I Shot You Babe (15 page)

Bob Wiley:
What are you doing with the gun, Dr. Marvin?

Dr. Leo Marvin:
Death Therapy, Bob. It’s a guaranteed cure.

—
W
HAT
A
BOUT
B
OB?

The idea of doing a good job is instilled in every Bombay from the minute we begin our training at the age of five. We are taught to make sure each assignment is completed with no screwups. Every Bombay has their own modus operandi. And every one of us takes pride in completing the assignment in a timely manner.

We found the freight elevator in the back, and we were able to at least make it to the ground floor undetected. The doors opened, and I spotted a janitor’s closet. It took two extra-large garbage bags to cover the unconscious vic. Ronnie convinced me to poke holes in the bag around his face so he wouldn’t suffocate. That was too bad, because I was hoping I could tell her I “accidentally” asphyxiated him.

I sent Veronica to find a cab, and she showed up with my former driver. I guess the guy liked the three-figure tip I gave him. He said nothing as I loaded Vic’s body into his trunk.

“Your hands are bleeding.” Ronnie took my hands in hers and examined the torn-up knuckles. “You got that from…” Her eyes darted between the driver in front of us and the trunk behind us. “From the elevator?”

I shook my head. “No. They got torn up while I was trying to open a toy.”

“I hate those things!” The driver spoke up with a grin in the rearview window. “It should be criminal to make the plastic covers for toys!”

I gave him a nod that hopefully conveyed something like,
Yeah, me too. Stop talking to us.
He seemed to take the hint and focused on getting us back to the airport. I’d texted the pilot, and he found us an alternative way in so we wouldn’t have to go through security checkpoints.

“Well, I hope they have some bandages on the plane,” Veronica said quietly as she continued inspecting my wounds. “You could get a serious infection.”

I didn’t say anything. Frankly, I was wiped out. Dekker was far too dangerous to be dragged around alive. But Ronnie wouldn’t let me kill him. Oh, sure, I could just off him anyway. That was what I would’ve done pre—Veronica Gale. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him with her right here. It was just too complicated.

So how it came to pass that Arje Dekker was tied up in one of the family jet’s bathrooms was still unsettling even after we took off.

“Sorry, Cy,” Veronica apologized for the eleventh time since we’d smuggled him on board. “We’ll come up with what to do with him.”

I ran my hands through my hair. Yes, I supposed she was right. I had no clue how to manage it, but oh, well.

“How did your research go?” I asked in an effort to change the subject.

“Well,” Ronnie started. “I found some information. Richard was very helpful.”

“Are you stalling?”

“No.” But the way she looked nervously from side to side said otherwise.

“Then what did you find out?” I reached for the files she’d been carrying in her bag. She handed them to me hesitantly.

The look on her face made me pause. “Would you rather tell me or let me read it for myself?”

Ronnie shook her head slowly. “I’ll tell you. It’s just that…well, I found something out that kind of upset me.”

It’s always a shock when your heroes fall. It’s even harder to watch the face of someone you care about when they realize what they believe is a lie.

“Senator Anderson was involved with a couple of women who weren’t his wife.” She fidgeted with her hair.

“Okay.”

“He
apparently
”—I noted how she said the word, as if saying it that way would make it less true—“was involved with a couple of prostitutes from the same escort service.”

My heart wrenched as she held out two photos. I knew this was hard for her. The pictures revealed a man in flagrante delicto with two women at the same time. While I was impressed, I thought it wouldn’t be wise to say so.

“I guess he wasn’t all I thought he was,” Veronica said finally.

With a sigh I gathered her into my arms. Something inside me begged me never to disappoint her like Anderson had.

“Nobody’s perfect, Ronnie,” I said softly as she pulled away. Why was she pulling away?

“I thought he was. I thought he was perfect. Why didn’t these photos run in the United States?”

“It’s hard to say. The media isn’t always as objective as we’d like them to be.”

“And if I didn’t know about this after all my research, what else didn’t I know?” Her calm voice quavered, betraying the agony beneath her words.

