'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy (12 page)

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Authors: Leslie Langtry

BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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“Dad! You promised!” I whined.
He smiled. “Okay, never again.”
“You know what will happen to you if you go back on that promise!” I threatened as I rummaged under the sink for a can of Ozium. Of course, my threats bore all the weight of a feather. Mom had threatened him for years with all kinds of nasty shit and he never listened.
I sprayed the air liberally. Just a word of advice, never spray it in an enclosed car while you’re sitting there. It displaces oxygen, I think.
Bad
trip, that was. Great, now all of a sudden I sounded like Yoda.
“So, you don’t think it’s family....” Dad resumed our previous discussion.
“I have no idea.” I squinted at him. “You don’t know something, do you?”
He laughed. “No, I stay out of the family stuff. Life’s a little saner if you forget who the Bombays are.”
I chewed my lip. “I guess it must be weird for an outsider, huh?” I wondered about people who married in. They received their Bombay Wake-Up Call when they were adults. But we had it spoon-fed like it was a normal thing at the tender age of five.
“It was, at first. Now I just ignore it and spend the money. Scruples are for suckers anyway,” he said with a wink. “I’m really proud of you, honey.”
I responded to this Kodak moment by rolling my eyes. “Oh, great. My dad’s proud of me ’cause I can kill people real good.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he continued, “I mean it’s hard to take on the family legacy and find a way to live with it.”
“So ... you’re not proud of the fact I can fling an ice pick fifty yards into a man’s eye socket?” After all,
I
was proud of that.
“Well, I guess there’s that too.” Dad rubbed his chin. “But you’ve made a good life out of what was given to you. You’re raising a daughter alone. And you managed to get through sixteen years of education without killing any of your bullies.”
“Sure, when you put it that way.” I refilled his wineglass, then my own. “I’d like to think Eddie would’ve taken the news as well as you did.”
Dad looked at me, “Don’t get me wrong, Ginny, I really liked Ed. But there was a part of me that was a little relieved that he died before you told him. I don’t know how he would’ve handled it.”
For some reason, that made sense. In a sick, thank-God-your-husband-got-cancer-before-you-had-to-tell-him-you’ re-a-killer sort of way. But speculation about Eddie wasn’t the problem in front of me.
“Look,” Dad said, “why don’t you get in the car and drive around Vic’s neighborhood? See if there are cops or something else. I can see you aren’t going to sleep until you know what’s going on.”
So that’s what I did. First I changed my clothes; then I went to the convenience store to pick up a half-gallon of milk (as my alibi for what I was doing out so late). I cruised slowly past Vic’s house and circled it once. Nothing. With a sigh of relief I drove two blocks back to my house, dismissed my father and chucked the milk into the fridge. I began the ritual cleaning of my break-in gear, scraping all dirt from my shoes into the disposal and rinsing the soles, throwing the clothes into the washer and wrapping the gloves inside of what appeared to be a used maxi pad (doctored with red food coloring, of course). You know, the usual stuff.
It was past midnight when I finished my shower, checked my arms and legs for telltale scrapes from the shrubs, and crawled into bed. Hopefully, Vic’s death would take place within twenty-four hours and all would be well. Just another random day in the life of Gin Bombay, All-American Assassin-Next-Door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Forgiveness is between them and God. It’s my job to arrange the meeting.”
-Creasy,
Man on Fire
 
