Generation of Liars

by Marks, Camilla

  The mysterious boat was easing to the dock now. A slim figure, dressed all in black, slithered out. Thorny heels were clicking against the splintered wooden panels that lined the dock. My eyes followed them up the length of a pair of svelte legs to a shiny black mane that sifted above a very firm derriere.

  I was smiling. I turned to Motley and Cleopatra, both wide-mouthed and insecurely bickering back and forth. “This one’s here for me,” I told them.

  The mystery guest was Vivienne Ting. Now she was swaying towards us. She had several long strands of rope coiled in her hands. She was swinging the ropes at David.

  I rolled out of the way. The ropes cut between David and I with a hissing sound. The sword was tugged clean from David’s hands and it landed in Vivienne’s cradling arms. It happened as though in slow motion, and yet it was quicker than a flash of lighting. Her eyes, calm and fierce, seemed to light up against the resplendent sheen of the sword’s blade. She slid her finger across the length of the blade. She put them to her lips and it looked like she was tasting the power and mightiness of the sword on her tongue like it was Pixie Stick sugar.

  “Kitto Katsu,” she confidently growled. She swung the sword up over her head and charged at David. The tip of the sword flirted with his Adam’s apple, and I saw the lump gyrate in his throat. “I think it would be a good idea for you to take your own advice about a noble surrender,” she hissed at him. With the blade so aligned with his tender throat, David didn’t look like he was in the mood to disagree.

  Amidst the distraction, Pressley pulled up his Glock and fixed Motley inside his crosshairs.

  Motley was now reaching for his own gun. “Don’t be a fool, Motley,” Pressley grumbled.

  “Don’t even think about moving,” Vivienne said to Motley, without breaking the steel-lock stare she had on David. “Aside from the CIA agent with a gun pointed at your face, Rabbit is onboard the yacht with a combat pistol from my boss Jean Etienne’s personal security detail, aimed and ready to fire.”

  We heard a clunky trigger click from the helm of the yacht and a red digital bulls-eye beamed onto Motley’s forehead. Motley’s finger wiggled free from his pocket and he put his hands into the air.

  Balancing the sword in one fist, Vivienne twisted her ropes over David, wrapping his arms to his body and tying off the ends snuggly. Then, she bound his feet, starting at his ankles, constricting the ropes all the way up to his waist. He resembled something of a strung sausage when she was done. “Who’s next?” she asked. She walked to Motley and nimbly bound his wrists and ankles, like she had done David’s. Vivienne used the remainder of her rope to restrain Cleopatra’s arms and legs and set her down between Motley and David.

  The yacht Vivienne had arrived in began to rattle. Rabbit emerged and jumped onto the dock. “How did I do on backup?” he asked. In his scrawny arms, he was holding a gun that looked like it was intended for powder-kegging world war III.

  I looked at Motley, his lips spiked up into a grimace at the sight of Rabbit.

  “Since you’re so keen on airing dirty laundry tonight,” I said to him, “why don’t you tell Rabbit what you did to him?”

  “What do you mean, Alice?” Rabbit asked.

  “Motley set you up with that poker racket and he’s the one who turned you in to the dean at Yale, all because he wanted you to work for him.”

  “Is this true?” Rabbit asked Motley. The sting of the betrayal he was discovering caused his eyes to populate with watery clouds.

  “It’s true,” Motley said. “It’s a shame you went along with this floozy girl, because you always were my favorite, Lenny. We could have had a long, fruitful association with one another.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Rabbit said. “Don’t call me Lenny ever again. He’s dead. And I don’t need you anymore. I already cashed my check and now I am going to live my life with the girl I love.”

  “Alright, everyone,” Pressley interjected. “I have to remind you all that I am holding a bomb. The bomb is down to less than five minutes. We need to get a move on.” Pressley held his gun sideways at Motley’s temple.

  “Pressley, what are you doing?” I cried.

  “It’s time we end this, Alice. We’re blowing up the dynamite stick and it’s time to cut off all the loose ends from this time in your life.”

  “No.” I tapped the gun away from Motley’s skin. “We’re not murderers. I can’t let you do that. I’ve lived with the guilt of thinking that I took someone’s life for the last three years. I can’t let you turn into a monster.”

  Pressley’s eyes dropped over Motley and he gave him a look intended for house rodents. “Fine. But I have a feeling the decision to let this rat live is going to come back to haunt me.”

  “There is one last thing I should do,” I said, glaring at Cleopatra, her long silky legs tied up in rope making her look like a mermaid tangled in sea ivy. I firmed my ankles on either side of Cleopatra’s torso and bent down and ripped the key from around her neck.

  “Ugh,” she grunted, and her plump lips sneered at me. I held the key between my fingers and inspected it from all sides, there was an inscription etched into the key: Property of Pat Leor. “What are you doing with that?” she wanted to know.

  “Cleopatra,” I purred antagonistically, “do you remember how I told you I bought your old Pat Leor identity off an identity broker?”

  “Yes.”

