Guns Will Keep Us Together (18 page)

Actually, so were Gin and Liv. Well, they weren't exactly staring so much as trying to kill us with a look. I wondered if you could really do that. It would be so much more effective. I'd have to talk to Missi.

After what seemed like ten hours, we made it to the entrance and hopped onto the monorail to the hotel. Gin and Liv had their arms crossed over their chests and were still glaring at Paris and me. I was pretty sure they'd figured out what happened.

We hadn't discussed the job with them. In fact, they knew we'd been working on a Council assignment but never asked about it. From the looks on their faces, our sisters knew now.

Todd and Diego seemed to know something was up, because they volunteered to take the kids to the pool. Liv and Gin followed us to our room, not saying a word and definitely not invited. Paris and I tolerated it because we didn't know what else to do.

"You killed Mickey Mouse?" Gin hissed before the door had fully closed.

"I don't believe this!" Liv threw her hands up in the air. "That's why we're on this trip, isn't it?"

"How could you drag your family into this?" Gin was on a tear.

"Now, hold on," Paris said, his hands up and forming a barrier between him and his angry sister. "This is just a job. And it's not like the Bombays don't know that."

I nodded. "You used to do this for a living, remember? The rest of us didn't get retirement."

And that was when Gin slapped me across the face. At least it wasn't a right cross.

"You could've told us! We could've taken the kids somewhere else!" Liv shouted.

"No, we needed them to be there," Paris said simply.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

"You used the kids as your cover!" Gin said through her teeth. "How could you do that to them?"

Liv had a dangerous look in her eyes, and for once I thought my earth-mother cousin was going to kill us.

"Okay," I conceded, "it was wrong. We know that. But the Council ordered us to get the job done. We had no choice."

Gin shook her head. "I don't buy it. You could have found another way."

"I can't believe you'd drag Louis into this!" Liv said.

"Louis has to begin his training too, like your kids," Paris said slowly. "It's not like we have an option to exclude them."

Gin crossed her arms over her chest again. I was a little nervous she might have shoulder holsters on. "What about Todd and Diego? You didn't need to drag them into it."

I sat down on the edge of the bed. I had nothing. While I was happy to have four of the five hits done, there was something in what she said that made me feel guilty.

"Well, it's over now," Paris said with a sigh.

"Maybe you should tell us exactly what 'it is." Liv folded her arms too.

So, we told them everything. How five people ranging from Gin's oral surgeon to Mickey Mouse were dangerous assassins who kill innocent people, including children. We might have played up the danger a bit by saying they were coming after the Bombays. But that could've been true. Gin had known about Munch by being there. What she didn't know was that we had to take out a whole company.

Liv and Gin listened carefully, still glowering—which, by the way, was not a good look for them. I toyed with telling them that at their age they can't afford new wrinkles, but a strong sense of self-preservation told me this wasn't the time.

No one spoke for a few moments, which, I must admit, made me a little nervous. If I hadn't had a son depending on me, I do believe Gin and Liv would've killed us on the spot.

"Well," Gin said grudgingly, "I still don't think you had to handle the last one this way."

Liv reacted differently. "You were chased by a hungry bear?" The edges of her mouth seemed to struggle not to burst out laughing.

"It wasn't my fault!" Paris whined. "Dak had lousy aim."

"Yeah, but you screamed like Romi on Space Mountain." I had to smile, remembering that.

"Go to hell," Paris said half-heartedly.

"I'm sure we'll all be there some day." Gin scowled. "I do wish I could've seen what happened at the zoo. It would've made for great blackmail material. I'd love to hold that over you for the rest of your life."

We spent the last night at Disney World quietly. Dinner at the restaurant on top of the Contemporary followed by one last fireworks show over the Magic Kingdom. Louis was very quiet, and I wondered if he was just exhausted or worried about the man in the Mickey Mouse suit.

First thing in the morning we all packed up and headed to the airport. It took a long time to get through security, and I wondered why I didn't think of chartering our private jet. By the end of the day, we were back in the Midwest.

"All set, champ?" I sat on Louis' bed that night.

