“You’re impotent?” Paris’s eyes grew wide with amazement.
I shhhshed him and looked around – a weird thing because we were in his apartment. Still, six months ago, Gin had bugged mine and Paris’s phone lines, so I didn’t put it past the family to have their ears and eyes on us at all times.
“No!” I shouted, a little too forcefully. “No. I couldn’t help it. She sounded like a man. And Mom was staring at me all through dinner. There was too much pressure to perform!”
Paris shook his head. “I don’t know, man. You’ve never had a problem like this before.”
“I know! It’s making me crazy! What do I do?”
Paris looked around his apartment, like the answer would automatically materialize in the blender, lampshade or ceiling fan. He had a great place. Paris was an artistic sort. I’d recently found out he wrote poetry. The apartment was filled with artwork – paintings, sculptures and architecturally designed furniture. I used to think he had one hell of an interior designer, but after the poetry revelation, I figured he did it himself.
“You have to sleep with the other women your mom set you up with,” he announced, looking pleased with himself.
“What?” My mind turned back to Dora and Millie. I shuddered again and realized I was doing that a lot. “Why can’t I just spend the weekend in the arms of a couple of Swedish twins?” That seemed more reasonable to me. And I could find ‘em too. Some people have “gaydar.” Some people have “beerdar.” I had “blondar.”
“No. You have to prove that you can screw anyone. Not just your type.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “Maybe blondes have ruined you. Maybe you can’t have sex with any woman who goes against your type?”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. I can do any woman. Hair color and legginess doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. Right?
“What about that Kelly girl?” Paris asked.
“The one who’s afraid of trees?” Hmmm. Theoretically, there was nothing physically wrong with her. She was actually cute. A brunette, but cute. I’d just have to keep her in the bedroom and remove the bamboo plant in the corner, but I could do that.
“Okay. I’ll give her a call.” I picked up my cell phone and dialed.
You might think it’s strange that I had her number, but I had every woman’s number in my cell phone. Mom would text them to me, and I’d enter them before meeting them. I’ve never erased a single one. But I did code them. For example, Dora’s number came up with a photo of Lee Harvey Oswald. Millie’s had Quasimodo. Kelly had Woody Woodpecker. That kind of thing. What?
CHAPTER FOUR
The Criminologist: I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.
– The Rocky Horror Picture Show
After Kelly agreed (a bit too eagerly) to my suggestion of dinner the next night, Paris and I got to work on the marketing plans for the Bombay Family business.
“Man, I can’t believe we did work for the Republicans four times this century.” Paris shook his head. “Although that kind of makes sense now that I think of it.”
I leafed through a few pages of my binder. “I can’t believe the Family actually wrote this shit down! I mean, look at this one!” I pointed at a high-profile hit of a politician in the nineteenth century. I’d tell you more, but I had to sign a confidentiality clause in my own blood when I was five. You might think we’d forget something that happened when we were little, but there’s something about a family blood ritual and Grandma in a goat skull headdress that sticks in your mind.
Paris nodded. “Yeah. Well, at least we have a record of who our main clients are.”
“Are you even surprised? I mean we always suspected the CIA, the Feds, Interpol and the Yard, and here it is in black and white.” And color too. Grandma did the pie charts as literal cherry pies and all the bullet points were little skulls.
“Okay,” Paris said, “where do we start?”
“I wonder if it’s hereditary,” I mused aloud.
“What?” Paris cocked his right eyebrow. Bastard. I’ve never been able to do that.
“You know. E.D. I mean, Dad has it, right?”
Paris stared at me. “Will you give it up and concentrate? This presentation is important!”
I sat back in my chair. “And you’re just eating it up, right?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Paris growled.
I stabbed my finger at him. “You love doing this. You’ve probably been waiting your whole life for this type of assignment.”
He slapped my hand away. “Oh for Christ’s sake. You’re pissed because I didn’t argue with Grandma about it.”
Damn. He nailed it. I never could get away with anything where Paris, Gin or Liv were concerned. And you can bet one of my dazzling smiles wasn’t going to get me out of this one.
“Fine.” I was behaving like an immature jerk, but losing access to your favorite appendage will do that to a man. “Let’s get this over with.”
We spent the afternoon going through the binders, ass-deep in reports on the financial history of the Bombay Clan’s Greatest Hits. And I’ll grudgingly admit it was kind of fascinating. I’m pretty sure no one but the Council had access to the history of a family of assassins spanning 4,000 years. You couldn’t find this stuff on geneology.com.
“All right.” I leaned back in my chair and pushed the binder to the middle of the table. “I’m done for today.” I looked at my Tag Heuer watch. “Got a hot date tonight with a tree hater.”
Paris and I agreed to meet up again tomorrow, but from the look on his face, he was going to keep working. Bastard. He’d probably get the bigger gift from Grandma too.
Back at home, I stashed the bamboo plant and anything with a tree motif in the shed. I had to succeed tonight. My next dilemma was more difficult. It took me two hours, but I finally managed to find a restaurant with no trees outside or in. I didn’t realize how hard it would be. After finding a route with the fewest trees from Kelly’s house to the Flaming Lemur, I jumped in the shower and got ready.
