Merit Badge Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  I was walking down the hallway to check on Lana when a blast of music made me jump. It sounded like pop music, and it was screaming from Lana's room. I wasn't a fan. I liked peace and quiet. Spend one month stationed in Germany undercover in a techno pop bar, and you'll agree with me.

  "Lana!" I shouted while banging on the door. "Lana! Turn that down!"

  Nothing happened. I put my hand on the doorknob but changed my mind. I didn't want to see her naked. Nothing would scar me more than seeing the perfection I could never achieve.

  Instead, I stepped into the bathroom to find a cyclone had gone through it. Five wet towels covered the floor, and the steam was enough to make me choke. Who needed five towels after a shower? Wait…I owned five towels? I bent to pick them up when I saw that the counter was covered to the point you couldn't see granite. I'd never seen so many beauty products, and I didn't remember buying most of them. I picked up a jar of face cream and stared at it. There were three more—all different brands and sizes.

  Was I missing something? I just basically used soap on my face, and a little lotion when it got dry. I stared at myself in the mirror. Sure, I used makeup—well, a little mascara and ChapStick. I wasn't a total loser. But maybe I was screwing up by not using alphahydrox…something. And what was a CC cream?

  There were bottles of hairspray, leave-in conditioner, mousse, gel, and other stuff I couldn't identify. Again I looked in the mirror. I was lucky to have naturally curly hair, and I wore it short. It was basically drip dry. The most maintenance I did was to dye it over the sink once a month to maintain my blonde cover. Should I be using this gunk? Lana really did have amazing hair. I stared at my unruly, curly bob. It always seemed okay to me. But what if it didn't look that way to anyone else?

  And my clothes—basically T-shirts and jeans or shorts. In the winter I wore one of three wool cardigan sweaters over the T-shirts. I looked at my feet. I was wearing moccasins. They were comfortable.

  I wasn't a total waste case. I had a dress and ballet flats in my closet for special occasions. Mom had bought the dress for me. Okay, so I'd never had any reason to wear it…but it was there if I needed it.

  Huh. Before Lana moved in I'd only been insecure about my lack of window coverings. Now I was second-guessing my appearance too. I didn't like it. I spent so long looking in the mirror that I didn't notice that Lana had turned off her radio.

  "Merry!" Lana stood in the doorway. She looked amazing in a polo shirt and capri pants. I didn't look that amazing.

  "Riley is on the phone." She held my cell up to me. "He says it is important." She shrugged.

  "Fantastic." I took my cell from her and put it to my ear.

  "Wrath," Riley said, "tell me you haven't been outside in the last half hour."

  I brushed past Lana and made my way to the living room. My front yard, which had been wonderfully peaceful and quiet before, now was filled with people and news trucks. CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, FOX, and what seemed like a million others stood there, staring at my house.

  "What the hell, Riley!" I shouted into the cell. "I thought you were going to keep this from happening!"

  "Oooooh! Television cameras!" Lana squealed beside me. She started for the door, but I yanked her back.

  "What do I do?" I asked Riley.

  "Don't go outside. Don't appear in any windows. I'm going to try to give them a red herring to make them leave you alone."

  I frowned. "And just how are you going to do that?" This whole thing gave me the willies. I liked anonymity. In spy work, you wanted to be ignored. Any attention was bad. That rule carried through to my new life. I was two seconds away from a meltdown.

  "I'm holding a press conference at the hotel tonight to give them a different direction. With any luck, they'll leave you alone and believe this is just all a coincidence."

  "You'd better make it work," I growled into the cell as I ended the call. Immediately the cell rang.

  "Hi Kelly," I said weakly.

  "What the hell Merry? Your house is on every news network! And did you run over an armadillo? They're not native to Iowa."

  "No. This one wasn't either." I recalled Carlos' face plastered against my windshield.

  "Do you need me to come over?" Kelly asked.

  "No. You'd better stay there. This is all just a mistake. It'll blow over soon," I said, not very confidently.

  "Okay. I'll sneak a casserole over later." That was the Midwest answer to anything uncomfortable. Bring a casserole. It was the ultimate I'm so sorry/congrats on the new baby/I have no idea what to say, but I can bake thing.

