Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Langtry, Leslie

  “That was the best vacation ever! I love our family.”

  - Dash, The Incredibles

  “Mrs. Bombay?” Kaitlyn looked up at me. “Is this right?

  “Pretty good.” I took her hand in mine and led her through the motions. “You need to release the knife a little bit later. That will help improve your aim.”

  Kaitlyn did just as I asked and nailed the target, dead center. I was so proud of her.

  “Girls!” Liv shouted. “Snack time!”

  In seconds she was surrounded by ravenously hungry Daisies. While she doled out the cookies and milk, I pulled the knives out of the board that served as our target. After carefully wiping them off, I slid them back into their leather cases and stuck them on my belt.

  Mom waved from the porch, and I walked over to take another tray of cookies to the girls. It was really sweet of her to let us use her yard.

  Actually, the meetings had been going very well. There were no more incidents with pipe cleaners and glue. In fact, the girls had taken to their new training with a military precision that surprised me.

  And while the Girl Scout Council (the only council I answer to these days – and much less lethal) thought they were too young for the archery training, throwing knives and using chemistry sets to make explosives, the Scouts were having one hell of a good time. I’m planning a trip next year to a survivalist camp. I think my Daisies will love it.

  Vivian wasn’t saying much these days. Maybe because I came through with the Halloween cookies, or maybe because I had a new, hunky, Australian husband. I’d like to think that it was because her daughter (in my troop) now knew how to make a simple car bomb using hair gel, a cell phone and ammonia. I guess it didn’t really matter why she avoided me, just that she kept doing it.

  And you heard me right. Diego Jones became Diego Bombay. We had to work through some things once we got back, but we managed. Now that I’d retired, he felt he could accept the past and had long since forgiven me for whacking Turner. In fact, Diego retired too and we’re living a good life off Bombay blood money. So everyone wins.

  Diego and I had a simple, Justice of the Peace ceremony before Halloween and then he moved in officially. You might think our days were dull and quiet. What with taking Romi to school in the morning, coming back home and having sex until noon, taking a post-coital nap, picking up Romi, then doing family stuff until bedtime (when there’s more sex until we fall asleep). But so far, we aren’t bored yet. Poppy finally became housetrained – a major cause for celebration. Of course, the little slut spends all her time on Diego’s lap.

  There were no plans to visit Santa Muerta in the near future, but we were going to Australia during the holidays to meet Diego’s family. As for my family, they held a more important place in my heart than ever. Liv and I were still training Romi and Alta (couldn’t get out of that one, unfortunately), and Grandma had sent each of her grandchildren an American Express Black Card with unlimited line of credit and a private concierge in each city, as a form of apology. I was definitely not too proud to use it. I even sent a nice thank-you note.

  There were no secrets in my household anymore. I opened up the secret workshop and turned it into a room for all my knitting stuff. Of course, I still keep up on the family business. Romi will be joining it one day and I want to be on top of things. Oh, and I had Missi scan my body for hidden explosives, just to be sure.

  I guess you could say that what began with an invitation to a family reunion of assassins ended with a new family of my own. A much happier ending, I think.

  Of course, from time to time, my mind wandered to the safe in my new knitting room. Where, in case you're wondering, I kept the photos. They might prove useful someday. With a family like the Bombays, I wasn't ruling anything out.

  * * * * *

  GUNS WILL KEEP US TOGETHER

  by

  LESLIE LANGTRY

  * * * * *

  ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2010 by Leslie Langtry

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “The Addams Family credo. ‘Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc.’ We gladly feast on those who would subdue us. Not just pretty words.”

  - Morticia Addams, The Addams Family

  Getting a phone call can be a good thing. It could be someone calling to inform you of an inheritance, or that cute blonde you met last night begging for another round of “find the kielbasa.”

  On the other hand, it could be the doctor calling to tell you that you did, indeed, pick up an intestinal parasite while in Uruguay or the husband of the aforementioned blonde saying he will be stopping by this evening with a baseball bat. It’s all a matter of where you are and what you’re doing that can turn a simple phone call into a bonus or disaster. This was one of the latter. I was in the middle of working when my cell rang.

  Now, when I say I was working, I mean to say I had my foot on a man’s throat, slowly crushing his trachea. That’s my job. My name is Dakota Bombay, and I’m an assassin. Of course, the damn phone begins to ring, and the worst part was that it was playing Don’t Worry, Be Happy.

  To be fair, I’d just gotten the phone and didn’t have time to change the ring tone. But how do you scare the hell out of your victim if some stupid shit like that is playing? My victim, or Vic, as we called them in the biz began to smirk. I scowled and pressed harder with my foot. The son-of-a-bitch was a serial pedophile and son of a diplomat – meaning he was untouchable to everyone. Everyone that is, but me.

