Clean the gun.
Threaten teenage boy with gun.
Show daughter how a boy is supposed to hold her when they dance.
Dance lessons with teen daughter.
Clean bigger gun and knife to threaten teenage boy.
Movie night.
Set time with the girls on Saturdays.
Write financial plan, include stocks, bonds, index funds and a few blue chips.
Talk to Willow about setting an allowance for the girls.
Talk to Willow about her monthly allowance for the house and personal accounts.
Debit card for Willow’s crafting.
He’d barely logged into his trading account when he heard the clearing of a voice and looked up to see Willow standing in the door. She offered a really large smile, which either meant what she wanted was going to cost a shit load of money or she planned to later make him squeal again.
“Yes, Willow, can I help you with something?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her face.
“Raphael, I’m sorry to bother you, but is there any way I can get the names of the wives who will be in attendance next week?” she asked, grinning widely. “I want to personalize the gifts I’ve made. With the new machine, I can embroider the items with an initial in less than five minutes. Is it possible to get their first names? It would be such a cool icebreaker.”
“Again, with the icebreaker. Just be yourself; you don’t have to do anything special, Willow,” he told her.
“As your wife, I have to represent the best that you are to these people. We are not showing up as a bunch of ragamuffins that you rescued from the woods. I am going to walk in there with wonderful baskets to make each one of those women wish they could be as creative and thoughtful as I am and to show them you chose well,” she said, sticking out her chin.
He didn’t argue. There was no need. The woman had made up her mind that this was important for her to do, and if he didn’t give her what she wanted, he was never going to get a goddamned thing done. Raphael picked up his phone and dialed the Archangel. It rang twice before it was answered.
“What do you want?” the voice on the line said.
“Willow,” Exit replied, “she’s doing that crafty thing women like to do and making stuff for the wives next week. I need the names of all the wives that will be in attendance so she can personalize whatever in the hell she’s doing.”
Archangel said, “What?”
Raphael slowed his breathing so that he didn’t curse out a man of the cloth or curse out his wife for wanting to do the thing which was inherent in her nature. His wife was a giver. He exhaled and explained to the Archangel once more.
“Willow is bringing gifts to the wives next week. She’s personalizing the gifts. I need the names of the wives, including yours. First names only please,” he said.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Would I ever call you because I was bored and missed your dazzling conversation skills?”
“Fine. My wife is Cabrina, it’s like Sabrina, but with a C. Mr. Mann’s neighbor may also be coming and his wife is Tameka,” Archangel said, “Mr. Yield is married to Millicent. Mr. Stop is married to Judith, but she goes by Judy and Mr. Mann is married to Sharon.”
“I’ve met her. Decent cook. Nothing like my Willow, but it was edible,” Raphael said, looking up to see his woman blush at his boast. “Wait, is Mr. Stop coming too?”
“Don’t know. Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s all. Thanks. I appreciate this,” Exit said, ending the call. He looked at Willow, who was pleased that he had jotted down the names during the call, and he tore off the page and passed it to her, hoping this was the end.
“Thank you, husband,” she said, grinning and turning, but then she stopped. Raphael held his breath. She wanted something else. He waited, not looking up, which would give her the courage to say what she wanted. “You said it was a water park, correct? We don’t have swimsuits. I tried to order a few online, but I mostly kept coming across bikinis. I prefer to have the girls try on the suits, you know, so I can make adjustments in styles. Will we be able to stop on the way and grab suits for us?”
“The girls don’t need to be in bikinis,” he said in a gruff tone.
“I agree, which is why I asked if we could stop on the way. Also, I have no idea what the limit is on the credit card you gave me, a financial parameter on my spending or anything. Plus, we need to discuss an allowance for the girls, one for myself, and when I’m able to drive to go to the store because I’ve used up most of the fresh fruit and veggies,” Willow said.
“I’m hearing you,” he replied, not providing an answer yet. He needed time to think about it and work out a financial plan. Willow cleared her throat again.