  “I still have your passport tucked away in my old apartment. I bet that would be enough to get me access to your safety deposit box.” My lips formed a nasty grin. “You know, Cleopatra, they say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but I’d say a passport and a key to a locker full of diamonds are girl’s real best pals. Wouldn’t you?”

  “You little beast!” she screamed, and her legs struggled against the rope restraints.

  “Au Revoir,” I said, stepping over her to catch up with Pressley, Rabbit, and Vivienne, who were already aboard the yacht Vivienne had arrived in. I tripped over an empty bottle of absinthe in the entrance. “Hey,” I said, “I’ve been in this yacht before. It’s Jean Etienne’s.”

  “I borrowed it from my boss,” Vivienne told me. She had her hands on the wheel.

  “Be careful about pissing off your boss,” I warned. “I’m learning about that the hard way.”

  “So, where can you navigate this thing so that we can dump the dynamite stick?” Pressley wanted to know.

  Vivienne spun the wheel beneath her agile palms. “Anywhere you want.”

  He looked down at the blinking red numbers in his hand. “I don’t think we have time to get us anywhere to dump the boat. The timer on the bomb is down to less than a minute. I think we may need to dump ourselves. If we jump off and blow the yacht up in the water, nobody will be hurt and the authorities will all think we’ve died in the blast. But we need to jump now!”

  “Right here? In front of the Andre Citroën?” I asked. “That’s going to draw the cops here in minutes.”

  “Then I hope you’re a fast swimmer,” Pressley replied.

  “Let’s do it,” Rabbit said. He was rolling up his sleeves.

  Chapter Fifty-six: Stars in the Water

  PRESSLEY JAMMED THE bomb into the spokes on the yacht’s steering wheel. The four of us ran to the deck. I balanced up onto the edge of the deck and put my hand out to link it with Pressley’s. His hair was matted from the sea sprays trickling down his cheeks like grease. “You ready for this?” he asked me.

  “Now or never,” I said.

  Rabbit and Vivienne were right beside us.

  At the jump, my body slammed against the water and I lost my grip on Pressley’s hand. I looked up and saw Vivienne’s hair, like dark feathers, whipping by me as she pummeled into the water with Rabbit attached to her arm. The pair of them disappeared into the scattering abyss. The pressure pounded my ears and I heard the sound of an infinite void all around me. I felt the pressure of a tide against me, and the suppression of a loud blast on the surface of the water exp
loded inside my ear drums. Intense pressure surged through my entire body and I could not decipher if I was right side up or upside down amidst the torrent.

  I bobbed to the surface of the water and my eyes tried to regain my bearings. The city lights bounced off the surface of the river so that crystal sheets of water surrounded me. I saw a huge fireball, like an orange aurora, coming up from the water. A radiant light skimmed the surface of the translucent water as tremendous hunks of what had been the yacht shot out from the center of the explosion like nails shot into space. I cried out, “Pressley!” There was only smoke to answer my cries. Thick black smoke which choked my lungs and made me want to vomit my insides out.

  I saw Rabbit bob to the surface; his sandy hair was vacuumed-sealed all around his face. Next, Vivienne emerged from the water, her slick black hair cloaking her face like a sea hellion.

  “Where’s Pressley?” I called out to them.

  They both circled in the water, water rings and ripples surrounding them as they spun about, frantically trying to locate Pressley. “I don’t see him,” Rabbit called back. The surface of the water circling him was greenish and obscuring. An abyss.

  “Pressley!” I screamed. The sky seemed to turn upside down and the stars scattered down into the water as I frantically scanned for any sign of him.

  A single ripple inspired hope.

  The ripple grew outward, like rings encased inside a tree, until finally a head crowned up from the blackened abyss. Black tresses of soaked hair emerged until finally I could see Pressley’s eyes, clenched tight against the sting of water. I swam to him, and there was black sludge covering the left side of his cheek that I realized that it was blood. “Alice,” he cried back.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. I was splashing towards him. He seemed to get farther with every inch I swam. The tall shadow of flames from the wreckage reflected over the surface of the water.

  “I’m alright,” he shouted. “One of the boards flying off the ship hit me. Luckily I only lost consciousness for a few seconds. We need to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before a burning boat in the middle of the Seine gets some attention.”

  The sound of sirens sparked off somewhere in the distance. The river’s current had carried us a few yards from the burning carcass of the yacht. The four of us trudged towards the shore and climbed onto a rickety pier. I had no idea which arrondissement we were in, what cross streets we were near. I shivered, crossing my arms over my body. My fingernails were bloodless.

  “We need to separate,” Vivienne said. She threw her body back into a dragon-esque arch and whipped her long trail of soaked hair behind her.

  “Vivienne and I are going to the airport,” Rabbit said. “We are going to take one of Etienne’s private planes to South America. But don’t try to find us. We’ll find you, someday.”

  Vivienne gathered me up in her petite embrace. “This is goodbye, Alice.”

  I pressed myself tightly to her and I could smell the jasmine on her skin. “Goodbye, Vivienne. You saved my life. Thank you for everything.” She faded beyond the dock, and Rabbit lingered for a moment, shyly looking at me.