“Probably a lot.” I had some strong opinions here but decided this wasn’t the time to bring it up. The fact is that many politicians are corrupt or crooked or easily seduced. Usually sexual deviances are just the tip of the iceberg. I was a bit irritated that Veronica had put this man on a pedestal in the first place.

“You don’t understand, Cy.” She dropped her head into her hands. “This guy and his volunteers were my family when I didn’t have one.”

“I can understand that. But the fact that you are in education should tell you that things aren’t always what they seem. You’ve learned to look at people and ideas from all sides before drawing conclusions.” Right? She had to do that. It was part of the core of knowledge. Critical thinking meant you didn’t hedge your bets.

“You mean like what I thought about you?” She motioned toward the back of the plane. “Or Dekker? Yeah. I’ve been really good at drawing conclusions.”

When dealing with women, you have to tread carefully. Somehow I expected this was one case where she wouldn’t necessarily want me to agree. Then again, if I sugarcoated the truth, how was I helping her learn?

“But you know better now,” I replied.

She looked up sharply, fire in her eyes. I knew it. There was no right way to play this one.

Veronica stood and stalked toward the back of the plane, then plunked herself in a chair by the window.

Okay, that conversation was done. I wasn’t going to follow her back and smooth things over. She was wrong. She even admitted it. How mature to throw a fit like that.

Besides, I had other problems. One was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the bathroom. And the problem was that he was still breathing. Not good.

Maybe I needed to cut Veronica Gale loose once and for all. Just drop her off at her precious university while she still believed that Anderson’s only sins were sexual. It had been a mistake to send her to the newspaper. What was I thinking? This kid had one hero—one! And I imposed my will to make her see what a fool she was.

And yes, she’d been wrong about me. But why did I care? Lots of people had misconceptions about Coney Island Bombay. I never cared before. And it wasn’t like I wanted her to know what I really was. So why did I want her to see me differently?

I got up and moved past the sulking Ronnie toward the tiny bathroom where Dekker was.

“Hello, Arje,” I said as I closed the door and sat down on the toilet seat.

Dekker glared but said nothing. Mainly this was because of the duct tape covering his mouth. He was pissed off, but it didn’t matter. I had him tied up pretty well. So what made me reach over and rip the tape off of his face?

“So, you probably know you are going to die,” I said as simply as I could.

“But I’m not dead yet, Bombay. Why is that, I wonder?”

“You can thank Ronnie for that. She gets a little freaked out by violence.”

Dekker grinned. “Yeah. Funny how she ended up around us.”

I toyed with asking him what he thought he knew about me, but changed my mind. “What is it with women anyway? Why do they question our need for fighting?”

Arje looked at the door, then at me. “I don’t know. Never really had a relationship with anyone other than whores. And they were paid to keep their mouths shut. But I know what you’re saying.”

I leaned back against the wall. “I like fighting. I enjoy competing. I know it’s barbaric.” And I did too.

Dekker sighed. “And I like war.”

I looked up at him. “Yes, but you also like killing innocents along with soldiers.”

He nodded. “You’ve heard the rumors, then. I’m surprised someone like you would believe everything you read.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“I just expected more from you, that’s all.”

“So you are saying that you don’t kill innocent people? I guess you are just misunderstood.”

“No, I’m not saying that, Bombay,” Dekker said slowly. “You of all people should know that sometimes bad things happen to good people. It’s the nature of war.”

I let his words chill me for a moment. He was right. No matter how careful or just any war was, sometimes innocent people got killed. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“The way I hear it, and my sources are good,
you
”—I pointed at him directly—“don’t seem to mind it when an unarmed woman or child gets in the way.”

Dekker’s face darkened with something I couldn’t read. “Believe what you want.” He turned his face away, indicating the conversation was over.

I replaced the duct tape over his mouth. “That’s right. I remember why I’m going to kill you.” As I stood up, I paused. “Thanks, Dekker.”

What the hell was I thinking, talking to him like that? Man, Veronica Gale was really messing with my head. I needed to get rid of her, then get rid of Dekker, find my RV and immerse myself in carnival sawdust and stale corn dogs.

Longbaugh: A heart is the only thing that has value. If you have one, get rid of it.

