?  Obviously I’m beyond the whole image thing or I wouldn’t be driving a motor home in the first place and I’d have a Rottweiler instead of a guinea pig in the second.

It only took fifteen minutes before I pulled up in front of Ronnie’s house. This would have to be done very carefully. Carolina would have had time to alert the rest of the Council to do…what? I had no idea but I knew better than to underestimate them. Many a Bombay has been quite surprised to find their mother burst through the door to gun them down. It has been known to happen.

This plan had me torn up inside. I wanted to help Ronnie because…well, because I loved her. I also did not want to help Ronnie because she loved someone else. Oh the philosophical questions.

Looking both ways, I raced up to the house and knocked on the door.

Veronica answered, “Cy? What the hell is going on?”

I pushed past her into the house. “Where’s Drew? We’ve got to get going.” I worked my way through the rooms while she followed.

“Stop! You can’t just barge in here and make demands like that!” She grabbed me by the shoulder but I shrugged her off. “Cy! Dammit! Listen to me!”

I spun around to face her. “Ronnie. You and Drew are in danger. I need to get you out of here right now.”

She folded her arms over her chest in a move I’d seen so many times before. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Drew and I be in danger?”

“You met the kind of people I deal with back in Ulaanbaatar. I’d consider trusting me if I were you.” Yes. Trust me. Not like I can trust you, Ronnie. But you should trust me.

She went pale and I could see the name Arje Dekker on her lips. For a moment I thought I saw an unasked question in her eyes. She wondered what I did with him. Something stopped her from asking.

“Drew?” she called. “Drew! We have to run an errand!”

Drew came down the stairs wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and deck shoes. His physique was flawless. The boyish way he smiled at me made me feel sick. I said nothing as he pulled on a t-shirt and followed us out to the van.

“Sartre!” Ronnie squealed as she scooped up the pig and buried her face in its fur. Sartre purred with glee. I drove the car as the woman I loved showed the man she loved MY guinea pig.

“Where are we going?” Drew finally asked. He must have been incredibly trusting. Why on earth would he get into a car with a man he didn’t know without asking before we left the house?

“Yes, Cy.” Ronnie narrowed her eyes at me. “Where are we going?”

I could see Drew frowning in the rearview mirror.

“You mean you don’t know?” he asked her.

Veronica looked at him, then me. She chewed her lip. In spite of myself I thought that was pretty damn adorable.

“Ronnie?” Drew asked. What kind of moron was he? You don’t get into a vehicle with someone you don’t know to go to an unknown location!

Veronica decided to answer him. “Remember when I told you about that guy who jumped me in Mongolia?”

“Is he after you?” Drew asked with surprise. Of course he’d be shocked. This was a man of education. In his world, men didn’t beat each other up. They used words. And I used to be one of these bozos.

“No.” I answered. “It’s someone else.” I glanced at Ronnie to check her reaction. Fear played across her features. She must have thought I’d kill him eventually. Of course she couldn’t possibly know that I kept him alive for relationship advice and then refused to kill him.

“Then where are we going?” Drew was starting to grow a pair now. I wanted to hate him. I really did. But this wasn’t his fault.

“Someone else is after you. We are going to the airport to board a private plane there.”

Veronica and Drew simultaneously shouted, “Who?”

I said nothing because there was nothing more to say.

Ronnie grew angry. “Who is after us?”

“No one is after you…yet,” I said finally.

“But you said…” she started.

“I said nothing specific. . .”

She looked at me, then glanced back at Drew, who now leveled his gaze on me. Well, really on the back of my head.

“It’s just safer if you come with me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“What? Why? Who would threaten our safety?”

We pulled up at the airport. It only took a moment to sidestep security and make our way to the hangar where the Bombay jet waited for us. As we boarded, I introduced Veronica and Drew to Gin, Dak, Liv and Paris.

My cousins started talking to Drew as I made my way toward the back of the plane.

“That’s it, Cy!” Ronnie whispered urgently. “You are going to tell me what’s going on and you are going to tell me now!”

I turned to face her. “Did you tell Drew about me? Did you tell him what happened in Mongolia?”

She looked taken aback. “What are you talking about? And why is this all about you? You’re the one who showed up demanding we go with you! Tell me right now who is after Drew and why!”

The look in her eyes stopped me short. She still had control over my emotions. And as much as I fought it, there was no denying that I was in love with her.

“Apparently, I am the one who is a danger to you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Marv:  I check the list. Rubber tubing, gas, saw, gloves, cuffs, razor wire, hatchet, Gladys, and my mitts.

- Sin City

“What…what did you say?” Veronica was shaken now. Her lip trembled and immediately I wanted to take all the things I’d said back.

“Look.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Just go and sit down. I have a few phone calls to make.”

“Cy! I want to…” she started, but I didn’t let her finish.

“Dammit Ronnie! Just go up front! I’ll join you after I take care of something!” I’d never shouted at her before. I really rarely shouted at anyone. It’s not my way. Anger wasn’t my thing. So how did this woman inspire so much of it in me?

I didn’t wait to see if she left before ducking into the back room. Using Missi’s cell phone, I called the one person who could help us once we landed.

When I joined the group, there was enough tension in the air to choke a goat. A large goat with an enormous trachea. Ronnie sat alone in one of the seats, staring sullenly out the window. Drew was making banal conversation with Paris…something about research methods. Gin and Liv were looking at me meaningfully.   Dak inclined his head toward Ronnie.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I took the seat next to her. Ronnie glared at me before turned her attention back to the window.

“I shouldn’t have busted into your house and frightened you like that.”

“Did you kill Dekker?” She asked the one question I wasn’t expecting.

“No.” I wasn’t lying about that. Granted, I could’ve told her he was still alive, but I thought the less she knew the better.

She turned her attention back to the window. I said nothing. Minutes passed. An hour passed. I was glad she didn’t speak. Mainly because I didn’t want to answer.

“How dare you,” she growled finally once we were flying over Mexico.

“Oh. You are talking to me.”

“You are so arrogant! Where do you get off treating people like that?”

“Well, I…”

“You think you have it all figured out, don’t you?” She was just warming up. “What makes you think you know me so well?”

“Clearly I didn’t know you at all,” I said softly.

She turned to face me. “And what in the hell do you mean by that?”

“You lied to me. You played me for a fool. And I fell in love with you,” I said simply, because there was no other way to say it.

Her face softened. “You, you fell in love with me?”

“Well,” I said. “Don’t let it go to your head. Now that I know what you really are.”

And then her face hardened. The angles were so sharp and fierce you could open a bottle on them. “And what am I really?”

“A con artist.”

“What?” I was pretty sure her shriek could be heard on the ground.

“Like I said earlier. You played me.  And you did such a good job I fell for it. Way to go.”

“How did I play you? What are you talking about?”

I was getting tired of this wordplay. My head hurt and I was concerned that my upcoming actions would have irrevocable consequences. Arguing with Ronnie would only dull my wits and I needed them.

“You led me to believe you were single…unattached. You led me to believe you were innocent and naïve. Hell, you even told me you lived in an apartment when you really had a huge house!”

Veronica opened her mouth. Then she closed it. She opened it again, but something stopped the words from coming out. Clearly she needed time to construct an argument now that she was busted. I got up and moved to sit with my cousins. We had some work to do.

“I can’t believe we are doing this!” Liv whispered. “It’s so exciting!”

Gin smiled and patted her best friend’s hand. “Just remember to stick to the plan. If we all agree then there’s nothing they can do.”

Dak spoke up, “I love you.”

His sister turned to him. “What?”

Dak continued. “It’s true. You don’t even need to be here. And yet you are. Way to go, sis.”

Paris leaned in. “Are you sure we should land on the island? Maybe we should land in Ecuador and get a speed boat or something?”

I shook my head. “No good. We have to make a statement. You all called your parents, right?”

Liv nodded. “I read Dad the riot act first. I want him to know what he’s up against.”

“We are taking a huge risk here,” Paris replied.

I looked at my watch. “Let’s hope we’re right. Let’s hope this works.”

As if in answer to my words, the plane dropped in altitude. Within minutes we’d be arriving on the tarmac at Santa Muerta. And while I was hoping we’d survive the day, there was no way of knowing for sure.