  “Goodbye, Alice,” he finally said. “I’m sure you’re glad to be rid of a geek like me after all this time.”

  “No, Rabbit. I’m not happy to get rid of you. I will miss you. You were a friend to me.”

  “I’m glad you finally see that,” he said. “This has been quite an adventure we shared.”

  “I feel like I fell down a rabbit hole.”

  “I never meant to chase you into the rabbit hole, Alice. We were just stupid kids. We got manipulated by Motley.”

  “Sometimes, when you slip through the trap door, all you can do is spin alongside the white rabbit until you hit the bottom.”

  “I guess this is the bottom. And the bottom means goodbye.” He had a smile on his face when he shook my hand farewell. He disappeared into the mist to follow Vivienne.

  I turned to Pressley just as the wail of a second siren echoed impedingly in the distance. “What about us?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

  “Forward,” Pressley replied.

  He was right. There was no turning back now. The dynamite stick was gone for good and we had just blown up a bomb in Paris. Pressley Connard was a part of the Generation of Liars now and we were wanted.

  We had to run.

  We had no choice.

  “So we’ll just keep going, until we find a way to survive in this mixed up world,” I said. My fingers were playing with the silver key tied around my neck by a velvet string.

  Epilogue

  I MADE THE bed and fastened the mosquito net to the pillars of the canopy. I stuffed the rest of my clothes into a duffle bag and I fidgeted with my hair. I wasn’t used to it being this short. It was still blond, but I had added honey lowlights and chopped it into a pixie-shag that tucked easily behind my ears. It showed off beautifully the blocks of diamond that hung from each of my ears.

  I had seen a lot of women in Johannesburg wearing their hair this way. With the heat, it was impractical to keep it any longer. Blaring from the television, I caught the tail end of a report about a new break in the three-and-half-year-long search for the hackers who orchestrated the November Hit. The origin of the virus had just been traced to a group of hackers in San Francisco. After going uncaught all this time, it seemed that they were seeking a little attention. Credit and glory for their dirty deeds, perhaps. I had always wondered who the hell was behind the November Hit.

  I grabbed my suitcase, checked my makeup and did a little kissy face in the mirror. I rolled my bags down to the concierge desk.

  “Checking out, Mrs. Leor?” asked the man in the purple suit behind the counter. “How did you enjoy your stay?”

  “I’m just waiting for my husband to finish up in the room. The stay was wonderful, thank you”

  Pressley strolled into the lobby and planted a kiss on my lips. His hair was slicked back and he had a pair of sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar. We dumped our keys with the polite concierge. “Remember us on your next stay in Johannesburg, Mr. and Mrs. Leor,” he called out to us.

  We got to the curb and I plunked my suitcase down inside our taxi’s trunk. It was heavy and cumbersome since it held about sixteen-million dollars’ worth of stolen diamonds inside. We boarded a small plane at the airport. Pressley had made sure our luggage wasn’t scanned by airport security with the help of a bill clip full of hundred-dollar bills. I chucked my heavy suitcase onto the overhead compartment and collapsed into my seat.

  “I can’t believe you lied to the concierge and told him I was your husband,” Pressley said, one eye collapsing into a wink.

  I nudged my elbow into his rib. “It wouldn’t be the first lie I’ve told.”

  “You’re kidding, Patricia. I always pegged you as such a trustworthy gal.” He checked the time on his Rolex and let me know we were due in Munich in less than ten hours for the big exchange.

  After that, who knows?

  The flight attendant bumped her tray along the aisle. I snuggled into Pressley’s shoulder, took in his smell, and it smelled like home. Really, it was the complimentary cologne from the hotel’s bathroom, but it worked for the moment. My eyes glanced across the aisle to a businessman with a copy of TIME magazine tucked under his arm. I saw a toddler’s set of blue eyes peek back and a headline that said: The Generation of Liars Lives On.

  I smiled to myself.

  So here we are.

  Like I said at the beginning of all of this, right now I’m in a lot of trouble. My troubles started when I got shot out of the Eiffel Tower. They got worse when I got shot out of the Eiffel Tower a second time by the same person. Lately, it feels like my troubles have subsided now that my first love, Pressley Connard, is part of the Generation of Liars too. There really is no turning back now. We can only move forward to our next adventure. Personally, I can’t wait. It’s like when Andy Warhol said he knew he really did live for the future beca
use when he ate a box of candy, he couldn’t wait to get to the last piece.

  When it comes to my life with Pressley, I’m really looking forward to that next bite.

  Where will we go? Who will we become? Can true love last in a land full of liars? Impossible to say. There’s only one thing that’s for certain now, the Generation of Liars lives on.

  THE END.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Camilla Stephanie Marks lives in the Greater NYC area. She is much easier to pin down than her creation, Alice Fix. She loves to hear from readers, fans, and blackhat foes alike, so please stir up some chat by emailing her at AuthorCamillaMarks@gmail.com. Keep up with Alice on twitter @WhereIsAliceFix

  Screw the gatekeepers. Yours is the old way…xx CsM