Liv munched on her vegetarian lasagna and we settled into a simple conversation of pleasantries with the family. Mom, Pete, Liv, me, Dak and Paris—your average family of assassins at an average family reunion.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tom Stall: In this family, we do not solve problems by hitting people!
Jack Stall: No, in this family we shoot them!
—A History of Violence
Grandma stepped up to the microphone to start the keynote. Unlike normal conferences or conventions where you have an interesting speaker from outside the organization, our speaker was almost always a member of the Council. And they were all awful speakers. I groaned inwardly.
“Family is the most important thing we have,” Grandma began. I started to tune out until her words sounded like the adults on Charlie Brown cartoons.
Instead, I focused on the tables around me. Actually, there weren’t that many, only four in fact. And we were dead center.
To our right was Uncle Lou’s family, with Mom’s cousins York and Georgia and their kids, Sydney, Coney (Island) and Rich(mond)ie. Sydney’s son, Clinton, and daughter, Savannah, were adults now, just starting their careers. Richie hadn’t procreated (or wasn’t allowed to).
On our left was Dela’s family, with Cali, Missi, and Missi’s twin sons, Monty and Jack. They sat with Cali’s brother, Montana, and his unmarried children Lon(don) and Phil(adelphia). They reminded me of Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd, the gay assassins from the James Bond flick Diamonds Are Forever.
The last table had the Europeans. Troy’s daughter, Burma; her daughter, India; and granddaughter, Delhi (who was fifteen and would be making her first hit soon). Flo’s daughter, Asia; granddaughter, Holland; and nineteen-year-old great-granddaughter, Madrid, joined them.
The European branch of the family only ever had one child each. I didn’t know why that was, but it didn’t really matter. I liked them. They seemed so mature. Or maybe it was just the accents.
Actually, I liked pretty much everyone. When we’d been in college, Liv and I would visit other family members during the summer breaks. Our brothers, Dakota and Paris, usually spent more time with the Europeans—especially at the family chalet in Switzerland. They skied constantly, always with new Scandinavian girls on their arms. And everyone doted on them. Bastards.
Grandma was onstage, wrapping up her speech. I should’ve been a little ashamed that I didn’t hear it, but from the looks on my family’s faces, it was a real yawner.
The chocolate reception was the only thing I liked about these reunions. Every possible use you could think of for chocolate was there. And everything was in theme.
For instance, there were chocolate licorice garrotes, milk chocolate hand-guns, white chocolate asps, M & M’s with skulls and crossbones on them, dark chocolate stilettos (and I don’t mean shoes) and chocolate mousse “poisons” in edible glass candy test tubes. And milk. Lots of milk. That was the best part. Who can drink anything but milk with chocolate?
Anyway, I was at the fondue table drowning sponge cake bodies in the melted chocolate, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, Gin,” Richie’s asthmatic voice wheezed.
I ignored him.
The finger tapped harder, probably leaving bruises. “Gin!”
I turned with a sigh. I had to get this over with. “Oh, hi, Richie.”
“So how are ya?” he asked with a slimy smile. Just looking at him made me lose my appetite. I should’ve killed him just for that.
“Just fine. How about you?” I had to force these words through my teeth.
Richie shrugged. “I’m training to be a ninja. Took out four guys last month.”
This was all bullshit. He had to know I knew that. “Really? Were you supposed to do that?” I asked innocently.
Richie’s fat cheeks flamed red. “Yes. I was. The Council knows I can handle it and so they’ve been stepping up the assignments.” He started to cool down, waving his hand nonchalantly. “And the ninja thing is mainly for the chicks.”
Now I wanted to vomit. “Is that right?” I managed.
He nodded. “Well, I’ve always had a natural talent with the martial arts,” he paused dramatically, “and with the ladies.”
I started to laugh and milk came out of my nose. I assumed when he said “ladies,” he meant the latex, blow-up kind.
