'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

by Leslie Langtry

  Whoa. I guess he hadn’t been kidding about the two weeks. Okay, why was this bothering me? He’d already met them. And I was pretty sure he would charm them to death. Hmmm. That might be worth exploring. I wondered if you really could charm someone to death. What a pleasant way to die.

  I forced myself back on topic. “All right,” I said, “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Great! What’s your mum’s favorite place?”

  I loved him hard right there. “Taschetta’s. On Third and Twenty-second.”

  “What is it with your family and Italian food?” he teased.

  “I don’t know. We’re Greek originally. Go figure.”

  Of course, the night ended in the bedroom. It’s hard to describe how incredible Diego was in bed. Every time he touched me, I felt like the most desirable woman on earth. Our bodies moved together as if they’d been made to do just that one thing.

  But while the sex was great, I found him even more mouthwatering because he loved my kid. He wanted to impress my mother. He wanted to meet my family. And he knew his way around a dishwasher. I wondered if I could wait for the two weeks to be over before I proposed.

  As I watched him walk out to his car at three-thirty in the morning, I mentally wrote (in really girly handwriting) Gin & Diego Bombay, 4-ever. I bet I could get the Council to give me a year off after this assignment. Then I could take my time and tell my future husband everything. And we’d live happily ever after in a castle far, far away. Romi would be a princess, Diego would be the king, and I would be the queen of death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.”

  —Gay Fawlkes

  Dak called in the morning, just as Romi and I were running out the door. He was staying a little longer in Chicago due to complications with a German stewardess. Could I take the mail in again?

  In my typical mom-iform of yoga pants, T-shirt and jacket, I popped into his house and stacked the new copies of Soldier of Fortune and Handgunner and a plain brown package from Good Vibrations on top of the old mail. I was just about to leave when I remembered the cell phone and memory card. It occurred to me that the Council might frown on the fact that I hadn’t checked them out, so I grabbed them and headed home.

  I had a few hours until meeting Liv for lunch, so I hit the secret workshop and plugged the network card into my laptop.

  “If I download a virus, Dak, you’re so dead,” I said to myself. My mind wandered a little, setting up different scenarios of how I would kill him if he messed up my laptop.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw that all the files were photos. I’m not sure what I was expecting—a list of undercover CIA operatives, the Dead Sea Scrolls, architectural plans for the Empire’s Death Star? Photos I could deal with. Who knew the kid was so sentimental? I mean, he took millions of shots of my daughter every time he was around her. I clicked on the first file folder and opened it.

  Here I was, thinking these were pictures of my precious little girl. So you can imagine how shocked I was to find a photographic record of my little brother’s love life. Each folder was from a different conquest. And honestly? I had no idea there were so many uses for peanut butter and fishing line.

  I didn’t want to go any further, but I had to check them all out. I’d definitely have to use Lysol on my keyboard (and maybe my eyes) when I was done. And while I was impressed by how limber my brother really was, I didn’t need to see these.

  At last there was only one folder left. Then I could take a shower and don a hairshirt to punish myself. I clicked on the next file while squinting through one eye. But this file was different. There were no naked brunettes, acrobatic blondes or multi-orgasmic redheads. Had I hit the family pictures at last?

  The first photo had Grandma in it. Only this wasn’t your typical family album stuff. Grandma was kneeling over a man. A dead man, from the looks of the red blood splashed all over the room. In her left hand (I didn’t know she was a lefty) was a .45 semiautomatic pistol.

  I clicked on the next picture and saw a photo of Uncle Lou tossing a knife into the chest of a large blond man in a suit. This couldn’t be right! Each photo depicted a family member making a hit. Why would he even have these? How could he have gotten them? Granted, we all wanted a little backup, but this was downright terrifying.

  There it was, in full color—my family’s profession. Every member was featured except for Dak, Mom, Paris, Liv and me. Was this some sort of insurance policy? I definitely needed to talk to my brother when he got home. This kind of shit was way too dangerous to have lying around ... even if it was carefully hidden in a dried cheese can.

