“What do you have to report?” Grandma broke into my thoughts.
“Nice to see all of you, too,” I replied glibly. Yeesh. Where were their manners?
“We found out why our contracts are decreasing,” Paris piped up. Brown nose.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I continued. “Have a new girlfriend and a son now.”
“We know all about that,” sneered Troy, the English member of the Council. “The question is, what do you have to report?”
Those Brits – no sense of humor.
Paris filled them in on National Resources. He told them everything. I would have left out the part about the website, but that’s just me.
Lou frowned. “So, they have a website, eh? I knew we should’ve gotten one of those.”
Grandma looked at me, “Did you come up with the branding I asked for?”
“Oh sure. We thought about calling ourselves Assassinations R Us and aligning ourselves with the toy magnate. We figure we could just glom on to their brand and surf the success.”
Grandma narrowed her eyes. “That’ll do Dak. I won’t tolerate your snarky attitude.” Uh oh. I was getting dangerously close to not being spoiled by her.
Paris broke in, “We figured that by finding the real problem, we could come up with a better solution. The problem isn’t really branding or websites or promotional chotchkes. It’s the competing company itself.”
“So you’re saying if we take out the competition, our problem will cease?” Dela asked.
Oooooh. It’s a trap! Don’t answer that, Paris!
Paris looked confused but nodded. “Well, yes. That would solve the problem.”
Troy shook his head and I hated him all over again. “We know all about National Resources. You wasted your time.”
“You knew about them?” I lost my cool. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Lou cleared his throat. Clearly, we made a bit of an impact on the Council last time we were here. “Calm down, Dak.”
“Calm down? Calm down? Are you crazy? We did all that work for nothing?” Okay, so Paris did all that work for nothing.
The members of the Council, my family, looked at one another. I was totally pissed off. Why give us the problem to solve when they knew the answer?
“Why don’t we just have Dak and Paris remove the competition from the picture?” Dela suggested. “It seems silly to market ourselves to people we can’t market ourselves to, anyway.”
“I agree. This nonsense about branding won’t solve anything,” piped up Aunt Florence, my French relative.
“Actions do speak louder than words, old man,” Troy agreed grudgingly as he turned to Lou.
Grandma leveled an angry glare at him. “I want a complete marketing package! I want a website and logos and slogans!” Damn. Was she throwing a temper tantrum?
“Okay, Veruca Salt,” Lou sniped. I tried to hide my smile. “But basically, I agree that we need to get rid of them. What’s to stop them from trying to take us out in the near future? They underbid us – so why wouldn’t they come after us?”
I stepped forward. “Give us all the info you have on this generic cabal, and Paris and I will take care of it. Do you want us to recruit others, like Gin or Liv?” Maybe I could earn some brownie points with my gift-bestowing grandmother in the process.
“No,” Dela answered. “Let’s keep this simple. You two can take out five men, can’t you? If we put too many family members on this it’ll be a mess.”
Grandma folded her arms over her chest, “Fine. The two of you will meet with Dela tonight in her room. She’ll give you what we have and you can take it from there.”
I left the room totally pissed off. If the Council knew about the competition, why ask us to go around the problem with a slick promo plan?
“We should have killed them all last time we were here,” Paris muttered under his breath as we walked out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“An optimist says, ‘The drink is half full.’ A pessimist says, ‘The drink is half full, but I might have bowel cancer.”
- Mr. B., The Kids in the Hall
We couldn’t find Missi, Louis or Mom, so we hit poolside, ordering rum from the cabana boys. After a few moments, I could feel my blood pressure cooling and remembered something.
“Paris, you ever heard of Doc Savage?”
He rolled his eyes at me, “Not this again! I thought we were done with that like thirty years ago.”
Bastard. “No. Not the books. Have you heard of anyone else using that name for work?” I launched into an explanation about the guy in my living room. Why hadn’t I told him this sooner?
“Huh.” Paris leaned back in his chair. “That’s a new one. Why was he there?”
“He said he was checking my place out for Doc Savage.” I even felt ridiculous saying it aloud.
“You haven’t been made, have you?”
“Either that or the pulp fiction geeks of the world are after me for some reason.” I thought about the last few jobs I’d had. Well, there was that one time I had to take out this drug dealer dressed as Spiderman at the NYC Comic-Con. He actually tried to shoot a web at me. What a loser. You never bring a webslinger to a gunfight. Nah. That had nothing to do with it. Besides, that was Marvel Comics, not old-fashioned Lester Dent pulp.
“It’s probably nothing,” Paris said. “We’ve got more important shit to worry about.”
He was right. I was pretty certain the Council would take us up on eliminating out the competition.
“How many guys are in that operation?” I asked.
“No one knows.” He turned and looked up at the resort. “Okay, maybe they know. It’ll be tough. We’ll have to work together.”
Suddenly, my Ralph Lauren preppy look became the soggy, Ralph Lauren preppy look as Louis cannonballed into the pool. Missi and Mom sat down to join us.
“He’s yours, all right.” Missi winked at me.
“Well, of course he is!” Mom snapped. “I never doubted it for a minute.” Good old Mom – she always had my back.
