I Shot You Babe (20 page)

“An ideal form of government is democracy tempered with assassination.”

—V
OLTAIRE

A number of years back, I scored a strange assignment: a young, idealistic senator from the Midwest. I have to admit, it took me by surprise. Anderson seemed like a good guy. That was, until I read the dossier.

Senator William Anderson was a sinner in saint’s clothing. How he managed to keep everything under wraps, I’ll never know. Actually, calling him a sinner is a bit of an understatement.

Do you remember that Stephen King book about the guy who could see the future? He saw that the guy running for president, a guy everyone loved and respected, was going to become a ruthless dictator responsible for the deaths of millions…in the future. In the end he decided he had to kill this man before he took office and tossed the nation into chaos and death.

It was kind of like that. Anderson wasn’t just into hookers, corruption and graft. It was much worse. The man had scams in third-world countries that would make you commit suicide. I won’t go into a litany of his crimes here. Suffice it to say that the man was a monster.

However, he was a beloved public figure. So his death had to be out of my normal scope. I managed (I can’t tell you how) to break into his house and discover he had a bum ticker. Missi drugged his toothpaste so that when he went to sleep that night, he went to sleep forever. It was clean and it was quick. And it looked like natural causes.

That was how I killed Senator William Anderson.

“Wow,” was all Ronnie said when I told her. “Wow.”

When she didn’t speak for an hour, I collected Sartre and let myself out, carefully locking the door behind me.

Back in my trailer, I lay on my bed and cried. It was the first time I could remember doing that. I didn’t just cry because I’d probably lost Ronnie and my chance at true love forever. I cried because I’d killed all those people since I was fifteen. I cried because my wanker brother was dead. I even cried because, in a couple of years, even Sartre would leave me. That’s right, I premourned her death.

The sobbing shook my whole body, and after a few hours every muscle, even the one that controlled my thumb, ached. After splashing cold water on my face and taking some ibuprofen, I went to bed and slept.

I don’t know how long I was asleep. I didn’t feel very rested, but someone was pounding on my door. I threw on some clothes (you can’t have a good long cry with clothes on) and opened the door to find my mother standing there.

“Squidgy!” She hurried into the trailer and shut the door. “You look like hell! Are you all right?”

“How did you find me?” I asked as I opened a Diet Coke and offered it to her. I poured myself one.

“Oh, we still have our ways,” she said. “What happened here? Is Sartre all right?”

I nodded. “Nothing, Mum. I just got dumped by a woman I thought I had a real thing with because she found out I killed her idol. How are you?”

Mum reached up and gingerly touched my swollen face. “You’ve been crying! I’ve never known you to do that over a girl!”

“Yeah, well, she was special.”

“Why did you tell her you killed whoever it was you killed?”

It was a fair question. “Because she had to know. Because I’m an idiot.”

I sat there while my mother made me breakfast. She sat and watched as I ate.

“Why did you ask me to bring in Veronica Gale, Mum?”

She looked as though she didn’t know what I was talking about.

“There’s more to this than the council let on. I didn’t bring up my suspicions to the cousins, if that’s what you are worried about.”

Her face softened. “You got the assignment because I thought you were ready for it.”

“What the hell does that mean? How was I ready for it? I kept Dekker alive to listen to my rants on Veronica! Clearly I wasn’t ready for another assignment.”

Mum nodded. “Which is why you were selected. We chose you to test because we knew you would fight us. We didn’t ask you to kill Veronica—just to bring her in for questioning.”

“What the hell?” My head ached as if I had a hangover. I tried to focus. Mum waited patiently.

“You wanted us to quit! You wanted out too!” I slapped the table.

She nodded. “Yes, we did. You got it!”

“You played us!” It wasn’t Ronnie who had manipulated me—it was my mother! “Why?”

Georgia Bombay sighed heavily, and I saw for the first time that she was old. “You know, my generation tried to get out of the business before you were born.”

Suddenly I was wide-awake. “You never told me. What happened?”