  Damn. The display showed that this was one call I had to take.

  “Mom,” I said, never losing eye contact with the guy under my shoe.
Did I imagine it or did he smirk again? “This is a bad time. I’m working here.” I pressed a little harder until I got that oh-so-satisfying gurgle.

  “Fine.” Mom sniffled, and blew her nose into the phone. She was crying. “Call me in five.” And with that, Carolina Bombay hung up. Fantastic.

  “Not your lucky day,” I said to Vic as I pulled out my silenced Glock .45. “Normally, I’d make this look like an accident. But Mom sounds upset; so we need to move this along.”

  I pulled the trigger twice, and with a thffft thffft, it was over. In a few moments I’d retrieved the two spent casings, scanned the area for any evidence I might have left behind, then walked out of Vic’s life (or should I say, death?).

  Mom crying was not a good thing. Not when you come from a family of professional killers. That’s right. The Bombay Family has been the first name in assassination since 2000 B.C.E. The legacy was handed down from parent to child, blood relatives only.

  Four or five nightmare scenarios went through my mind, as I pulled onto the highway and flipped open my phone. It hadn’t been a banner year for the Bombays. Just six months ago, my sister, Gin, was forced into a messed up situation from the Council (the family elders who dole out assignments) and her daughter was kidnapped. It all ended up okay. Romi was fine and Gin was granted an unprecedented early retirement. But after shit like that, you tend to worry a little when Mom’s upset.

  “Yeah, Mom. What is it?” I’d called her back within five minutes. I’m not a moron. In this family, you do what you’re told. Discipline comes in the form of an ice pick through the ear instead of the traditional spanking.

  I heard a little sniffling and thought that was weird, because my mom is pretty tough. I mean she can take on five or six guys and walk away from their corpses without so much as a wrinkle in her denim jumper.

  “Romi doesn’t want to cuddle anymore!” She screamed, locked in one long sob and pronouncing the sentence as a single word.

  “What?” Maybe I didn’t hear her right. Important assassin alert number one: Always know what you heard. One of my great-great aunts once made a fatal error because she thought she heard, “Kill the Australian Prime Minister,” when what the Council said was, “Let’s get the Australian prime rib dinner.” As a result, Great-Great Aunt Orleans was made an example of at the 1965 Bombay Family Reunion. I guess the old family adage is true: You can’t pick your family, but you can pick them off.

  Carolina Bombay repeated slowly, “Romi doesn’t want to cuddle anymore.”

  “Uh, and this has what to do with me?” I considered asking for Dad to find out if she was going through menopause or toying with insanity. Of course, in this family, you couldn’t get a Section 8 to get out of the business. We kind of look at lunacy as a benefit to the job.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Dakota Bombay!” Ah. The voice was clearer now. “You need to get married and give me more grandchildren!”

  Okay. She was definitely crazy. And crazy, I didn’t need. You know how creepy it is when your run-of-the-mill, average parent loses it? Well, it’s ten times worse when your mom is one of the best killers in the business.

  “Okay, Mom. Calm down. Stop drinking, or take some pills, or something. Cuz it won’t happen anytime soon.”

  And that was the truth. I might be thirty-seven, but I was having one hell of a good time. The Bombays lived the good life. Only one or two “assignments” a year, multi-million dollar trust funds and performance reviews only every five years. (Those aren’t bad. There really is no gray area in “well, did you kill him or not?”) I was too busy jet-setting and sampling the international buffet of leggy blondes to settle down now. Maybe never.

  “Dinner.” she said.

  “Dinner?” Great, we were down to one-word sentences.

  “Yes, dinner tomorrow night at seven.” It was amazing (and seriously scary) how quickly her voice went from hysterical to stone-cold professional.

  “Um, okay. Why?”

  “I’m fixing you up with a nice girl.”

  “Whoa!” I pulled the car over to the curb, afraid to drive during this conversation. “No, you’re not. Every time you do that, it ends in disaster.”

  “Nonsense.” Did Mom actually say nonsense? How very Charles Dickens. “It wasn’t Millie’s fault she had a hump.”

  I rolled my eyes, wishing she could see me. I continued, “Remember Kelly? She was deathly afraid of trees. Trees! And how about Lacy? She wanted to have eight children and told me I’d be good breeding stock!” I left out Dora, the uber-perky Junior Leaguer who dressed like Jackie Onassis and asked if I had any political aspirations (which I thought was ironic). Oh, and Sasha, who passionately loved her job with the Illinois State Museum where she had devoted her life to studying molds and fungus. (Insert shudder here. She actually said, “You seem like a fun-gi! Get it?” Believe me. I got it.)