 
I usually give my “concoctions” a few days to work. Sometimes, Vic is the type who doesn’t take his medication regularly. So I decided to put my worries on the shelf and focus on prepping the house for Romi and Alta’s training. Liv and I worked to set up the basement in my house for
Little Girls Gone Lethal.
For an entire day (Dak picked up the girls after school and kept them occupied), we unpacked the new stuff and organized it. I installed locked wooden cabinets to hold the garrotes, dummies and knives. Liv bought a kids’ chemistry set so it would look amateurish (unlike the primo stuff in my workshop). When we were done, we sat back and admired our work.
Liv handed me a bottle of beer and sat on the new sofa I had put downstairs.
“Wow,” I noted, “looks like a deranged playroom.”
Liv nodded. “It does, doesn’t it? Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with the Disney Princess theme?”
“Well, it does give it a certain childlike atmosphere. It just looks like this is the part of Cinderella’s castle she didn’t visit so much.”
“The torture room?” Liv asked.
“At least there’s no Iron Maiden.” I took a swallow of beer.
“True.” Liv rubbed her chin. “But I think it’s safe to say that we should have the Daisy Troop Christmas Party at my house.”
“Deal. By the way, where’s Dak?” I looked at my watch. “It’s getting late.”
As if on cue, peals of giggling laughter erupted above us. Liv and I moved up the stairs quickly. I was just plugging in the combination code to lock the door when the girls came running in.
“I don’t think they’ll want dinner....” Dak smiled.
“We had
lots
of ice cream!” Romi yelped.
“I can see that,” I said as I took the dish towel to her face.
“Uncle Dak
rocks!”
Alta shouted, and the two danced circles around their hero.
“Great. Thanks, little brother.” I wasn’t smiling.
“No problem. Let me know if you guys want me to unfairly overdose your kids with sugar again.” Dak grinned, then fled before I could kill him.
Liv and I did the only thing we could do: We took our beer bottles and two squealing kids into the backyard to burn off some steam.
“When should we tell them?” Liv asked quietly.
“I don’t know. I’m afraid to do it before the reunion. Romi already tells her teacher too much stuff. The other day, she told her that I gave birth to a puppy.”
Poppy opened one bulging eye, then went back to snoring on Liv’s lap.
“Okaaay. So, when?” Liv stroked the pup between the ears.
“What did our parents do with us?”
“You know,” Liv said.
“Uh, no, I can’t remember. Seriously. How did they break us in?”
She looked at me for a minute, probably wondering if I was teasing her. “They just had us attend the ritual. Then my dad and your mom took us to the bungalows overnight to explain things to us. You really don’t remember?”
Actually, I didn’t. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little more than alarmed by that.
I took a swig of beer. The girls were swinging so high I thought they might go over the top any minute now. Thanks, Dak.
“Let’s do the same thing, then. That way, we can keep all discussion about it on the island until we return.”
Liv smiled. “I’ll reserve one of the bungalows. We can make pizza. Like a little sleepover!”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, eyes still on the girls. “The sleepover where instead of using the Ouija board or giving ourselves pedicures, we get to tell the girls how to kill a man using just your index finger.”
“Well, that’s a little more advanced. We might want to save that nugget until at least second grade,” Liv responded.
“Good point.” I drained my beer. “We probably shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.”
We sat outside until dusk, making plans for the training when we returned from Santa Muerta. Eventually, I wrestled my little sugar junkie into the tub, then into bed.
I was just picking up my knitting when the doorbell rang. With a frown, I hoisted the comatose Poppy from my lap and checked the security cameras.
“Diego!” I cried out, pleasantly surprised to see the hunky Australian on my doorstep. Swooning when I saw the bouquet of yellow roses in his right hand. Of course, I would have been just as happy with a bouquet of condoms. Maybe even happier.
“Sorry to show up unannounced like this.” He kissed my lips gently as I ushered him into the house. “But I just wanted to see you, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.”
I put the flowers in water and returned to the couch. Diego scooped up Poppy and placed her on his lap. The little whore went crazy.
“You knit?” He pointed at my needles.
“Yeah. Just rectangles really.”
Diego raised his eyebrows. “Rectangles?”
“Well, I don’t have the ambition to try socks or sweaters. I really just enjoy the mechanics of it. So I stick to the easy stuff ... scarves and afghans.” I suppose that made me sound like an idiot. But if he were smart, Diego wouldn’t make fun of a woman holding potentially lethal needles.
“Is Romi asleep?” he ventured.
I nodded. “Flat out like a lizard drinking.”
Diego laughed. “Where did you hear that? I thought only Aussies said that.”
I couldn’t tell him I once had to “take care” of an Australian gun runner, so I lied. “I had a friend in college from Perth.”
Diego gently pushed Poppy aside, then pulled me onto his lap and kissed me.
Somehow I knew that this was going further than before. Diego didn’t seem to be that confident; in fact, he seemed like he’d be perfectly happy just kissing.
But I wanted more. I wanted to make love to him. We’d kept the relationship shallow so far, but now I interpreted his restraint as Diego treading lightly on my feelings. He never pressured me, and was careful, as if he thought this was my first time since Ed died.
I felt the pressure of his lips against mine, and my stomach ached. It was my first time since Ed. For a moment, I almost pulled away. My heart fluttered, and my head panicked (thanks a lot, guys) and I questioned myself. What in the hell was I doing?
Sure, we had a lot in common and there was all that volcanic chemistry. Was I ready for this? Sex had always been with someone I cared about. But I cared about Diego.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Diego began to gently stroke my back. Damn, he was good. No, he was great. He was perfect. And I wanted him.
So that’s it then, eh? I just decide to go for it? Yes! No more celibacy for me! Although it gave me the tension I needed for my job, it sucked. I didn’t just want to make out with Diego, I wanted to make love to him.
I needed to feel alive, not just pretend I was. I craved the things that used to make me feel like a woman: the heart palpations, tingling flesh, stomach spinning and rubbery knees that all led to the hard knot of arousal. What if I got hit by a delivery truck tomorrow? I knew that sounded cliché, but hell, my family couldn’t take longevity for granted.
A flood of warmth filled my body like hot water. I guess that was the physical side of me saying,
Duh!
I needed more from Diego than just hot sex. And he was waiting for me to let him know that.
I started to unbutton his shirt Diego pulled back, a questioning look in his eyes.
“Are you okay with this? We don’t have to ...” His voice trailed off.
“I know. I want to,” I murmured. Inside I felt all squishy. How could I let this guy walk out of here without a “happy ending” ?
Diego smiled and pulled me toward him, his lips trailing down my neck. Our clothes pretty much disintegrated at that point, and a flood of raw emotion seemed to make all of my senses tingle.
Diego pulled back. “I know it’s been a long time for you. We can take it slowly ...”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to waste time.”
He laughed, and I started to get nervous. His body was lean, hard (in all the right places). Mine was not. Childbirth had given me stretch marks that everyone lied about in saying they would fade in time. I didn’t have washboard abs or flawless skin. Hell, I couldn’t even remember when I’d last shaved my legs!
“You are so beautiful, Gin.” Diego’s eyes seemed to glow as he appraised my body.
I made a vain attempt to suck in my stomach, and he smiled, pulling my arms open. “I mean it. You’re lovely.”
With that simple statement, all my worries flew away. He didn’t care what I looked like! Maybe he was into soccer moms. It didn’t matter. He could have spoken Klingon and I would’ve loved it.
It goes without saying that he was
amazing!
I didn’t know if Australians had some special sexual know-how, or if bodyguards learned a few extra moves in their training, but
damn!
I refused to believe it was because it had been so long for me.
Remember how it felt when you were a teenager in the back of your dad’s car? The excitement of discovering your body and exploring his? It was like that. Except without the fumbling as he tried to undo my bra. Diego definitely had no trouble with that. In fact, every move he made was sure, desperate, as if his survival depended upon it. I could relate a little to that.

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