Kelly answered her door with a big smile and a little black dress. We drove to the restaurant with no incident and even made it to our table without a freak out.
“I’m so glad you called, Dakota,” she purred. “I was afraid you’d forgotten about me.”
“Impossible.” How do you forget about a woman who can’t even go outside? “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Not a lie! Of course, I was more looking forward to nailing her than talking to her, but first things first.
She took her napkin and placed it on her lap, “I suppose you’re still wondering if I’m still dendraphobic?”
It has a name? “Are you?” I asked.
“No. I have a great therapist. Actually, my fear of trees was related to a fear of sex.” Before I could stop it, I immediately pictured a forest full of erections.
“Did you conquer that fear?” I asked, hoping the desperation wasn’t obvious in my voice.
“Yes, I did.” She grinned wickedly and it was way cute. “In fact, I’m not afraid of sex anymore either.”
I lifted my glass of wine. “Well, then we have something to celebrate.” The glasses clinked and I watched as she drank, her gaze never left mine. The air was thick with sexual tension. Just the way I like it. This was going to be a breeze.
It was obvious that small talk wasn’t her thing. Kelly mainly leered at me through dinner, her foot sliding up and down my shin. Oh, she was up for it. I was gonna get laid tonight and prove it was just Nora’s masculinity that distracted me.
In fact, this chick was all over me while I drove home. Kelly kept kissing my neck, her hands on my groin the whole way. I guess I might have misjudged her. My tree was getting harder by the minute. Yay!
The door barely closed before she’d flung me against the closet, grinding her hips into mine, crushing my lips with hers. I did the only thing I could do: I carried her into my bedroom.
I unzipped her dress with great expectation a
nd slid it to the floor. She was so hot and ready I thought I would burst.
“Hold on,” Kelly said, pushing me back. “I need to freshen up first.” She blew me a kiss; then in her adorable bra and panties took her purse into the bathroom.
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten undressed faster in my life. I experimented with different lounging positions on the bed, keeping on my black silk boxer shorts. I was ready . . . beyond ready. I warned my dick not to fail me now as the bathroom door opened.
I can’t blame my dick for this one. Really. It went from hard to soft in a split second as Kelly stood in front of me. I was more terrified than anything.
Apparently, she had lost her fear of trees by channeling another neurosis. There she was, dressed in a diaper and baby bonnet with a pacifier in her mouth.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“Baby wants Dak,” Kelly pulled the pacifier from her lips and responded in a child-like voice, “Change Baby!” she demanded, tossing me a bottle of baby powder.
“What?” I repeated.
“Change Baby and powder Baby’s butt!” she roared.
I’d heard about infantilism. I’m not sheltered. I know there are people who get off on this. Hell, one of Gin’s college roommates wore footie jammies and carried a blankie. But I didn’t have sex with her.
“Change Baby!” Kelly shrieked. Then she went into a full, toddler temper tantrum. I kid you not.
I watched in horror for five minutes, then handed back her dress. There would be no erection tonight. “It’s past Baby’s bedtime.”
Kelly glared at me, then took the dress and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door. I waited in the hall, car keys in hand and tried to burn the image of what I’d just seen out of my mind.
“It’s completely healthy, you know!” Kelly lectured me all the way home, telling me about a group she belonged to where they get together at an pretend day care center, sleep in cribs, and get changed by large German Nannies. It didn’t matter. As I dropped her off at her house, I deleted her name and number from my cell phone – a first for me. I shuddered all the way home and showered for an hour.
Just before I fell asleep, I wondered if this was a setup by the Bombays. Maybe they were developing some new “Erection Assassination” program. For once, I felt like there was something worse than death.
CHAPTER FIVE
“And now for something completely different . . . “
- Announcer, Monty Python’s Flying Circus
The next morning I was having this dream where all the blondes in the world were trying to change my diaper when the doorbell rang.
I thought about letting it go. But then I remembered that I was meeting Paris and shrugged on pajamas and a bathrobe and answered the door.
“Dakota Bombay?” asked a tall, thin man in a cheap suit. Damn. I should have checked the security monitors. I’m getting too sloppy.
Oh well. Maybe he’d put me out of my misery. We always lived with the fear of being offed by the competition. So be it. Death would be welcome.
I sighed. “Yes.”
The man extended his hand. “Bob Riley from Child Welfare Services.”
Oh shit! Had Kelly called this guy for abuse of a minor? It sounded twisted, but my brain was outpacing rationale.
I shook his hand. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t alone. Standing next to Bob Riley was a little blonde kid with enormous blue eyes, staring at me.
“May we come in, Mr. Bombay?” Bob asked, and I ushered them into the living room.
“What’s this about?” I demanded. I couldn’t take my eyes off the kid, who suddenly grinned, revealing a crooked smile and a gap between his two front teeth.
“I realize this may come as somewhat of a shock, Mr. Bombay, but this is your son. Louis.”
That’s when I knew there was a conspiracy against me. “What . . . what did you say?” I gasped.
Bob frowned as if he disapproved of my response. “This is your son. His mother -” he looked at a clipboard - “Helga Torvald, died a month ago. In her will, she stipulated that her son live with his biological father. That’s you.”