“Cy.” Veronica laid her hand on my arm as I prepared to exit the plane. “I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, Ronnie.” And I meant it. I needed to keep my focus sharp.

“Okay. But at least let me thank you.”

This brought me up short and I stopped in my tracks. “For what?”

“You are thinking of our best interest.” She looked back at Drew. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Believe me, Ronnie. What I am about to do will help me as much as it helps you.” Provided we didn’t die horrible deaths at the hands of our parents, that is.

“When you get back, I really need to talk to you.”

I really didn’t want to hear it. Sorry, Cy. But I love him. Even if it wasn’t that, it would be something equally as hurtful. Maybe dying at the hands of my mother would be less painful.

“Fine,” I answered, even though I didn’t mean it. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

I had given Ronnie and Drew strict instructions not to leave the plane. It was for their own good. Granted, the Council had no idea they were here and why would they? It was the safest place for them to hide – right out in the middle of the battlefield.

The five of us Bombays made our way to the headquarters where a weird family showdown was about to take place. A sort of bloodless intervention, so to speak. Only this would lead to us not killing anymore instead of drinking or doing drugs. It was kind of poetic once you thought about it.

We found the Council in the conference room, waiting for us. Mum was there with her brother, York. On her left were her cousins, Carolina and Pete. To their right were her other cousins, Cali, Missi’s mom and her brother Montgomery  For some reason the European branch was not represented as their cousins Burma and Asia were missing. I didn’t mind having fewer dangerous Council members to deal with. The Europeans were pretty laid back. If we could make this happen, they would go along with it.

“Sit down, kids.” Mum motioned to the opposite side of the table. We took our seats opposite our parents. This was going to be a little awkward.

“It has come to our attention,” Uncle York began, “that you don’t approve of our policies?” He said it as though we were naughty employees in the board room. Hell, he was even wearing a suit.

This was unexpected politeness. With many families there’s at least shouting and expletives…maybe a hurled beer bottle. In our family at this point the pistols usually came out. Mexican standoffs were de rigueur. We were trained at the age of eight on how to deal with that situation.

“That’s right,” Gin said loudly.

Carolina shook her head. “Gin, you shouldn’t even be here. You’re retired.”

Gin slammed her hand down on the table. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m really getting pissed off about that!”

“She really is,” Dak said in a stage whisper to his mother. “You should’ve heard her on the plane.”

Carolina turned to me. “Coney, are you refusing to accept your assignment?”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

Mum clapped her hands together. “You have to kill Dekker. You have to bring Veronica Gale here.”

I shook my head. “No.”

My mother looked from her left to her right. “We have a contract to honor.   And we need to know more about Gale and her friend,” she looked at the folder in front of her, “this Drew Connery. He could be a terrorist.”

“No. Being a Rhodes Scholar does not qualify him as a terrorist. The Republicans tried that with Clinton and it didn’t stick. Both Veronica and Drew are innocent of what happens here..”

Uncle York spoke up, “Look, I don’t care about the other two, but we have a contract for Dekker’s head. We can’t ignore that.”

Cali agreed. “The Bombays have given out assignments to be accepted without question for four millennia. Why should you get to question things?”

“Why not?” Came a voice over the PA. Cali cringed as the voice of her daughter bellowed from the speakers overhead. “For Christ's sake, Mom! You sent me on a damned reality show where I almost killed the wrong guy just so you could set me up with a man!” Missi appeared in the doorway and walked toward us. There she was, my ace in the hole. And I knew her recent experience give the Council reason to rethink this.

“And you did find a man!” Cali seemed surprised her daughter wouldn’t get the logic. “You found Lex! Because of us!”

Missi stopped and placed her hands on her hips. “This is idiotic. You are all manipulating us into doing whatever you want! You’re using these assignments to run our lives!”

Our parents looked at each other. Did they get it?

“The truth is,” I said. “We aren’t going to work for the family business anymore.” I gave them a moment to let it sink in. By the looks on their faces, I was pretty sure they hadn’t seen that coming.

“And we are conducting an audit to review our finances,” Paris added.

“And we never, ever want to know if we have killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.” Liv’s voice trembled with rage.

The Council was stunned. They had no idea we would demand the disbanding of the family industry. In the past, the old guard would have shot us. Would they do that?

“You can’t just quit!” York sputtered. Somehow I took his words to mean that we couldn’t quit because he was never able to.

Paris sputtered, “This isn’t a fraternity! You can’t just do things because they were done to you.”

“Don’t you see?” Dak said calmly. “The time for things like this is over. The Dark Ages ended centuries ago. This is civilization. We can’t keep killing people.”

Liv shouted. “And we sure as hell aren’t going to kill anyone just because you think we should!”

“We won’t allow it,” Cali said with steel in her voice.

There it was. The threat.

“Are you going to kill your own children?” Gin shouted. “We represent the majority of our generation. You’ll be wiping us out.”

“And you’ll have to raise our kids!” Dak threw in somewhat unhelpfully. From what I’d heard about Carolina Bombay’s obsession with babies, I thought that was more of a strike against us.

Missi joined us at the table but didn’t sit down. “You will have to kill us. Because we are never going to kill anyone for you again.”

I fist-bumped her. It wasn’t something I’d ever done, and likely wasn’t something I’d ever do again, but I did it anyway.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Failure to appear at meetings at designated times will result in forfeiture of protection…protection you will definitely need.”

- Agent Sands (in Marlon Brandon voice), Once Upon A Time in Mexico

If you are going to make an ultimatum, you have to be ready to back it up. Once you say with absolute certainty that you will not do something, there is no going back. The Bombays have followed this flawed logic with a religious zeal that would have made Hitler envious. Family members who refused to participate in the business were “liquidated” immediately – usually by another family member.

It’s a delicate and unstable way to approach life, but that was our culture. Some cultures wrestled their differences. Others used a game of chess or a “dance off.” We usually made each other bleed to death. Every family is different.

I was not an only child. But my brother was such a supreme asshole that I felt like one. Dak and Paris had their sisters. They were lucky. And I was lucky that they included me in that group. And it helped make it that much harder for the Council to disagree with us if they had to wipe out all their children. That was a plus for us.

So we glared at each other over a conference table for at least ten minutes, each side hoping the other would suddenly jump up and laugh and yell, “just kidding!” But that wasn’t going to happen. And we’d use shrapnel instead of confetti.

We’d made a very, dangerous move here. And we weren’t even armed. Well, Missi was. She had a button that could electrocute the Council. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need to use it.

While we sat there in silence, each side hoping their glare was dramatic enough to influence the others, all I could think of was Ronnie. I had it bad. It sucked that she loved Drew. But even if I died, she’d live – I tipped the pilot a lot to take them back home if we didn’t return. I hoped she’d take care of Sartre. I loved that little rodent. Considering that guinea pigs only live about four years, I thought it was ironic that she might actually outlive me.

Still nothing was coming from the Council side of the table. I expected our parents to scream, shout, even cry to get us to change our minds. I didn’t expect what happened next.

“What the hell.” Pete spoke up in his gravelly voice. “I’ve been wanting to retire for years.”

“It’s not like we need the money…” Montgomery ventured timidly.

The others looked at each other, then turned to us and nodded simultaneously.

“Right.” York said. “Tradition is so overrated.”

We stared at them as if at some point they were all going to burst into flame. That would have surprised us less that the words that came out of their mouths.

“You’re serious?” Gin squeaked.

Her mother nodded. “Why not? I want to spend more time with my grandchildren, not stuck on this island handing out death sentences.”

The others seemed to agree. Was this for real? How did that happen? We weren’t even that persuasive.

Dak eyed them suspiciously. “You mean I can stop training Louis? And I never have to train Sofia?”

Carolina snorted. “Like I want that precious little girl to kill people! Now that doesn’t mean she won’t be taught how to fend for herself.”

We watched in awe as the Council stood up and made small talk. This really happened. Without bloodshed.  Holy shit.

My cousins hugged their respective parents, who in return hugged them back. Mum came over to me and threw her arms around my neck. After a few seconds, I held her. It was over. It was…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

And in a split second, the Bombay Council lay twitching on the floor. I knew Missi had something rigged up with the last Council where she zapped them at a crucial moment. But I’d never seen it. It was somewhat disturbing to watch our sixty-plus parents twitching like lobotomized electric eels at our feet.