—
T
HE
W
AY OF THE
G
UN

We landed at the Cedar Rapids, Iowa, airport several hours later. The pilot would get the plane refueled by the time I returned for Dekker. I’d like to say that, as the plane taxied to a halt, Veronica and I made up and had sex the entire time. I’d like to say that. But I can’t. We barely spoke. I don’t know why I was being so stubborn about this. But then, she was being stubborn too.

The saying
Two wrongs don’t make a right
popped into my head. I ignored it as I rented a car and loaded Ronnie’s things into the trunk. We drove in silence to Iowa City. It was an unbearable twenty minutes. I decided I’d take her home, then get rid of Vic and go home myself.

The only time she spoke was to give me directions to her apartment. We pulled up in front of a Victorian house with a wraparound porch. To my complete surprise, a very attractive young man about Ronnie’s age came out the front door and hugged her. Who in the hell was that?

“Hi.” The guy came up to me and shook my hand. “I’m Drew. Thanks for bringing Veronica home.”

Home? Home was with this guy? Whoa. What was going on here? I looked at Ronnie. She stood there with her hands on her hips. What did that mean?

I shook his hand, trying to control my temper. “Cy Bombay. And it’s no problem. She’s all yours.” I shot a look at Ronnie, who threw her hands up in the air while Drew grabbed her luggage.

“You failed to mention Drew,” I said evenly.

She grinned. “I guess you can’t pigeonhole me either.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t know everything about me, Cy Bombay. You think you have me pegged, don’t you?” Her anger was rising. At least, that was what the red color climbing her neck said. “It makes me so angry that you could be mad about Drew when you play your story so close to the vest!”

“What story? I don’t have a story!” Okay, so I did. And it was a whopper. But that was beside the point. I’d been up-front with her about my life, my education and my history with women.

“Well, for one thing, why do you have a Dutch mercenary tied up in the bathroom of your private jet?”

“Did you forget that Dekker tried to kill you? That he tried to kill me?” I was getting pissed off now.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have let the authorities in Mongolia have him after he kidnapped me. I don’t understand why you couldn’t deal with Interpol or any other authorities. Why didn’t you just turn him over to the airport security in London instead of dragging him along with us?”

She had me there. All those points made sense. There really was no way to tell her without explaining that killing Dekker was part of my job. That was something I knew I could never tell Veronica.

“Are you going to kill Arje, Cy?”

I had no answer for her.

Ronnie drew herself up to her full height. She’d made some kind of decision. “I will tell you the truth about Drew. I love him. That’s all you need to know.” She spun on her heel and went inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

It took everything I had to get back into the car and start the ignition. Unfortunately, I looked at the window and watched as Drew draped his arm around Veronica and kissed her forehead.

I made the twenty-minute trip back to Cedar Rapids in eight minutes. During that time, my brain was turned inside out. Why didn’t she tell me about this Drew character? Clearly they had a relationship by the way he touched her. And that looked like a house, not an apartment I dropped her off at.

Oh, my God. She totally played me with that innocent bullshit! And I fell for it for the first time in fifteen years. She even pretended to love my guinea pig! Sartre was made a fool of! Well, I couldn’t stand for that.

The pilot wisely said nothing as I climbed on the jet and told him to take me to Santa Muerta to dispose of Arje Dekker.

I don’t remember much of the flight. I had a major headache, and I don’t get headaches. Ever. Somehow we crossed Central and South America and landed on the Bombay family’s private island before I could string a sentence together.

Mum was standing on the airstrip, waiting for me. Apparently, the pilot had let them know I was coming, and she’d made the trip to meet me there.

I dragged Dekker off the plane and tossed him roughly onto the tarmac. Mum threw her arms around me, but I felt like I was made of stone.

“How was your trip, Squidgy?” she asked.

“It sucked.” I pointed to Arje. “I have to kill this guy.”

My mother looked from me to Dekker. She pulled out her cell and dialed.

“Carlos?” She spoke in perfectly accented Spanish, asking one of the staff members to come and get my vic and take him to the holding area. None of the staff on the island spoke English, and every last one of them was male. They never asked questions and got paid handsomely for their work. Carlos wouldn’t have to kill the vic. That was a Bombay job. But he could take him to a room below the main level that was basically an escape-proof cell.