“Also, if I may add this bit of info, do you want to bring a gift for the men? I mean you guys are all specialists in what you do. Should they have like a monogrammed handkerchief or something?” she asked, smiling at him with that I’m going to make you squeal later if you say yes look. “Did you say his name was Mr. Stop? That is an odd name to have. Hold on there, Mr. Stop. You don’t have the right of way.”
She started to laugh but quickly cut it short when she noticed he wasn’t amused. Willow swallowed hard thinking maybe she’d asked for too much. Also, he was trying to work on whatever it was he did for work, and she could possibly be interrupting his plans for an upcoming assassination assignment. Her eyes grew wide in worry. Raphael read her face.
“Right of Way is not a part of our Crew,” he said, allowing a soft smile to form at the corners of his mouth. “Willow, we each have a codename. We use the names in the presence of each other. As my wife, when we are with the Crew, you must only refer to me as Exit or Mr. Exit. Do not use my given name.”
“Ooh, exciting, Mr. Exit,” she said and took a seat.
“Not exciting. Important,” he replied. “I don’t know their given names and they don’t know mine with the exception of the Archangel.”
“Archangel, who is he to the Crew?”
It was a question that Raphael frequently wanted to understand, and he didn’t know, if anyone knew, needed to know, should know, or could know the man’s real name. He was a voice on the line a Technician called when trouble arose and help was needed, an overseer of the overseer who ran the plantation filled with trained assassins.
“He is the voice on the line we call when we need help. That is all I know and all you need to know. In this situation, the less you know, the better.”
Willow looked at the list. In the software on the sewing machine, she had seen an application to add her own images. The smile came to her mouth again. It made him uncomfortable.
“Oh, Jesus, what are you thinking?”
“I have an idea, but I need the codenames,” she said to him with that promise of bringing him pleasure later tonight dangling in her eyes. She looked down at the names and read them off one by one, jotting down the code names of the husbands. “The neighbor of Mr. Mann? Does he have a codename or what is it he does? And Mr. Mann, he doesn’t have a traffic sign?”
“No, he’s just The Mann. That is his code name. The Mann, with two Ns,” Raphael said, feeling a bit of relief to be able to make her aware of his world.
“One last thing and I will let you get back to work: the neighbor. Can we get any ‘intel’ on him? Is that the right word to use, ‘intel’?” she asked with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Don’t know. Let me find out,” he said, looking at her. She didn’t move. He was waiting for her to leave the room, but she didn’t budge. “Oh, you want me to find out right now?”
“Yes please, that way I can leave you be and get to work on my ideas. I only have two days to get all of this done,” she said, her eyes going to his phone.
He sighed deeply and picked up the device. He punched in two numbers and waited, looking at his ‘wife’ to let her know that this was not the normal way to handle matters. The look further stated that this wasn’t the w
ay to get things done. She looked back at him, emphasizing that she didn’t care. It was important to her, and information that would prove helpful in the future. The line rang three times before an answer.
“Operator,” a nasally voice came over the line.
“Mr. Exit seeking a connection request to The Mann,” Raphael said.
“Please hold for the connection,” the lady said, and he waited, listening to the ringing. He would not make the mistake and call The Mann directly, although he had his number. They had not reached that level of understanding and Raphael was not about to burn his bridges. The line clicked and a voice came over the phone.
“I am The Mann,” he said.
“This is the Exit,” Raphael replied.
“What the fuck do you want?” Mr. Mann said quickly. He had allowed the man to spend the night and now he wanted to make weekly calls to check in. He didn’t like it at all, but in a way, he was glad to hear from him.
“Coffee, conversation, advice between friends,” Raphael answered.
“We aren’t friends,” Mann told him.
“We are not, but there have been bodies added to the retreat next week,” Raphael said. “I’m in need of information as I work on the plan.”
“State your need,” The Mann replied.
“Your neighbor, Neary, shall be in attendance, I understand. Does he have a handle?”
