Guns Will Keep Us Together

by Leslie Langtry

  I nodded. "About thirty grand on the East Coast, twenty thousand in the panhandle, forty-K in California. Breeders are begging for this stuff."

  Paris coughed, trying to get my attention, but I was too far gone.

  "Our client supplies the seed of giant blue lobsters. We can't keep up with the orders."

  "How do we know you're not havin' fun with us?" Little Fat Man broke in, a bit disgruntled about the whole thing.

  "Well, let me put it to you this way. You go into any grocery store here in Indianapolis, and you'll see a tank of live lobsters, right?"

  Both men nodded.

  I continued, "Indiana is a land-locked state. You think about the hundreds of thousands of stores in this great country of ours, and you know in your heart there aren't that many lobsters in both oceans to keep up with supply. That's why there are breeders!" I sat back, looking smug. Paris, snickered in spite of himself.

  "How can a couple of guys like us get in on this action?" One of them leaned toward me conspiratorially.

  I acted like I was thinking about it. Then Paris whispered in my ear (He said, "You're an idiot," but that's beside the point.), and I nodded.

  "I'll tell you what." I pointed at the stage. "Mr. Lowe got us into it about five years ago. Now you go up to him after the show tonight and ask him about it. He'll deny it, and he's supposed to. But if you're really persistent, he'll relent and give you the info." I leaned back in my chair. "Then when we see you boys here next year, we can compare the size of the diamonds we buy for our wives."

  The fat men laughed knowingly. Paris and I slipped away at the next break. Sure, I was having a good time, but there was still work to do.

  It didn't take us long to find a couple of backstage passes (You'd be surprised how many people just leave those things lying around.) and to question a completely stoned technician about who would be there that night, when do they lock up, etc.

  I loved sneaking around backstage. The passes worked like a charm. The staff were few and far between, and it was dark enough we could hide if needed. After about half an hour of this, Paris and I swiped a detailed schedule (again, just lying around), then headed back to the hotel.

  "We should head back at midnight," Paris said after a shower. I couldn't blame him. Those clothes were hot and scratchy.

  I nodded. "Sure. But this time we dress my way." Tomorrow we'd have to put on the cheap suits again, but tonight it would be black cashmere. I had it imported. Pure, one hundred percent Mongolian cashmere. It would be like wearing silk pajamas to a break in.

  So, sure enough, we found ourselves back at the arena at 12:11 a.m. Okay, we were a little late, but I'd really wanted some nachos. I think I got a secondhand pot buzz from the roadie earlier.

  We managed to slip inside before the last of the staff called it a night. According to the stoner, the building was open all night and had security guards 24/7. No problem. My experience has been that these guys usually find a nice warm closet and bed down for the night.

  By 12:45 a.m., we were alone backstage trying to decide what would work better, weakening the cable or screwing/destroying the pulley. One Rock, Paper, Scissors game later, we were working on Paris's plan to weaken the cable. How was I supposed to know he would pick paper? He usually picks scissors, and I usually pick rock. Oh. Maybe he knew that. I hate it when I find out I'm not as smart as I thought I was.

  While Paris worked on fraying the cable, I replaced the steel carabineers with cheap, aluminum ones and significantly loosened the screws that held the cable in place. We wanted it to look like an accident, like human error and equipment malfunction. I could live with that. If none of the above worked, there was always one of Missi's transparent bullets.

  Once we were satisfied, we slipped past the snoozing guard at the door and made it back to the hotel. Paris dropped off immediately, but I wanted to do some work on my wig. It was so crappy, that no matter what I did, it continued to resume its ugly, bowl shape. Damn Stupid synthetic hair.

  Louis popped into my head once I stretched out. I was surprised to notice that I smiled automatically. Damn, he was cute. How did I end up with a kid like that? I felt bad that I didn't remember his mom. I would've liked to know more about the mother of my son.

  A shock of pain hit my stomach, and I realized I felt bad that I'd treated her like all the other women. Whoever she was, she did a good job raising Louis. And I was depressed that I couldn't thank her for that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Vesper Lynd: It doesn't bother you; killing all those people?

