'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy (24 page)

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Authors: Leslie Langtry

BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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“Maybe the Feds’re using the photos of him with all those women as blackmail?” Liv slurred as she rummaged through his sock drawer.
“I dunno,” I slurred back, trying to ignore the KY warming gel I found in his nightstand. “Why would he be afraid of those pictures? He’s single. I can’t think why they’d hold some sway over him.”
“Oh my god! I’ve got it!” Liv rose to her feet so fast she lost her balance and fell onto the floor. I saw her hands appear on the top of the bed as she pulled herself up. “That’s the reason you and I aren’t on there! He’s doing it to protect us!”
The room was starting to spin so much I had to lie down on the bed to keep from throwing up. “I don’t gollow ... fellow ... follow.”
Liv steadied herself against the head-board. “They approached him for evidence on the Bombays. They agreed to look the other way on us so Dak would do it!” Her crooked smile told me she was proud of herself for that theory.
I shook my head, making the room spin faster. “Whoa. The Council told me Mole Man approached the Feds. Not the other way ’round.”
We lay on the bed for a while, trying to get the room to slow down and to wrap our liquefied brains around this idea. I think we even fell asleep because when I started moving around next, it was dark outside.
My skull felt like it was filled with cement and someone was trying to jackhammer through my forehead. I stumbled to the bathroom and found a spare toothbrush, then scrubbed for what seemed like an hour. I staggered back to bed and pulled the covers up over me and Liv, then turned over and fell asleep.
“I don’t even know what to make of this,” a man’s voice rumbled.
Was I dreaming? It felt like it. My body had the sensation of being weightless and spinning counterclockwise.
“Gin? Liv?” the voice asked. I began to laugh.
“Shoot him!” Liv cried out in her sleep. This made me laugh even harder.
“What the hell is going on?” The man’s voice was stronger now. And boy, did he sound pissed.
I opened my eyes slowly, willing my body to stop spinning. It did. I thought. Liv and I were snuggled up against each other, foreheads touching. The bedspread was pulled up to our chins, and we were fully dressed underneath. I tossed back the blanket and sat up. The digital alarm clock burned blazing red numbers into my brain. An empty bottle of rum lay on its side. And standing at the foot of the bed, with his arms folded, was my brother, Dak.
“Tractor!” I screamed at him.
Liv sat straight up. “What? Where?”
I pointed a finger at Dak. “There!”
She followed my finger with hooded eyes, which widened when they landed on Dak. “Tractor?”
I shook my head. “Yes! Traitor! That’s what I said!”
Dak laughed. “You called me a tractor.”
Liv and I scrambled to get to our feet, succeeding only in tangling our legs in the bedspread and falling, together, face first onto the floor.
“No, I said traitor,” I declared once I had righted myself.
“What are you doing here?” Dak waved his arms across the room. “I get home to find you two drunk and in my bed, only to be called a tractor.”
“I meant traitor.” I glared at him as I tried to brush what felt like rhinoceros hair out of my teeth. “You’re a regular Eggs Benedict!”
“Yeah!” Liv cried out. She had my back. Atta girl.
“So I’ve gone from being a farm implement to a breakfast food?”
“Huh?” He wasn’t making any sense at all. But he wasn’t gonna weasel out of this one. “Dak! You’re the Mole Man!”
“Yeah!” Liv yelled, making my head hurt. “And you’ve been digging in the Bombay garden!”
I was getting confused, and Dak was as slippery as ... well, something slippery. I stood straighter in a vain attempt to sober up.
“Dahhhkotahhh?” A female German voice trilled from the hallway.
“Ohmygod!” I screamed. “The Germans are in on this too?”
Liv assumed a defensive stance by raising her fists in front of her face. But something went wrong and instead she fell over, hitting her head on the foot-board. She was out cold.
“Liv!” I shouted, climbing over the bed. Somehow I managed to snag my foot in the covers and ended up diving to the floor. At least, that’s what I remembered before the world went dark.
 
