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Authors: Leslie Langtry

'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy (23 page)

BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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She had me there. My brother had always liked to flaunt his new toys. Why wouldn’t he especially want Liv to know he had this phone, knowing her interest in all things technical?
“Hmmmm.” She punched a few buttons. “That’s weird. No numbers stored. I can’t even find the number for this phone.”
As if on cue, it rang. Liv and I froze, staring at each other. I didn’t want to answer it, especially if it were some weird sex line he had. I shuddered, thinking there were women out there calling 1-900-DAKOTA. I really needed to talk to him. In spite of my mental meanderings, I did manage to jot down the number before it disappeared.
“Mind if I keep this a couple of days?” Liv asked. “Just for research, of course.”
I nodded. “Any news on Dak’s finances?”
Liv pulled her laptop over and logged on. “I went into Dak’s and Paris’s accounts, but didn’t find anything unusual. Of course, if they had a Swiss bank account or something offshore, I wouldn’t have it yet. I went ahead and checked on the others and there’s no suspicious activity. You find anything?”
“No. Nothing.” I rested my chin in my hand. This was very frustrating.
“So all we have is the memory stick and phone for Dak?” Liv asked. After I nodded she continued, “I’ll see what my brother has at his place. He goes to the gym from ten a.m. to noon every day.”
I loved Liv’s brother as if he were my own. Paris and Dak were very close. They bragged about their bachelor lifestyles to me and Liv all the time. While my brother was fair, Paris had Liv’s dark hair and eyes. Paris was not as much of a skirt-chaser as my brother, but he was very attractive and could really pour on the charm. He didn’t have a specialty as far as the assassin thing went. Paris didn’t like the idea of getting bored with too much repetition at work.
“Okay. Tell me what you find. I’ll head home and see if I can get anything more on the phone tap. If not, I guess I’ll be sending off the Chia Pets.”
“I saw those in your suitcase,” Liv replied, “but I thought maybe you ordered those from the home shopping network that night Richie saved your life. You were pretty drunk.”
“Richie did
not
save my life!” Maybe I shouted that a little too loudly. I tried to look wounded as Liv erupted in giggle fits. “And those happen to be state-of-the-art listening devices from Missi!”
Liv wiped tears from her cheeks. “Fine. I’m sure the guys will love them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I guess it was just being in the wrong place at the right time. That’s what assassination is all about.”
—Andy Warhol
 
 
By the time Romi went to bed that night, I was in a full-blown panic. Dak wasn’t answering his cell or home phone. I stopped by the condo with Romi after dinner, but there was no sign of him. Something was wrong. He always checked in. I even called Mom to see if she’d heard from him but only succeeded in worrying her. Fantastic.
The pictures of my family in the midst of “working” played through my mind like a twisted slide show.
And here we have Maryland in high productivity mode. Her output was exceptional in the last fiscal.
There was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. And Liv wouldn’t have any news on Paris’s place, nor would she have been able to run down any bank accounts in the Grand Caymans.
I found myself wandering into my lab. The light on the phone tap was blinking. I picked up my headphones and hit the replay key.
Coney had five messages from women in Truckee, all wanting to make “appointments.” I had to smile. He had told me that in virtually every city there were wealthy, married women who wanted to sleep with him. There was something taboo about a one-night stand with a carny, he’d told me. I figured they picked him because he had all his own teeth.
“Master” Lon and “Master” Phil had a conversation with the NYC Order of Jedi Knights regarding an upcoming meeting of the Jedi Council in someone named Irving’s basement. They were reminded to bring their action figures and not make too much noise so they wouldn’t wake Irving’s mom. There was also a message from, if I heard this correctly, female Klingon twins wondering if they were still on for their date to the Star Trek convention. Okay, so they weren’t gay. But this was totally gross. It seemed to me that they were far too juvenile to be moles. And they’d need the trust funds to continue their Anakin Skywalker/Captain Kirk fetish. Ick.
I checked Paris’s phone next. Nothing but a reminder from the dry cleaner. That left Richie and Dak. All my bets were on Richie. I took a deep cleansing breath, and hoped I wouldn’t hear another conversation with a gender- and height-challenged sex worker.
Nothing. Nada. Zip. The man hadn’t even had a phone conversation in the last twenty-four hours. As I’d always suspected, he was socially retarded. What a surprise. Oh well. Something was bound to turn up. I checked Dak’s phone.
After listening to a couple of messages from myself and a worried threat from Mom (my bad on that one), I actually got a recorded conversation.
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Dak’s voice came through clearly.
“It’s too late to back down now.” A gruff, raspy voice sounding suspiciously like Eldamae Haskell (are the Girl Scouts involved?) replied.
“Do you have the stuff?” the voice growled.
There was a heavy sigh from Dak. “Yes. We’re still on. I’ll see you in D.C.”
I sat in my chair for a long, long time. Forget panic—I was on the verge of full-blown hysteria. Dak couldn’t be the mole! I looked at the memory card in my hand, the phone tap, and I would have looked at the cell phone if Liv hadn’t confiscated it. No! There must be another explanation. But if so, why did everything I had in my possession say otherwise?
I examined the photos over and over—but all I came up with was that Grandma must have had highlights recently; killing tall blond men gave Uncle Lou a boner (my God, why did I have to see that?); and that Lon and Phil liked to wear Yoda masks when they did a job. Grandma’s highlights shocked me more than anything. Why try to look younger? It wasn’t like there was any age discrimination in our profession.
I listened to the recorded phone conversation five times. I even tried calling his home and cell phone again. But nothing worked. The only thing left to do was go to bed.
Of course, once in bed, I stared at the ceiling. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to sleep, but it didn’t work. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Dak enjoying a mocha frappuccino with Bob from the FBI and Nigel from the Yard.
Here are the photos of my family killing people, old chums. Could you please pass the chocolate-pecan biscotti?
Finally, a few hours and three sleeping pills later, I passed out.
 