  James Bond: Well I wouldn't be very good at my job if it did.

  ~Casino Royale

  The next morning, at 9:00 a.m. sharp, Paris and I (incognito again in the '70's porn flunky look) stood in the doorway of the auditorium closest to the backstage area. Why weren't we in our seats? Well, one reason was to avoid the rednecks who sat next to us yesterday (I smiled, thinking of them pestering Lowe about lobster semen all night.), and the other was that if something went wrong with the hit, we could finish off the target quickly.

  "I've been thinking about what you said," I whispered to Paris.

  "Hmmm?" He was busy studying his watch. Lowe's lethal zip line moment was about to make motivational speaker history.

  "What you said about women. How I don't seem to respect them."

  Paris arched his right eyebrow. "We're working now. Can't this wait?"

  I nodded, then went on anyway. "I was just thinking about Louis's mom. How I don't even remember her. And I think you're right about me."

  "That's great, Dak. This is a real breakthrough for you, but the wrong time." Okay, he sounded pissed.

  I turned my eyes to the stage. Damn. They were running late. After scanning the audience I thought about talking to Paris again, but something in his posture dissuaded me.

  Music started up, you know, the kind of dun-dun-dee-dun thingy that announces the arrival of the king, dictator, sheik, whatever.

  "Do you want to zip through success?" Anthony Lowe's voice came from backstage. The crowd went wild. I rolled my eyes, thinking Just die already.

  "Then follow me!" Lowe screamed and the audience screamed.

  Paris and I watched as Lowe started to appear at the side of the stage, about forty feet off the floor. As if on cue, the cable gave way, dumping the speaker unceremoniously in a clump on the right side of the stage. That was a serious drop. But people have been known to survive high falls, so I held my breath. The crowd was unnervingly silent. For once in his life, I realized Mr. Lowe had the complete attention of everyone in the room. How nice.

  We waited just a few more minutes for the stage hands to do the typical, "oh my God, he's dead," and the expected gasp from the audience before Paris and I headed for the exits.

  "I just wanted you to know that you were right," I started up as we walked out to the parking lot.

  Paris stopped and looked at me. "What are you talking about?"

  I explained to him that I was up pretty late thinking about Louis's mom, how I felt like an asshole for how I most likely treated her. We continued on to the car and got in. Paris listened quietly.

  "That's great, Dak." He finally spoke as we hauled our luggage out to the car. "I never thought you'd come around."

  "And I wanted you to be the first to know. And as soon as we get back, I'm going to invite the family to a barbecue at Gin's house, to meet Leonie."

  "Why at Gin's house?" Paris asked.

  "Well, duh! Gin has a backyard and a grill. I don't." It made sense to me.

  Gin was more than enthusiastic to host the family. Diego nodded and winked. Mom screamed into the phone when I invited her and Dad, and Liv was so excited that she spoke in a shrill, high-pitched voice that I believe only chipmunks could understand.

  Apparently, I'd never done this before. I didn't realize I'd never brought a woman home to meet the family. I called Leonie, and she sounded amused, but agreed.

  "That's awesome, Dad!" Louis howled when
I told him.

  "Really?" I asked him.

  He nodded. "Yeah! Romi, Alta, and Woody will be there! My whole family! I never got to do stuff like this when Mom was alive. She avoided her family."

  I thought about what he said for a moment before responding. "Louis? I'm really sorry I didn't know your mom that well. I wish I had."

  My son arched his right eyebrow. "Really? She told me the same thing once. That she wished she'd gotten to know you better."

  That kind of stunned me. "Oh. I didn't know that." I cleared my throat. "Are you mad at me?"

  His eyes grew wide. "No. Why would I be?"

  I shrugged and picked at a piece of the carpet with the toe of my shoe. Louis made me feel like I was the six-year-old.

  "I don't know. I just wanted you to know that…well…I love you, and I'm glad you're here."

  Louis flew into my arms, crushing me with his embrace. "I love you too, Dad," came the muffled reply.

  I set him down, trying discreetly to brush away a tear as I did so. "So, you like the Bombay family?" I tried to change the subject. My heart was beating so violently I thought I was having a heart attack.