I awoke in my bedroom without a clue as to how I got there. My body felt like shit, my head hurt, my tongue had been recently carpeted and there were some really strange bruises on my arms and legs. After hitting the ibuprofen pretty hard and gulping down two glasses of water, I took a shower and climbed into a pair of jeans and T-shirt.
Obviously, I wasn’t dead. My brain thumped hard against my skull as if trying to get out. I didn’t think I’d mind if it did. Romi wasn’t in her room and it was ten a.m., according to the clock in the kitchen. After my third cup of coffee, the head pain began to subside and I noticed a note on the counter. It was from Dad. Apparently, Liv and I had made spectacles of ourselves at Dak’s last night and so Dad had taken Liv home to her family and brought me here, while Mom kept Romi and took her to school this morning. Dad left one more note saying he was confiscating Poppy. Something about this being an unhealthy environment for a puppy.
Shit. The whole Dak betrayal flooded back and tears started coursing down my cheeks. How could he do this? I didn’t even care what motivated him. It didn’t really matter. My brother—my best friend—had sold his family down the river for ... for what? Like I said earlier, it didn’t even matter. I was pretty sure he didn’t have an alibi that included anything like saving the lives of fluffy, homeless kittens or curing leprosy.
How ironic that I should be the one to turn him in. Maybe the Council had even known it was him and this was another goddamned test! I shuddered in spite of the warmth of my sunny kitchen. That idea hadn’t occurred to me earlier. It would make sense (at least it would in my family) if the Council knew Dak was the traitor and sent me after him. Maybe they realized I was wary of training my daughter, or thought I’d lost my nerve.
That would seriously piss me off. I mean, I killed my lover’s client—not only humiliating Diego, but putting him out of a job! Wasn’t that enough? Now those octogeneric assholes were getting cheap thrills imagining me frog-marching my brother into the Brutus conference room at Santa Muerta.
My body started shaking. Too much anger and leftover alcohol was coursing through my veins. But if the Council had put me through this, I’d have to take them out. All of them. Even Grandma. Maybe especially Grandma.
Whoa, Gin! Is that what you’re considering? Killing off the leaders of the Bombay Family? That’s just crazy talk!
My schizophrenic side kicked in, responding appropriately. Is it? Wouldn’t it be worth it to be rid of this family curse, once and for all? I was pretty sure my cousins would be happy with it. Our trust funds exceeded 100 million dollars ... each. We’d all live pretty comfortably for the rest of our days.
My hands shook as I held my coffee cup. Why hadn’t anyone thought of this sooner? I mean, wasn’t Grandma pissed when her brother took out her daughter all those years ago? Wasn’t it reasonable to assume that someone, somewhere down the line had tried at some point to put their foot down?
Maybe we were all genetically deprived of rebellious thoughts. Could be the family had found a way to remove whatever DNA strain exists that would make us question authority.
I set the coffee mug down. I had to. My hands had lost control, and I wasn’t fond of third-degree burns. I forced myself to sit. All of these thoughts swirled around in my head, making me nauseated. Or was that the hangover? Standing up, I went to the fridge and got out some bacon to fry. Greasy food always helped me think.
By my second plate of bacon, I started to relax. By the third, I felt better. Rational thought was what I needed. Bear in mind, I consumed half a pound of bacon in order to realize this. I revisited the conspiracy theories. It hurt to think that my family could knowingly cause me so much pain. Diabolical as they were, I still loved them. Well, all but Richie. I couldn’t even
like
that bastard.
Was it really possible that I’d been set up to do this shit job? It sucked that I couldn’t tell anyone, because I could use some advice from Mom or Dak.
Dak. Dakota Bombay. He was questioning authority, wasn’t he? He’d found a way to rebel. And his carefree attitude showed he could still sleep at night. But why?
I shook my head. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Dirty Deeds” chimed from my cell phone. It was the Council, or at least Dela. How long could I stall her? I answered it—mainly because a small part of me wondered if they had implanted an explosive device in my brain and could set it off at will.
