4 The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide

by Josie Brown

  “My my, you’re cute when you’re jealous! Okay yeah, invariably all conversations with that woman lead to some intimation that she is ready, willing and able for an exchange of bodily fluids. But you’ll be happy to know I let it go right over my head.”

  I’m tempted to ask: Which head? But I think better of it.

  I’m afraid of how he’ll answer me.

  Jack picks up the brush, dips it in the polish then places my foot on his lap. After a few meticulous strokes of Cruella on my big toe, I’ve got one more thing to admire about him.

  Talk about the ideal foreplay.

  “Unfortunately, I had to give her a realistic excuse as to why you’d be out of commission for so long.” He stops to admire his handiwork. “So, listen, when you come in from the cold, don’t’ be surprised if you find Penelope staring at your… chest.”

  I yank my foot away so fast that he paints a stripe on his khakis. “What the heck did you tell her, anyway?”

  “I didn’t exactly come out and say anything. It was more like a lightning round of Twenty Questions.”

  The way I’m holding my nail file shows him that, unlike Penelope, I’m not in the mood for any games.

  “Okay, if you must know, I inferred you’d be having a few nips and tucks.” He points to my breasts.

  I stare down at them. “And all this time I thought Pixie and Dixie was the picture of perfection.”

  “Baby, you know I do, too! But I had to think fast. Hey, if it makes you feel any better, even she found it hard to believe. When the neighbors call you perky, it ain’t your personality their talking about.”

  “Gee thanks… I think.”

  “Don’t mention it. In truth, what she bought hook, line and sinker was my hint about a butt lift.”

  The nail file misses his ear by a mere half inch. He and I both know that if I hadn’t been concerned about smearing my manicure, my aim would have been better.

  Damn it. Turns out I’m smudged after all. I point this out to him with my middle finger. “You owe me a French Tip.”

  “Sounds dirty.” Tantalized, he arches a brow. “I’m in, but unfortunately it’ll have to wait. There’s been a break in the case. Ryan’s on his way over, with Abu, Arnie and Emma.”

  “Super. We can have a pajama party.”

  “Yep, that may be on your agenda, especially if this mission goes down the way I think it will.” He frowns. “Arnie has figured out something that all eleven Quorum suspects have in common. Unfortunately, if he’s right, only you can infiltrate their club.”

  “Anything that gets this bracelet off my ankle. Worst. Bling. Ever.” I put my leg back in his lap. “Until they get here, make yourself useful. My left foot needs a second coat.”

  He hesitates, but he knows better than to say no.

  The Acme team comes bearing Krispy Kremes.

  Not a good sign.

  I reach for the doughnuts, but before I can grab a couple of glazed, Jack lifts the box out of reach. “Think ‘butt lift’,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

  Lift this.

  To stifle the urge to elbow him in the gut, I smile at Ryan. “Welcome! What do I owe the honor?”

  “We’ve had a breakthrough.” He looks over at Jack, who nods and opens the doughnut box for him.

  Am I salivating as Ryan pops one into his mouth? You betcha. Some pity party this is turning out to be. “So Jack said, among other things. What’s the dealio?”

  “As you know, Jonah Breck kept detailed dossiers on each of the twelve other Quorum leaders, but we’ve yet to break the encryption system used to shield their names and occupations. However, Arnie found one very strange anomaly shared by all of them.” Ryan coughs uncomfortably.

  “They’re all sugar daddies,” Arnie blurts out.

  I look from one to the other. “Say, what?”

  Emma frowns. “As in, older rich dudes who like dating college co-eds for their scintillating conversation. Usually the dates take place in the fancy apartments these douchebags keep for their ‘sugar babies,’ albeit most of the time their girlfriends are too busy faking orgasms to talk about Proust or Nixonian political strategy.”

  “Ah. Got it.” Suddenly my breasts don’t seem so perky. Besides, I never got through Swann’s Way. Too high falutin’.

  “The online service they used to meet these ladies is among Breck Industries’ assets. It’s called SugarCEOs.com.” Ryan pauses. “Breck offered his fellow Quorum members free memberships, all of which were activated. This gave him firsthand insights into their, er, personal predilections via their online profiles, which I presume he planned on using against them when the time was right.”