  "Oh yeah! My cousins are cool, and I love Grandma and Grandpa! Paris and Missi are a lot of fun to talk to, and Gin and Liv are like having two moms! Although I do think it's weird no one in this family seems to have a day job. But after that trip to Santa Muerta, I figured we're all independently wealthy."

  Maybe this would've been the right time to tell him what the Bombay family business was. Romi and Alta had started their training last year. And Woody was four years away from his first kill. They all knew.

  But something held me back. Louis was a genius. He wouldn't just take the information and live with it. Chances are, my kid would analyze it—bring up the ethical questions most of us spent our whole lives avoiding. It was a pretty safe bet to think Louis would not join us without a fight. I'd have to do something I'd never done before—prepare. Make sure I had good reasons for what we do. Maybe I should talk to Liv and Gin about it.

  So, I changed the subject, and we spent the afternoon planning the party. Louis chose hot dogs, hamburgers and a decorated cake depicting the wonders of the Gobi Desert. I'm not kidding.

  So, on a Saturday afternoon, my family stood in a semi-circle in Gin's backyard, ready to meet Leonie. I made my introductions and Leonie laughed. The Bombay family rushed to mob her, and I realized everything was going to be okay.

  "Wow, Dak." Gin sat down next to me at the picnic table. "She's amazing. I'm kind of in shock." She took a drink from her bottle of beer and winked at me.

  I watched as Liv, Mom and Leonie talked animatedly a few yards away. "I guess I've never brought anyone home to meet the family before."

  "And this one has a brain. Very cool," Gin said.

  I punched my sister in the arm. "Are you saying I didn't date intelligent women before?"

  "With the exception of Louis's mom, yes." Gin motioned toward my son, who was seriously engaged in a water gun fight with his cousins, Diego, Paris, and Liv's husband, Todd. It felt so…so suburban.

  "Missi ran the DNA test on Louis. He is my son. I think I can claim some of that intelligence."

  "No, little brother. It definitely didn't come from you. I think he gets it from me."

  I gave her my best evil eye as Liv joined us. "I have a son. How cool is he?"

  "He's amazing!" Liv gushed. "And Leonie's great too. Hell has definitely frozen over today."

  "Oh, come on!" I protested. "You had to know that this might happen someday!"

  My sister and cousin shook their heads simultaneously. Gin spoke up, "You are growing up." Liv added insult to injury by nodding in agreement.

  I focused on Leonie as she chatted happily with Mom and Dad. She was nothing like any woman I'd dated before. I knew she was special, and we hadn't even slept together yet. We haven't really even made out! The old Dak would be panicking right now. But I wasn't the old Dak, was I?

  What was it about her that invaded my thoughts, day and night? She was smart, funny and didn't put up with my bullshit. I should hate that in a woman. But Leonie Doubtfire was different. She was like a best friend.

  Huh? It startled me to think of a woman as a buddy. That was impossible. And if she were a friend, I wouldn't be attracted to her. And yet, I was.

  "Hey, Gin," I started, "can Louis spend the night?"

  "Of course. Why?"

  I shuffled my feet under the table, then ran my fingers through my hair. "I think tonight's the night with Leonie." I couldn't believe I just said that. In fact, it looked like Gin and Liv couldn't believe it either, by the way their jaws hung open.

  "What are you saying?" Gin asked.

  I could feel a blush coming on. This was completely alien to me. "It means what it means."

  Liv looked from me to Gin, then back to me. "You mean you two haven't…"

  "You and Leonie haven't slept together yet?" Gin finished.

  I nodded. They fainted. Okay, so I'm just making that part up. But judging by their reaction, that's what should've happened. I guess I could understand that. They've known me as a player since I was sixteen. Even I still couldn't believe it.

  Liv, normally a wine drinker, opened a bottle of beer and chugged it. Wow. I'd never seen her do that before. Gin couldn't stop staring at me. Apparently, they were in shock. Problem was, so was I.