“Come on, dear,” Mum said, taking my hand. “When was the last time you ate?”

I didn’t really feel like eating. But I allowed her to take me to the dining hall and set before me a plate of my favorite food. In case you are wondering, it was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. With all my worldly experience, that was what I wanted to come home to.

Mum watched me eat without saying a word. She knew something was up. She also knew that I wouldn’t talk before I was ready. I felt like a stubborn child, but was in no way interested in a conversation about how Veronica Gale played me for an idiot.

So my mother chattered on about my cousins, Dad and the weather. I took in the information but it never registered.

“Why don’t you let us take care of your vic?” Mum’s words caught me up short. “You look like you could use a break.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s my job. I just need to get some sleep. I’ll take care of him tomorrow.”

She nodded, patted my hand and left. I finished up and, after liberating a bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch from the bar, headed up to my room.

As I mentioned, the Bombay family has their own island. This is where the council stays most of the time and runs the actual family business. My cousin Missi and her sons live here year-round. The island is our home base. We have family reunions here every five years where we get to hang out, have our evaluations and sometimes take a turn on the ropes course.

Santa Muerta is virtually invisible to the rest of the world. The main rule is that everyone goes inside between four p.m. and six p.m. to avoid notice from the various spy satellites overhead at that time. The island resembles a resort, with a main building where every Bombay has his or her own suite of rooms.

My room was just as I’d left it less than one year ago at the last reunion. Bookshelves covered the walls, full of well-worn books. The furniture was overstuffed leather—perfect for curling up and contemplating the mysteries of life.

I took a glass and two ice cubes with the bottle of scotch out onto the terrace. There was a great view of the ocean. The scotch was an Islay single-malt. It went down smooth to mend my frayed nerves. But it did little to ease my mind. How in the name of Immanuel Kant did I get mixed up with Veronica Gale? I thought I had her all figured out. Boy, was I wrong. The irony of this thought was not lost on me, but I was too upset to be rational. Was her whole “poor little orphan girl” thing some kind of con? If so, why me? And who the hell was Drew?

Thinking back to the first day I met her didn’t help. All it did was give me goose bumps. I pictured her and remembered what she said. But there was no clue—nothing that made her seem other than how I’d pegged her.

My thoughts reeled back to Miami and how we met there. But no matter how many times I replayed the scenes, I found nothing that tipped me off. Mongolia swam into view, but the memories were too fresh. I felt nothing but pain and embarrassment when I remembered the month there with her.

My scotch went dry as I contemplated how I could have done things differently. The surf crashed against the rocks, and I sympathized. Those rocks were taking the same beating I did. Veronica had gotten under my skin in a way no woman had since Frannie Smith.

I poured another glass, wincing at the name of the first woman who’d played me for a fool. I guessed that all those years my subconscious controlled my desire for a relationship to protect me. And I blew it by falling for Ronnie.

Damn. Did I really just think that? I turned the idea over in my mind, searching for holes. But no, it was too late. I had fallen in love with her. And she made me look like an idiot. I pictured her even now sitting with the handsome Drew, laughing at how she’d played me. Would she tell him that she slept with me? Probably not. The woman was a liar. And I’d saved her life.

Then again, she’d been in danger in the first place only because of her connection to me. I couldn’t really blame her for that. My thoughts turned to my prisoner three floors below. Chances were the staff had fed him. For a moment, I felt kind of friendly toward him. I had no idea why.

The sun set on my gloomy mood, and I nursed the bottle as the sky changed from turquoise to navy. No matter what I did, I still felt worse than stupid. And as I drank, my mood darkened.

Various thoughts popped into my head over the course of the evening. I thought of looking up Drew and killing him, but he wasn’t the real culprit. Isn’t it strange how your mind plays tricks on you? I imagined him making love to her and ended up hurling my bottle into the sea. That sucked, because I didn’t like littering. Veronica Gale had made me look like an idiot, and she made me litter. I hated her for that.