“Of course.”
“But not the condom.”
“Not the condom.”
She shrugs, looks at Gwen again. Says, “He doesn’t understand the condom.”
Gwen says, “Go figure.”
I look at the items again.
“Ah!” I say.
“Ah?”
“The condom goes on the vibrator!”
They look at each other.
“Go take your shower,” Callie says.
4.
Two Weeks Earlier…
Maybe Taylor.
MAYBE TAYLOR CROSSES the street and enters the park without attracting attention. No surprise there, she rarely attracts attention, though she’s above average cute. Her body has slimmed down this year, thanks to her strict diet and four-hour-a-day exercise regimen. Still, if she’s being honest—and she usually is—a couple pounds of teenage belly fat continues to cling to her five-five frame as tenaciously as puke on a drunk’s beard.
Maybe entered the world a natural blond, but age has darkened her hair to the point that now, at age twenty, it matches mission brown on the wood stain color chart at Harvey’s Hardware, Jacksonville, Florida.
Maybe wants to be prettier, but lacks the angular face and high cheekbones common to classic beauties. Her eyes are nice, she always gets compliments on those. People seem to be drawn to blue-eyed girls, even when there’s nothing else particularly special about them. Maybe’s breasts would be picture perfect…if they didn’t fan out in opposite directions. But they do, and it embarrasses her when boys do a double-take, like they weren’t expecting her nipples to be practically under her arm pits. No one looks better in a bra than Maybe. But when the bra comes off, the breasts fly wide right and left, like a field goal kicker with the yips.
Like the rest of Maybe’s physical package, things could be much worse. A flat-chest, for example, would be ten times worse. Still, there’s no single feature she’s exceptionally proud of.
Wait...
Her ass is nice.
She wouldn’t change her ass. Not that she goes out of her way to stare at it, but it must be pretty special, or the boys who’ve seen it wouldn’t make such a fuss. Not that she’s shown it to many boys.
She hasn’t.
Anyway, it’s not Maybe’s ass that’s caused her problems. It’s the other private place. And that part has had a huge effect on her. How huge? It’s basically turned her into a mental patient.
Maybe walks to the area of the park where giant rocks protrude from a hill, and climbs to a spot from which she can see all around her. When she’s confident no one can hear her conversation, she presses a button on her phone. When the man answers, she says, “Hi Daddy, it’s Maybe.”
“Hi, honey,” he says.
She pauses a moment, then says, “You stopped disguising your voice!”
“Do you like my real voice?”
“Yes! Thank you! But it’s been a year. Why now?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not so much.”
“I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Maybe pauses a minute to process this revelation. Then says, “I’ve been bad, Daddy.”
“Tell me.”
“I kissed a boy.”
The man on the other end of the phone pauses.
She adds, “I kissed a boy and I liked it.”
Maybe smiles, knowing he understands what she’s really done.
The man says, “Where is he now?”
“His place.”
“Did you leave any evidence?”
“Of course not, Daddy.”
“How did you meet him?”
“In the parking lot outside a sports bar.”
“Any cameras?”
“No.”
“How’d you get to his place?”
“I drove.”
“Where’d you leave your car?”
“I drove to a shopping center two miles from his house. Then I got my bike out of the trunk, attached the front tire to it, and rode it to his place. When I got close, I called and told him to open his garage door. When he did, I rode right in. Then he closed the door. You’ll be so proud of me!”
“Tell me why.”
“I wore a ball cap and put my hair in a pony tail. Put an extra shirt in my bike pack. Didn’t eat anything, or drink anything, and didn’t even go inside the house.”
“Did you let him touch you?”
“Just my boobs. He pushed me back against his car and started messing around and when he started trying to pull my pants down I reached in the back pocket, took the syringe, and stuck him.”
“And you pushed the poison into him?”
“Yup. At first his head went straight up, and his chin looked like it was going to hit the ceiling! He knocked my hand off the syringe, but the poison was already in him. He couldn’t reach the syringe, so I stepped out of the way and watched him dance.”
