by Janet Leigh
~
At promptly 7:00 a.m. I heard a swoosh outside. I had just finished my second cup of coffee and hoped the surge of caffeine would give me the courage to ask Ace to take me to New York instead of Gitmo. I unlocked the sliding door, allowing Ace to enter. I was mildly shocked; he was wearing red leather pants and a white Guess button-down with a multicolored T-shirt layered underneath. His hair was dark and curly to his shoulders, and he had on a kick-ass pair of cowboy boots. Basically, he looked like a tired rock star.
“Good morning, love.” He kissed me on both cheeks, then looked me up and down. “Where’s the sexy outfit I picked out for you?”
“Well, I’m thinking there might be a change of plans.”
Removing his designer sunglasses, he looked down his nose at me, then wandered into the kitchen. “Got any java?”
“Um, yeah, there is still half a pot left.” I opened the top cupboard and presented him with my yellow “Have a nice day” coffee mug, complete with big smiley face.
He frowned at the mug.
“What gives with the smileys, hon?”
I poured the coffee. “They just gravitate to me, I guess. Dressing down today?”
“Orders from the chief. I am supposed to be as manly as possible today. I am also ordered to take you directly to Gitmo, no side trips. I swear that man has ESP. How did he know I had an exceptional breakfast planned at a sidewalk cafe in Paree?” He poured some vanilla-flavored creamer in his coffee, no sugar.
“What happens if we don’t follow orders?” I asked.
“Ooh, girl, don’t even think about it. They ground you.”
“They what?” I asked, stunned.
“They make you remove your key, and they lock it up. You can’t lateral-travel, which means no fun. In fact, the last time I was grounded until the next full moon, and you know what they say: all work and no play…”
“Damn, I really need to get to New York.”
He lowered his mug and looked at me quizzically out of his hazel eyes. “What is in New York?”
“I know of a defender who lives there who might help us.”
“Who is this defender?”
“Marco Ferrari.”
Ace threw his head back and laughed. “Why do you think Marco is going to help you?”
“Because he is related to Gertie.” Sort of. “So you know him?”
“Girl, someone needs to sit down and tell you about our dirty little past. Marco doesn’t travel.”
“Why not?”
“After his grandfather was killed, he took off his key and hasn’t transported since. The WTF has tried to claim him, and so have the Mafusos. He works for neither. It’s a shame, really, because Marco has a great gift. Even his grandfather didn’t have the gift like Marco.”
“What can he do?”
“I’m not allowed to say. It’s classified. Your supersecret agent will have to tell you, or Marco himself.”
“How do you know?” I asked, my eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Well, your Aint Elma was Giorgio Ferrari’s transporter.”
“What?” I didn’t understand.
“OK, I’m probably not supposed to tell you this either, but since it was never stamped confidential…Your great-aunt and Marco’s grandfather were lovers.”
“No way.”
“Yes, and I know this because when I first became a transporter, my grandfather was beside himself. He was a defender and came from a long line of defenders, but it was obvious when I inherited the gift, transporting was my gig.” He sipped his coffee and sat down at the breakfast table, crossing his legs, and finished his story.
“Anyhow, my grandfather consulted Giorgio. They were friends from the old country. We met at Elma’s house. My grandfather thought it was the safest place. While they were discussing my so-called tragedy, she was there. I remember her twinkling blue eyes and the way she smiled when she took me into her kitchen and gave me cookies. I was just sixteen, had terrible acne, and my hormones were completely out of control. My grandfather couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to shag females. He thought it was confusing, my gift, and if he could just fix it, I would miraculously change into a defender. Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to shag. I call those my swinging-door years.
“Anyhow, Elma told me it didn’t matter what I was, I should always be true to myself and to hell with what other people thought. She was a strong woman, and I remember Giorgio coming into the kitchen and placing an arm around her, and she kissed him.”
“But wasn’t he married?”
“Yes, but according to some, his wife was a bitter woman. You see, he was from the old country, an arranged marriage.” That explains his wife’s scowl in the family picture, I thought as I poured Ace more coffee and topped mine off.
“When you pass the key, you no longer travel. You are supposed to train the younger generation to take over. When Elma was in trouble, he made Marco give him the key, and he went back to help her. They were both killed.” Ace put a hand over his mouth. “Oops, that was confidential, I’m sure of it.”
The year I turned sixteen, I thought to myself, and the same year the picture of Marco’s family was in the paper and Cousin Trish got married.
“If you could convince Marco to come work with us, we would get major brownie points from Agent Hot Buns.” Ace tapped a well-manicured finger on the table as he contemplated the situation. “Let’s do it. But we will have to make a pit stop.”
Excited, I asked, “You mean for weapons?”
“Absolutely, I need a jacket to go with these pants. Looks can kill… you know.”
Then he trotted off toward the backyard.
