by Nic Saint
Calvin parked the car in front of the office—a one-story building with the words ‘Diffley & Sons’ printed in graceful black lettering on the window—and we went inside. As the newest member of the family firm, my brothers had assigned me a small, windowless office at the back of the building. I didn’t mind. I knew I had to work my way up, and it was gratifying to know that once the same office had been occupied by my own father, back when he was a junior agent, trained by my uncles, who now occupied field offices in other parts of the country.
I walked past the front desk, today manned by Lucien, who gave me a cheery wave, and past the offices of Calvin, crammed with bookcases, Brice, bedecked with posters of classic movies, Lucien’s now empty and darkened office, and Dalton’s nook, filled with sports memorabilia and framed portraits of his heroes—Arnold Schwarzenegger and Frank Zane.
I flicked on the light in my own tiny cubbyhole and plunked myself down behind my desk. I eyed the tiny shelf over the door, groaning under the weight of my Star Wars figures, my Chewbacca mask, my Han Solo beer mug, and my Millennium Falcon cutting board. Hey, either you’re a collector or you ain’t, right? I closed my eyes and wondered if we were ever going to find Mariana’s killer.
A knock at the door had me open my eyes. I was surprised to find Detective Munroe standing before me, and he wasn’t looking too friendly.
“Hey, Detective,” I said, not to be deterred. “How are you?”
His frown deepened, cutting deep grooves into his brow. A lock of dark hair flicked down, and I suddenly had to resist the urge to flick it back up again.
“Not too good,” he growled, and planted his hands on my desk. “What were you and your brother doing at TransCent just now?”
My sudden proximity with this prime male specimen threw me for a moment, but only for a moment. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”
“Classified, huh?”
“Yep. Insurance brokerage business. Highly classified.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a grimace. It wasn’t much of a smile but it was something, so I grinned back at him, perhaps a little inanely. What? The man was trying to intimidate me, and he was doing a pretty good job.
“You know what else is classified?”
“The recipe for Coca Cola?”
“Cute. My investigation, that’s what. And if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a dozen times: butt out. And that goes for both you and your brother.”
“You haven’t told us a dozen times,” I argued. “More like two times. Once at the crime scene, and once at the coroner’s office. So that makes this the third time. Hardly a dozen.”
His grimace vanished, and his eyes grew cold. “Are you messing with me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Cause I’m starting to get the feeling you’re messing with me. And let me tell you, I’m not the person to mess with.” He pointed a finger at me. “If you ever come near this investigation again, I’m throwing both you and your brother in jail. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly. But you have to understand that we owe it to our client to find out what happened. So if our paths cross again, please keep that in mind.”
He rattled a pair of handcuffs in my face. “This is what I’ll keep in mind if our paths cross again.”
“Oh, nice,” I said, not to be outdone, and whisked a file from my desk. “And this is the contract stating that we have every right to further the interests of our clients.”
“Your client is dead.”
I lifted my chin. “All the more reason to pursue our own line of inquiry.”
“And that’s no file,” he growled.
I darted a glance at the file in my hand, and saw it was the poster of Sharknado 5: Global Swarming I’d been meaning to hang up on my wall of fame.
“Oh. Still. You get the point.”
“Yah, I got the point all right.” He rattled the handcuffs in my face again. “I’m not joking, Miss Diffley.”
I swatted at the handcuffs. “Oh, I know you’re not joking,” I said, getting annoyed. Nobody comes into my office and threatens me for doing my job. “Cause you’d have to have a sense of humor to be joking, and it’s clear to me they either removed your sense of humor when they surgically inserted that stick up your butt, or you never had one in the first place.”
There was a momentary silence, which hung heavy between us, then he grimaced. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?”
“That’s how it’s going to be,” I confirmed, though I had no idea what that meant.