“Which way did he fall?”
Maybe frowns. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I do.”
She pauses, then says, “He fell forward, face first, onto his car.”
“And was he dead?”
“Not yet. His legs shook awhile, and he couldn’t get a full breath. Then he couldn’t get a half breath. Then he couldn’t get a breath at all.”
The man pauses before saying, “Did you happen to take a souvenir?”
“Of course not, Daddy! What, do you think I’m stupid?”
“You’re far from stupid, Baby.”
“Call me Maybe.”
He sighs. “I don’t like the name you’ve chosen, and I don’t like what it represents.”
“Until I decide how far I’m willing to go, I’m Maybe.”
“I understand that. But I don’t like it.”
“But you like me, don’t you, Daddy?”
“I love you.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“I love you deeply,” he says.
“I’m glad.”
“And you?”
“What?” Maybe asks.
“Do you love me?”
“No.”
He remains quiet, obviously disappointed.
Then Maybe says, “But I want to.”
She tries to imagine the expression on his face, but has nothing to go on but the sound of his voice. After a few moments he says, “How are things going with Dr. Scott?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. It’s embarrassing.”
“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
“You already know. You’re the one who’s paying him to see me. You probably get updates after each visit.”
“It’s not the same as asking you about it.”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
He pauses again. “I understand. So. Are you ready for a real assignment?”
Maybe’s face lights up. “Yes! Absolutely!”
“I want you to…kiss…a college professor. Can you do that?”
“Of course, Daddy.”
5.
Present Day…
Donovan Creed.
“WHEN YOU SAY she lost her head,” Callie says, “what do you mean?”
I shrug. “The top and sides of her head exploded.”
“Where was the bomb? In her mouth?”
“Inside her head.”
“What?”
“It had to be a very small explosive, either on top of her head, or inside her skull. Hard as it is to imagine, I think it was inside.”
“Like your brain chip?”
“Except that it explodes instead of heating up,” I say.
“Lucky’s company?”
“It’s possible.”
Jim “Lucky” Peters, the famous Vegas gambler, was murdered one week ago. As it happens, Callie’s lover, Eva LeSage, was murdered at the same time. Callie’s current love interest, Gwen, is Lucky’s widow.
Small world, right?
Twenty feet from us,
in Callie’s kitchen, Gwen’s eating a bowl of Lucky Charms, oblivious to the irony. She’s wearing boxer shorts and a scarlet UNLV t-shirt with gray lettering.
Gwen isn’t Callie hot, but you could fry an egg on any part of her.
Callie sees me staring at her girlfriend.
“Down, boy,” she says.
“I saw her first,” I say.
It’s true. I seduced Gwen hours before Callie met her.
“But I saw her best,” Callie says.
Also true. While I’ve never had complaints from the women I’ve dated, Callie has a double advantage over me. First, she and Gwen share the same plumbing. Second, she understands the handbook, meaning she can make sense out of all the emotional wiring a woman brings into the bedroom. All the unspoken stuff Callie instinctively understands allows her to not only be Gwen’s physical partner, but her emotional tampon, as well.
Gwen was bisexual when I met her, so Callie didn’t turn her. But Callie won her away from me in record time.
It wasn’t even a contest.
There are other reasons. The fact I already have a steady girlfriend, Rachel, may have been a factor. Also, Callie’s a drop-dead gorgeous force of nature, and fiercely monogamous, while I have a tendency to stray. I mean, I don’t lie about it. I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Well, that’s not entirely true. I found the right woman at least twice. But that’s a story for the second bourbon. Also, Callie lives in a multi-million dollar penthouse condo and I often live in the attics of strangers. Gwen probably feels more secure with Callie. She just lost her husband, Callie just lost her girlfriend, and Lucky’s estate is in Vegas. Callie lives in Vegas. Makes sense, right?