“Missi!” Liv screamed. “You were only supposed to do that as a last resort!” She ran to help her father up.

Missi shrugged. “When was I ever going to get to do this now that we’re going legit? Besides, these bastards just put me through a month of unmitigated hell for a stupid reason.” She smiled innocently. “A girl’s gotta have a little fun now and then.”

It was over. Four millennia of wet work was over without so much as a whimper. How about that? I might have waxed more philosophically on it if I didn’t have a plane load of turbulence waiting for me on the tarmac.

I left the others to negotiate the terms of the dissolution of the company and made my way to the plane. And even though we had just scored a major victory without spilling so much as one drop of blood, my mood worsened with each step.

Ronnie had something to say. No doubt it was that she had chosen Drew over me. Perhaps she’d twist the knife and tell me why him. Whatever it was, this was going to be unpleasant.

I found her sitting alone on the steps of the jet. I didn’t want to talk to her. But since I’d just dragged her into another hemisphere I guess I owed her something.

“Hey.” She said.

“Come on. We can take you two home now.” I took her hand to lead her up the steps but she pulled out of my grip.

“You are so wrong about me.” She wasn’t pleading. She just wanted me to know.

I cocked my head to the side. “Am I?”

She nodded. “You never gave me a chance to explain. And I’m really pissed off about that.”

“Well the feeling’s mutual because you didn’t try to explain.” My brain hurt. I wanted to go home, sleep for a week, then think this all through.

“Okay. I guess that’s somewhat true.” Ronnie said after a moment.

“Well here’s your big chance. Go ahead. Explain it.”

For a second I thought she was going to get angry and refuse to talk.

“Drew isn’t my boyfriend.”

“What?” Not a great response, but considering the month I’d had it was a respectable one.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Right.” I’d had enough of this. If she wanted to play games I had Risk and Sorry on the plane.

“He’s gay. And he’s my cousin.” Ronnie said, a slight glimmer of victory in her eyes.

“Right. And the Victorian house is really several apartments.” Oh that nasty sarcasm.

“No, Drew was house sitting for a professor who is on sabbatical in Paraguay. My apartment is being renovated due to an asbestos problem.”

Oh. Shit.  I hated her over asbestos.

“You never gave me the chance to explain.” She concluded. “If you had, you would’ve known that.”

I didn’t say anything, so of course she decided it was a good idea to continue.

“What is it with you men anyway? All I’ve learned from being around you that no matter how well educated and worldly, you are still jealous, possessive and love to fight. You jump to conclusions at a moment’s notice and never stop to think about it.”

“Maybe you’re right.” I cut her off. It was too painful to hear that she had such a low opinion of me. Hell, I had a low opinion of myself.

“And then, after dumping me unceremoniously without so much as an explanation, you leave. And a few weeks later, you show up again with a file full of…” The words choked in her throat. “Full of ugly things I’d rather not have known, thank you.” She paused. “You came by just to hurt me even more. Just to prove you were right. And then you left, again, without allowing me to explain.”

Somehow, Veronica had managed to make herself really angry at me all over again. And I just stood there and let her.

She pushed past me and climbed aboard the jet. We didn’t speak all the way back to Cedar Rapids.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Each success only buys an admission ticket to a more difficult problem.”

- Henry Kissinger

The first thing I did was put an unconscious Dekker on the family plane. He awoke on the tarmac in Amsterdam without knowing how he got there. I left him a letter in his pocket and hoped I would never see him again.

The next few weeks were a blur. I helped my cousins dismantle the Bombay Corporation. Our other cousins seemed relieved that we had done this without them. Paris and I managed to liquidate our assets and divide them equally among the living Bombays. We kept the island and the jet. We’re not complete fools.

Missi got married to the guy she met on the reality show. I gave her a felted bag I knitted from the cashmere I got in Mongolia. For some reason, Missi and Lex spent their honeymoon in Ulaanbaatar before settling on Santa Muerta.

Life was slowly getting back to normal. Sartre grew fat as I spoiled her rotten with an extra ration of fruits and vegetables. I could tell she missed Ronnie. She actually seemed a little depressed.

I missed Ronnie. But I’d messed that woman up. Because of me, she’d eaten testicle soup, been kidnapped by a Dutch mercenary, saw her hero crucified and had a lover who treated her like a Grand Inquisitor. Maybe I was never meant to have a relationship. So why did I still believe that I could have had that with her? But what kind of relationship has areas that you can never, ever discuss? I’d lied to her about Dekker – letting her wonder what happened to him. And there was so much more about me she could never, ever know. Love can’t last in a vacuum.

Somehow I managed to get in on the last few carnivals of the season. The work was steady. Some of the bloom was off the rose. I’d be forty in a year and a half. The injuries I’d suffered on the steppes of Mongolia still haunted me. And for the first time in my life, it seemed important that I have a plan for the next forty years.

This disturbed me the most. After all, I had taken so much joy from the idea that I was completely and utterly free. You know what started to get to me first? Eating alone. No, eating alone in a trailer, night after night. Suddenly the things I loved about my life had become the things I hated about my life.

Oh sure, I toyed with the idea of settling down in some obscure university town. It wouldn’t be too hard for me to land an academic job. But the thought of that made me feel sick inside. I was straddling the line between the life I had and loved and the life I didn’t have but envied. Is that insane or what?

As if I could settle down somewhere. And there it was. Whenever that possibility crossed my mind, I thought of Veronica. And when I thought of Veronica, I wondered what she was doing. Probably thinking evil thoughts about me. She probably was afraid I would show up on her doorstep again someday and kick her puppy.

With a sigh as rusty as the metal safety bar on the Ferris wheel, I snapped the two riders into place. It was a young couple, probably in their early twenties. I gave them a smile as I pulled the lever and sent them up to the moon.

“Poor thing.” I heard as they came around the first time. I was bored or I would’ve ignored the eavesdropping.

“He’ll never amount to much.” They said on their second rotation. Were they talking about me? No. It was stupid of me to even think that. They could be referring to anyone here.

“I love you,” the woman said to the man on their third rotation and I watched as they kissed, disappearing into the stars. Just for fun, I let them ride twice as long.

“Coney!” I turned to find Chudruk standing directly behind me.

I threw my arms around him in a big bear hug. “When did you get back in the States?”

Chudruk grinned. “I came with Zerleg. He starts college this semester!”

“That’s great! He went to Yale, right?” I ignored the fact that the ferris wheel was still turning. I didn’t hear anything anymore as the lovers went by.

“No. He decided on Iowa. Got a poetry scholarship.”

I wasn’t upset. Zerleg should go to the school he wants to. I was just happy he got away from home to do what he loved.

We chatted for a while. Yalta was coaching Zolban for next year’s competition. Sansar-Huu and Odgerel had moved their family into town for the winter. It was comforting. Like mail from home.

Funny. I’d never thought of anyplace as home before. The mere sensation of thinking of Mongolia as home was electric. Man, I had it bad. The events of the summer meant that life was never going to be the same.

“So what happened to Ronnie?” Chudruk asked.

“Oh. We kind of went our separate ways.”

Chud smiled. “Zerleg and I stopped to see her. She’s going to help him get acclimated.”

That got my attention. “Really? How is she?”

“She said you are a dick.”

“Great.” My enthusiasm waned a bit. So she still hated me. At least I inspired passion in her for something. Granted, it wasn’t what I’d hoped, but at least it was something.

I had a break coming up, so we continued our conversation in the beer tent.

“How did you find me?” I said as I cracked open a bottle.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. I knew your patterns. I think you’ve ended every season at this fair.”

“So are you coming back to work?” I asked him.

Chudruk shook his head. “No. I’m too old for this kind of crap.”

A stab of pain in my shoulder made me think the same thing. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh,” he said as he peeled the label off his bottle. “I’ve got a girlfriend in Paris. She’s a surgeon. I figured we’d settle down. Have a couple of kids.”

“Seriously? When did you get a French doctor girlfriend?” Seriously! When did that happen?

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” Chud said with a wink. “You really shouldn’t compartmentalize people. It’s demeaning.”

I stared at my friend and his sudden command of the English language.

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

He shook his head. “No. You only saw what you wanted to see and didn’t ask any more than that.”

The news hit me like a one-ton weight. That’s what Ronnie had said. Was I really like that?