He pushed himself away from my desk, and took a long, leisurely glance around my office, taking in my Star Wars shelf, my wall of fame with the movie posters of Sharknado 1 through 4—with space for number 5 and assorted sequels and spinoffs —and my bookcase filled with collectibles from Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and the Alien movies. Finally, his eyes landed on my Millennium Falcon Crocs. He let rip a disgusted snort and walked out, the handcuffs clicking pleasantly as they dangled from his belt.
Phew. That went pretty well.
Chapter 8
We were all gathered in the conference room, Calvin heading up the meeting, with the rest of us seated around the heavy oak table. It was rumored that Diffleys going as far back as two hundred years had sat around this same table, arranging Karma Corps business, and I could very well believe it. Until recently, the pictures of our forefathers had graced these walls, but Grandma had decided they all had to go. Too depressing, she felt. I wouldn’t know, for I’d never seen them, though Lucien had told me she was right. Our forefathers were all pretty dour-faced specimens.
Now only pictures of flowers and picturesque Long Island landscapes adorned the walls. Mixing the old with the new, I guess.
“We have to do something about Detective Munroe,” said Calvin. “If he keeps this up, he’s going to ruin this particular insurance claim.”
“Is there an insurance claim?” I asked.
He fixed me with an intent look. “No, there isn’t. Force of habit.”
“Whenever anyone asks why you’re snooping around a suspect’s house, just tell them you’re investigating an insurance claim,” Brice said. “Works every time.”
“Not this time,” Calvin said. “Not in the case of Detective Munroe.”
“I say we whack him,” said Dalton, sipping from a protein drink. His muscular physique was stretching the confines of his crisp white shirt. He didn’t look like much of an insurance broker. More a Mafia thug.
“We can’t kill a cop!” cried Calvin. “Are you crazy?”
“You said it yourself. He’s ruining our insurance claim.”
“I thought we couldn’t kill people?” I asked, searching the faces of my brothers. “Because we’re incapable of creating karma?”
Dead silence around the table. Finally, Lucien spoke up. “That’s not entirely true, Saffron.”
“Shut up, Lucien,” said Calvin.
“She has a right to know.”
Calvin threw up his hands. “Fine. Go put ideas in her head, then.”
“So we can kill with impunity?” I asked. “That’s crazy.”
“Only when it’s in the best interests of Karma Corps,” said Lucien. “You might call it a form of self-defense. If anyone threatens our very existence, we’re… licensed to kill. But only in extreme cases.”
Dalton snickered at this. “Like James Bond!”
“This is not one of those cases,” Calvin said, “and you know it.”
“Did you have a chat with the Chief?” asked Lucien.
Brice nodded. “Yep. I most certainly did.”
“And?”
“And he told me not to rock the boat. Apparently Logan Munroe is related to someone high up in politics.” He quickly checked his notes. “A James Munroe.”
“Senator James Munroe?” asked Calvin.
Brice shrugged. “Dunno. The Chief said he was this James Munroe guy’s nephew. He almost made it sound as if Logan Munroe is untouchable.
”
Calvin whistled through his teeth. “I guess that means we’re sunk. If even Chief Whitehouse can’t reign in this pesky detective, this case is a non-starter.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Can’t we work around Detective Munroe?”
“How? If we continue, he’ll arrest us.”
“Can he do that?” asked Dalton. “Can he arrest people like that?”
“Duh. He’s a cop, dumbass,” said Brice. “Cops can arrest anyone.”
“So,” said Dalton with a shrug. “Let’s kill him and get this over with.”
“You can’t kill him!” I cried. They all turned to me.
“Why not?” asked Brice. “It’s obvious he presents a clear and present danger.”
“Jack Ryan!” Dalton yelled, as if this was an episode of Jeopardy. “I love those movies, man.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” I said. Murdering cops? Was this the family business I’d been so eager to join? No way!
“Does he strike you as the kind of man who cuts deals?” asked Calvin.
“Um, no, but that doesn’t mean—”
“He won’t allow us to do our job, and since our job is more important than any one person, I’m afraid that leaves us no choice other than to—”
“Kill him!” Dalton cried, cracking his knuckles.