“We call him Zeke.”
“As in Ezekiel, the Prophet and Consoler of the Exiles,” Raphael replied, almost finding the name to be comical. His name, Raphael, who was also an Archangel armed with the task of healing human bodies. By the time it was all over he would need someone to heal his.
“One and the same.”
“Will this Zeke be a part of the investment crew?”
“Does it matter?”
“For buy in purposes, yes, whether it be 10, 12, or 22, numbers are finite, but humans are not,” Raphael said.
“Fine. Anything else?”
“Yes, who invited Mr. Stop?” Raphael said, waiting silently to hear the answer.
“Yield. He talked to the big galoot, who is kind of likeable. He lives remotely and has a daughter. I thought about your daughters. We have sons,” The Mann offered. “You know. Archangel’s wife is girly. Thought maybe she’d plan a tea or some shit for the ladies.”
“Do the girls need tea dresses?”
“Hell if I know,” Mann countered, laughing. “I have no idea. Now, I want to know why you’re asking.”
He exhaled sharply again, looking at his watch. “Willow is doing something special with gift baskets or another.”
“Oh, Willow is making gifts for the wives. That is good information, I’ll spread the word,” Mann said.
“Why? It’s just a thought gift or a sercy as we call them here,” Raphael replied, rubbing the scraggly hairs of his beard.
“If my wife finds out that I knew your wife was bringing a thought gift and didn’t let her know, and she shows up empty handed, then there’s going to be a problem in my hotel room that night,” Mann said. “We have to let the other wives know.”
“You have to let them know. I don’t know those people,” Raphael said softly.
“Yeah, but those people got the Archangel’s request from you about the surprise you’re planning for Willow. They are making preparations.”
“Then please let that be enough. It’s not like we’re heading to a foot wash,” Raphael said. “It’s just a few days to meet and chat.”
“Yeah, these can become very productive days. Let’s make the best of the gathering,” Mann added, laughing. “A foot wash? That is the countriest shit I never expected to hear from your lips. You’ve made me laugh. I needed that. Guess what? I’ve decided to be your Best Man. I have three neck ties, red, blue, and yellow. I think we should go with the yellow, that way I don’t have to buy another tie. How’s that for some advice from a friend. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Sure. Thanks, but as you said twice, we aren’t friends,” Raphael told him, ending the call. He looked up at Willow. “His name is Zeke, he doesn’t have a handle.”
“Thank you, husband,” she said with a warm smile, walking around the desk to hold his face in her hands. Willow provided a light kiss to his lips, proud of herself, and let go. “Off to work.”
“Don’t work too hard. Remember none of what you’re doing is required,” Raphael said to deaf ears. He went back to his list, now needing to add more to it.
Raphael reviewed the sheet of paper, adding to it a few more items.
Clean the gun.
Threaten teenage boy with gun.
Show daughter how a boy is supposed to hold her when they dance.
Dance lessons with teen daughter.
Clean bigger gun and knife to threaten teenage boy.
Movie night.
Set time with the girls on Saturdays.
Write financial plan, include stocks, bonds, index funds and a few blue chips.
Talk to Willow about setting an allowance for the girls.
Talk to Willow about her monthly allowance for the house and personal accounts.
Debit card for Willow’s crafting.
Swimsuits for the girls and Willow. Get those on the way.
Remind Willow to pack dresses for the girls. White gloves for tea? Straw hats?
He growled over the list that kept growing each time one of them walked into his office. Hell, if he were planning an assassination, he would have forgotten by now who the fuck he was going to go kill and why. Tapping the computer screen, it came to life and slowly, and he began to make a list of the manufacturers he used in weaponry, tactical gear, and special requirements in luggage. Next, he logged into his personal trading account and began to track the average highs and lows of each stock he’d picked for the Technicians. Quickly, he created a portfolio, adding in the trading symbols, plus a few blue chips, and was pleased.