He nodded solemnly. "Thanks for the trip, Dad. I really liked it. Well, except for when Mickey Mouse's head blew off. But I loved the rest of it."

I wasn't sure what to say. Obviously, my kid was smart enough to know that an explosion had occurred. I kissed him on the forehead and tucked him in.

"So, why did you do it?" he asked casually.

"Do what?" My palms started to sweat.

"Kill Mickey Mouse," Louis said. "I saw Paris use his cell phone to do it." His big eyes were hard on mine, and I was pretty sure my spleen burst. How the hell did he figure it out? For once, I thought maybe it wasn't so great to have a smart kid.

"You're not answering me," Louis frowned.

So I did what millions of parents have done over thousands of years. I bluffed. "What makes you think we killed Mickey Mouse?"

My son rolled his eyes at me. (Okay, so my poker face had abandoned me.) "It wasn't Mickey Mouse—just a man in a suit. And it was pretty obvious. Have you been an assassin for very long?"

It felt like Louis's words were pummeling me. I couldn't lie to the kid, at least, not now. I had no experience in handling this. My dad-learning curve was pretty short.

"All right," I sat up a little straighter, "it's time you knew the truth about the Bombay Family."

Two hours and an entire stuffed-crust cheese pizza later, Louis knew his family history. He took it well, considering he just found out he'd be doing contract kills for the rest of his life.

"That explains why everyone is so rich and no one works." Louis chewed his pizza thoughtfully. "It's bad guys, right?"

"Well, that's the story for the most part," I responded. "They don't really give us a dossier on each hit. We assume the Council knows what it's doing."

"And I have to start my training?" Louis looked a little perplexed.

"Soon." I stole a look at the clock. "But right now you have to get some sleep. It's very late. Oh, and Louis?" I hesitated. "We don't talk about this outside the Bombay Family."

My kid nodded, then used his pajama sleeve as a napkin and curled up to sleep.

I hit the bottle of scotch in the kitchen. I felt like I'd just unleashed hell on the world. That's ridiculous. Louis would be a perfect killer. He'd research everything and be completely careful.

It surprised me how well he took the news. Maybe the fact that he knew his cousins were dealing with this helped. He was only six. There was plenty of time to deal with the ramifications. I didn't think I had to worry about seeing any Junie B. books called,
I Was a First-Grade Assassin
.

Eventually, I went to sleep where I dreamed of exploding Disney characters.

 

 

 

"The extreme always seems to make an impression."

 ~J.D., Heathers

 

 

After dropping my soon-to-be-lethal son at school, I called Leonie and set up a date for that night. Mom told me the minute we got back that she was babysitting—no matter what. I figured Louis would have a million questions about family and that Mom was the perfect person to answer them.

Something had been bothering me for a while, so that night as we settled on my couch, I asked Leonie the big question.

"What's your favorite color?"

Leonie choked on her beer. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm afraid I'm moving too fast, and I don't know you as well as I should."

She arched her eyebrows in what I took to be amusement.

"I want to get to know you intellectually…in addition to physically." That wasn't hard. So why was I nervous? It seemed like a perfectly normal question. Maybe it was too personal? Listen to me! I'm in love with this woman, and I'm too scared to ask her favorite color. Maybe I should be drinking Pink Cadillacs.

"What?" I was suddenly aware that she was talking to me.

"You asked what my favorite color is," she said patiently, "and it's cerulean."

"Jesus," I said, taking a drink of beer, "what would Freud say about that?"

Leonie laughed, "He'd say sometimes, cerulean is just cerulean."

"Blue. Your favorite color is blue. Why can't you just say blue?" I have to admit, it irritated me that she had to pick a color so obscure that Crayola didn't use it. And these are the folks who came up with periwinkle.

"Cerulean, like the color of your eyes when I make love to you."

I tried not to let the fact that my body was already getting hard distract me.

"Fine. I concede that your favorite color is a ten-dollar word for blue."

Leonie grinned. "And yours? Didn't you tell me once you liked blue?"