“Oh…” She waved her hand dismissively. “We were children of the sixties—very antiestablishment. The council represented the Man. We didn’t want to kill. We wanted peace.”

An image of the council members as hippies invaded my brain. I shuddered.

“Unfortunately, as you know, our parents’ generation was much more hard-core. They came from the generation of the Great War between good and evil. Everything was black-and-white to them. They were convinced that carrying on the tradition was their way of saving the world.”

“Damn. I would’ve liked to see you take on the council.” And I wanted to too. That had to be something to see.

“We have it somewhere on film. I think Pete kept a copy. The council recorded everything back then. They were pretty paranoid.”

I took a moment to wrap my mind around this. It was an incredible shock.

“But our folks wouldn’t hear of disbanding the organization. They didn’t want to kill us either, so they agreed to pretend it never happened if we went back to work. Which we did.”

“I can’t believe this.” I really couldn’t. “So you set us up to bring down the company.”

“Yes! And it worked brilliantly too! I’m quite the actress, wouldn’t you say? York wanted to hold out a little longer—you know, add some more drama to make it fun. But Pete couldn’t hold off anymore.”

Make it fun? Okay. I could understand that.

“And it was fun finally giving it all up once and for all. Well, except for when Missi electrocuted us. That sort of sucked, dear.”

I grinned. “I guess it sort of did.” So it was all a ruse. How about that. Who would have thought my mother was capable of such surprises?

“Well, I really should be going, honey. They are all waiting for me.”

“Who is?”

“The rest of the council. We’re heading to Greenland to tell our parents.”

I frowned. “What if they don’t like the idea?”

She smiled. “Well, I guess they will just have to stay at that nursing home then, won’t they?” With a wink, she was gone.

Blue Raja: Your boy’s a limey fork-flinger, Mother. What will the bridge club say?

Blue Raja’s Mother: You need more forks?

—
M
YSTERY
M
EN

My cell rang the moment the door closed. The caller ID said,
Veronica Gale, 27, grad student at the University of Iowa, a bit anal-retentive about anthropology.
I didn’t know how Missi did that.

“Hello.” I didn’t really know what to say. Me! The man who always had something pithy to say.

“Why did you leave?”

“You weren’t speaking.” To me that seemed like a demand to get out of her life forever. But maybe that was just me.

“Where are you now?” She sounded a little frantic. Was she worried I had left the state? That would be nice.

I gave her directions and, to my surprise, she hung up on me. Ten minutes later I was not so surprised when she knocked on my door.

“So this is where you live?” She wandered around, opening cupboards and poking into things. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“And you look awful. Like you were crying or got punched in the face.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well, which was it?” she demanded.

“Crying.” I was man enough to admit that. Or was I? I wasn’t really sure what kind of man I was anymore. And that came as a shock.

Veronica plucked Sartre from my bed and sat down holding her. “Why did you say you’d help me?”

“What?” I missed something.

“Why did you say you would help me find Anderson’s killer if you knew it was you?”

That was a fair question. “You were so passionate about it. I wanted to help you.”

“Did you think you would ever tell me the truth?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

“Really. I had no idea where this would lead. I guess I just thought I’d see where the wind took me.”

Veronica thought about that for a moment. “Kind of like your life, huh?”

I nodded. She was right.

“I like your RV. Is this where we will live?”

I sat down out of shock. “What are you saying?”

She shook her head like I was clueless. “It’s either this or my asbestos-infested apartment. That professor is coming back from Paraguay soon.”

“You…you want to live with me?” I actually stuttered. That had to be a first.

“Yes, Coney Bombay. I want to live with you. I want to make an honest man out of you and be a mother to your guinea pig.”

“Wow. That’s a good offer.” I smiled. “Okay. You can live here.”

Ronnie closed the gap between us, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me in a way that made my hair stand on end.

“Okay. I’ll get my stuff. Just one thing.”

I kissed her again. It felt like home. “And what is that?”

She smiled. “I really hate the nickname Ronnie.”