“I suppose I should settle down someday,” he mused, ignoring my giggle fit. “But it really wouldn’t be fair to just choose one woman.”
I guffawed. I wanted to say something very sarcastic about his so-called way with women, but instead I shoved two or three pieces of cake victims in my mouth to stop myself. Of course, this caused me to choke violently.
Before I knew what was happening, Richie yelped, “I’ll save you!” The son-of-a-bitch wrapped his arms around me, trying to crush my ribs to get the food out. I couldn’t breathe, but I was thinking nothing could be worse than having that dumb-ass save my life.
The food remained lodged in my wind-pipe as Richie squeezed me again and again. He wasn’t doing it right, and I had the feeling I was turning blue. I brought my arms up, forcing Richie to release me and threw myself onto my own fist on the back of the chair. The pressure on my sternum popped the slimy chunk of cake out of my mouth and I slipped to the floor.
“You saved her, Richie!” “You’re a hero, boy!” Voices praised Richie all around me and I thought, That’s it. I’ve died and gone to hell.
No such luck. Apparently, no one saw me save myself. Everyone in the whole goddamned family thought Richie saved me. It was my worst nightmare come true. Now I really wanted to kill him.
“Gin was eating so fast, stuffing it in like a pig.” Richie’s voice floated down to the floor where I lay. “I tried to stop her, but it’s obvious she has an eating problem. I’d say she’s put on thirty pounds since last year.”
It’s just twenty pounds, you moron! I struggled to get to my feet and looked at the room of amazed family members. Liv and Dak grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the room.
“Let me go!” I fought them. “I have to go in there and kill him!”
But Liv and Dak wouldn’t give up until I was outside by the pool.
“What were you thinking in there?” Dak asked incredulously.
“Nothing! I just crammed food into my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything stupid!” I protested weakly.
“Well, now you’ve made him a hero!” Liv cried out.
“He didn’t save me! I did!” I yelled.
Dak and Liv studied me for a moment, then exchanged arched eyebrows with each other. Great. They thought Richie really did save me. Hell, the whole Bombay family thought that!
“Focus!” Liv snapped.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t go back in there.”
Dak grinned. “We know Richie didn’t do anything. Probably everyone else does too. He’s not worth it, Gin.”
Liv folded her arms across her chest and nodded in agreement.
“All right, then let’s go to the bar. I need a triple.”
“Triple what?” Liv asked.
“A triple anything.”
Which is how I ended up at eight-thirty in the morning, gulping down coffee and feeling like I was dead. Great, my appointment with the Council was in half an hour and I was grotesquely hungover. My skin was clammy, and it felt like there were beetles crawling around underneath. Even my hair follicles hurt. If my family wasn’t trying to kill me with humiliation, they were doing so with alcohol poisoning.
I made it to the Brutus Conference Room just in time.
“Sit down, Virginia, please,” Grandma ordered. Lou, Dela, Troy and Florence all nodded.
The Council members sat in high, leather-backed seats on a platform in a semicircle around me. I sat in a simple leather chair below them, which meant psychologically I was at a disadvantage. The walls were dark with mahogany paneling. It would make a great room for a war tribunal.
Lou spoke up first. �
��Virginia, you have done very well with all of your assignments in the last year.”
What? Praise from Lou? I was sure I had a shocked look on my face.
Troy added in his clipped English accent, “Especially your last two assignments. And while I think the methods were a bit...” He paused to think of the right word, “extreme, you managed it.”
“My brother is understating what we all feel was a job well done,” Florence said.
I sat up a little straighter in my chair. But I said nothing. You weren’t allowed to speak until the Council invited you to.
Dela spoke next and I wondered if they’d all rehearsed taking turns. “Which is why this isn’t an ordinary evaluation.”
Troy frowned at her, before turning to me. “I’m sure you have wondered why the reunion is taking place so soon. It is because we have a rather serious dilemma and we need you to take care of it.”