I spent the evening in my trailer, completely freaked out. Oh my god. I’d been doing what I accused others of doing. I was a hypocrite, an asshole and possibly a pseudo intellectual. What was wrong with me?

“Sartre,” I said as I strapped the seat belt over her cage at midnight. “This isn’t going to work out.”

The pig wheeked her disapproval as I drove east. Somehow I was starting to think that she was smarter than me. And I didn’t mind a bit.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“Politics are very much like war. We may even have to use poison gas at times.”

- Winston Churchill

The great thing about the way I lived my life, was that I could walk away any time I wanted to. Anytime things got inconvenient or uncomfortable, I could bolt. I told myself that was exactly what I wanted.  My friends and family seemed to admire that about me.

But the truth was I became the world’s biggest loser. While they admired me, my family lived differently. And I never figured that out. Until now. What did I learn? That with all my prestigious degrees and vast worldwide travel, that I really knew nothing at all.

Okay, I did know something. I knew that I was madly in love with Veronica Gale. And I knew that I had to see her and tell her the truth. About everything. What she did with the information was up to her. But I couldn’t pursue her without her knowing the truth. All of it.

I pulled into a Target parking lot this time. It was three in the morning and I felt like a change was in order. I fell asleep with Sartre next to me.  For the first time in a long time, I slept well.

I slept until the afternoon the next day. After renting a car – I didn’t want to violate zoning ordinances by trying to park my trailer on a residential street – I drove to her house and knocked on the door.

“Cy!” She actually looked happy to see me. Was this a trap? I was used to traps.

“Come in.” Ronnie pulled on my sleeve and once inside, stuck her hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out Sartre. She knew where I kept her. She knew that I brought her. Maybe there was something to the idea of fate after all.

“I need to talk to you.” I said as I followed her into a large sunroom. We sat on the couch, facing each other.

“Okay. But first, I have to tell you something.” She took a deep breath. “Sartre just peed on me.”

I looked down at her t-shirt and saw a large, spreading yellow stain. I think the pig winked at me.

Ronnie jumped up and ran out of the room. I toyed with suggesting she just take off her shirt but thought maybe we should talk first. In a minute, she returned with a fresh shirt and Sartre wrapped up in a towel.

“I gave her a bath.” She patted the little rodent head. Sartre really looked pissed. Her fur was fluffed out giving her the appearance of being much larger than she was and the way her hair was askew gave her an angry look.

“Okay. So I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” Ronnie said with a grin. “I should have introduced you to Drew. I should have e-mailed you and explained when I didn’t at the house. The thing is…” She chewed her lip adorably, “you are a dick and an asshole.”

I nodded. “I know. You are absolutely right.”

“And you make me so angry I want to kill something.” She continued, without understanding the irony of her words. And why would she? I never told her.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you. Which is in direct conflict with my feelings for you.”

I looked at her. “Why would you have any feelings for me? I don’t deserve them. I treated you badly, thought I had you all figured out. I’m just here to apologize.”

I stood and Ronnie grabbed my hand, pulling me back down to the couch. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I’ve realized that, in spite of my better judgment, I’m in love with you, Coney Island Bombay.”

My head felt light and dizzy. It’s a strange feeling when someone you love tells you they love you too. My heart tightened in my chest and I was worried about having a heart attack.

“What did you want to tell me?” She asked sweetly.

Oh. That. Now that she loved me, I didn’t really want to tell her.

“The truth.” I finally said. “I want you to know who I really am.”

Ronnie shook her head. “I’m not pigeonholing you. And we have our whole lives to learn about each other.” Something in the light tone made me almost chicken out. But I was here and I had to say it.

“I’m an assassin.”

She laughed. That was unexpected.

“No. Seriously. That’s what I do. Or, did, rather. I don’t do it anymore.”

Ronnie’s mouth formed a perfect “o.” “You’re serious?”

I nodded.

“You mean you aren’t an overeducated carnie?”

“No, I’m those things too. It’s just that I also used to kill people.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘used to.’”

I guess if I was going to tell her everything, I should be completely honest. “As in up to a few weeks ago.”

Ronnie got up and left the room. She was gone so long I was starting to think I should find the door on my own with my wet pig in tow.

Just as I was about to get up, she came back in carrying a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “I’m lousy at opening these things. Do you think we’ll need another bottle?”

I poured. “No, one bottle should do it.” And then I told her the story of my family and what the Bombay Family business was all about. Veronica listened carefully, her face did not betray one iota of emotion. Perhaps she had distanced herself, listening academically to what I had to say.

As the words came out of my mouth, I felt something strange. My shoulders started to relax. Tension flowed out of my arms into the sofa. I realized that I’d never told another non-Bombay about this. And what a burden it had been to carry it around all these years.

That was good. But the jury was still out on how Veronica would take the news. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t throw me out on my ass. I didn’t think she’d call the police. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t.

We finished the bottle as I finished my story. I took a deep breath and waited for her to speak.

“That is so interesting.” Ronnie said finally. “I mean that really appeals to the anthropologist in me. And if I look at it that way, it doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t?”

She shook her head. “At least, not yet. Give me a few days.”

“Oh.” What else could I say?

“You only killed bad people, right?” The ring of hope in her voice was unmistakable.

I nodded. There was no point in telling her that I might have killed someone who didn’t deserve to die. The cousins and I vowed that we didn’t want to know the truth about that and I felt comfortable in my ignorance.

“Did you kill Dekker?”

“No. I couldn’t do it. But I did drive him to thoughts of suicide.” I told her the story of how I kept him alive as my own, imprisoned therapist.

Ronnie snorted. “Oh my god. That is the funniest thing I ever heard! Did you really do that?”

Okay. So it was all out there. And she took it well. But I still felt very uneasy.

“I shouldn’t have accused you of anything.” I started. “I was the one who pigeon-holed you. I should have asked you…”

Ronnie silenced me with a kiss. She stood and started to pull me upstairs. I followed. Even though she hadn’t fully processed everything and was very likely in total shock, I wasn’t about to turn her down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Man: How you doing Keaton?

Keaton: I can't feel my legs...Keyser.

- The Usual Suspects

So this was what it was like. I listened to Ronnie’s breathing beside me and sighed. If she woke up and decided she never wanted to see me again, at least I had this moment. I rolled over and watched the sun set lower in the sky. I wanted every late afternoon to be like this.

“Hey.” Ronnie tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Hey. How are you handling this?”

“Aside from the dream I had where you had a contract to take out an evil capybara, I’m okay.”

“Really?” It was amazing how much hung in the balance of that one word.

“Really.” She kissed me and climbed out of bed, starting to put her clothes on.

“Why are you putting your clothes on?” Why was she putting her clothes on? Maybe she didn’t accept this like I thought.

“Don’t be so paranoid!” Ronnie laughed as she threw my shirt at me. “Sartre and I are starving.”

We made our way down to the kitchen and in moments we had a buffet of unrelated food, from cheese to Jell-O. Sartre had blueberries.

“So, you are okay with this?” I asked again, in danger of becoming annoying.

She nodded. “If I look at it from a scientific viewpoint, yes. And it helps that you only killed really bad people and have retired from the business altogether.” She popped a grape in her mouth.

“I didn’t expect it, is all. I thought you’d go through the roof.”

Ronnie thumped me on the chest, “That’s because you pigeonholed me.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” We continued eating.

“So, are you ever going to tell me who killed Kennedy?” She asked.

I shook my head. “No, I can’t do that. I had to sign a confidentiality oath in my own blood when I was five.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Wow. But there really was a conspiracy, right?”

I laughed. “Yes. While there isn’t always a conspiracy, there was in that case.”

Ronnie cocked her head to one side. “I bet you think I’m a real idiot over the whole Senator Anderson thing, don’t you?”

I stiffened. “No. I don’t.”

She waved me off. “I mean when you gave me that file listing all the horrible things Anderson had done, I was really mad at you. But I did some more digging and found out you were right. I guess I didn’t look hard enough because I didn’t want to believe that he really had a heart attack.”

“Ronnie…”

“And the ridiculous lengths I went to in order to find his killer! And I was part of that weird group! We were so sure we were going to bring the Senator’s killer to justice!” She laughed again. “I mean, how do you bring something like heart disease to justice?”