  Unfortunately Breck’s time ran out. Whereas the assassination attempts by his long lost daughter, Edwina Doyle, failed to take out the scumbag munitions magnate, Carl finished him off just as Jack and I were trying to convince him to turn in his Quorum buds.

  Carl also exterminated another Quorum member fighting for the top spot, which was vacant since Breck’s death. The man was Greg Lardner, a Silicon Valley venture capitalist.

  There are now only eleven Quorum members standing.

  Abu frowns. “Don’t their Sugar CEO profiles give us enough intel to apprehend them?” Abu asks.

  “That’s the problem. One of the privileges of membership—both in the Quorum, and in Sugar CEO—is that no one knows anyone’s real names.” Ryan frowns. “Apparently both use the same encryption technology as well, which is why Arnie has yet to break it.”

  Arnie winces. Like the rest of us, he knows failure is not an option.

  I guess this is where I come in. Or not. “Doesn’t the term ‘sugar baby’ imply someone under thirty? Would this be a better mission for Emma?”

  Emma chokes on her cream-filled doughnut. “No way in hell! I’m strictly ComInt. Besides, I wouldn’t be caught dead with any of those man-ho sleazeoids. What if one of my peeps from the Bust.com community saw me out with one of them? I’d be asked to turn in my membership!”

  “Quite frankly, Emma, you’re not equipped with the kind of spycraft necessary for this mission.” Emma is actually relieved by Ryan’s declaration. “Even an experienced honeypot will have her hands full flipping eleven suspects.” He turns to me. “Donna, you could pass. You’re not even thirty-five yet, am I right?”

  I opened my eyes wide so that he’ll believe me when I say, “Nowhere near it.”

  I ignore Jack’s coughing fit. He knows I’ll be exactly that in a few weeks.

  Thank goodness Ryan ignores it, too. Of course, he has no choice. Neither Jack nor Abu look as good in high heels and a push-up bra.

  “I would imagine their sugar baby wish list varies a great deal. What makes you think I’ll fit any of the descriptions?”

  “The Sugar CEO account I’ve set up for you is riddled with spiders that mirror the key words found in the suspects’ wish lists,” Arnie explains. “For example, if one is looking for a blonde working on her masters in English Lit, you’re his girl. If another wants a redhead on a swim scholarship who lives in Seattle, voila, your profile pops in his email box. At the same time, emails from any other lovely ladies responding to our mystery men will be blocked, so that you’re the de facto choice, all courtesy of your favorite computer hacker.”

  Oh, lucky me. “So that we’re all on the same page, are you saying there’s to be no exterminations?” I ask.

  “As was the case with Breck and Gardner, we need them alive,” Jack explains. “Each of them holds a piece of the puzzle to the Quorum’s success as an international terrorist organization. Individually, every one to a man has the means to finance it. But it is their collective knowledge and connections—in regard to politics, technology, finance, transportation, munitions, and science—that brought them together in the first place. Not to mention their mutual desire to take down the status quo. The true power is in their synergy. And the secrets they have on each other.”

  Ryan turns to me. “Once they send you
an email requesting a date, Arnie can code a Trojan into your email response, which hacks into their smart phone or computer. That gives us some useful intel, including GPS coordinates and access to his other emails and texts. Granted, there may be some additional decoding needed on their secure files before that methodology helps us determine who they are. Now, as their ‘date,’ they may be open enough to give you their real names. Even if they don’t you’ll also be wearing your webcam contact lenses. This allows us to put them through Interpol’s facial recognition system. We’ll also be putting your conversations with them through voice recognition software. Once a match is made, intel can be gathered almost instantaneously, and we’ll feed you a few sound bites regarding his misdeeds that should convince him to turn on his Quorum brethren. One way or another, I know you’ll get your man. Or in this case, your men.”

  Ah, yes, my notorious powers of persuasion. I wish they worked as well on coercing my children to eat their vegetables and brush their teeth.