  “Well, Nora is nothing like those other women. You’ll see.”

  “No, Mom. I’m not coming.” I think I even stuck out my lower lip. That’s me. The Pouting Assassin. What? I am the baby of the family.

  “You’ll be there if I have to get one of Gin’s knockout drugs and tie your unconscious body to one of the dining room chairs.”

  Okay, she had me there. Mainly because my petite, blonde mother was strong as an ox run amok on an adrenalin high and as stubborn as a pit bull when you tried to take meat away from it.

  “Fine. But no guarantees I’ll stay.” I made a quick mental note to start carrying a sharp pocket knife with me at all times.

  “You’ll stay and like it!” With that, Mom hung up on me.

  So, Dakota Bombay, debonair assassin and sophisticated world traveler, was going to Mommy’s house tomorrow to meet a girl she hoped I’d marry on the spot, and possibly begin pro-creating with on the dining room table before desert.

  I did the only thing I could think of. I stopped by my sister’s house to complain.

  Gin, short for Virginia, is two years older than me. Once widowed with a five-year-old daughter, my big sister is now married to a retired Australian bodyguard.

  You might be wondering about all these names; Carolina, Dakota, Virginia. . .well, the Bombay Family has a lot of weird traditions, including the of assigning geographic names to their progeny. I know. I think it’s totally stupid too.

  I rang the doorbell and grinned into the security cameras. Bombays are nothing if not security conscious.

  “Hey, Dak!” Diego (my brother-in-law from Down Under) answered the door and ushered me in with a clap on the back.

  “Dude,” I replied. “How’s it going?”

  Diego smiled and led me into the kitchen, “Great and quiet. And with your family, that’s just the way I like it. Want a beer?” He’d already opened the fridge door and was holding a large can of Fosters Lager.

  “Yeah,” I ran my fingers through my hair, “I just finished a job and Mom called. So I could use one.”

  Diego laughed and sat down at the table. It still amazed me that he was part of the family now. I mean, Gin’s okay, but she’s my sister. I don’t know how she scored a great guy like this. Especially since she killed his client right out from under him. Oh well, they say opposites attract.

  “Uncle Dak!” Romi and Gin burst into the room and my little niece climbed up into my lap, fiercely hugging me. Maybe the reason I couldn’t commit was that my heart already belonged to this little brat.

  “Hey, kid.” I squeezed her back. “What’s this about you not cuddling with Grandma anymore?”

  Gin arched her right eyebrow. “Oh. You heard about that.”

  “Yeah. Mom called in the middle of my hit, sobbing that I need to give her more grandkids. Of course, I blame you.”

  Gin snatched a bag of Milano cookies from my hands. Sure, they were her cookies, but she could’ve asked. After all, I was a guest.

  “Romi just told Mom she was too old to cuddle all the time.” Gin explained.

  “Well, thanks to you, I have to have dinne
r with them and some chick named Nora tomorrow.”

  Gin and Diego exchanged looks. Uh oh.

  “Hey!” I protested, “I saw that. What?”

  Gin plucked a cookie out of the bag and pushed the rest to me. Double Uh oh.

  “Nothing.” She said.

  Oh shit. “What? Who is Nora? And why are you looking at me like that?”

  Gin shrugged. “She’s nice. Pretty, even. And blonde. You’d like her.”

  I rubbed my chin. “Okay. So what’s wrong with her?”

  Gin looked at Diego, who threw up his hands in protest. She turned back to me. “Well, she’s – um – Dad’s doctor.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.” I could do Dad’s doctor. As long as she didn’t “accidentally” screw up his meds when I dumped her.

  “What is she? Heart doctor?” Gin shook her head, and I started to sweat. “Podiatrist?” Another no. “Proctologist?” Nope. I had a bad feeling about this. “Chiropractor?” I offered hopefully.

  Gin shook her head one more time (and I have to admit, I was getting a little sick of that). “She’s his -” she hesitated for a moment - “E.D. specialist.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. “What’s the E.D. for?”

  The pause got me. I knew I was screwed because Gin started laughing.

  “Erectile dysfunction.” Her laughter gained momentum until tears were flowing down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lord Melchett: Gray, I suspect, your Majesty.

  Queen Elizabeth: I think you'll find they were orange, Lord Melchett.

  Lord Melchett: Gray is more usual, Ma'am.

  Queen Elizabeth: Who's Queen?

  Lord Melchett: As you say, Majesty. There were these magnificent orange elephants...

  - Blackadder II

  Usually, I sleep in. When you only have to kill one or two people a year, your hours are pretty flexible. I’d say ninety-nine percent of the time I do whatever I want and one percent is work. It’s a damn good ratio. I’m more of a night guy anyway.