“Ronnie.” Something in my voice must have told her to stop because she did. “You weren’t wrong. Senator Anderson was killed for selling a list of CIA agents to Iran.”

“What?” She slammed her hand down on the table, causing Sartre to jump. “Oh my god! I was right!”

“You were right.”

She started pacing wildly around the kitchen. “Oh my god! He really was murdered! I can’t believe it! Well, actually that is a relief because I thought I might be nuts.” She continued on her inane prattle as she prowled around the room.

“And I bet you know it because you are in the business! Talk about weird shop talk! Can you tell me who did it?”

I nodded.

“Really? Cuz you can’t tell me about Kennedy! Really? Wow! This is like the X-Files!” I paused for a second, wondering if I would need a geek intervention here. “So who was it? Who killed Anderson?” The woman I loved looked at me with eyes shining as if she had discovered the tomb of Jesus Christ.

“Me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“An ideal form of government is democracy tempered with assassination.”

- Voltaire

A number of years back, I scored a strange assignment. A young, idealistic senator from the Midwest. I have to admit, it took me by surprise. Anderson seemed like a good guy. That was, until I read the dossier.

Senator William Anderson was a sinner in saints clothing. How he managed to keep everything under wraps, I’ll never know. Actually, calling him a sinner is a bit of an understatement.

Do you remember that Steven King book about the guy who could see the future? He saw that the guy running for president, a guy everyone loved and respected, was going to become a ruthless dictator responsible for the deaths of millions…in the future. In the end he decides he has to kill this man before he takes office and tosses the nation into chaos and death.

It was kind of like that. Anderson wasn’t just into hookers, corruption and graft. It was much worse. The man had scams in third world countries that would make you commit suicide. I won’t go into a litany of his crimes here. Suffice it to say that the man was a monster.

However, he was a beloved public figure. So his death had to be out of my normal scope. I managed (I can’t tell you how) to break into his house and discover he had a bum ticker. Missi drugged his toothpaste so that when he went to sleep that night, he went to sleep forever. It was clean and it was quick. And it looked like natural causes.

That’s how I killed Senator William Anderson.

“Wow.” Was all Ronnie said when I told her. “Wow.”

When she didn’t speak for an hour, I collected Sartre and let myself out, carefully locking the door behind me.

Back in my trailer, I lay on my bed and cried. It was the first time I could remember doing that. I didn’t just cry because I’d probably lost Ronnie and my chance at true love forever. I cried because I’d killed all those people since I was fifteen. I cried because my wanker brother was dead. I even cried because in a couple of years, even Sartre would leave me. That’s right, I pre-mourned her death.

The sobbing shook my whole body, and after a few hours, every muscle, even the one that controlled my thumb, ached. After splashing cold water on my face and taking some ibuprofen, I went to bed and slept.

I don’t know how long I was asleep. I didn’t feel very rested, but someone was pounding on my door. I threw on some clothes (you can’t have a good, long cry with clothes on) and opened the door to find my mother standing there.

“Squidgy!” She hurried into the trailer and shut the door. “You look like hell! Are you alright?”

“How did you find me?” I asked as I opened a Diet Coke and offered it to her. I poured myself one.

“Oh, we still have our ways,” She said. “What happened here? Is Sartre alright?”

I nodded. “Nothing, Mum. I just got dumped by a woman I thought I had a real thing with because she found out I killed her idol. How are you?”

Mum reached up and gingerly touched my swollen face. “You’ve been crying! I’ve never known you to do that over a girl!”

“Yeah, well she was special.”

“Why did you tell her you killed whoever it was you killed?”

It was a fair question. “Because she had to know. Because I’m an idiot.”

I sat there while my mother made me breakfast. She sat and watched as I ate.

“Why did you ask me to bring in Veronica Gale , Mum?”

She looked as though she didn’t know what I was talking about.

“There’s more to this than the Council let on. I didn’t bring up my suspicions to the cousins if that’s what you are worried about.”

Her face softened. “You got the assignment because I thought you were ready for it.”

“What the hell does that mean? How was I ready for it? I kept Dekker alive to listen to my rants on Veronica! Clearly I wasn’t ready for another assignment.”

Mum nodded. “Which is why you were selected. We chose you to test because we knew you would fight us. We didn’t ask you to kill Veronica – just to bring her in for questioning...”

“What the hell?” My head ached as if I had a hangover. The ideas danced out of my grasp. I tried to focus. Mum waited patiently.

“You wanted us to quit! You wanted out too!” I slapped the table.

She nodded. “Yes, we did. You got it!”

“You played us!” It wasn’t Ronnie who manipulated me…it was my mother! “Why?”

Georgia Bombay sighed heavily and I saw for the first time that she was old. “You know, my generation tried to get out of the business before you were born.”

Suddenly I was wide awake. “You never told me. What happened?”

“Oh,” she waved her hand dismissively. “We were children of the sixties – very anti-establishment. The Council represented The Man. We didn’t want to kill. We wanted peace.”

An image of the Council as hippie invaded my brain. I shuddered.

“Unfortunately, as you know, our parents’ generation was much more hardcore. They came from the generation of the Great War between good and evil. Everything was black and white to them. They were convinced that carrying on the tradition was their way of saving the world.”

“Damn. I would’ve liked to see you take on the Council.” And I wanted to too. That had to be something to see.

“We have it somewhere on film. I think Pete kept a copy. The Council recorded everything back then. They were pretty paranoid.”

I took a minute to wrap my mind around this. It was an incredible shock.

“But our folks wouldn’t hear of disbanding the organization. They didn’t want to kill us either, so they agreed to pretend it never happened if we went back to work. Which we did.”

“I can’t believe this.” I really couldn’t. “So you set us up to bring down the company.”

“Yes! And it worked brilliantly, too! I’m quite the actress, wouldn’t you say? York wanted to hold out a little longer – you know – add some more drama to make it fun. But Pete couldn’t hold off anymore.”

Make it fun? Okay. I could understand that.

“And it was fun finally giving it all up once and for all. Well, except for when Missi electrocuted us. That sort of sucked, dear.”

I grinned. “I guess it sort of did.” So it was all a ruse. How about that. Who would have thought my mother was capable of such surprises?

“Well, I really should be going, honey. They are all waiting for me.”

“Who is?”

“The rest of the Council. We’re heading to Greenland to tell our parents.”

I frowned. “What if they don’t like the idea?”

She smiled. “Well I guess they will just have to stay at that nursing home then, won’t they?” With a wink, she was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Blue Raja: Your boy’s a limey fork-flinger, Mother. What will the bridge club say?

Blue Raja’s Mother:  You need more forks?

- Mystery Men

My cell rang the minute the door closed. The caller id said, Veronica Gale, 28, grad student at the University of Iowa, a bit anal retentive about anthropology. I don’t know how Missi did that.

“Hello.” I didn’t really know what to say. Me! The man who always had something pithy to say.

“Why did you leave?”

“You weren’t speaking.” To me that seemed like a demand to get out of her life forever. But maybe that was just me.

“Where are you now?” She sounded a little frantic. Was she worried I had left the state? That would be nice.

I gave her directions and to my surprise, she hung up on me. Ten minutes later I was not so surprised when she knocked on my door.

“So this is where you live?” She wandered around, opening cupboards and poking around. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“And you look awful. Like you were crying or got punched in the face.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, which was it?” She demanded.

“Crying.” I’m man enough to admit that. Or was I? I wasn’t really sure what kind of man I was anymore. And that came as a shock.

Veronica plucked Sartre from my bed and sat down holding her. “Why did you say you’d help me?”

“What?” I missed something.

“Why did you say you would help me find Anderson’s killer if you knew it was you?”

That was a fair question. “You were so passionate about it. I wanted to help you.”

“Did you think you would ever tell me the truth?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

“Really. I had no idea where this would lead. I guess I just thought I’d see where the wind took me.”

Veronica thought about this for a moment. “Kind of like your life, huh?”

I nodded. She was right.

“I like your RV. Is this where we will live?”

I sat down out of shock. “What are you saying?”

She shook her head like I was clueless. “It’s either this or my asbestos infested apartment. That professor is coming back from Paraguay soon.”

“You, you want to live with me?” I actually stuttered. That had to be a first.

“Yes, Coney Island Bombay. I want to live with you. I want to make an honest man out of you and be a mother to your guinea pig.”