I stuck out my chin defiantly, "No. I have grown as a person over the years. My multitude of experiences have enlightened and shaped me into a mature adult." I paused dramatically. "I like red now."

Leonie laughed again. You know how there's a frequency of sound that only dogs can hear? Well, there was something in that laugh that I swear only my dick could hear.

"Have I answered the question to your satisfaction?" She arched her right eyebrow.

"You have won the day this time, evil-doer," My loins were begging me to end this stupid line of questioning. "But I'll be back, and when I am, you will submit to my interrogation."

"Do your worst," she challenged, "but for now, I will claim my prize." Leonie pulled me toward the bedroom. As she pushed me onto the bed, I thought at this rate, getting to know her intellectually was going to take a long, long time.

Cerulean! I mean
really
!

Two hours later, we found ourselves sitting in the kitchen (Me in my boxers and she in my shirt—and she looked better than me in it.), eating whatever was in my fridge.

"Mmmmmmm—" Leonie licked some honey off her fingers, "—this is so good I could go into brain lock."

I paused from eating cottage cheese out of the container with a spoon. What?

"Brain lock? Is that dangerous?"

She shrugged. "When iguanas have too much information to process, they go into a kind of brain-lock where they shut down to figure out how to deal with it."

"You can't be serious."

"It's true." She grinned. "I once had an iguana."

"An iguana, eh?" I asked, "You were into lizards?"

"Hey!" Leonie said, a little defensively. "Cecil was great. I don't think they're as affectionate as dogs, but he liked to climb on me for the body warmth."

"I guess I have something in common with Cecil then." I winked at her. "Whatever happened to him?"

"It's a long story," she said, biting her lip, and I got the feeling she didn't want to tell me.

"It looks like we have time. Besides, we are trying to learn more about each other, right?"  

"A friend of Mom's gave him to me. He had outgrown his cage and at six feet long was beginning to threaten their cats. I only had him for a little while. He died three months later."

"What happened?" I couldn't believe I was in love with an iguana lady.

"His owners had been feeding him cat food for two years. That's okay for a baby, but once he was six months old he needed fruits and vegetables. His organs calcified."

"Did you know something was wrong?"

"His fingers would tap, like he had Parkinson's. I took him to the zoo, and they sent me to a vet. He sent me home after drawing blood and told me to give him a warm bath. I left him in the tub for a minute, and when I came back he was laying on the bottom, underwater."

"He drowned?"

"No, iguanas are good swimmers. He just died. Anyway, are you sure you want to hear more?"

"Absolutely."

She gave me a stern look, "You're not mocking me, are you?"

"Never." I placed my hand over my heart, "Go on."

Leonie took a deep breath and continued. "I took him out of the tub and put him on the floor. He opened his mouth and gasped. So I did what any other iguanatarian would do."

"Iguanatarian?" Can she just make up words like that?

"I, um, gave him mouth to mouth and chest massage."

I'd bet Leonie's gotten used to the eruption of hysterical laughter over the years. For some reason, she's never been smart enough to NOT tell the story in the first place.

I finished laughing and wiped my eyes. "I'm sorry. Did you really try to resuscitate him?"

Leonie nodded, and I had the feeling she didn't want to take the story any further. Unfortunately for her, I'm a cruel bastard.

"Did it work?" I pressed.

"No. Adding oxygen does nothing for organs that have been petrified."

"How do you dispose of a six-foot-long iguana?" I asked, not sure I wanted to really know the story.

The love of my life sighed. "Well, it's not like you can just throw him out in the trash can. The garbage men probably wouldn't come back. So I decided to bury him."

"Oh. Go on."

She was getting pissed now, but that didn't stop me. "Well, the only way to do it is to dig a six-foot-long trench or a six-foot-deep hole. I opted for the trench. But it was a very hot day so after three feet, I gave up. I thought it would be easy to bend him in half, and I'd save myself some labor. Unfortunately, rigor mortis had set in, so I had to jump on him to break him to fit him into the trench."

Once my laughter subsided, I smiled at her. "I love you even more than I thought possible."

It was her turn to have wide eyes, "Why? It's a repulsive story!"