  I tossed the memory stick into an envelope and stashed it in my safe. I hoped no one would ever find it there. I threw the cell phone in my pocket and headed to Liv’s for lunch. Maybe she’d have some kind of explanation for what I’d seen.

  “Obviously,” Liv rolled her eyes as she handed me a sandwich, “he gets turned on looking at pictures of his liaisons.”

  I made a face. “Not that! The other file. And by the way, why aren’t you freaked out? You’d be totally grossed out if you found something like that at Paris’s place!”

  “Get over it. Your brother has sex with lots of women. Big deal.” She took a bite of her tuna melt and chewed thoughtfully. I didn’t even want to know what she was thinking.

  “Okay, fine! Let’s forget about those and focus on the”—I looked around and whispered—“family photos.”

  “I’d guess it’s his insurance policy.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Didn’t you say you found a phone too?” Liv asked.

  I nodded and pulled it out of my pocket.

  “Oooh!” Liv cooed as I handed it to her. “I love these! I’ve been trying to get one, but there are waiting lists for this model.”

  I arched my right eyebrow. “Waiting lists? For a cell phone? What? Like for a Hermes Birkin bag?” I’d been on a wait list for that damned purse for two years! Who did I have to kill to get that bag?

  Liv nodded, oblivious to my rant. “Yup.” She flipped it open. “These things are really rare. Top of the line too. I wonder why he’d hide it from us? Seems like Dak would want to show it off.”

  She had me there. My brother had always liked to flaunt his new toys. Why wouldn’t he especially want Liv to know he had this phone, knowing her interest in all things technical?

  “Hmmmm.” She punched a few buttons. “That’s weird. No numbers stored. I can’t even find the number for this phone.”

  As if on cue, it rang. Liv and I froze, staring at each other. I didn’t want to answer it, especially if it were some weird sex line he had. I shuddered, thinking there were women out there calling 1-900-DAKOTA. I really needed to talk to him. In spite of my mental meanderings, I did manage to jot down the number before it disappeared.

  “Mind if I keep this a couple of days?” Liv asked. “Just for research, of course.”

  I nodded. “Any news on Dak’s finances?”

  Liv pulled her laptop over and logged on. “I went into Dak’s and Paris’s accounts, but didn’t find anything unusual. Of course, if they had a Swiss bank account or something offshore, I wouldn’t have it yet. I went ahead and checked on the others and there’s no suspicious activity. You find anything?”

  “No. Nothing.” I rested my chin in my hand. This was very frustrating.

  “So all we have is the memory stick and phone for Dak?” Liv asked. After I nodded she continued, “I’ll see what my brother has at his place. He goes to the gym from ten a.m. to noon every day.”

  I loved Liv’s brother as if he were my own. Paris and Dak were very close. They bragged about their bachelor lifestyles to me and Liv all the time. While my brother was fair, Paris had Liv’s dark hair and eyes. Paris was not as much of a skirt-chaser as my brother, but he was very attractive and could really pour on the charm. He didn’t have a specialty as far as the assass
in thing went. Paris didn’t like the idea of getting bored with too much repetition at work.

  “Okay. Tell me what you find. I’ll head home and see if I can get anything more on the phone tap. If not, I guess I’ll be sending off the Chia Pets.”

  “I saw those in your suitcase,” Liv replied, “but I thought maybe you ordered those from the home shopping network that night Richie saved your life. You were pretty drunk.”

  “Richie did not save my life!” Maybe I shouted that a little too loudly. I tried to look wounded as Liv erupted in giggle fits. “And those happen to be state-of-the-art listening devices from Missi!”

  Liv wiped tears from her cheeks. “Fine. I’m sure the guys will love them.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “I guess it was just being in the wrong place at the right time. That’s what assassination is all about.”