  "I'll use the back door," Kelly said as she hung up.

  Lana was once again making her way to the door. I dragged her back to the couch and made her sit there. Then I drew the Dora curtains shut.

  "We can't go out there," I said. "Riley wants us to stay put and stay away from windows and doors."

  Lana nodded. "Good thing we got all that food."

  I switched on the TV and turned it to CNN. Kelly was right. There was my house, behind Wolf Blitzer. Wow. I warranted Wolf Blitzer. I kind of had a little fangirl moment in spite of myself.

  "I'm coming to you live in front of the home of Merry Wrath. For some reason, we can't find any photos of her, and she's not answering her phone or door," Wolf said.

  As if on cue, my cell phone erupted. How did they get my number? I was unlisted, dammit! I didn't recognize the caller, so I turned it to vibrate and set it down.

  "Merry Wrath has had the dubious honor of finding Ahmed Maloof, al-Qaeda's number four, dead on the ropes course where she and her Girl Scout troop were camping. Shortly after that, Ms. Wrath ran over and killed Carlos the Armadillo—a Columbian drug lord, right here, blocks from where she lives. What connects Ms. Wrath to these two known terrorists? Stay tuned to CNN. We'll give you instant updates as more facts come to light."

  Damn, damn, damn, damn.

  "Merry?" Lana asked. I sat down next to her on the couch, completely freaked out.

  "Are you alright?" Lana asked.

  "Probably not," I answered, unable to take my eyes off the screen.

  My cell vibrated. It was my Dad. I picked it up. "Dad, are you watching TV?"

  "I am, Pumpkin. I can be there in a couple of hours." His voice was deep and comforting. But the last thing I needed was for Wolf to make the connection between me and Dad.

  "No. Don't do that. If they see you here, they'll know who I really am."

  "It's only a matter of time," Dad said gently.

  "It'll be okay, Dad. The Agency is working on it. They're going to have a press conference later to try to get the heat off of me. I'll be fine." I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be fine. But he didn't need to know that.

  Dad didn't sound convinced. "I don't know, I think I should be there…"

  "I'm good. Really, Dad. I've had to handle much worse—believe me." That was true. And at least the media didn't have assault rifles—not that I couldn't get out of it if they did. I convinced Dad I was fine and made him promise not to come out here before hanging up.

  "Twinkies will make this better!" Lana shouted, jumped to her feet, and raced to the kitchen. I got up and followed her to make sure she didn't run out the back door. I stopped just short of her in the kitchen. Lying on the floor, in a puddle of blood, was Midori Ito. A heavyweight in the Japanese Yakuza.

  Lana stared at the body for a moment, then checked the back door. It was locked. She drew the shades on the door and window before kneeling to take Midori's pulse. She looked up at me and shook her head.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I'd always wanted to be a spy, even when I was little. When the other kids played capture the flag, I spied on them and gave misleading information to both sides, selling them out for M&M's, quarters, and the occasional kitten.

  The CIA recruited me my junior year in college. I was an International Studies major and spoke fluent Spanish and Russian and because of a two-year relationship with a hot foreign student named Adolf, I could pass
somewhat in German. The day after I graduated, I flew to Langley for the interview. My interview consisted of one question: "You and your informant are talking in a hotel room when suddenly the local police are beating down the door. What do you do?"

  I thought about it for just a second. "We'd start making out. Make them think we were having an affair and that's why we're hiding out."

  "What if it's another woman?" the interviewer asked.

  I shrugged, "Same thing works there too, I guess." I got the job. By the way, the wrong answer to that question is: "Who? Oh right, this guy. He's the Minister of Defense, and I'm CIA." The interviewer told me someone actually said that once. They put him on the No-Fly List because they didn't want an idiot like that ever leaving the country. It's not just smart folks we're afraid of, people.