“Wait a minute!” I said, rising from my seat. “This isn’t what I signed up for. Come on, you guys. We can’t go around killing cops! That’s not who we are. Is it?”
Dead silence again, while they all avoided my gaze. Finally, Lucien was the only one to speak up. Again. “It won’t be painful, Saffron. He’ll just die in his sleep. Peacefully and painlessly. They’ll put Virgil Scattering on the case, and that’s it.”
A wave of revulsion suddenly washed through me. I balled my fists. “Then I quit,” I said.
“You what?” asked Calvin, flabbergasted.
“I quit! I can’t be a party to this… this bloodbath. I’m not a murderer! I’m here to catch killers, not become one.” I threw down my Luke Skywalker glittering pencil and stalked to the door. “And if you so much as touch a hair on Detective Munroe’s head, I’ll… I’ll…” I cast about for an appropriate punishment for my brothers but found none. “I’ll pee in your coffee!” I finally managed, and yanked open the door.
But before I could leave, suddenly the door slammed closed again, trapping me inside. “What the…” I tried to pull the handle, but it didn’t budge.
When I turned, my face flushed, I found myself gazing at four beaming faces, all smiling up at me. Then, one by one, my brothers burst into loud applause, with Dalton throwing in a few cheers.
“What is this?” I asked, completely confused now.
“This is you becoming a full-fledged agent,” Calvin said.
“But I thought I already was a full-fledged agent.”
“First you had to pass the test,” said Lucien, coming over to clap me on the shoulder. “We had to determine how far you were willing to go to protect human lives.”
“And you aced it!” said Brice, also getting up.
“So you were never going to kill Detective Munroe?” I asked, still shocked by the turn of events.
“Of course not,” said Calvin, joining us. “We couldn’t even if we wanted to. I told you, we don’t take human lives. Or even agent lives.”
“Though I liked that whole ‘license to kill’ thing,” said Dalton. “That was a nice touch, Lucien.”
“Thanks,” said Lucien with a crooked smile.
“You were just messing with me?” I cried, punching Dalton in the chest.
“Hey, watch it,” he said. “I bruise easily.”
“You deserve it!” I said, now getting seriously upset. “You really had me thinking you were going to do it.”
“Acting skills,” said Brice, throwing his head back and fluffing up his hair. “You’ve got it or you don’t. Though I thought you were hamming it up, Calvin.”
“I wasn’t hamming it up. I had to make it look believable.”
“I believed it,” I said, giving him my best scowl. “How could you, Calvin? How could you make me think my own brothers were nothing but a bunch of killers?”
He shrugged. “Listen, it’s one of the rules of Karma Corps. It’s just a test.”
“A test one of us failed at, by the way,” said Lucien, with a nasty glance at Calvin. He hadn’t forgotten how mean the latter had been at breakfast.
“One of you failed the test?” I asked.
“Not failed failed,” Calvin prevaricated.
“Let’s just say one of us wasn’t as opposed to the idea of murder as the others.”
“Which one?” I asked, looking around. My gaze landed on Dalton. “Don’t tell me. You, right? With your James Bond and Jack Ryan thing.”
Dalton gave me a grin. “Nope. Not me. Guess again.”
“Come on, you guys,” said Calvin. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“She does,” said Lucien. “She’s an agent now. She has a right to know all there is to know about the family business.”
“You?” I asked, fixing Brice with an intent stare. “Was it you?”
“No way,” said Brice. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, babe. I don’t go around killing people for no good reason. When my uncles told me I had to go out and whack a cop, I was all, like, are you nuts? And they were, like, it won’t hurt a bit. And I was, like, no way am I whacking a cop. I’ll take my chances in Hollywood, where things are a lot less rough than around here.”
“Hey, it wasn’t me, either,” said Lucien, holding up his hands.