“So, you guys going to come see me later for some stuff?” Missi asked with a giggle.
“You bet I will,” I said. “I still have that tricked-out Chia Pet you gave Gin last year.”
Monty and Jack, both 16, came flying past and dove into the pool. Monty lifted Louis and threw him through the air until he splash-landed. My son popped above the water, giggling hysterically as Jack tossed him back to Monty. They played with Louis as if he were their own brother. I got a little choked up.
“So, what’s next?” Mom asked me but didn’t take her eyes off Louis.
“We meet with Dela in an hour. Looks like we’ll get the lowdown on the competition,” Paris responded.
Mom nodded. “Great. Then I’m going to take Louis to meet Mother.”
I shivered a little, in spite of the heat. “And the tests are, you know, conclusive?”
Missi rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”
An hour later, Paris and I found ourselves in Dela’s apartment. I have to admit, I’d never been in here before. And I was a little nervous that this was where the witch hunt started against me six months ago.
“We’ve had our suspicions about National Resources, although your testimony confirmed it today,” Dela began. “There are five assassins in the group.” She handed us folders. “Each one masquerades as a professional in one industry or another. We don’t have photos of them, just some basic info. You will have two weeks to hunt them down.”
I opened the folder carefully. Ugh. These National Resource guys were real scum. According to the file, they took on any contract – regardless of who the Vic was. There was a vague reference to the U.S. government – but nothing concrete. A list of their hits told me that they were corporate-motivated. Like, Erin Brockovich and Karen Silkwood-type hits. I hated them already. As my blood pressure rose, I wondered if they knew who they were taking out. At least with the Bombays – we had dossiers on our hits, which
were mostly terrorists, criminals and people who hired amateurs like National Resources. Apparently, they each have a tattoo on the inside of their forearm of Woody Woodpecker. Weird.
“You’ll have to track them down, one by one. You can work together. Personally, I’d prefer you take them out quickly so word doesn’t get out to their colleagues.”
“You don’t make that easy for us,” I said, flipping through the pages. “The
only information here seems to be the zip code where these guys were last seen.” Talk about a needle in a haystack.
“Let me look at that.” Paris snatched the files from me. He frowned, as he read. “I think I can figure this out. Maybe with some help from Missi.”
I threw my hands up in the air. Leave it to him to find the silver lining in cloud of sludge.
Dela nodded as if she knew Paris was going to say that. “I’ll keep in touch by cell phone, and I expect updates regularly. You two are lucky. Troy wanted to be the handler on this one.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great. He hates me.”
Dela patted my shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Dakota. He hates everyone.”
We thanked Dela and left her apartment, heading for the pool bar. I got a double scotch and Paris helped himself to a glass of beer. That was another cool perk. Free booze. How many companies with high-pressure work offer that? Of course, you wouldn’t want cranky assassins when you can placate them with alcohol. Think of any of your family gatherings . . . Thanksgiving, Christmas, you know what I’m talking about. The booze helps.
“You really think we can do this?” I asked after downing my scotch in one swoop. “’Cuz I think we’re setting ourselves up for failure.”
Paris made a face. “And you used to be such an optimist.”
“Well, I’m seriously considering pessimism.” I poured myself another glass of scotch. “Optimism is definitely overrated.”
“We have everything we need here. The zip codes will narrow things down considerably. Look here.” He pointed at the zip code for somewhere in Ohio, then pointed to his laptop. I didn’t even realize he’d brought the computer with us. What a geek.
“Tinker, Ohio, only has 5,000 people.” He pointed to the next one. “And this one’s in our own backyard. We can do it.”
“How’s that? Do you know how long that will take? We don’t even know if these are men or women!”
“Why does that matter?” Paris cocked his head at me. “We take them out no matter what.”
“I don’t know about you, my friend, but I’ve never taken out a woman before.” It’s true. And it has nothing to do with scruples. I’ve just never been assigned a woman. In fact, I don’t know if anyone in my family has. Why was that? “Huh.” Paris sat back in his chair. “I haven’t either. I wonder why?”
I was getting drunk. “I dunno. Women make lousy terrorists?”
“No. I think they’re smarter than that. The only thing women are guilty of is promoting peace.” And I could see that he meant it too.
“You’ve gone soft on me.” I scowled. “Women can be just as evil as men.”
“Oh yeah? Name the worst dictators, serial killers, and murderers. They’re all men.” Paris folded his arms.
I struggled to think. “What about Charlotte Corday? Squeaky Fromme? Sarah Jane Moore?”
Paris shook his head. “Those are assassins. They targeted men who they thought were screwing up the world. That doesn’t count. I’m looking for women who, just because they were evil, did terrible things on their own.”
My brain was getting a little fried. “Oh screw it. I’m sure they’re out there.”
Paris looked at me in silence for a moment. “You don’t really think much of women, do you?”
Whoa! Where did that come from? “Dude. You’re way off. I respect Gin and Liv.”
He shook his head. “I’m not talking about family. I’m talking about women in general.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, for starters you only date empty-headed blondes. Secondly, you’ve never had a serious relationship in your life. And third, you have extreme commitment issues.”