My mouth dropped open at that point, only adding to my look of hungover moron. But I still didn’t speak—even though I damn well wanted to. They needed my help?
Grandma folded her hands. “The last two jobs were tests, Ginny. We wanted to see how you could handle the stress. The real job is what you are here for.” She waved her arms around her. “What we are all here for.”
There was a pause, and for a moment, I opened my mouth, then closed it. The Council was going to tell me what the job was, right? Or were we going to play charades? And let me tell you, I sucked at charades.
“There is a mole in the family,” Lou said. “We need you to find out who it is and take care of it.”
Okay, now I was stunned. It was hard enough to get over the complimentpalooza earlier, but a mole? In our family ? Who’d be that stupid?
“We’ve learned through our sources,” Dela explained, “that one of the Bombays has been providing information to the FBI and Scotland Yard. We don’t believe at this time that the information is damaging, but we want it stopped.”
Well, duh! Can I talk now?
“We are trusting you to find out who the traitor is and dispatch them,” Troy said. “Any questions?”
“Yeah!” I shouted, earning a stern look from Grandma. “I mean, yes. I have several. First, are you convinced it’s blooded family?” The Council nodded (rather creepily) in unison. “Okay, how do you know that? What do you have? What information will you give me? What is my timeline? Do I really have to kill them, or do I just turn them over to you?” Actually, it would be a more merciful death if I just killed whoever it was.
Lou held up his hand. “I know this is a tough assignment. I once had to take out a family member, as you well know. But it’s the way we do things. It’s what has made our enterprise successful all these thousands of years.”
“No one else here will know what we’ve told you,” Grandma said. “We are announcing that it has to do with the children who have reached ritual age. You are, under no circumstances, to talk to anyone about this.” She waved her finger at me. “Not your mother. Not your brother or your cousin. No one.”
Troy made a face. “It could even be one of them, Virginia. That is why we must tread lightly.”
I really, really wanted to roll my eyes.
Grandma slapped the table, startling me. “I mean it! Tell no one!”
Dang, she was touchy. Well, I guess she did watch her brother kill her daughter. Okay, fine. Geez.
“Dela will be your contact,” Lou added. “You’ll meet with her tonight at five p.m. in her room. Don’t talk about that either.”
Flo smiled, trying to lighten the situation. “Just tell everyone we are pleased with your work. Dela will be your handler in all matters relating to this. Any other questions?”
“Yea ... I mean yes. Why only Dela?” I had many more questions but this one popped out first.
Troy glared. “Because it will be easier for you and for us. This way we know the situation is being handled competently and you only need to go to one person to report.”
A rap at the door told me my evaluation was over. Someone else waited outside. I rose and nodded to the Council, letting myself out.
Richie sneered at me on his way in. I smiled back because he might be the mole. Well, he could be, right?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. Sometimes I just want it to stay saved! You know, for a little bit? I feel like the maid; I just cleaned up this mess! Can we keep it clean for ... for ten minutes?”
—Mr. Incredible, The Incredibles
A mole. In the Bombay family. I kid you not—these were the two sentences that went through my mind over and over again as I sat by the pool, watching Liv and Dak play with the kids. I told everyone I got a good review, but they seemed doubtful. Gee, maybe it was the cartoon thundercloud over my head, or the fact I only responded in monosyllabic grunts.
Okay, so I wasn’t much of an actress. I twirled my straw in the lemonade Paco brought me. He kept asking if I wanted something stronger in it, but I said no. The hangover was long forgotten, but worry had set in. And I needed to be sober to meet with Dela.
My eyes searched the pool, scanning every family member nearby. One of these thirty-five people was ratting out the family. Again I thought of Richie, but then realized I had to be more practical. The only things that condemned him were (1) he was an idiot, and (2) I wanted it to be him.
