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 ha
d 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 l
ove 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.
Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4) Page 69