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. Raising myself 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 a 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 Sister Sledge. 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’d 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 grand-children.
“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 good-bye. 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 are 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’s 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 dived 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 clothwrapped 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 pigeonholed, you completely freak me out.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” If I had hackles, they would have been rising about then.
“When I say ‘freaking out,’ I don’t mean to insult you,” she started.
“I don’t like the idea of being pigeonholed. Now, that’s insulting.” I kissed her on the forehead.
“Why would that insult you?” Veronica frowned as she got out of bed and started dressing.
“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 carney 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 out 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 wa
s 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 stalked out of 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 folder 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 that if he’d 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 folder.
“You questioned his ideas,” she said as she took long strides to where I stood and snapped the folder 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 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 have tended to be at the center of some conspiracies. It’s 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 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 United States.”
“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, Zolbin 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 as a rock star with groupies.”
I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was rolling her eyes behind me.
“Oh, yeah. A carney 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
Zolbin, 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 wet a T-shirt and wrapped it around my joint. All the way back to my ger, I thought of nothing but the extra-strength 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.
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