I cleared my throat in hopes of clearing my thoughts. No. This was serious. And it wasn’t going to be easy. Even though I fantasized that Aunt Dela would give me a complete dossier with the traitor’s photo and schedule for the next week, I knew better. If they had even the slightest idea who it was, that person would be made an example of at the reunion. Not good.
So I would have to find out who it was. But how? I wasn’t a detective. I guess the only good thing about this was that the Council felt certain it wasn’t me. I was not a suspect. Well, that and the fact that I knew I wasn’t talking to the Feds. And I knew it couldn’t be Mom, Dak or Liv. Okay. That’s four people out of thirty-five. Only thirty-one more suspects to go.
What was the first thing to look at? I thought about all those Agatha Christie novels I had read in high school. Now, what was that “m” word thingy that every murderer had to have? Motion ... motor ... motel ... motive! That’s it! If I could figure out the motivation behind the treason, I might be able to find the fink.
I shifted in my rattan seat, causing my sunglasses to slip to the end of my nose. I pushed them back up. Somehow, they felt like protection. A barrier between me and disaster.
What would it take to betray the family? Money was out. We were all filthy rich. And it wasn’t like the government could tempt us with more than we already had. Maybe the mole got caught? Perhaps it was some kind of blackmail?
In spite of the hot weather, I shivered. The entire Bombay family could be put in prison for the things we’d done. And right or wrong, what we’d been doing for millennia (although I was pretty sure the statute of limitations had run out on historical assassinations) really boiled down to murder, plain and simple. Shit.
If it was blackmail, then we were all in danger. Hell, if the Scotland Yard was involved, the European branch was in trouble too. I felt my frown lines deepen. Wouldn’t that be ironic? The government imprisoning assassins they hired regularly? Of course, I wasn’t supposed to know about that, but I’m not an idiot.
Okay, blackmail was bad. It meant the mole could be anyone. Not good. How about revenge? No, that wouldn’t be it. Anyone implicating the family would turn up implicated as well. That left stupidity.
Stupidity as a motive was highly underrated in this family. Look at Richie. I shook my head, looking a little insane to those around me. I couldn’t count on it being Richie. But who else could it be?
I spent the rest of the day like this, excusing myself as hungover. At four-thirty I showered and dressed, and at five, I knocked on Dela’s door.
“Come in, Gin!” I h
eard the door locks pop and went into the penthouse. I’d never been in Dela’s rooms before. Oooh. She was a wicker chick. Every piece of furniture was wicker or rattan. Large ceiling fans hung in each room, lazily spinning the humid air about. Tropical potted plants and a tiled floor made me feel like I was in Mexico. And in a bizarre twist, every wall was covered with paintings of matadors on black velvet.
“Sit down,” Dela said, directing me to a table laid out with dinner for two. “We’re eating in here tonight.”
The enchiladas and fried plantains made my mouth water. I joined her at the table and began to eat, waiting for her to speak first.
She waited until we were done with our first glass of wine. A Chilean shiraz, I think.
“So what do you think of our little problem?”
Little problem? “Um, well, I don’t know yet,” I responded brilliantly.
Dela nodded. “Of course you don’t. And I’ll bet you were hoping I would have a complete dossier, right?”
I swallowed my wine before answering. “That’s right. But I’m guessing that’s not the case.”
“No. I don’t have much to give you, in fact.”
“So how do you know about the FBI and the Yard?” I asked.
Dela sighed. “For years we’ve had connections in certain government departments. Our contacts tipped us off just recently.”
“I suppose Interpol and the CIA are next?” All right, I probably didn’t have to be such a smartass about it.
“No, they aren’t involved. But the agencies that are could jeopardize our family.”
That part, I’d guessed. “What have our contacts told us?”
Dela poured me another glass of wine. “Please understand, Gin, our contacts are just as upset as we are.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure. But they won’t go to prison, now, will they? Or have their entire family put away? No, that risk is exclusively ours.”
Dela frowned. “I understand that you’re upset and am pleased you are concerned about the family’s interests....”
'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy Page 12