I rang Liv’s doorbell at eight-thirty a.m. after taking Romi to school. The door opened, and Liv yanked me inside.
“I was just about to call you,” she said, sounding out of breath. Liv led me to the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. My body was dragging after little sleep and an overdose of sleep agent. I needed the charge. Which was why I was surprised to taste rum in it.
“I found something,” Liv said hurriedly, dismissing my arched eyebrow over the spiked coffee. “It looks bad, Gin. Have you heard from Dak?”
That was it. My heart unplugged itself from the arteries around it and fell into my feet.
“Did you check out the others?” I squeaked.
Liv nodded. “Your brother has an offshore bank account.”
“Swiss? Caymans?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Mongolia.”
“Mongolia? There are banks in Mongolia?”
“Yeah. In Ulaanbaatar.”
I stared at her. “Ulaanbaatar? Who hides money in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia?”
Liv ignored me and continued. “Last month, someone from the D.C. area and from London deposited a total of five million dollars in Dak’s account.”
“That’s got to be a lot of money for Ulaanbaatar,” I replied.
“Will you give it up?” Liv shouted.
I gulped my drink and poured myself a mug full of rum, lightly laced with coffee. You ever have one of those days? Like when you find out your brother is working to put Grandma in jail and hoarding money in a bank in Mongolia? Well, I was having one of those days.
“Gin, none of the other guys has anything like this. Can you think of any reason he might have gotten so much money?” Her eyes pleaded with me, but I had no hope to give.
“Are you kidding? I can’t figure out why he picked Mongolia!” Liv shot me a look that told me she would have me drawn and quartered if I mentioned it again. So I wisely dropped the whole Ulaanbaatar thing. Come on! Ulaanbaatar?
“That’s not all,” I started. I told her about the conversation I’d taped. “This looks really, really bad.”
Liv shook her head, “No. I don’t believe it. Dak wouldn’t do this! He wouldn’t sell us out.”
I hated to be the voice of reason. I mean I
really
hated it. But I had to reply. “Liv, you, Paris, me and Mom weren’t among his little ‘Assassins Gone Wild’ collection. He’s not selling us out, just everyone else.” At least there wasn’t a photo of Grandma baring her wizened breasts and shouting “Woooooo!”
Her eyes grew wide. “Are you telling me you think your brother is Mole Man? Are you joking? Gin! This is Dak! He would never do this. Not in a million years!”
I looked at her with envy. I wished I could be so sure of his innocence. But doubt had installed itself firmly in my brain, and I couldn’t ignore it.
“And what would be his motive?” Liv continued shouting, tears beginning to stream from her lovely eyes. “There isn’t one! He adores living on the family trust fund! And he likes the job! There’s no way you can convince me he is guilty!” She punctuated her rant by crossing her arms over her chest.
“Liv,” I said wearily, running my fingers through my hair, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to believe it either. He’s my baby brother, for Christ’s sake! I baby-sat him! Taught him how to throw a football and zero the sights on a sniper rifle!”
Misty watercolor memories. Of the way we were ...
My cell phone went off, chiming AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.” It was the ring tone I’d selected for the Council back when I’d been optimistic about my life in the Bombay family. Of course, the deeds weren’t done dirt cheap, but it seemed appropriate at the time.
“Hello?” I said warily.
“Gin. It’s Dela. What do you have?”
“Nothing yet. I still have a week, right?”
Dela sighed. “We need to know as soon as possible, Gin. We can’t wait until the last minute. Do you know anything?”
Sure. It’s my kid brother. I’ll deliver him hog-tied and bleeding tomorrow. Any particular appendages you want me to cut off and send you?
“No. I’m still working on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I learn something.” I clicked off the cell. Liv looked at me expectantly.
“It’s the Council. We’re running out of time,” I told her.
Liv wiped her eyes on a dish towel and poured us both a glass of rum. We sat in silence for a moment.
“I haven’t heard from Dak in two days. He’s not answering his cell or home phone.”
Liv’s gaze drifted out the kitchen window. “I just find it so hard to believe. Are you sure you’re not holding out?”
“Yeah. I’m protecting Richie. Jesus, Liv! How could you think that?” I shoved my rum aside. “What are we going to do?”
“We need to find him and confront him.”
“Good idea. Of course, we can’t find him, so that defeats the plan.” Did I sound a little too sarcastic?
Liv threw her hands up in the air. “Well, I don’t know! But we can’t turn him in without talking to him about it first!”
“I don’t even want to tell Mom. She would kill him. Of course, that would solve the problem.”
“Okay. We need to take care of this right now.” She picked up the phone and dialed. “Aunt Carolina? It’s Liv. Gin’s helping me with a job. Yes, it’s in Chicago. Could you pick up the girls and Woody from school today? Thanks!”
I stared at her, my mouth open (which isn’t really a good look for me). “How’d you get her to do that? I can’t get her to do that!” Don’t get me wrong—Mom loved the kids, but she was protective of her free time.
“I know. I figured she wouldn’t be able to say no to me. So now that I’ve freed up the rest of the day, what should we do?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Martyrdom
covers
a multitude of sins.”
—
Mark Twain
 
 
Dak’s condo looked exactly the same as it had when I left it. Liv figured that we needed to take a closer look at his place in an attempt to figure out what was going on. I hoped he’d come home and explain himself before I had to turn him in. So that’s where we spent the afternoon—searching through my brother’s things and getting drunk on the bottle of rum we brought from Liv’s. We had given up the pretense of adding coffee hours ago.
BOOK: 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy
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