“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.” Ooh. 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.
Good-bye, 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 had 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.
Turned out Drew was Drew Connery, a Rhodes scholar and former campaign manager for the Johnson County Democrats. He ran a Web site 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 thought there was something to be said for not acting on that.
I went back to Santa Muerta to make sure Dekker was all right. 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 Microbus.”
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 that 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,” the 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 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 that 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. At least, they were supposed to be.
I probably don’t need to mention that I didn’t sleep well. I thought about leaving Dekker there 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. Louis smiled up at me.
“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 was pretty sure any spawn he had would’ve been born with the mark 666. And second, 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 into 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 at the fact that any vic was considered “former” and not “late.”
Carolina 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. “For everyone’s safety.”
“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 spit.
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 that 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 openmouthed at me.
“Coney, you know the rules,” Carolina said steadily. “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.
“Coney, are you really going to stand up to the council?” Gin asked.
“Yes. I’m done.”
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 had 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 assignment and hadn’t told 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. Afterward 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 newest 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. Something had to be done. The five of us agreed we didn’t want to blindly answer to the council 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 that you can’t trust anyone in the Bombay family,” Dak replied. He looked tired. Shock would 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 said. “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 most 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 that implied 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, it’s been ingrained in us 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 wished I didn’t, but I did. Veronica made me question the hit. And while I would have liked 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 Shot You Babe Page 17