Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy Part 19

-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. 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 bas.e.m.e.nt. 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 s.e.x 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 r.e.t.a.r.ded. 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 b.o.n.e.r (my G.o.d, 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 pa.s.s the chocolate-pecan biscotti? Here are the photos of my family killing people, old chums. Could you please pa.s.s the chocolate-pecan biscotti? Finally, a few hours and three sleeping pills later, I pa.s.sed out. Finally, a few hours and three sleeping pills later, I pa.s.sed 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 offsh.o.r.e 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 h.o.a.rding 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 really hated it. But I had to reply. "Liv, you, Paris, me and Mom weren't among his little 'a.s.sa.s.sins Gone Wild' collection. He's not selling us out, just everyone else." At least there wasn't a photo of Grandma baring her wizened b.r.e.a.s.t.s and shouting "Woooooo!" hated it. But I had to reply. "Liv, you, Paris, me and Mom weren't among his little 'a.s.sa.s.sins Gone Wild' collection. He's not selling us out, just everyone else." At least there wasn't a photo of Grandma baring her wizened b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 ... 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.

"h.e.l.lo?" 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. "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 gla.s.s 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 covers a mult.i.tude of sins." a mult.i.tude 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.

"Maybe the Feds're using the photos of him with all those women as blackmail?" Liv slurred as she rummaged through his sock drawer.

"I dunno," I slurred back, trying to ignore the KY warming gel I found in his nightstand. "Why would he be afraid of those pictures? He's single. I can't think why they'd hold some sway over him."

"Oh my G.o.d! I've got it!" Liv rose to her feet so fast she lost her balance and fell onto the floor. I saw her hands appear on the top of the bed as she pulled herself up. "That's the reason you and I aren't on there! He's doing it to protect us!"

The room was starting to spin so much I had to lie down on the bed to keep from throwing up. "I don't gollow ... fellow ... follow."

Liv steadied herself against the head-board. "They approached him for evidence on the Bombays. They agreed to look the other way on us so Dak would do it!" Her crooked smile told me she was proud of herself for that theory.

I shook my head, making the room spin faster. "Whoa. The Council told me Mole Man approached the Feds. Not the other way 'round."

We lay on the bed for a while, trying to get the room to slow down and to wrap our liquefied brains around this idea. I think we even fell asleep because when I started moving around next, it was dark outside.

My skull felt like it was filled with cement and someone was trying to jackhammer through my forehead. I stumbled to the bathroom and found a spare toothbrush, then scrubbed for what seemed like an hour. I staggered back to bed and pulled the covers up over me and Liv, then turned over and fell asleep.

"I don't even know what to make of this," a man's voice rumbled.

Was I dreaming? It felt like it. My body had the sensation of being weightless and spinning counterclockwise.

"Gin? Liv?" the voice asked. I began to laugh.

"Shoot him!" Liv cried out in her sleep. This made me laugh even harder.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" The man's voice was stronger now. And boy, did he sound p.i.s.sed.

I opened my eyes slowly, willing my body to stop spinning. It did. I thought. Liv and I were snuggled up against each other, foreheads touching. The bedspread was pulled up to our chins, and we were fully dressed underneath. I tossed back the blanket and sat up. The digital alarm clock burned blazing red numbers into my brain. An empty bottle of rum lay on its side. And standing at the foot of the bed, with his arms folded, was my brother, Dak.

"Tractor!" I screamed at him.

Liv sat straight up. "What? Where?"

I pointed a finger at Dak. "There!"

She followed my finger with hooded eyes, which widened when they landed on Dak. "Tractor?"

I shook my head. "Yes! Traitor! That's what I said!"

Dak laughed. "You called me a tractor."

Liv and I scrambled to get to our feet, succeeding only in tangling our legs in the bedspread and falling, together, face first onto the floor.

"No, I said traitor," I declared once I had righted myself.

"What are you doing here?" Dak waved his arms across the room. "I get home to find you two drunk and in my bed, only to be called a tractor."

"I meant traitor." I glared at him as I tried to brush what felt like rhinoceros hair out of my teeth. "You're a regular Eggs Benedict!"

"Yeah!" Liv cried out. She had my back. Atta girl.

"So I've gone from being a farm implement to a breakfast food?"

"Huh?" He wasn't making any sense at all. But he wasn't gonna weasel out of this one. "Dak! You're the Mole Man!"