“Wow. That’s a good offer.” I smiled. “Okay. You can live here.”

Ronnie closed the gap between us, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me in a way that made my hair stand on end.

“Okay. I’ll get my stuff. Just one thing.”

I kissed her again. It felt like home. “And what is that?”

She smiled. “I really hate the nickname Ronnie.”

EPILOGUE

The Tick:  When society says jump, we say "pass the salt."

- The Tick

And so it came to pass that the Bombays were out of the assassination business. This was big news but there was no one we could really tell. Mum’s visit to Greenland with the others went well. The original Council members had had enough of pureed food and the huge, sullen staff. They were all retired to Santa Muerta to live out the rest of their days in peace. I think they even liked it.

My cousins were thrilled with their early retirement. No one really had to work ever again, due to our trust funds. But I did hear a rumor about Paris and Dak opening a marketing consulting firm. We all visit our island from time to time for vacations now instead of to kill people.  Missi took down the ropes course in what she called “a ritualistic cleansing with fire.” I’m not sure what that was all about.

Mum and Dad took a trip around the world to celebrate. By the time they came back, one year later, Veronica and I presented them with their first grandson, named Theodore. He was the first Bombay without a place-name.  My parents bought an RV so they could travel with us wherever we went. This was annoying at first until we realized how difficult it is to find sitters when you don’t know where you are.

Sartre seemed to like the new addition to the family. She seemed a bit honored, if guinea pigs can be honored, that we gave the baby her name for his middle name. As for Veronica and me, we decided that we were just going to travel around the country, checking things out here at home. We figured we had five years to find the place we would want to settle down before Richie had to start school. My mother is rooting for New Mexico, but I kind of like San Francisco. Dad is still trying to convince us to move to Australia and according to Veronica, no matter where we go, Iowa is the best place to be.

Who knows where we will end up? I’m not making any plans yet. I am looking forward to settling down with my family… someday. And for a retired carnie/assassin with a guinea pig and Ph.D., the future looks pretty good.

* * * * *

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* * * * *

About the Author

Leslie Langtry manages somehow to write from her home in the Midwest, where she lives with her two fabulous kids and terrific husband. She has never assassinated anyone – and wants to make that perfectly clear.

To learn more about Leslie Langtry, visit her online at www. leslielangtry.com .

* * * * *

OTHER BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

Greatest Hits Mysteries:

'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

Guns Will Keep Us Together

Stand By Your Hitman

I Shot You Babe

Paradise By The Rifle Sights

Snuff the Magic Dragon

* * * * *

SNEAK PEEK

of the next Greatest Hits Mystery

by Leslie Langtry:

PARADISE BY THE RIFLE SIGHTS

CHAPTER ONE

“I knew one thing: as soon as anyone said you didn't need a gun, you'd better take one along that worked.”

- Raymond Chandler

"Paris Bombay!" Perry, the announcer shouted. I flinched inwardly. The rose they gave me still had thorns, and I was sweating like a fat guy in a sauna in this tux under these stage lights.

"The time has come!" He continued. "Who are you going to choose? Cin, or Teri?" I felt a clock ticking inside my head, and it made me think of the bombs my cousin Dak and I used to make as kids. How did I get into this mess? I never wanted to star on The Single Bachelor: Bachelor No More - Ever. Great. Cin and Teri are looking at me thinking I'm about to make a decision. How do I tell them I can't?

It all started two months ago. And it was all my sister, Liv's, fault.

“But, I just finished a job!” I protested. And if you think it was easy taking out an African warlord using only a plastic hotel key (hint – it’s all in the wrist), you’re kidding yourself.

“Well I can’t do it! Alta has the state science fair and Woody is trying out for the Olympic Archery team! It’s the finals!” Liv folded her arms over her chest and pouted. She actually pouted. And that’s when I knew I was screwed.

“We’re not supposed to do each other’s assignments.” I whined, even though I could feel myself giving in a little. And when I say “assignments” I mean contract killing…just to make that clear. I’m an assassin. So is my sister, my dad, my cousins and my grandmother. Well, actually, Grandma Mary is retired.

The Bombays have been contract killers since ancient Greece. After four millennia of wet work, you become pretty good at it, and we are the best. Every child born a Bombay joins the family business, whether we like it or not. Retirement is something that only happens when you are old enough to join the Council. All jobs are handed down by the Council. If you screw up…let’s just say the consequences are dire.

On the plus side, we are each independently wealthy, world travelers who can creatively kill anyone with anything. I’m serious. I’ve seen (or participated in) death by mangoes, scotch tape and once – a cleverly placed cotton ball. We are allowed to pick our own modus operandi, as long as the work is done and the Bombays aren’t implicated. Technically speaking, we only have one or two assignments a year. Assignments we are not allowed to pass on to other Bombays.

Liv threw her hands in the air – a gesture of futility she knew would work on her little brother. “It’s bad enough I can’t do both of the kids’ things! Todd and I have to split up to go! And I won’t pick whether your precious nephew or adorable niece feels abandoned on their big day! I just won’t do it!”

I sighed the sigh of capitulation. And Liv knew it. I have to give her credit for not gloating. I would’ve.

“Okay, fine.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “I’ll do it.” After uncorking the bottle, I handed my sister the first glass.

Liv threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek. I saw that coming. It was what she did every time she needed me to cover for her. I could write the dialogue for these conversations. She always won, and I always lost.

After she left (with a small, in-your-face victory dance when she thought I wasn’t looking), I opened the envelope with the information on the Vic and this assignment.

Chuck Plimpton was a big time TV producer who ran a human trafficking ring for his string of sweat shops on the side. The problem (well, besides the human trafficking ring) was that Chuck was a hermit. No one had taken a picture of him in years. He didn’t go to parties or awards ceremonies. Rumor had it he liked to spend all his time “playing” with his employees.

Oh yeah, and he also threw money at television. He’d produced some real winners in the past; Orgy Island, Nuns in Vegas, and Scared Straight (which featured gay men being forced to live in trailers and buy their clothes at Goodwill - and lasted only two episodes due to a network boycott led by Lady Gaga). I never watched reality TV. But something about Orgy Island made me think I should catch up.

I’d heard about Nuns in Vegas. It was the only show he had that didn’t live up to its premise. Of course, it was a huge hit as a result. Chuck thought he had a “fish out of water” story here. Bring ten nuns from Iowa – from an order that lived as humbly as a medieval peasant with leprosy – and plant them in a suite at the Bellagio, giving them each $1 million to spend by the end of the show. Chuck was sure these little, old ladies in habits would try to spend it on charity.

What he didn’t figure on, was that the Sisters of Perpetual Poverty were hardcore gamblers and professional alcoholics. They embarrassed a bevy of slutty Playboy Bunnies and made a Gangsta Rapper cry on the first episode, then poured money into male escorts and the roulette wheel on the other shows. The ratings were ridiculous. The nuns were excommunicated. And Chuck was an even richer bastard than before.

The problem would be getting to him. Chuck never left his compound except for auditions for his next show. Even then, he was in a private room behind two-way mirrors, surrounded by bodyguards. I wondered how Liv had thought she could do it. But then, she’s a soccer mom, so she can really multitask.

But this was no longer her concern…it was mine. By now the house was dark. When did night fall? I flipped on the lights and turned off the Sinatra playlist on my iPod. Fumbling through the fridge I managed to find some brie and a mango. I sliced it all up and brought it back into my living room with a Harvey Wallbanger.

I wasn’t surprised to find that Netflix had all of Chuck’s shows in their video streaming library. I went to the first episode of Orgy Island, and hit “play.”

I had no idea you could film such things and air them on prime time. People are animals! Don’t they have mothers? Who signs on to a reality show and doesn’t know they’re going to look like idiots? I mean, seriously – the one episode with the banana and snake…really?

Right now, I couldn’t worry about that. I needed a plan to get in, take out the Vic (our cute family name for our victims) and get on with my life.

Well, if I had a life to get on with, that is. The fact of the matter was that I didn’t do much. My cousin Dak and I used to hit the town a lot, with the occasional trip to more exotic locales. But since he got married and had kids, his priorities have changed.

I’ve had dates. Okay, well I used to have more. But do you know how hard it is for an assassin to hit the dating scene? And we’re forbidden from having real Facebook accounts by the family Council. They kind of have a “leave no trace” policy.

