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Authors: Leslie Langtry

BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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Shit, Gin, what are you going to do when he leaves town for good? After all, you took out the only reason he had to be here!
The strange side of me who answers when I talk to myself was right. In making my family happy, I had screwed myself. Well, that was nothing new. Besides, it was a bad idea to get involved with a bodyguard.
There was that twinge again. Apparently, I had allowed myself to get more involved with him than I thought. It would be so easy to fall in love with Diego. But that couldn’t happen. I needed to find a relationship with a clueless guy. Maybe someone who would be more into sports or NASCAR than worring about what I did for a living.
The twinge ignited into a fireball as I realized I didn’t want anyone else. What was going on here? Was I falling for Diego? I picked up the phone and called again.
“Diego, it’s Gin.” Stupid voice mail. “Let’s plan to get together as soon as I return from the reunion. I’ll call you.”
Now I sounded like a stalker. And while that’s acceptable behavior for my job, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work too well with relationships.
Throughout the day, as I deposited Poppy at Dad’s, picked up a few more things for the trip and prepared to pick up Romi, all I could think about was Diego. It would appear that I was already starting to fall for him. Great.
At 3 p.m., Liv and I picked up the girls from school and drove straight to the airport. We chatted about our trip during the flight. Alta and Romi were thrilled. They loved flying. It was fun watching them crammed together, fogging up the little window. Once we arrived at LAX, we retrieved our bags and found our way to the private hangar that housed the Bombay jet.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw we were the only ones on the manifest.
“Hey, Joey,” I called out to our pilot.
Joey nodded his reply and continued checking everything in the cockpit. He was a nice guy, in his sixties. Joey was the family’s full-time pilot. Which meant he got paid a lot of money to make just a few flights a year. He never asked questions and was as silent as a rock. Good man.
Liv and I got the girls strapped into their seats and were working on our own seat belts when Joey came back.
“We’re leaving. Got everything?” was all he said. He was a man of very few words.
Liv and I nodded, and in a few minutes we were heading down the runway toward Santa Muerta ... and far away from Diego.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Yes. The final supreme idiocy. Coming here to hide. The deserter hiding out in the middle of a battlefield.”
—Lee,
The Magnificent Seven
 
 
Santa Muerta. Yes, I knew it meant “Saint Death.” Ironically enough, we didn’t name it. Legend has it that in the eighteenth century, an English ship crashed on the rocks, shipwrecking thirty-three sailors. No one ever came to rescue them. The captain kept a log of their “visit.” The screeching monkeys, complete lack of women and rum, and the burly first mate’s penchant for bestiality (not with the monkeys, I’ll bet), and they started to kill each other off, a la Agatha Christie meets the Donner Party. While Captain Smythe only hinted at the murderous motives, he described each murder until his own (of course) in grisly detail.
A few years later, I guess some Portuguese. sailors found the shipwreck and investigated. All they found were thirty-two skulls stacked like a canned-goods display and the captain’s logbook. They traveled to the mainland and explained what had happened to the fishermen there. The natives dubbed the island Santa Muerta.
Originally, the Bombays met at private residences. But after a few millennia of this, everyone was too nervous about “having the family over,” so they bought this island.
My Great Aunt Dela(ware) and her daughter Cali(fornia) and granddaughter Missi(ssippi) live on Santa Muerta year-round. This is to maintain control over our hideaway. They employ twenty non-English-speaking natives, who actually run the place. Over the years, Dela and Cali have really turned the island into something nice.
If you visited Santa Muerta, you’d think you had landed at a Beaches Resort. (Of course, you’d be killed on the spot for trespassing, so your joy would be rather short-lived.) White sand surrounds the perimeter of a large jungle.
In the center is the main house. Well, it’s more like a mansion, really, with forty guest rooms, a large meeting room with comfy, tiered seating and the latest multimedia presentation stuff, a ball-room for parties, and an outdoor court-yard with swimming pool complete with cabana boys.
The manse sits beside a beautiful freshwater lake. Beyond the lake is a small range of mountains with a high- and low-ropes course for team-building exercises. I am not kidding. We have to do this every reunion. Try to picture thirty-five professional killers, ranging in age from five to eighty-five, trying to do a “trust” fall backwards into the arms of the last group of people on earth you would trust.
To the north of the mansion is the airstrip and dock. To the south are the private bungalows. There are five of them, more like luxury homes than rustic cabins. These buildings are hidden in the tree line, just off the beach.
The only rules on the island were not to give the staff any information on who we are or what we really do. (Seriously—you think it’s hard to find good help now? Try it when the maids know you might kill them if the sheets aren’t soft enough.) And at four p.m. every day, we have to be inside one of the buildings until five. Why? Because that’s when the various government satellites are overhead, taking pictures.
Liv and I checked in at the airstrip, and Paco (a.k.a. yummy cabana boy) took us by Jeep to the house. By the way, since women are in charge of the island, they hire the most gorgeous men to work there. All of us speak Spanish, so we made small talk until we arrived at the house. Paco winked at me as he carried our bags to the rooms.
“Mommy! I love this place!” Romi shrieked. Alta joined her and they raced around the lobby to check things out.
“Hey! There’s a pool!” Alta shouted and Romi ran over to her.
Liv and I couldn’t help smiling. We loved Santa Muerta too. If we weren’t so exhausted from all the travel, we’d probably jump into the pool fully clothed while Paco brought us margaritas.
“Nap time first,” I answered.
“Noooooooooo!” they screamed in unison.
Liv nodded. “Girls, we’ve been traveling all day. We need to take a break. Then we’ll swim.”
Both girls crossed their skinny arms over their chests and sullenly followed us to our rooms. We didn’t need keys because the room locks were configured to our fingerprints. I hated dragging around keys or worse, those stupid plastic cards.
Liv and I had adjoining rooms. We opened the door between them and the girls bounced around, exploring. I opened the balcony doors just in time for a small orange monkey to leap onto the rail and shriek at me. Romi and Alta stared at the creature until it howled and dove into the fauna.
Somehow, we managed to get the girls to sleep. (I believe we threatened them with one of the tarantulas on the patio.
What?
) I passed out almost immediately.
 