Here’s how things got to this point: Lucky and Gwen were having a weekly three-way with Callie’s girlfriend. When Callie caught Lucky and Eva fucking, she killed them on the spot, but spared Gwen for my benefit. Fate brought Gwen and Callie together, then they connected, and they’ve been together ever since.
Meaning two whole weeks.
I’m still holding out hope that Gwen realizes there’s something missing in her relationship with Callie.
A penis.
Something I’ve got in abundance.
Well, something I’ve got, anyway.
Gwen’s got something, too. Behind one of her implants, she’s hiding a small, ceramic device that can be programmed to kill me. It’s…
Look, it’s a long story.
I’ve got a chip in my brain. Not the kind that blows up like the lamp post lady’s did this morning, but the kind that turns white-hot and can liquefy my brain. My version is less messy than hers, but just as lethal. And while her chip appears to have been activated from a van, close by, I assume it works like the chip in my brain, which can be activated by satellite from nearly anywhere in the world. I don’t know if our chips are related, but I have to assume they are. What I do know is the device Gwen has behind her boob can kill me. And I aim to have it.
Other than the fact I’d like to spend some horizontal time with Gwen, I’m hanging around Vegas till I can retrieve the device from behind Gwen’s boob.
Sounds ridiculous, right? But what’re you going to do?
It is what it is.
Callie and I have explained all this to Gwen, but she’s reluctant to do the surgery. If it weren’t for Callie, I’d perform the surgery myself. But Gwen’s boobs are spectacular, even better than her husband, Lucky’s, boob job had been. Lucky had gotten his boobs after losing a bet, and…
Never mind.
I know what you’re thinking. This whole situation is nuts. Well, it’s even nuttier than you think: Lucky’s girlfriend was the plastic surgeon who performed Gwen’s implant surgery.
But still. Her boobs are like the eighth wonder of the world, and you’d hate to mess that up. Nevertheless, I can’t allow Gwen’s boobs to fall into the wrong hands.
It could literally be the end of me.
So I’m losing my patience.
“I’ll give you till three o’clock to set the appointment,” I say to Callie. “Otherwise, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Callie says.
Callie’s my protégé. Aside from me, she’s the deadliest human on the planet. I could be wrong about us being the two deadliest. After all, I haven’t met every human on the planet. But I’m in the killing business, so I know most of the deadly ones, and so far we’re one and two on the list. A formidable combination, we are, and based on a great working relationship, one I’d like to maintain.
Which means I’m not going to let a pair of boobs come between us. On the other hand, I aim to have that chip. Callie knows this. She may have a thing for Gwen, but she needs me more. We’re government assassins, and I’m the key to her job opportunities. There are six of us. I run the crew, Callie’s my main operative. So she’ll come through. I’m waiting for her to say something right now about it. She’s about to say something.
But doesn’t.
“I mean it,” I say.
And I do. I stand.
“Where are you going?” Callie says.
“To visit Ropic Industries.”
“You’ll never get in the door.”
I smile. Callie doesn’t know I’ve been planning this for a full week. Gwen doesn’t know, either.
Callie frowns. “What’re you up to?”
I nod my chin toward the kitchen, indicating Gwen. “When Lucky died, Gwen became the majority stockholder of Ropic Industries,” I say.
“So?”
I let her think about that for a minute. Then a smile slowly spreads across Callie’s face.
It’s a helluva face.
6.
BETWEEN SWALLOWS OF LUCKY Charms, Gwen asks what she has to do.
“Show up with me at an emergency meeting of the board,” I say.
She loads a spoon with cereal, puts it in her mouth, chews, and swallows it.
“Most people take milk in their cereal,” I say.
“Most people aren’t me,” Gwen says.
Callie and I exchange a look that ends with Callie smiling from out of Gwen’s field of vision. It crosses my mind that if I tell Gwen Callie’s laughing at her behind her back, I might be able to gain the advantage in the quest for Gwen’s considerable charms. But I quickly dismiss the thought. Not because I’m above such deviousness, but because I need the two of them on my side today.