I tried speed dating once. It was like running my hand through a meat grinder and rolling what was left in lemon juice. I met four women named “Katelynne.” And that is the best thing I can say about any of them.

For a while, my Aunt Carolyn Bombay tried fixing me up. I hate blind dates. No, I’d rather run into the perfect woman while browsing in the poetry section of a bookstore, or at a jazz concert in a smoky lounge. So far, all that’s happened is I’ve been banned from the poetry section of Borders for “weird loitering” and you’d be surprised how little you can see in a dark, smoky lounge. At least from the chest up.

My cousins and sister were all married. And of all of them, I’m the one who wanted to find someone special and settle down. It couldn’t be that hard if they did it. Could it? And yet, that certain someone eluded me.

I opened up my laptop and decided to put more energy into nailing Chuck. Kill Chuck first, then date someone wonderful. How hard could that be? I had to focus. So I googled Chuck.

It only took fifteen minutes to hit the jackpot. Turned out Chuck would be auditioning single men for some bachelor show. Approved candidates had to report in a few days to the studio in LA. Fine. I’d go there to audition and literally, blow Chuck Plimpton away.

First, I had to fill out an online application. No problem. It would all be lies because I had no intention of following through with it. Well, I had to use my real name because they’d be checking it against our drivers’ license, which told me they’d been burned in some strange way before. Okay. Fine. Paris Bombay. It’s not like I’d make it any farther than the audition.

These shows were stupid. Who really believes that a man can be put in a house full of women and actually find his one, true love? And these women! They all supposedly fell in love with whoever this moron bachelor was. Love was more meaningful than that, right?

I was one of those guys who really appreciated women. I’ve always thought of them as equals in every way. Girls in high school and college loved me. I was the boy-next-door (who just happened to like cleaning guns and shooting a sniper rifle) who turned into the unfortunate role of best friend instead of boyfriend.

The only thing I couldn’t tolerate was bimbos – women who thought it was okay to act like idiots to get a man’s attention. Unfortunately, as Dak’s best friend, they were most of the women we went out with, until his wife Leonie came along. In my humble opinion, these women who played the part of slutty girlfriend, hoping for a diamond from one guy she shared with twenty other losers was the worst of all. Give me a woman with a brain any day. Hopefully, I wouldn’t even meet these shallow girls who would fight like cats over the character I was applying for.

So I filled out the application in a way that would get me in the door, but not much else after. Was I wealthy? Yes. Bombays have outrageous trust funds due to four millennia of “wet work.” What was my idea of a perfect date? A picnic on the beach at sunset sounds cliché enough to work. If I was a fish, what kind of fish would I be, and why? Are they serious? Okay, okay. Um, I’d be a salmon, swimming upstream, against the flow, to be with the, um, girl salmon I love.

After hitting send, I put the laptop down and picked up the phone to call my cousin, Missi.

“Paris?” I heard her ask. Of course she’d have caller ID. Hell, for all I knew, my inventive cousin could see the color of my boxer shorts. They are black, if you must know.

“Hey Missi. I have a job and I need some advice.” I smiled as I said this. Missi was the inventor of ways to kill people for the Bombays. She’d come up with everything from exploding wacky wall walkers to plants that could suck the oxygen out of room.

“What’s the scenario?” She asked. This was good, because Missi tended to get sidetracked easily. Bring up a silencer make and she’d tell you how trout explode when you pressurize them.

“I’ll be in one room while my Vic is behind a two-way mirror, flanked by security.” Hmmm, now that I said it aloud, it seemed harder than it originally had. Maybe there was another reason Liv didn’t want this gig.

“Wow.” Missi said. That got my attention. Missi never said anything other than give me a few hours before. “It might take me a couple of weeks.”

What? “Oh, okay.” I cleared my throat. “You know what, Missi, don’t worry about it. I can come up with something.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Came the doubtful reply.

I nodded, as if she could see me. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Okay!” Missi sounded cheerful before the phone went dead in my hand.

I was on my own. Damn.

CHAPTER TWO

“I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country. What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun. I put them on and went out of the room.”

- Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely

The next morning found me tired from staring at the ceiling all night, with no new ideas. I had nothing. Basically, all I could come up with was actually making it to the audition. It was the two-way mirror’s fault. The bodyguards would have the drop on me before I could do anything. And then, I’d have to be able to get out of there unseen. There’d be a line of actors waiting their turn in the hallway. And without knowing how many were behind the mirror, I couldn’t plan an organized attack. That annoyed me. I loved being organized. It’s like foreplay.

I needed advice. Why was I blanking on this gig?

“Because it wasn’t assigned to you.” Dak said an hour later when he met me for coffee. “There is a reason why jobs are assigned to specific Bombays.” He motioned for the blonde waitress to bring him another cup without even looking at her. Marriage had really changed him. For the better. Now if I could just find someone.

“The Vic loves brunettes. He gets most of his sweat shop workers from Central and South America.” My sister, Liv, was a brunette with big, innocent eyes. Vic wouldn’t have suspected her of anything.

Pushing back in my seat, I brought my right ankle up to rest on my left knee. “We’ve helped each other out on jobs before.” I said. A fleeting memory of Mickey Mouse going “pop” at Disney World crossed my mind.

Dak shook his head. “We’ve helped each other, but never completed the job for someone else.” He chuckled softly. “What were you thinking?”

The waitress returned with Dak’s coffee. She raised one eyebrow suggestively at me. For a moment I took it as flirting. Then she pointed to my empty cup. I just shook my head and waved her away.

“I wasn’t thinking.” I answered. The gravity of the situation hung in the air between us. Dak was right. None of us ever took on another Bombay’s job before. Even with Liv, I’d helped her, but I never did it for her. This was serious. Didn’t she realize what she’d asked me to do?

I ran my hands through my hair. What was wrong with me? I should just call her right now and tell her I refuse to do it.

“What are you going to do?” Dak asked.

I looked at my cousin and best friend. His blonde hair was tousled and he looked like some guy in a Starbucks ad with his blonde hair, blue eyes and golf shirt with khakis. Marriage and kids agreed with him. There was a glimmer of contentment in his eyes lately. One more thing to make me realize how alone I really was.

“I’m going to call my sister and tell her I can’t do it.” I said firmly. Digging out my cell, I hit the quick dial.

Liv answered on the first ring. “What.” Her voice was flat, like she knew why I was calling.

Dak nodded at me and I spoke up. “I can’t do your job. I’m not supposed to.”

“What?” Liv’s voice took on a dangerous tone. I waited for her to respond but there was nothing more.

“I can’t do an assignment given to you by the council.” I said.

“Why not?” My sister asked. “I’ve saved your ass many times, Paris Cyrano Bombay!” Uh oh. She sounded like Mom. “And you’re telling me you can’t do this one, little job?” Her voice was calm and even. That was worse than hysterical and yelling.

“Fine.” I caved with as much dignity as a man can when doing so to his sister, in front of his best friend.

“That went well.” Dak grinned as he took a sip of coffee. He really couldn’t talk though, his sister, Gin, had him by the balls most of the time too.

“Just help me come up with some ideas.” I pleaded, my dignity now pooling on the floor at my feet.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “When can you go forward?”

I sighed. “If I get accepted to audition as a contestant, it’ll be soon. If not, we’ll have to go a different way.”

Dak dropped a twenty on the table and rose to his feet. “I’ll talk to Leonie and Gin…see if they have any ideas, and talk to you tomorrow.”

I got up to leave. “Thanks Dak.”

I headed back home feeling a little better. Dak would come up with something. But maybe I should have a few thoughts for a backup plan, in case he didn’t.

I took some paper and a pen and sat at the dining room table. After drawing a diagram of what I imagined the scene would be, I used paper clips to simulate the actors in the hall, an olive for me and four grapes for the Vic and his bodyguards. I had to think of it as a room with only one entrance. Hoping for an extra exit was an amateur move. Always think of the worst and you’ll be better off – that’s my motto. Well, that and avoid flamethrowers at all costs. I really don’t like flamethrowers. That’s just plain cheating.

One possibility was to smash through the mirror, like Ryan Reynolds did in Blade Trinity. There would probably be an extra way out in that room. But that required getting the drop on guys I couldn’t see.