My jaw hurt from being locked in an open expression. “My son? I don’t have any children. There must be some mistake!” I looked at the kid and watched his smile vanish. Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that. It wasn’t this kid’s fault.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Bombay.” Bob handed me some paperwork that listed me as the father of Louis Torvald. There were photos of me and Helga together in a hot tub. But she looked just like all of the other women I’d dated.
Bob Riley stood up and took back the clipboard. Here is my number. Call me if you have any questions.” He turned and headed toward the door.
I raced after him. “Wait! You can’t just leave this kid here.”
Bob turned to face me, and I toyed with killing him. “His name is Louis, Mr. Bombay. And he’s your son. Where else would I leave him?” He was gone before I could respond.
I stared at the door for quite a while, trying to absorb this information. It couldn’t be true! The kid was like, five or six! Why didn’t this Helga tell me I’d fathered a child?
Then it hit me. It was a joke! Gin knew Mom was giving me a hard time about having kids. She obviously set this up! I gave Louis some cookies (what kid doesn’t love cookies? I love cookies) and called Gin, Liv and Paris, telling them to come over immediately. I was dressed before the doorbell rang.
My sister and two cousins arrived at the exact same time - proof that they were all in on this! I led them to the dining room where Louis was sitting at the table, his legs dangling a foot or so off the ground. He looked up with a smile. I knew it!
“A-ha!” I proclaimed, pointing at the boy. Actually, I was pretty proud of the fact I’d figured it out. It was a very good joke.
“A-ha what?” Gin asked, eyes bulging as she took in the kid. “Who’s this?”
Liv clapped her hands together. “He’s adorable! Are you babysitting?” Ever the maternal type, she ran over and hugged Louis.
Paris eyed me suspiciously. “Man, you went to a lot of trouble to get out of working today. I never thought you’d pull something like this.”
“What?” My triumphant face fell. “It’s a joke, right? You set me up with that Bob Riley from Child Services and Louis.” Right?
“Dak.” Gin stared at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”
I looked around the table and knew I was screwed. It wasn’t a joke. Shit.
Gin called Mom and Dad and there I was, explaining to the whole family about my new son, Louis. Who, by the way, hadn’t said a word the whole time.
Mom ran over and gathered the boy in her arms. Louis snuggled against her with a shy grin.
“I can’t believe this!” Gin sounded angry. “You are so irresponsible!”
“He’s absolutely wonderful!” Liv said, eyes shining.
Mom piped up, “He looks just like you did when you were . . . um, how old is Louis?”
Paris glared at me, presumably pissed because we weren’t going to work on his beloved project for the Council today. Dad gave me the thumbs up. Of course then I remembered that his thumbs were the only thing on him going up lately. I shuddered.
“Louis,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Grandma asked how old you are.”
The boy looked at me for a moment, then turned to Mom and threw his arms around her neck. He still hadn’t said a word, but Mom was in heaven.
“So,” Gin asked, “what are you going to do?”
I ran my hands through my hair. What was I going to do? “I have no idea.”
“I’d say he’s about Romi and Alta’s age,” she said quietly. “You’ll have to enroll him in their school so they can show him around.”
“And don’t forget to add him to your insurance,” Liv added.
“You’ll need a sitter for this afternoon,” Paris growled, still obviously fixated on work.
Dad just sat there and grinned. Than
ks, Dad.
“You’ll need to turn the guest room into his room,” Mom said in a love-struck voice. “And we’ll have to go shopping for clothes and toys!” Clearly, I was now off the hook with her in the grandkid department. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel better.
“Hold on!” I brought my hands up in front of me to hold the maternal brigade off. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“Do?” Mom glared at me, “What do you mean? He’s your son, Dak! You have to take care of him. Raise him!”
“And being yours by blood,” Paris interrupted, “you’ll have to start training him.”
Gin would have said something if she wasn’t on the phone telling Diego to bring Romi over immediately to meet her new cousin.
The whole room erupted in discussion. I stumbled backwards, falling into a chair and slumped in defeat. We hadn’t even determined paternity, and everyone assumed Louis was part of the family.
I had to give it to the kid. He really glowed with all the praise and adoration. But he still hadn’t said anything. What was up with that? Plus, I realized that having a new son would put a serious crimp in my mission to prove my manhood.
My head hurt. Between the run of bad-women luck, the crazy assignment from the Council and the appearance of my “son,” I was pretty sure one of the arteries throbbing on my forehead would burst. Maybe I should get Gin and Diego to agree to be his guardians once I died from this.
“Well, I think that went rather well.” A small voice seemed to emanate from my alleged son. I peeked cautiously through the fingers that covered my eyes.
“Excuse me?” I asked, mouth agape (which, by the way, is not a good look for me).
Louis came over and sat at the table next to me, his chin resting in his hand. “I’m not saying it was perfect, but it was good. My new family is very nice.”
I stared at him. The damn kid hadn’t uttered a word the whole time! Now he sounded like. . .like an old Jewish comedian working in the Catskills.
“S’up Sheckie? Why are you talking now?” I asked.
Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4) Page 23