  —Andy Warhol

  By the time Romi went to bed that night, I was in a full-blown panic. Dak wasn’t answering his cell or home phone. I stopped by the condo with Romi after dinner, but there was no sign of him. Something was wrong. He always checked in. I even called Mom to see if she’d heard from him but only succeeded in worrying her. Fantastic.

  The pictures of my family in the midst of “working” played through my mind like a twisted slide show. And here we have Maryland in high productivity mode. Her output was exceptional in the last fiscal.

  There was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. And Liv wouldn’t have any news on Paris’s place, nor would she have been able to run down any bank accounts in the Grand Caymans.

  I found myself wandering into my lab. The light on the phone tap was blinking. I picked up my headphones and hit the replay key.

  Coney had five messages from women in Truckee, all wanting to make “appointments.” I had to smile. He had told me that in virtually every city there were wealthy, married women who wanted to sleep with him. There was something taboo about a one-night stand with a carny, he’d told me. I figured they picked him because he had all his own teeth.

  “Master” Lon and “Master” Phil had a conversation with the NYC Order of Jedi Knights regarding an upcoming meeting of the Jedi Council in someone named Irving’s basement. They were reminded to bring their action figures and not make too much noise so they wouldn’t wake Irving’s mom. There was also a message from, if I heard this correctly, female Klingon twins wondering if they were still on for their date to the Star Trek convention. Okay, so they weren’t gay. But this was totally gross. It seemed to me that they were far too juvenile to be moles. And they’d need the trust funds to continue their Anakin Skywalker/Captain Kirk fetish. Ick.

  I checked Paris’s phone next. Nothing but a reminder from the dry cleaner. That left Richie and Dak. All my bets were on Richie. I took a deep cleansing breath, and hoped I wouldn’t hear another conversation with a gender- and height-challenged sex worker.

  Nothing. Nada. Zip. The man hadn’t even had a phone conversation in the last twenty-four hours. As I’d always suspected, he was socially retarded. What a surprise. Oh well. Something was bound to turn up. I checked Dak’s phone.

  After listening to a couple of messages from myself and a worried threat from Mom (my bad on that one), I actually got a recorded conversation.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” Dak’s voice came through clearly.

  “It’s too late to back down now.” A gruff, raspy voice sounding suspiciously like Eldamae Haskell (are the Girl Scouts involved?) replied.

  “Do you have the stuff?” the voice growled.

  There was a heavy sigh from Dak. “Yes. We’re still on. I’ll see you in D.C.”

  I sat in my chair for a long, long time. Forget panic—I was on the verge of full-blown hysteria. Dak couldn’t be the mole! I looked at the memory card in my hand, the phone tap, and I would have looked at the cell phone if Liv hadn’t confiscated it. No! There must be another explanation. But if so, why did everything I had in my possession say otherwise?

  I examined the photos over and over—but all I came up with was that Grandma must have had highlights recently; killing tall blond men gave Uncle Lou a boner (my God, why did I have to see that?); and that Lon and Phil liked to wear Yoda masks when they did a job. Grandma’s highlights shocked me more than anything. Why try to look younger? It wasn’t like there was any age discrimination in our profession.

  I listened to the recorded phone conversation five times. I even tried calling his home and cell phone again. But nothing worked. The only thing left to do was go to bed.

  Of course, once in bed, I stared at the ceiling. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to sleep, but it didn’t work. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Dak enjoying a mocha frappuccino with Bob from the FBI and Nigel from the Yard. Here are the photos of my family killing people, old chums. Could you please pass the chocolate-pecan biscotti? Finally, a few hours and three sleeping pills later, I passed out.

  I rang Liv’s doorbell at eight-thirty a.m. after taking Romi to school. The door opened, and Liv yanked me inside.

  “I was just about to call you,” she said, sounding out of breath. Liv led me to the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. My body was dragging after little sleep and an overdose of sleep agent. I needed the charge. Which was why I was surprised to taste rum in it.

  “I found something,” Liv said hurriedly, dismissing my arched eyebrow over the spiked coffee. “It looks bad, Gin. Have you heard from Dak?”