  When the cookout ended, I led Leonie through the receiving line of well-wishers, and out to my car. She didn't ask where we were going, and I was so excited I don't think I could've answered her. I was pretty sure I was going to get laid. No, scratch that. I was going to make love to Leonie. I was going to make love perhaps for the first time ever. And I was scared shitless.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "An assassin without confidence is a horrible thing to behold. It's like a relief pitcher who fumbles the ball."

  ~Julian Noble, The Matador

  Man, I was completely messed up. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, and for a moment I flirted with the idea of dropping everything to see a neurologist. I had trouble getting the key into the lock.

  I felt like Chevy Chase playing Gerald Ford. Upon entering the condo, I became a stumbling oaf. I tripped on the hall rug, smashing the hall table in the process. I left it where it lay, a splintered casualty of my nerves. Apparently, my brain was not sending the right messages to my arms and legs. I skidded down the hallway to the living room wondering if an unknown assailant had broken in and recklessly waxed my floor. I led her to the sofa, and fortunately, Leonie wisely ignored it when I fell backward over the hassock.

  Somehow I managed to sit on the couch without impaling myself on the sculpture next to it. When I ran my fingers through Leonie's hair, the dark, red strands knotted around my ring. I started to pull my hand away, only to have her cry out in pain. This was going so well. Were Gin and Paris watching me on a planted video camera right now? I wouldn't put it past them.

  As I leaned toward her (forcing my sister and best friend from my thoughts), my right hand still stuck in her hair, we actually hit our front teeth together. Somehow her lip was caught in the middle, and as I pulled away I could see I'd given her a fat lip. And who the hell turned up my thermostat?

  In spite of all of this, (and I know this will sound weird) I was really turned on. Just looking at Leonie, smelling her hair, touching her skin, sent shivers to all the appropriate body parts. I wanted her so badly my stomach hurt.

  I pulled back for a moment. "Why are you here?"

  She laughed. "Well, for starters, you invited me. And I wanted to come over."

  "Why?" I persisted. Suddenly, I had to know why this amazing woman was interested in me. Wait a minute. I never cared about that before! But for some reason, with Leonie, I did.

  "What do you mean, why?"

  "I just wanted to know why you picked me." I said.

  Leonie studied me for a moment. "Somehow, I get the impression you never asked anyone that be
fore." When all I did was shrug, she continued. "There's something about you, Dak. I'm very attracted to you."

  "Why?" Dammit! What the hell was wrong with me? It was like having an out-of-body experience—one where I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to.

  For a moment, I thought I'd pushed her too far. Maybe if she thought about it too much, she'd realize she wasn't attracted to me. What have I done?

  "I find your vulnerability endearing." She said quietly with a smile. "I love how you get tongue-tied around me, as if I was the first woman to do that to you. You make me feel like I'm the most desirable person in the world."

  For a moment—just a moment—I thought she was insulting me. Vulnerable? Tongue-tied? That wasn't me! I was suave and worldly. Did this mean she didn't see that?

  "Dak," Leonie pulled me against her. "I want you. Don't ruin it."

  Leonie's lips were soft on mine. All of the sudden, I forgot what to do! A sense of panic hit me, and it felt like the room was spinning. She seemed calm. What the hell was wrong with me? Maybe I needed to lie down.

  "Why don't we take this into the bedroom?" Leonie whispered in my ear. I did one of those cartoon "GULP"s and nodded. We walked into what had once been my playboy lair. Now it seemed like an alien room with furniture I didn't even recognize.

  Leonie kissed me, then abandoned me to use the bathroom. I stood there, frozen to the spot where she left me, unable to think of what to do. Shit! This had never happened to me before! Think, Dak, think!

  I was still standing there when Leonie returned and wrapped her long arms around me, pulling me into a kiss. I'm not certain how she managed that, since my head was spinning on my neck like a top. What was it with this chick? I was completely messed up!

  What happened next was a blur. There was a whole host of sensations involving hands, fingers, lips and tongues. The outside of my body was performing, but my innards felt like the inside of a lava lamp. I barely remember our clothes coming off, or slipping beneath the sheets. All I could see where those hypnotic grey eyes framed by a cloud of silky, red curls. I hoped she'd know what to do. I'd forgotten what happens when you get a naked man and a naked woman together.