The phone rang, waking me from a deep sleep. For a moment, I forgot where I was. That is, until the toucan bird outside the window cawed, or did whatever the hell they do.
“Hello?” No caller ID on these phones. Why was that?
“Hello, Virginia.” Grandma’s deep voice was gruff, but she sounded happy to hear me.
“Hey, Grandma! What’s up?” I managed.
“Why don’t you and Liv bring your girls to my room for tea?”
“Um, okay. When’s that?”
“Now. See you in five.” And she hung up.
I shook Liv’s shoulder. “Grandma beckons.”
Liv pushed her thick dark hair from her eyes, looking amazing even after sleeping. I hated her.
We scrambled to wake the girls, brush our teeth and head up to the penthouse floor. The five Council members had their own penthouse in the building. Liv and I exchanged glances as I knocked on Grandma Mary’s door.
The peephole darkened, and I rolled my eyes. We’re on a secure island, surrounded by assassins, and Grandma had to check to see who was there. And you thought your family had trust issues.
The door opened and Grandma stood there with a broad smile and open arms. Alta and Romi rushed into her embrace, covering her wizened face with kisses. Liv and I each gave her a hug and kiss, then followed her into her rooms.
“
Adios
, Juan,” Grandma said briskly, dismissing the young man setting up the tea service.
I plopped down into a chair and began buttering a scone. Liv was already gulping down tea. The girls, on the other hand, were too busy checking out all the souvenirs from Grandma’s travels. Totem poles from Alaska, a couple of shrunken heads from New Guinea (I’d been meaning to ask her if she did them herself), masks and spears from Africa, a mantilla and bullfighter’s cape from Spain, Celtic knots carved from stone, and for some reason, a stuffed armadillo from Texas. And those were just part of the bizarre collection.
“Well, girls.” Grandma sat and helped herself to a biscuit. “Did you have a nice trip?”
We chattered about nothing really. Grandma always seemed so gruff with everyone, but she was really a sweetie on the inside. One of my favorite relatives, she was a tiny woman, with soft crêpe skin, long white hair rolled up in a chignon, and piercing blue eyes, wearing a caftan and acting like a typical grandmother. And family was the most important thing to her. But I knew her dedication ran even deeper. She was completely committed to the Bombay way of life. And as much as I loved her, that was a little scary.
“I suppose you’re ready for the girls to take the oath?” she asked as if she wanted to know what their favorite movie was.
“I guess so. As ready as you can be for that sort of thing,” I replied, watching the girls play.
Grandma nodded as if she understood. “Where’s Woody?”
Liv smiled. “Oh, he’s coming with Dad. They stopped at the Alamo on the way.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how Dad is. San Antonio is practically a religious pilgrimage.”
“Well, he did wear that damned coon-skin cap for four years until it fell apart,” Grandma said.
I smiled too. Uncle Pete(rsburg) and his grandson were very close. They spent one weekend a month together doing something worthy of a sweat lodge bonding ritual. I had to admit, it was nice being around family. Liv and I were the only ones to give Grandma great-grandchildren, and I think that made us special. Not that she didn’t dote on our brothers too. She spoiled them rotten.
“It’s nice to have some time with my girls before the reunion starts,” Grandma said. “And don’t worry, Romi and Alta will do just fine. I understand you two reserved the Charlotte Corday Bungalow?”
“Yeah,” I started.
“Did you say ‘yeah’?” Grandma frowned at me.
I sighed. “I mean yes.” She was a stickler for grammar and would have made one terrifying (and lethal) English teacher. “But Grandma, rm more interested in the reason for the reunion.”
Her eyebrows arched before she answered. “What do you mean, Ginny? Of course it’s because Romi and Alta are ready for the oath.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I responded. Liv frowned.
Grandma changed her tactics. “Now girls, you know I can’t reveal anything else until the Council announces it.”
Liv put on her best pouty face. “Please? Just give us a hint.”
Grandma’s eyes flickered for a second, almost undone by Liv’s big brown eyes. “Sorry. You’ll have to do better than that. Your parents didn’t even try to pry it out of me.”
Just then, Alta, followed closely by Romi, tackled Grandma and she laughed as she tickled them into an eruption of giggles.
“Fine,” I said. “Don’t tell us. And we won’t warn you when you retire and Mom’s on the Council.”
Grandma laughed. “Nice try. But the only way I’m going off the council is by dying. If I have a debilitating stroke, I’ve always got my cyanide pill.”
I had no doubt she’d use it too. As far as I knew, no Bombay ever did time in a nursing home. Too risky.
Grandma looked at her watch, then frowned. “Speaking of the Council, I’d better go. We have a meeting in five.”
And that was it. She stood and herded us out of her apartment, leaving me to wonder why she’d called us up in the first place. Were Liv or I in trouble? I shuddered and thought of something more pleasant, like screaming monkeys.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Miss Winter:
With your ideas, I’m surprised you’re shocked at the thought of war.
Ivan Dragomiloff:
Not at all. It’s purely a matter of business. How can we charge our sort of prices with everybody happily killing each other for a shilling a day?

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