  I loved the training and graduated from the Farm at the top of my class, mainly because all I did was train. And when I say train, I mean all I did was get to play with guns, evade capture, and learn how to mix a mean batch of cyanide. (Hint—don't ever eat cupcakes offered to you by a spook.) One month later, I was in Buenos Aires. When I discovered that making out with a stranger, when la policia are beating down your door, works. I also discovered that you should carry breath mints at all times, just in case.

  To say I was crushed when my career ended would be a severe understatement. I loved turning spies, recruiting new ones, and even the occasional shoot-out. I picked up some other languages along the way…Japanese, Arabic, and a smattering of Portuguese—which only really works in two countries, but Lisbon can be very nice in the spring.

  I'll admit, I still missed it—all the cloak and dagger stuff. Who wouldn't? But I was starting to get used to my new life. I really wanted to make a go of it. And someone wasn't letting me retire quietly. Whoever it was, if I ever found them, was going to die. Probably by cyanide cupcakes.

  "You have to call Riley," Lana said quietly. The bimbo giggle act was gone, and it was eerie. Nothing is creepier than a serious Russian accent. For a moment, I liked her better as a shallow blonde.

  I nodded and dialed. No point in actually saying out loud that Lana was right. Riley picked up on the first ring. I guess this was becoming old hat to him; Dead Terrorist = Wrath. Not a great equation.

  "Midori Ito is dead in my kitchen," I said.

  "You are fucking kidding me!" Riley exploded. "What the hell, Wrath? I told you not to do anything!"

  "I didn't kill her! I don't know how she got here!" I snapped back. "I didn't want any of this to happen!"

  A long, slow sigh came through the phone. "Alright. Sorry. I'm just pissed that this is happening to my favorite agent."

  What did he say? His favorite agent?

  There was a knock at the kitchen window. Lana jumped into a defensive stance as I looked out and saw Kelly standing there with a casserole. She motioned that she was coming in through the garage. Wait, the back door to the garage was unlocked? So that's how Midori got in here.

  I ran out to the garage. "Get in here!" I hissed as I opened the door and pulled her in, locking it behind her. We stepped into the kitchen where Lana was waiting for us. I locked that door too. You can't be too careful with terrorists falling all over themselves to die in front of you.

  Kelly stared at the dead Japanese woman on the floor, then stared at Lana, who was still hovering over the corpse. I'm not sure which one freaked her out more.

  Her nursing training took over, and she set the casserole on the breakfast bar and knelt down beside the body. After checking her pulse, Kelly started looking the corpse over. She didn't say anything. It's nice to have friends who aren't so judgy.

  "Wrath? Wrath! Are you there?" Riley shouted in my ear.

  "Yeah yeah," I said as I watched Kelly. "Someone just dropped off a casserole."

  "Tuna noodle," Kelly said as she examined Midori's head, "your favorite."

  "It's tuna noodle," I said to Riley.

  "You let someone in the house? How do you know the food isn't drugged?" Riley shouted. I ignored him.

  Lana and I stared as Kelly turned the head gently to one side. It wobbled easily. Too easily.

  "Broken neck," Kelly said.

  "Where's the blood coming from?" I asked.

  "Where's what blood coming from?" Riley asked. "Dammit Wrath! Answer me."

  "Shhhh," I shushed, "Kelly's working."

  "Who the fuck is Kelly?" Riley was screaming now. I was pretty sure he was annoying his neighbors in the hotel rooms on either side of him. That wasn't very nice.

  "There's a wound on the back of her neck." Kelly looked up at us. "I'd say she was hit at the base of the skull with something like a baseball bat. It broke her neck and caused the bleeding." She stood up and reached for a dishtowel to wipe the blood off of her hands. I was surprised to realize that I owned dishtowels.

  "What's going on, Merry? And who is this?" She pointed at Lana.

  The buxom Russian took this as her cue and turned the perkiness up one hundred fifty percent. "I'm Lana! I'm Finny's best friend!" Her huge eyes blinked, and her full, juicy-looking lips curled into a beguiling smile.

  Kelly folded her arms over her chest and frowned. "I'm Merry's best friend. And don't you forget it." She looked back at me. "What's this?"

  "Wrath! I'm coming over!" Riley stormed.