“Gin.” Dela’s usually calm voice sounded frantic. “What do you know?”
“Nothing more than yesterday.” Okay, so I lied. Sue me.
She sighed into the phone. “We’re running out of time, Gin. The Council thought you’d come through before now.”
Was that a threat? Or was my conspiracy-addled brain thinking it was a threat? If a family conspiracy happens, but all of the Bombays are dead, is it really a family conspiracy?
“I’m using some high-speed stuff Missi gave me,” I stalled. “I should have something for you in a couple of days.”
“I don’t know if we can wait that long,” Dela replied.
“What do you mean?” I shouted. “You guys gave me two weeks! Why did you give me two weeks if you really wanted it in one?” Okay, cross me off for an appointment in the diplomatic corps, but I was pissed.
“I know we said two, Gin. But what we meant was immediately. The Council’s afraid the mole will bump things up.”
I adopted a very juvenile posture (good thing she couldn’t see me). “Oh yeah? Well, how do I know that
you
don’t know who this guy is?”
There was a pause in the conversation and I thought that wasn’t good.
“Do you really think we’d set you up?” Dela was not exactly happy. “If we knew, we would’ve made a very public example of him at the reunion. Do you think we’re idiots, Gin?”
Time for some damage control. “I’m sorry. My mind’s just running wild over this whole thing.”
“I understand, Gin, but the fate of the Bombays rests on you. Find him!” Dela hung up.
I clicked off the phone, thinking I’d made it to the most miserable point in my life. My attitude hadn’t helped. Oh well. Screw ’em. As long as they couldn’t tell I was stalling, I didn’t care what they thought. At least it would be another twenty-four hours before I heard from them again.
So, what did I know? I felt pretty sure they didn’t know Dak was the one. There had been only one time in our history—about three hundred years ago, I think, when an example had been made at a family reunion. I seem to recall it included thumbscrews, feral weasels and strategically placed raw meat. Ugh.
Okay, I had time on my side. And they didn’t know who the mole was. Maybe if I got Dak to convince them this was one big misunderstanding ... But how could I do that? It wasn’t like he had accidentally made appointments with agents from D.C. and London, then accidentally kept the appointments and accidentally promised them information, then accidentally followed every Bombay until they made hits and accidentally recorded the hits on a digital camera. No, I’d say they wouldn’t buy that.
I had to talk to Dak immediately. I needed to know why he did it. Maybe there was some miniscule, remote chance I could save him. I had started to reach for the phone when I heard the doorbell. Checking the monitors, I saw it was Diego. Wow. Did he have bad timing or what?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Ita feri ut se mori sentiat.” (“
Strike him so that he can feel he is dying.
”)
—
Suetonius
 
 
“Hey, Gin,” Diego started, then stepped back, scrutinizing me. “Are you all right?”
Damn. I’d been crying earlier. I must’ve looked like a depressed Hamburgler. Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the door.
Diego stepped inside, a worried look on his gorgeous face. I closed the door, then dove into his arms. It felt so good to be held. The tears came and I gave up all shreds of dignity as I sobbed against him. My life felt like it was coming apart at the seams. But now I had someone whose shoulder I could cry on. Horrified by my obsessive use of clichés, I squeezed Diego tighter.
“Shhh,” he whispered, “it’s all right. Everything will be okay.” His hands slid up and down the length of my back, and each stroke felt like a release. It had been too long since a man had comforted me. Diego took to it like he’d been born to support me. Most men would have behaved awkwardly, as if not sure they were doing the right thing. But somehow I knew Diego was genuinely concerned and wanted to help me. He never asked me what was wrong—he just knew he could help.
My sobbing slowed, but my tears came faster. That simple act of holding me had more meaning than anything else he could’ve done. This man cared about me. And I knew right there and then that I was in love with Diego Jones. The longer he caressed and cooed, the more fiercely I loved him. Like the Grinch, my heart felt like it grew three sizes in that one moment.

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