And so it came to pass that the Bombays were out of the assassination business. This was big news, but there was no one we could really tell. Mum’s visit to Greenland with the others went well. The previous council members had had enough of pureed food and the sullen staff. They all retired to Santa Muerta to live out the rest of their days in peace. I think they even liked it.

My cousins were thrilled with their early retirement. No one really had to work ever again, due to our trust funds. But I did hear a rumor about Paris and Dak opening a marketing consulting firm. We all visit our island from time to time, for real vacations now. Missi took down the ropes course in what she called “a ritualistic cleansing with fire.” I’m not sure what that was all about.

Mum and Dad took a trip around the world to celebrate. By the time they came back one year later, Veronica and I presented them with their first grandson, named Theodore. He was the first Bombay without a place-name. My parents bought an RV so they could travel with us wherever we went. This was annoying at first, until we realized how difficult it was to find sitters when you didn’t know where you were.

Sartre appeared to like the new addition to the family. She seemed a bit honored, if guinea pigs could be honored, that we gave the baby her name for his middle name. As for Veronica and me, we decided that we were just going to travel around the country, checking things out here at home. We figured we had five years to find the place we would want to settle down before Theodore had to start school. My mother is rooting for New Mexico, but I kind of like San Francisco. Dad is still trying to convince us to move to Australia, and, according to Veronica, no matter where we go, Iowa is the best place to be.

Who knows where we will end up? I’m not making any plans yet. I am looking forward to settling down with my family…someday. And for a retired carney/assassin with a guinea pig and a Ph.D., the future looks pretty good.

A huge, overdue, and much-deserved “thank you” to Cheryl Smith. This woman dragged me up to meet my future editor at RWA in Atlanta and forced me to pitch this series to her. Without Cheryl, who knows if the Bombays would exist in print?

Thanks, Cheryl!

“When it comes to assassin-filled comedy, Langtry has cornered the market!”

—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“
Stand by Your Hitman
is another sure hit winner.”

—
Chicago Tribune

“
Stand by Your Hitman
is for readers who like laughter as the spice of their story and who have an appreciation for the lighter side of life.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“The Bombays deliver again their unique blend of danger, romance, and madcap mayhem. Put all of that together with the worst put-together reality show possible, and the result is a fun read.”

—NewsandSentinel.com

“Fans of the Bombay brood will enjoy their latest escapades as the audience will stand by their hit-woman.”

—
Midwest Book Review

“Langtry’s ability to make this lethal and outrageous clan both funny and somewhat endearing is a testament to her style. Who knew the assassination business could produce so many laughs?”

—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“If you need a really good laugh, then get
Guns Will Keep Us Together.
The characters and plot emphasize a funny, even wacky view of life, and a guaranteed happily ever after.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“This novel is uproariously funny and will have you chuckling until the last page is turned….
Guns Will Keep Us Together
proves to be a definite keeper novel as it is one of the funniest romances I have read in a long, long time.”

—Romance Reader at Heart

“Another wicked blend of action, romance, mystery, and dark humor,
Guns Will Keep Us Together
gives readers bullets, buff guys, and bad boys…I hope the Bombay family continues on with their deadly misadventures.”

—Newsandsentinel.com

“With an irreverent, tell-it-like-it-is, suburban-mom-assassin narrator, Leslie Langtry’s
’Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
delivers wild and wicked fun.”

—Julie Kenner,
USA Today
Bestselling Author of
California Demon

“Darkly funny and wildly over the top, this mystery answers the burning question, ‘Do assassin skills and Girl Scout merit badges mix?’ One truly original and wacky novel!”

—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Those who like dark humor will enjoy a look into the deadliest female assassin and PTA mom’s life.”

—
Parkersburg News

“The fast-paced romantic suspense chick lit thriller is over the top, but fans will want to follow suit as Leslie Langtry provides a satirical family drama.”

—
Midwest Book Reviews

“Mixing a deadly sense of humor and plenty of sexy sizzle, Leslie Langtry creates a brilliantly original, laughter-rich mix of contemporary romance and suspense in
’Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy.
”

—
Chicago Tribune