I think my draw jopped. I mean jaw dropped. Man, I was drunk. How many drinks did I have? I stared at four wavy highball glasses in front of me – all empty. “That’s not true! What about Leonie?”
Paris folded his arms, the smug bastard. He only had one wavy glass in front of him. “What about Leonie? Are you trying to tell me you respect her?”
“Of course I do!” I sputtered. Paris was now wiggling in front of me like JELL-O. Or at least, that’s what I thought I was seeing. If he’d just sit still I could strangle him.
Paris stood up, gathering his things. “Let’s face it, Dak. You don’t know what respecting a woman means.” With that, he stood up and walked away.
I was pissed off. But I was too drunk to do anything about it. So, I headed up to my room. Mom was watching Louis sleep. When she saw my state of mind, she decided to stay with us. I can’t blame her. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk with my son here. Too late for that. I watched her curl up next to him in his bed before I passed out on mine.
I woke up at 3:30 a.m., hung over and mad about something without any idea what that was. Paris had something to do with it. I was pretty sure about that. I took off the clothes I’d been sleeping in and after brushing my teeth and checking on Louis and Mom, crawled back into bed.
“You look like hell.” Missi grinned into the monitor as she buzzed me into the workshop. I didn’t know the password. In all honesty, I’d never really visited my cousin here before. Paris pushed past me into the room and I followed. I wasn’t talking to him. He just didn’t know that yet.
“I’ve felt better.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Do you know about our assignment?”
“Yeah. What can I do to help?”
Paris and I looked at each other. “Well, we were hoping you had a few ideas,” Paris said finally.
She cocked her head to the right and said nothing. She was like that sometimes. Kind of kooky. Missi would just disappear inside her head for a little while, then emerge with something crazy but perfect.
The workshop was bizarre. I didn’t know if she collected this weird shit or was a regular at church bazaars frequented by the mentally ill. I mean, who has a collection of B-list bobble head dolls? Erik Estrada, Charo, and Alan Alda bobbed and nodded in agreement. Yeesh. In the corner was a blast shield. This chick really liked explosives. I remember this one time when she made a toothbrush that blew up when it came into contact with molars – not front teeth or you may not get the whole head. That kind of work takes a creative thinker. Or a madwoman.
“Well,” Missi finally emerged from her thought coma. “I do have a couple of things I can show you.” She stood up and we followed her through rows of test tubes, headless kewpie dolls, remote-controlled lizards, and a poster with a kitten dangling from a branch that said, “Hang in There!”
She stopped in front of a table with a small, silver tube. “I did a little research and found out that one of your hits is a zookeeper.”
Paris and I exchanged looks before I said, “How did you know that?”
Missi rolled her eyes at us, as if to say Hello! Genius here! “It’s the guy in Tinker, Ohio.” She tossed us a sheet of paper that did, indeed, have more info on the guy than Dela had given us.
She continued, “The zoo Vic works at has a bear exhibit. I love bears. So unpredictable.”
Paris and I looked at each other again. Missi tended to get sidetracked sometimes.
“Anyway,” she pulled herself out of a glazed, faraway look and continued, “like I said, bears are very unpredictable. Especially the smaller, black bears. Most people take them for granted because they are smaller and cute. But use this puppy,” She lifted the tube and depressed a button. Clear liquid shot about fifty feet, hitting a stuffed bear (the taxidermied kind) in the face. It didn’t look like much, but I thought I detected the str
ong scent of barbecue sauce.
Paris examined the glass-eyed creature. “What does it do?”
Missi rolled her eyes. “This is a highly concentrated mixture of meat essence and bear pheromones. Squirt this on the guy, and the bears will charge and tear him limb from limb. Cool huh?” She lifted the tube to her eye, “And I have it in beef, pork and chicken flavors. The coroner will just think the zookeeper hit a ribs house hard before climbing into the bear pen.”
“And we don’t have to lay a finger on him. That is cool,” Paris said as he took the tube from her.
Missi warned, “Don’t let it go off here. I got some on my clothes once and a jaguar stalked me for a week.” She patted the head of a taxidermied panther. I wondered if she did the work herself.
“Great,” I replied, wondering how she fought and killed the animal. “What else do you have?”
She loaded one of those shopping baskets with two tubes and four vials of the clear liquid. “Okay, this is really cool.” We followed her to another part of the room.
She stopped in front of what appeared to be a collection of little porcelain Santa figurines. Is this chick wacky or what?
Missi pulled a Glock .45 with silencer out of a drawer. “This is a gun,” she said.
“Wow. Never seen one of those before,” I teased. Maybe she was crazier than we all thought.
Missi shook her head. “It’s not the gun that’s special. It’s the ammo.” Paris and I watched as she ejected the magazine and slid one of the rounds out. “It’s made of gelatin.” The bullet was clear, like plastic, with a clear shell casing that looked like glass. She handed us each a bullet. The end was rubbery and the casing was glass. Huh?
“I got the idea when I made pineapple JELL-O for the boys. I thought there had to be a way to make a bullet that would cause enough shock trauma to kill a man, but that could also be absorbed by the body so that no bullet would be found.”
Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4) Page 28