“Daddy?” he heard a small voice say.
“Yes, Pooh Bear,” he replied, still making notes and adding to the portfolio. She said nothing, which made him look up. “Everything okay?”
“No, Daddy, it is not. My world has been turned upside down,” she said with her bottom lip poked out.
This got his attention, and he saved the document and closed the laptop to give her his full consideration. He wasn’t certain what could have happened since she hadn’t left the house. Instead of prodding her, he allowed the air between them to settle, giving her issue a moment to lighten its load on her shoulders.
“I just found out from Jamal that he has this thing called a tablet that holds hundreds of books,” she told him, almost sobbing. “Hundreds of books, Daddy, on an electronic bookshelf. He also told me about this kid named Harry Potter, and that he, Jamal that is, was a pothead. I want to be a pothead too.”
“A Potterhead, honey. They are called Potterheads since they know all things Harry Potter,” he told her.
“I have missed way too much. Evidently this Harry kid has made like seven movies about his time at this school in England where he’s a wizard and he’s got a best friend who is a witch named Hermany,” she told him.
“Her name is Hermione Granger,” he gently corrected.
“Daddy! You know these kids too? When were you going to tell me? I need to read this Harry Potter, plus I was trying to pack my suitcase for the trip next week, and my unicorn case will only let me carry so many books. If I had a tablet, then I could always have 100 books with me at any given time,” she said with tears in her eyes. “Do I need an allowance too in order to buy all of these books for the tablet I pray you will get for me so I can be a Potterhead. I need to meet this Harry.”
“Jesus, take my wallet,” he said, exhaling. He sat for a minute, hands interlaced, staring at the wall. Thinking hard about the books in the library which were all classics of the ilk of Twain, Shakespeare, and Melville. Then he thought of his niece Cady. The items she had as a kid were still in the house in a few boxes. Raphael tapped into
his memory banks, trying to think of where his mother put a certain book box which belonged to Cady.
“Wait here, Pooh Bear,” he said, rising. He left her in his office sitting in the large chair, feeling forlorn that she had yet to make the acquaintance of the world’s second most famous wizard, falling right after Merlin. The box he sought was in the storeroom off the garage with his niece’s name on it in bold block letters. He opened the box to make sure it was the right one. Satisfied, he returned to his office.
Karli’s eyes were wide when he opened the flowered cardboard container to reveal the entire box set in hard back of the Harry Potter series. The container also held a wand in an Oleander’s box, a neck scarf for Gryffindor, a flying gold orb that he thought was a Snitch, and a wizarding robe.
“My niece Cady was a big Potterhead,” he said, showing her the contents.
Karli reached inside and pulled out a flat plastic case. “Daddy, what are these?”
“Those are the DVDs of the movies,” he said.
“Oh my gosh, golly, gabs. An entire movie, is on this little circle,” Karli chimed, touching all the items. “I will take special care of these things belonging to your niece.”
“They are yours now,” he told her, thinking of an idea. “I tell you what Pooh Bear. Each time you finish a book, you and I will set a special time to watch the movie afterwards and you can tell me which was better, the book or the movie.”
“Daddy, have you read the books too?”
“I think this Muggle read the first three, but I will get me a set of the books and we will read together,” he told her.
Karli jumped to her feet, flinging her body at him and knocking him onto the floor on his back. She kissed his cheeks and squeezed him tightly, laughing happily. Her cheeks were damp with tears as her face rested against his.
“You’re the best Daddy ever,” she said. “I love you more and more each day.”
“Okay. Okay. Enough mush. Take this stuff to your room, but that robe and other stuff will need to be washed before you wear any of it, okay?”
“Sure thing, Daddy,” she said, lifting the box but planning to take it outside to show Jamal that she was cool and going to be a Potterhead too. Her fingers itched to crack open the spines and turn the sheets where the scent of vanilla pressed into the pages wafted up to her tiny nose. She left him alone to continue his work, pleased that he was her Daddy.
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