Spraying the window with machine gun fire might work. It would have to be an Uzi, or some other compact for me to smuggle it in. That would smash the window and kill pretty much everyone behind it. But it was noisy and would draw the attention of the actors in the hallway. I imagined a bunch of vapid, attractive men trying to keep their Botoxed features placid at such a noise, so as not to induce unsightly wrinkles.

I also tried to imagine them rushing in to help, but I was pretty sure they’d flee instead. Why help someone and risk having your six pack abs scarred by a bullet? The idea made me laugh. Maybe going out the way I came in was an option after all.

The other problem with the Uzi idea, was that it would be tough to smuggle in. My Vic was paranoid and had security. No doubt, he’d have them searching everyone. At least, that’s what I would do.

The olive, grapes and paperclips stared at me. Have you ever had an olive stare at you? It’s creepy. I ate the food and shoved the paperclips aside. Once again, I had nothing. My cell beeped and I pulled it from my pocket to check my email.

Mr. Bombay,

You have been selected to audition for The Bachelor! Please report to Studio 7B at the date and location listed below.

Sincerely,

The Producers

I was in. I had two days. Two days to get to LA, complete Liv’s assignment. Once home, I would finally look into some speed dating or something to get my life on track. That was something to look forward to.

CHAPTER THREE

“Nothing is impossible. Some things are just less likely than others.”

- Jonathan Winters

“You want me to shake his hand?” I asked Dak, frowning.

“It’s a small, clear pin filled with tree frog poison.” Dak grinned at me as he pulled out a small, nearly invisible needle.

“So, he’ll feel it when it happens?” I wasn’t sure about this. Bombays weren’t too keen on getting caught.

Dak ran his other hand (the one unencumbered with frog poison) through his hair. “Well, yeah. But you palm the empty needle and get away.”

I examined the needle. “Exactly how do I hold the needle so it pierces him, and not me?”

“You grip it with your palm.” Dak’s smile lost some of its luster.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t have prehensile palms.” I shook my head. “And this whole plan is contingent on the fact that I can get a face-to-face with him.” I pictured myself failing at this and attempting to throw the needle at the mirror in a last ditch effort. In this fantasy, the needle would clink against the mirror before shattering on the floor, spilling a microscopic amount of tree frog poison.

Dak nodded. “Okay. That won’t work. Sorry.”

I sighed. “No problem. I shouldn’t have asked. Of course, I shouldn’t have agreed with Liv either.”

“Ask Missi.” Dak said.

I told him about my conversation with her. “Anyway, this is my problem.” I looked at my watch. “I have to pack for my flight tomorrow.”

An hour later, I had my black, Tumi roll-on neatly organized with everything I would need for the trip. Everything, that is, except for a plan. The whole thing was bothering me. I’ve always been organized…on top of things. How did this happen? It wasn’t like me at all.

I’d just have to think of something on the flight over. My audition was in twelve hours. Whatever I’d need I’d have to find in LA. I’d never been so disorganized. That’s what happens when you take jobs that aren’t yours. And because I was illegally on the job, I couldn’t borrow the Bombay private jet. Word would get out. Family would know. If you got busted by the Council taking another Bombay’s job, that meant corporeal punishment. And that meant I was taking a commercial airline.

I was starting to believe that I’d lost it. Bombays lose it all the time. The pressure of the job makes having a normal life impossible. Our family tree was loaded with stories of assassins snapping – often spectacularly. In the early twentieth century, Sicily Bombay snapped and ran around the streets of Oslo wearing a Santa suit and throwing cauliflower at people before she was gunned down by the cauliflower-hating police.

Forty years earlier, Kiev Bombay decided to swim the distance between Australia and New Zealand, while wearing a necklace made of steak. His remains were never found. Perhaps the most famous story in our history is that of Moosejaw Bombay. At the age of eighty three he decided he was such an excellent assassin, he could kill an elephant with his bare hands. He even insisted on wearing a blindfold. I’ve heard he still stains the pavement at a bazaar in Pakistan – but I’ve never been to check it out myself.

I didn’t want to lose it. Sure, this business was pretty high pressure – but to go insane on a simple job would make it tough to find Mrs. Paris Bombay. I just had to hold it together through this assignment. If I did that, I could make Liv do the next gig assigned to me. And I hoped it was a messy one.

I flew first class to LAX, naturally. My Armani suit jacket hung on a hanger behind me. After the hot towel and a whiskey sour, I could feel myself starting to relax. Of course I could come up with something. I’m a Bombay – and not one of the crazy ones. We’ve had four thousand years’ experience making stuff up on the fly. In fact, that’s what we all did before we had Missi. Great, Great Aunt Bethesda once had five seconds to figure out how to kill an South American dictator during a tennis party and escape without notice. (Hint, the secret was in the velocity of the tennis ball.)

It would come to me. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.

“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice said.

I looked up and saw a statuesque brunette with full lips and a neat black bob. She was cute. Really cute.

“Can you help me?” She was struggling with a carry on.

I was on my feet in seconds, easing the bag into the overhead compartment. The woman stood close to me. She smelled like expensive perfume. I smiled at her and then returned to my seat.

“Thanks.” She said with a grin that implied she was interested. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that. She took the seat next to mine and extended her hand.

“My name is Cindee.” She said with a smile.

She was tall and curvy in all the right places and made me think of noir black and white films. I felt like Sam Spade, and immediately regretted not bringing my fedora.

“Paris.” I said, taking her hand in mine. “A pleasure to meet you.”

She had dimples and a voice that sounded like a tall, cool drink on a hot afternoon.

“Nice to meet you, Paris.” I wondered what to say next. Dak was the guy with the moves and great lines, not me.

“So,” I said, “heading to Los Angeles?” Okay, that might have been a bit stupid. The plane we were on was, after all, a direct flight to LAX.

Cindee had the class to ignore my faux pas. “Yes, and I’ll be there a while…I hope.”

“You hope?” I asked. “You don’t know?”

Cin shook her head and a wave of silky, black hair fell perfectly into place. “I’m an actress.” She made a face and I thought that was adorable. I couldn’t stand pretentious actors. This woman had a sexy, self-deprecating edge I found irresistible.

“I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.” Clearly this conversation wasn’t working for me. Maybe I needed another whiskey sour?

Cindee rolled her eyes. “I’m just tired of doing theatre, that’s all. It’s a lot of work for little money. I want to see if I can actually make it on TV.” She shrugged…adorably… “And if it doesn’t work, I return to my parents’ bookstore. That was the deal.”

That got my attention. “You like books?”

“Sometimes, more than acting, really. I love nothing more than to put on my silk pajamas, and sit in front of a roaring fireplace with a first edition of Tennyson.” She shook her head. “Sounds pretentious and boring, right?”

My head was pounding. Bookstore? Silk pajamas? Poetry? Was this some sort of a setup? Maybe the gig was just a ruse for Liv to get me on the plane with my dream girl. I know, you’re wondering why she didn’t just set us up on a regular date? But the Bombays are different (and rather dangerous) that way.

“So,” she continued, “I got this opportunity to be on some, stupid Bachelor knock off and here I am.”

And there it was. I had trouble returning her grin. She was one of the vapid bimbos for the show. I should’ve known better. I really should have.

The steward began announcing the safety procedures as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Thank God. I didn’t think I could continue the dialogue. What was I supposed to say? What I thought? That she was going to share a man with a roomful of women and discover he’s her true love? There simply was no way to justify that kind of rationale. It felt dishonest and wrong.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Paris.” Cindee said when I didn’t respond. She turned away with a small frown as she pulled out a book to read.

“You too.” And I leaned back and closed my eyes. I had four hours to think of a plan. The sooner I took out the Vic, the sooner I could get back home and find a ‘real’ woman.

PARADISE BY THE RIFLE SIGHTS

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Also available:

'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

Guns Will Keep Us Together

Stand By Your Hitman

I Shot You Babe

Paradise By The Rifle Sights

Snuff the Magic Dragon

Table of Contents

'SCUSE ME WHILE I KILL THIS GUY by LESLIE LANGTRY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

GUNS WILL KEEP US TOGETHER by LESLIE LANGTRY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

STAND BY YOUR HITMAN by LESLIE LANGTRY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

I SHOT YOU BABE by LESLIE LANGTRY

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

About the Author

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