All eyes now turned to Calvin, who sighed. “Oh, all right. I made one little mistake. Do you have to keep reminding me for the rest of my life? I’m sorry! It sounded like a good idea at the time. Plus, you haven’t heard Uncle Melvin sell the story. The way he told it, we were the good guys and they—whoever they are—were the bad ones, liable to destroy the entire Karma Corps if left unchecked.”
“So you agreed to murder an innocent human being?” I asked, suddenly seeing my brother in an entirely new light. “I don’t believe it!”
“Better believe it, sis,” said Lucien. “Calvin is a cold-blooded killer.”
“But if you failed the test, how did you manage to get on board?” I asked.
“In the end, I couldn’t go through with it,” said Calvin. “They sent me to Mayor MacDonald’s house—at the time he was the one telling us off—to kill him, and…” He hung his head. “And I couldn’t do it. I just stood there, staring down at the body of the mayor and his wife, and I couldn’t do it. So I returned to Diffley Manor, ready to give my resignation, and all of our uncles stood waiting for me in the dining room, eyeing me with disapproval, or so I thought. And then, finally, they broke into loud applause. Turns out they were afraid I was the first Diffley in one hundred years who wasn’t ordained as an agent.” He smiled. “That was one emotional roller coaster.”
I threw myself into his arms. “Oh, Calvin,” I said. “I’m so relieved you’re not a killer!”
He was taken aback somewhat, awkwardly patting my head, but then Dalton shouted, “Group hug!” and my three other brothers all piled on.
“Congratulations, honey,” Lucien tooted in my ear. “This is a great day for all of us!”
“It is,” I agreed. “But if you pull a stunt like this again, I will kill you all.” They laughed. “No, I mean it!” I cried. They laughed some more. “And from now on, this company isn’t called Diffley & Sons but Diffley & Sons & Daughter,” I added. This time the laughter stopped.
“Come again?” said Calvin, abruptly ending the group hug.
Chapter 9
“I mean, how can you justify calling yourselves Diffley & Sons when there’s a Diffley daughter in the house? That’s just crazy.”
“She has a point,” said Lucien, nodding. “She really has a point.”
Calvin frowned. “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean we
should change the name of a company that has been around since before the Founding Fathers kicked out the British.”
“Well, it’s time to make a change,” I said.
“Michael Jackson,” Dalton said with a knowing grin. “Boom! Did it again.”
“Besides, I can’t believe there has never been a woman employed by the company.”
“Well, there hasn’t,” Calvin said. “At least not to my knowledge.”
“What about Mom? Didn’t she work for Karma Corps?”
“No, she did not. Dad was a company man—a true Diffley—but Mom wasn’t. Only true Diffleys ever work for Diffley & Sons.”
“Sons & Daughter,” I said. “And I think that’s just not fair.”
“It’s not a question of fair or unfair,” said Calvin. “It’s just that Diffleys always produce men.”
“Wait. You mean to tell me I’m… an anomaly?”
“I wouldn’t call you an anomaly,” said Brice. “Just an exception to the rule.”
“Times are a changin’,” said Lucien.
“Bob Dylan!” cried Dalton. “Boom!”
“And this creaky old institution has to change along with them,” Lucien continued, ignoring Dalton. “Face it, Calvin. Karma Corps is a fossil. A dinosaur. Possibly the only company that hasn’t embraced women’s lib.”
“Karma Corps has embraced women’s lib,” said Calvin. “Just look at Saffron. She’s a girl. She’s here. And running her very first investigation.”
“Maybe we can call it Diffley & Co,” Dalton suggested. “That would encompass men, women and…” He directed a hesitant look at Lucien. “… assorted species.”
“Hey! Who are you calling assorted species, musclehead?! I’m a human being, not a species!”
“Humans are a species,” said Dalton sheepishly. “Aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” said Calvin. “Homo sapiens are definitely a species.”
“Let’s just call it Diffley Corps,” said Brice. “And get this dumb discussion over with.”
“Or Diffley,” I suggested. “Cut off the appendage.”