Gwen pushes some cereal around in her bowl with her index finger, separates a rainbow candy piece from the rest, and balances it on her perfect nose. “Watch this,” she says, turning her head sideways so Callie can also see. She drops her chin and catches the rainbow on her tongue, moves her tongue in and out of her mouth more seductively than it sounds, then swallows the rainbow. Then she shows us a goofy smile.
“The trick is to let it slide off your nose slowly,” she says, as gravely as if explaining how to disarm a land mine. “Most people drop their chin too fast.”
Though Callie and I both nod thoughtfully, I doubt “most” people have ever given a thought to balancing cereal on their noses.
Here’s the skinny on Gwen: she was the child bride of Lucky Peters. He saved her from a life of stripping in mob-controlled clubs, gave her a nice home and an air of respectability. But Lucky’s good fortune deserted him, and their life together went downhill fast. I doubt Gwen ever loved him. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t even miss him. Not only did she have sex with me hours before Lucky was killed, she had sex with Callie hours after he was killed!
So, yes, Gwen and I shared an intimate afternoon. Our first session was tepid at best. But then I discovered she’s a power whore. Meaning, power makes her horny. And the more powerful she perceives you to be, the wilder she gets.
It’s something to see.
And feel.
She’s a beautiful, sensual woman. Not in Callie’s league, as I’ve said, but a solid ten, nevertheless.
When she’s not crunching Lucky Charms.
/> “I don’t know how to conduct a board meeting,” she says.
“I’ll run the meeting as your advisor, but don’t worry. They’ll know you’re in charge.”
“Your presence at the meeting will only convince them you’re in charge,” Gwen says.
Callie and I exchange a look that ends with Callie lifting an eyebrow as if to say, she’s smarter than she appears.
And she is.
You don’t want to underestimate Gwen just because strange comments occasionally escape her cereal-stained mouth.
7.
WE’RE IN THE car. Gwen’s wearing the single most seductive dress I’ve ever seen. It’s an open-shouldered silk and satin blend that drapes in the front all the way to her navel! The color is an intense, in-your-face red, and the dress is obscenely short. A good ten inches above her knees before she sat in the car, which means there’s a lot of thigh riding in the passenger seat of my rental. Even from my angle I can see that Gwen has managed to perfectly match her panties to her dress, which has long been her fashion hallmark.
“Gwen.”
She turns toward me.
“How would you describe the color of your dress?”
She looks at me like I’m a moron, then speaks slowly, as if talking to a foreign child who barely understands English. “In our country, we call this color red.”
“Funny. I’m actually wondering about the shade of red.”
“What about it?”
“Is there a name for it?”
“Thinking of buying one for your girlfriend?”
I frown.
“It’s called the new red,” she says.
I take another peek. “It’s a hell of a dress! The most outrageous one I’ve ever seen.”
“The dress is up here. Follow the sound of my voice.”
Bottom line, it’s a shockingly short, kick-ass red dress, and she’s wearing it well.
“You think the board members will approve?”
“If they don’t, I’ll shoot them.”
Without actually saying so, I’ve led Callie and Gwen to believe I’m driving Gwen to Ropic Industries. In reality I’m driving her to PhySpa, the plastic surgery center and spa that used to belong to Ropic’s former medical director, Dr. Phyllis Willis. After Phyllis and half her staff were found brutally murdered, I managed to purchase PhySpa for pennies on the dollar. Though local police have kept the crime scene tape in place, I happen to know they’ve concluded their investigation, and doubt they’ll be back. With their permission, I hired a half-dozen security personnel to keep an eye on things until the cops officially release the premises to me. They guard the outside of the building, and were only allowed inside on one occasion, and that was to help the delivery guys carry the two large freezers I ordered to be placed in the spa.