"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.
'SCUSE ME WHILE I KILL THIS GUY
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Table of Contents
Mad Money Murder
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
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Mad Money Murder Page 24