  "Come in through the back. There's a door to the garage," I said before ending the call. Great. Now I had to go and unlock the garage door. I grumbled as I did it and returned to the kitchen.

  The aroma of fresh-baked tuna noodle casserole started to get the best of me as I realized I hadn't eaten in a while.

  "Let's eat," I said as I pulled four plates and forks and served up four huge servings. Lana and Kelly glared at each other. Did Kelly actually believe she'd been usurped? That was ridiculous. She should know better.

  "We should cover that up first," Lana said, pointing at the corpse. "I can't eat with a body in the room." She ran off down the hallway and emerged with a comforter. My comforter. From my room. Off of my bed. I was about to protest as my stomach growled.

  I threw the blanket over Midori. Kelly and Lana sat at the breakfast bar, so once again, I was standing. I didn't care. Kelly's cooking was totally worth it. That woman really knew her way around a kitchen. Too bad she was married. If she was my roommate, I wouldn't have room for Lana.

  The kitchen door swung open, and a furious Riley stormed in. I thought I'd locked that door. But then, Riley was good with locks. He stomped up to the counter next to me and saw that there was a plate for him. My mouth was full of food, so I motioned for him to eat. He glared at me for a moment, but the aroma of home cooking got the better of him. Riley's face changed from anger to hunger in a few seconds. It was kind of awesome to see.

  "Tuna noodle casserole, didn't you say?" he said, licking his lips. "Smells good. What's in it?"

  Oh right. Riley was kind of a health food nut.

  "If I tell you," I said, "you wouldn't eat it."

  "Fair enough," he said as he tasted it. A huge smile lit up his face. He liked it. "Is this organic?" he asked.

  I kicked him under the breakfast bar, and he shut up. Kelly looked like she was about to murder him. He'd have to get in line because I was pretty sure she was going to do in Lana first. Maybe I should've brought her in from the beginning.

  We ate the entire casserole. Murder makes people hungry.

  Riley wiped his mouth on a napkin, reminding me, to my surprise once again, that I have napkins, and nodded to Kelly. "My compliments. That was perfect."

  Kelly started to melt a little as she introduced herself. Riley's looks and manner would do that to anyone.

  "Kelly's been my best friend since we were little," I said with a little glare at Lana. "She knows about my past, and she's a nurse. She thinks Midori was hit at the base of the skull with something. It broke her neck."

  Riley walked over to the blanket and lifted it, exposing Midori, who'd started to turn a little gray.

  "Shit," h
e said. "Now the Yakuza's involved? What the hell is going on?"

  "No idea," I said. I was clueless with this one. I'd never worked with Midori. Never even got close. Not that I hadn't tried. I did a brief stint in Tokyo, but I couldn't turn anyone in her organization. She was just too terrifying.

  Midori Ito was the Yakuza's first lady. Her husband was the kingpin, but she was the one who really called the shots. She was very short and wore a chin-length bob that people said was conditioned with the tears of infants. And she had a thing for torture, especially torture including sharp pieces of origami that she could jam into soft places on your body. She enjoyed hurting people. The CIA had her on their radar for some time, but we just couldn't break the organization. No one would talk.

  Whoever killed Midori was good. Rumor was the woman was half-ninja, half-robot. She'd killed literally dozens of men who'd betrayed the organization. After that—no one would even think about screwing her over. There wasn't enough Hello Kitty crap in the world to bribe someone to do that.

  "Japanese organized crime…Colombian drug cartel…and al-Qaeda. All here, all at the same time. What does it mean?" I asked.

  "Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Kelly asked as she started washing dishes. She was just awesome like that. Riley looked at me, and I nodded. He filled Kelly in as I stared at the body, trying to make sense of it all. I briefly filled her in, punctuating my language with extreme pantomime. The way she rolled her eyes told me she thought that was a bit over the top.

  As for the explanation of how this was being pulled off…I couldn't come up with anything. None of these organizations collaborated with each other. As far as I knew, none of the dead bad guys had ever even met. It made no sense whatsoever. And talk about effort. Getting these three together alive seemed impossible.

  "They all died here," I said.