  That was it. My heart unplugged itself from the arteries around it and fell into my feet.

  “Did you check out the others?” I squeaked.

  Liv nodded. “Your brother has an offshore bank account.”

  “Swiss? Caymans?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Mongolia.”

  “Mongolia? There are banks in Mongolia?”

  “Yeah. In Ulaanbaatar.”

  I stared at her. “Ulaanbaatar? Who hides money in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia?”

  Liv ignored me and continued. “Last month, someone from the D.C. area and from London deposited a total of five million dollars in Dak’s account.”

  “That’s got to be a lot of money for Ulaanbaatar,” I replied.

  “Will you give it up?” Liv shouted.

  I gulped my drink and poured myself a mug full of rum, lightly laced with coffee. You ever have one of those days? Like when you find out your brother is working to put Grandma in jail and hoarding money in a bank in Mongolia? Well, I was having one of those days.

  “Gin, none of the other guys has anything like this. Can you think of any reason he might have gotten so much money?” Her eyes pleaded with me, but I had no hope to give.

  “Are you kidding? I can’t figure out why he picked Mongolia!” Liv shot me a look that told me she would have me drawn and quartered if I mentioned it again. So I wisely dropped the whole Ulaanbaatar thing. Come on! Ulaanbaatar?

  “That’s not all,” I started. I told her about the conversation I’d taped. “This looks really, really bad.”

  Liv shook her head, “No. I don’t believe it. Dak wouldn’t do this! He wouldn’t sell us out.”

  I hated to be the voice of reason. I mean I really hated it. But I had to reply. “Liv, you, Paris, me and Mom weren’t among his little ‘Assassins Gone Wild’ collection. He’s not selling us out, just everyone else.” At least there wasn’t a photo of Grandma baring her wizened breasts and shouting “Woooooo!”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Are you telling me you think your brother is Mole Man? Are you joking? Gin! This is Dak! He would never do this. Not in a million years!”

  I looked at her with envy. I wished I could be so sure of his innocence. But doubt had installed itself firmly in my brain, and I couldn’t ignore it.

  “And what would be his motive?” Liv continued shouting, tears beginning to stream from her lovely eyes. “There isn’t one! He adores living on the family trust fund! And he likes the job! There’s no way you can convince me he is guilty!” She
punctuated her rant by crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Liv,” I said wearily, running my fingers through my hair, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to believe it either. He’s my baby brother, for Christ’s sake! I baby-sat him! Taught him how to throw a football and zero the sights on a sniper rifle!” Misty watercolor memories. Of the way we were ...

  My cell phone went off, chiming AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.” It was the ring tone I’d selected for the Council back when I’d been optimistic about my life in the Bombay family. Of course, the deeds weren’t done dirt cheap, but it seemed appropriate at the time.

  “Hello?” I said warily.

  “Gin. It’s Dela. What do you have?”

  “Nothing yet. I still have a week, right?”

  Dela sighed. “We need to know as soon as possible, Gin. We can’t wait until the last minute. Do you know anything?”

  Sure. It’s my kid brother. I’ll deliver him hog-tied and bleeding tomorrow. Any particular appendages you want me to cut off and send you? “No. I’m still working on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I learn something.” I clicked off the cell. Liv looked at me expectantly.

  “It’s the Council. We’re running out of time,” I told her.

  Liv wiped her eyes on a dish towel and poured us both a glass of rum. We sat in silence for a moment.

  “I haven’t heard from Dak in two days. He’s not answering his cell or home phone.”

  Liv’s gaze drifted out the kitchen window. “I just find it so hard to believe. Are you sure you’re not holding out?”

  “Yeah. I’m protecting Richie. Jesus, Liv! How could you think that?” I shoved my rum aside. “What are we going to do?”

  “We need to find him and confront him.”

  “Good idea. Of course, we can’t find him, so that defeats the plan.” Did I sound a little too sarcastic?