  Or in getting Jack to see his ex, Valentina, for what she really is: a liar.

  Good or bad, I’m who I am—an assassin—because of the Quorum. The day I take down that organization, I’ll start living the peaceful life I long for: with my children.

  And with Jack.

  “As soon as I lose this charm bracelet,” I lift my leg to make my point, “I’m your woman. I mean, sugar baby.’”

  Arnie smiles. “Piece of cake. All I have to do is deactivate it just long enough to swap Emma’s ankle for yours.”

  “‘Wow. So, Inga’s’ back?” I give Emma a thankful nod.

  She shrugs. “Yeah, as long as the fridge is full and carpool is covered, so I don’t have to deal with your petty neighbors.” Emma shudders. Playing a Swedish exchange student isn’t her favorite cover, but it’s perfect whenever we need her close by.

  Still, I’m iffy on a concept that could land me in the clink for the rest of my life. “Won’t an interruption in the signal bring the Fed’s SWAT team calling?”

  Arnie shakes his head. “I can ghost the signal’s frequency, for up to three minutes. And it should only take a minute to pick the lock, so that we can replace your ankle with hers.”

  “In the meantime, I’m pulling every string I can find to clear things up with the Department of Justice,” Ryan promises. “But it won’t be easy. Remember, they’ve lost a Gitmo prisoner, and they feel you’re their only reasonable lead.”

  I still can’t get the image of Lynch out of my head.

  If I succeed, it’s to avenge his death, too.

  I stare down at my foot, then prop it on the arm of Arnie’s chair. “Okay, go for it. Just watch the toes. The paint job is still wet.”

  Chapter 4

  How to Dress for Successful Dates

  Great first impressions start with good grooming! Before you open your door to your date, wash and style your hair.

  Indulge in a mani-pedi.

  Put on your face paint, but don’t overdo it. The goal is to cover up, not to lay it on thick.

  Wear a flattering dress. And certainly put on a pair of heels, since they always make a woman’s legs look great, and give her a slimming silhouette.

  A bit of jewelry is like feathers on a peacock, drawing a man’s eye to the most flattering places: your neck, your wrists, your waist, your hair, and your face.

  Surprise! The best accessory of all: a Baby Browning .22 caliber semi automatic. Less than three inches and not even ten ounces, this little gun fits in the palm of your hand (not to mention in a purse, up a sleeve, or in your bra).

  With Baby onboard, any gentleman caller who turns out to be no gentleman at all but a slob who likes playing impromptu game of slap-and-tickle will listen when you warn him to move his hand.

  Or else lose an eye. Have fun!

  “What’s your weight?” Jack murmurs.

  That’s the wrong question to ask a woman as she’s wiggling into a Spanx Slim Cognito shape slip. “Um…one-o-nine.” I answer him.

  Jack’s head whips around so fast, you’d think he needs an exorcist. He closes an eye and cocks his head to one side. “For real?”

  “Yes, of course!” I turn my back to him, so he doesn’t see that my face is as red as a tomato: not because my circulation has been cut off, but from my indignation that he’d have the nerve to question me. “My God, I’ve been answering these silly questions all night! What does it really matter? According to Arnie, the minute my profile goes live, it will automatically simulate the desired characteristics reflected in the suspects’ accounts.”

  “You know the drill. We still have to fill out the profile fields, or else Sugar CEO won’t accept your application. There are just a few more questions, so bear with me. Of course, if you want me to do it without you—”

  “Ha! Don’t you dare.”

  “Have a little faith! I promise to follow your lead and fill in a bunch of lies.”

  While he taps away on the computer keyboard, I rummage through my collection of wigs to see what I can salvage from Trisha’s last play date with her best friend, Janie Breck. Thanks to the girls’ mutual addiction to sweet pink cotton candy-flavored Bubble Yum, so far three of them need to be shortened or tossed. I hope I have a few left over so that Jack can take pictures of me in them. That way, Arnie’s software algorithm will upload the one that best corresponds with the target’s sugar baby wish list.

  “You’re going to have to answer some true/false, comment and multiple choice questions. Okay, question number one: If you had a porn name, what would it be?”

  “Ha! I’ll just bet they don’t ask the sugar daddies the same thing.”

  “Good supposition. Let me see.” He opens another screen and scrolls through the website. “You’re right, they don’t. But they do ask the dude’s net worth, starting at 25 million and going up from there.”

  “Cha-ching! Okay, that evens the playing field somewhat. If I’m going to be someone’s fantasy, he’s got to make it worth my while. In that case, type in ‘Mila Johansson’ as my porn name.”

  “Not fair. All you’ve done is to combine the names of two very capable actresses.”

  “It’s perfectly fair. Tell me, what were they’re last roles?”

  “All I remember is that both were squeezed into something sexy.”

  “You’ve just proven my point. You noticed nothing about these women, either above their lips or below their knees.”

  “And the most desirable feature on your sugar daddies will be their bank accounts.” Jack snickers as he clicks away furiously on the computer keyboard. Whatever merde he’s writing, no doubt he’s laying it on thick.

  “We all play to our strengths. Other than money and temporary security, what else do these jerks have to offer?” I put down the scissors with a sigh. They’re useless anyway. Now that I’ve chopped my favorite auburn wig to shreds, it looks worse than Anne Hathaway’s in her Les Miserables death scene. “Besides, this mission is quick and dirty, in and out. Prick them with truth serum, which allows Emma to record their answers. Then use the info they give me to turn them, and leave.”

  He catches my eye in the mirror. “These guys aren’t dummies. If they get suspicious, they’ll make sure you won’t leave their little love nests alive. Their battalion of bodyguards will be right outside the bedroom door.”

  “Jack, you know I appreciate your concern. I realize I have eleven chances to screw things up. On the other hand, I have eleven opportunities to put the Quorum out of business, once and for all.”

  “It would have been easier with Carl still behind bars.”

  “Well, he isn’t, and now it’s make-up time. And besides, you and Abu will be close by.”

  He shrugs. “All I’m saying is be careful, okay?”

  I nod. “Okay, I promise. Cross my heart. Now, hit me with another question.”

  “Are you a cat person, or a dog person, and why?”

  “Put down ‘I love it doggy style.’”

  “Don’t I know it,
” he murmurs. “Now, this next question is true or false: I want a relationship with no strings attached.”

  “Click true.”

  “Sure,” he says, but at the same time he winces. For us, role-playing is a way of life.

  And of death.

  “Next, another multiple choice: I’d rather be (a) at a disco (b) at the opera (c) cheering courtside at a Lakers game, or (d) sunning myself naked on a beach.”

  Now it’s my turn to frown. “Choose anything but the beach!”

  He laughs out loud. “I would have guessed that. Okay, now: If you were a tree, what kind would you be? The choices are (a) Redwood (b) Dogwood (c) Oak, or (d) Japanese Maple.”

  “Make me a Dogwood.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s small and the flowers are either pink or white. Subliminally, the message here is ‘virginal and girly.’”

  “But you’re really an Oak, right?”

  “Nah. A Redwood. I’m in it for the long run.”

  He knows exactly what I mean.

  “Okay, next up: Would you rather date (a) an artist (b) a banker (c) an entrepreneur or (d) a corporate industrialist?”

  “I guess we both know the answer to that one.” My eyes seek his out. “I only have eyes for you.”

  This earns me a knowing smile. “Last question: Where would you prefer to be kissed, and why?”

  “Seriously? They ask something that personal?” I slip behind him so that I can read over his shoulder. “They make it quite clear what this is all about, don’t they?....Wait! I don’t see that question here.”

  “My bad. It’s my question, not theirs.” He pulls me into his lap.

  Sure, I’ll play along. “Want to take a guess?”

  He chuckles. “I’m a hands-on kind of guy. How else can I gauge your true enthusiasm?”

  He’s got a point there.

  He hits the SUBMIT button, then forwards Arnie my User ID and password. The photos can wait until our private little survey is completed.

  We’ve only tested six possible kissing locations when Arnie’s email pings Jack’s computer. We let out with a mutual groan, then disentangle ourselves in order to read it: