A normal life

Sometimes I like to pretend I live a normal life.  When my neighbor's yappy chihuahua wakes me up in the morning (I've decided against the shotgun approach so far), I close my eyes and pretend that the thing's bark is my alarm.  I imagine getting out of bed, taking a shower, putting on makeup and heels, and running out the door to beat the traffic.

Boots laced.  Hair in a ponytail.

I create this whole office world in my mind–a frustrating boss who yells a lot, co-workers who act like high schoolers.  An air conditioner that doesn't work blasting lukewarm air into my office.   Of course I'd be in an office.  My temperament would not agree with a cubicle. 

Jacket from the kitchen, pear from the fridge.  Shoulder holster?  Check. 

But then, I wouldn't get to shoot people as they run away with someone else's stuff.  I'd never get away with wearing jeans and leather boots in the world of power suits and lattes.  Seriously, those people can't even function without drugging themselves every morning and afternoon. 

"Got the map?"
"Yeah, it's in my pocket."
A revving engine.  The click of seatbelts. 

I would listen to books on tape performed by full casts of actors with voices like James Earl Jones and Julie Andrews.  When people cut me off in traffic, I'd just smile because it might mean four more seconds of someone else living a life of adventure, while I was in the (relative) safety of my car.

Scrrreeeeeee!
"#*$&!  Learn to drive!"
"Geez, Méli.  Calm down."
"Sorry."
The target is in the university library.  Right turn, left turn, left turn.  Wait.  

At work, I would gossip by the water cooler with the other girls.  If there wasn't a water cooler, I would buy one and put it outside my office door so I could listen.  There would be a lot of drama that would make each day feel like the end of the world.

"Don't do anything stupid."  A linked pair of zip ties tucked into the waistband of my jeans.
"You know me, Tiberon.  I'll be fine."  As wicked a grin as possible. 

When I got home after work, I would wind down with a glass of wine.  Maybe scotch.  I'd watch old TV shows and knit hats for my friends.  My cat would curl up next to me and try to bat the knitting needles while I worked, and I'd scratch her ears and smile when she purred.

The whoosh of automatic doors.  Hushed whispers and footsteps.   
Up, up, up to the stacks.   Books.  Books.  Books.
The target.

I would go to bed early, wearing a silky pajama dress.  My dreams would be about waterfalls and rainbows and people at work and things I had read in the books I had stacked by my bed.

A gun clicks.  Zip tie around his wrist before he turns around. "You?!"
Another wicked grin.  "Me.  Let's do this quietly, yes?"
Down, down, down the stairs.  

Saturdays and Sundays would be for sleeping in. I'd have a living garden and green grass.  Clean carpet.  A fridge full of fresh food I bought at the market.

"I'm not getting in that car."
An elbow crunches into a nose.
"I'b gettinb in da ca!"
Squealing tires.  The drop-off. 

My friends wouldn't know what you had to pack to pick up a target hiding out in Sao Paolo or Niamey.  At our get-togethers, we'd talk about their children and PTA meetings and remodeling our houses. 

"Six grand." 
"Sweet, thanks." 
The dog's tail physically can't wave any faster. 
The holster and guns go back in the den.
I toss my jacket on a chair; it slides to the floor. 
Avel is waiting for me in the kitchen.  He grins.  

I think I would hate having a normal life.

Twelve, Part 4

Tiberon and I were probably stupid not to put more distance between us and Tessa. I mean, what’re you supposed to do? She was just a kid, and everyone was treating her like she was the most dangerously volatile being on the planet. Avel’s Palermo contacts were so afraid of her that after we met her, they gave us a car and let us do wherever we wanted. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little bit bad for her.

Poor Berto was assigned to follow us around, and Tiberon and I let him join us for dinner. Well, “let” is sort of a lenient word in this instance. More like, we very strongly encouraged him to talk with us over a cordial meal. It’s amazing what you can do with a dark-eyed illusionist and a semi-automatic.

On our twelfth day in Palermo, I was packing my bag and making sure everything was ready to bring across the border. It would be easier to take everything out of Palermo, since our hosts had such an impressive grip on the authorities in the city. But I still wanted to be prepared. As I was zipping the last compartment, I heard a tiny knock on my door.

“Signora?” It was one of the wives. Tiberon and I didn’t know enough Italian to tell them that we weren’t actually married, so I let them call me Signora or whatever they wanted. Very few of them ever wanted to talk to me; I guess I scared them by not being afraid of their young charge.

“Yes? Sì?”

“I want to ask after my cousin,” the woman said. She was petite, maybe 15 or 20 years older than me and wearing red Louboutins under a white Chanel pantsuit.

“Your cousin?” I asked. Was I supposed to know her cousin? My stomach dropped as I remembered the last time I had been to Palermo. It had been a few years, but...I sighed.

“Sì, my cousin Luigi, he has been a contact in New York for a year,” she said. It was hard to catch, but her voice took on a shrewd tone, and she eyed me like I was a piece of art of questionable origin. Luigi…the name rang a bell. I smiled, using the half of a second I had to think as quickly as possible. Luigi? Wasn’t he the guy that fell on his thing? That one time? I mentally kicked myself. I felt like I should know how to answer her, yet I was coming up with nothing but blanks.

“Luigi?” I clarified. The woman nodded curtly. I opened my mouth, ready to answer. The first word, “he”, was out of my mouth before I realized that Luigi was the guy Avel’s instructions had talked about. I was supposed to hate him or something.

“He…he’s a traitorous bastard,” I grunted, trying to sneer and work up some spit at the same time. The saliva launched about an inch away from my teeth and plummeted. It wasn’t the most beautiful shot, but at least I didn’t hit the Louboutins. The woman watched me spit with a slight hint of amusement playing at the very edge of her red lips. Without another word, she smiled, dipped her head at me, and disappeared.

I was suddenly very tired, and I stood unmoving for a minute before I remembered to check that I had the twelve little pills in my pocket. Then I sat down next to my bag. A tiny voice in the back of my head told me that I had just passed a test. Wasn’t sure what had gotten tested, but, hey, I don’t argue with passing scores.

Tiberon came in then, sat on the bed next to me. “Some lady asked me about Luigi,” he said. “I never thought I’d use so much Italian cussing.”

“She asked me, too,” I said as I stood and stretched. “Think they were making sure we’re actually from Avel?”

He shrugged. “No other explanation. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I had some of the ladies dye the kid’s hair. They were shaking in their fancy feet-killers the whole time.”

Laughing, we both threw our bags over our shoulders and went to find Tessa. She was outside, sitting cross-legged on a bench in the sun. Her hair had been black, but now it was much lighter, like mine. She was wearing it down, hanging in her face. I dropped my bag on the ground next to her, making her jump.

Berto was on the other side of the courtyard, reading a paper and trying to look like he wasn’t actually there. Tessa glared, then smiled when she saw that it was me and not one of the Italians. “You’re late,” she said as she unfolded her legs and slipped her shoes on. I looked at her intently, tilting my head.

“You cut your hair, too?” I asked. Tessa shrugged as she self-consciously touched her new bangs.

“Do they look bad?” she asked.

“Oh…no! I just wasn’t expecting them,” I said. “They look good.” Tiberon tossed our luggage in the trunk as I looked at Tessa, thinking that now her eyes looked even darker, deeper now that they were framed with hair with a slight hint of chestnut.

“Berto! You’re driving us!” Tiberon yelled. The little man grimaced, tossed his paper down and stalked over to us, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Girl…in back,” he said in the broken English we’d become fluent in over the past twelve days. I looked down at Tessa, who didn’t seem very happy, but she obliged Berto by sitting as far away from him as she could manage in an enclosed space. I saw her eyes light up mischievously so I poked her in the side before she could drive the poor man crazy.

We drove for about twenty minutes before the car stopped at a dock. A small ship was a port and passengers were boarding. I got out and stared for a second, then looked back at the other three.

“Boat?” I asked. Tessa smiled sweetly.

“I don’t do planes,” she said. She even tossed her hair at me as she walked towards the gangplank. Tiberon came up next to me and handed me my bag and our papers.

“Dudes told me this morning. Sorry I forgot to mention it,” he said.

“It’s fine. But…why are we taking a boat? It’s going to take forever!”

“Tessa doesn’t do planes,” he said, mimicking the girl’s tone from before.

“Seriously?” I asked. “We’re taking a boat across the Atlantic just because some kid doesn’t like flying?”

Tiberon didn’t answer; he just lifted his shoulders in defeat and went to join Tessa. I turned back to Berto and thanked him before following them.

As I caught up, the boat changed shape. Lines melted and regrew, and new colors jumped into existence in a kaleidoscope of awkward movements as I stood still and dumbfounded. For a minute I forgot about Tessa and I looked around for Avel. The small ship now had wings and levels like a skyscraper. I blinked. My head hurt from trying to remember that it was just a boat, not a flying building.

Tessa giggled, giving away the game.

“Stop it,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I remembered Avel’s instructions. I was supposed to give Tessa the first dose of the twelve pills now. “Here, you have to take this.” I handed her one of the tiny brown pills from my pocket, along with a plastic water bottle.

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“I have no idea. Avel’s orders,” I said. At the sound of his name, Tessa relaxed and unquestioningly popped the pill in her mouth and swigged some water. The plane-boat thing was so strange, I couldn’t help but stare at it. I don’t know if Tiberon noticed, but the pill had an immediate effect. Tessa’s eyes grew wide with surprise, her pupils dilating, then contracting, as the illusion of the flying building-boat disintegrated and was replaced with reality.

Avel had managed to take away the one thing that made her terrifying. I felt elation and relief flood every inch of me, only to be taken over by this thought: I only had enough for a day's worth of traveling.

Twelve, Part 2

This is Part 2, obviously. If you need to read Part 1, the link is just to the left. Enjoy! -m.

The airport terminal was packed with people. I mean, wow. Tiberon and I pounded through the automatic doors at near-full speed, our bags bouncing over the threshold and landing awkwardly on single wheels. Our acquired driver hadn’t dropped us off in front of our airline, but no matter. It was only a few steps away. We jostled over, cut in line in front of a family of 8 with a pair of harried-looking parents trying to count everybody, and waited.

Tiberon flung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me tight. When I looked up at him, confused, he grinned at me. Ah, yes. The surnames on our passports were the same. Avel wanted us to be man and wife for the time being. I looked down and twirled the simple fake diamond around my left ring finger. It had felt strangely exhilarating when Avel had pulled me aside and put the tiny jewelry box in my hand. I’m pretty sure he got it at Kohl’s or something. I shook the thought out of my mind and focused on the moment; I leaned into Tiberon’s side and wrapped my arm around his waist. We were directly behind a group of sorority chicks in mini skirts and five-inch heels, and in front of them was an insufferably long line of airline patrons.

“Where’re we going?” I whispered. Avel hadn’t wanted me to know until we’d gotten to the airport. I don’t know why. It’s not like I was going to tell anyone.

“Check it out,” Tiberon said, handing me a stapled pair of papers.

I glanced at the first page. It was a printout of a friendly email saying our tickets were booked and all we needed to do was check in with our passports. “Palermo? Why the heck are we going to Palermo?” Tiberon shrugged as we stepped around the corner created by the queue bars, his eyes on the legs of the college girls in front of us.

Palermo is the capital of Sicily, in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. It’s also home base to the Italian Mafia. I’d been there a couple of times before, nabbing art and some other things. I thought of the twelve little pills in my front jeans pocket. Avel had always been completely against drug running, but I couldn’t think of what else the pills were.

My mind was exploding; I wanted to ask Tiberon so badly about what he knew we were doing, but there was no way I could do that in the middle of the airport. I would have to wait until we were seated. Standing there was agony, especially since it seemed that the line was hardly moving. I glanced at my watch. We'd only been inside for 10 minutes, but it felt like hours.

Finally, the lady at the desk efficiently took our papers without smiling, printed our passes, and growled at us to put our baggage on the scale. We were dismissed a minute or so later, and Tiberon and I walked quickly around the corner, down the escalator, and into the security zone. I held my breath when I accidentally made eye contact with one of the guards. Years of smuggling things and I still got nervous. Ridiculous. With a tight smile, I looked away and then down at my boarding pass. My passport said that my name was Renee Diebin, Tiberon’s was John Diebin. Avel must have thought it was really funny to give us a last name that, in German, was closely related to the word for “thief”.

Despite being chock full of hundreds of slow-moving travelers, the line wound pretty quickly through the rails, and in almost no time at all I was handing over my boarding pass and photo ID. The woman looked at me shrewdly and I smiled at her. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I was going to pass out. And then someone pinched my butt. I turned halfway to see Tiberon grinning like an idiot behind me. I blushed and smiled back, swatting his next pass away from my backside. I faced the security guard again; she was looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“My husband,” I said, smiling apologetically. The woman nodded once, handed me back my papers, and ushered me through the scanner.

Nothing beeped on me or Tiberon, and we were seated on the plane just before the pilot addressed the whole plane. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking...”

While the attendants were doing their routine, I pulled a long envelope out of my pocket. Inside was a piece of paper folded in thirds. It was typed on a piece of graphing paper and was remarkably clean, despite the fact that some of the letters had been typed repeatedly, making them darker. Leaning towards the window, I unfolded Avel’s instructions and read them quickly.

I looked up at Tiberon, who was reading over my shoulder. His eyes were easily as wide as mine. He jabbed his finger at the last line on the page.

“Outbursts?” He rumbled in my ear. I raised my shoulders and held them there in an extended shrug.

"Hair dye?" I asked him. This time he shrugged.

"Must be in my bags," he said, adding, "I ain't doin' no babysittin'."

The way he said it made me think that he'd had no idea what Avel had planned. I refolded the paper carefully, reining in the urge to smell it, to see if any traces remained...but no. I slipped it back in the envelope, folded it, and stuffed it in my pocket, trying my best to seem like I didn't care whether I messed up the message or not.

Engines whirred and I heard the flight attendants quietly asking passengers to turn off their cell phones and to buckle their seat belts. Click, click, click! resounded all around the cabin. My stomach dropped as the plane took off. I stared out the window for a few minutes before leaning back and closing my eyes. If I was going to have to drag a little girl halfway across the world, I was going to get as much real sleep as I could, while I could.

Twelve, Part 1

Twelve little pills. They didn’t budge in their tiny plastic bag as the town car went over a speed bump. I pushed them around, organizing their round brown bodies into four neat rows. They were big enough that the rows stayed put, and I smiled to myself. Another speed bump. We were hitting them pretty fast, definitely too fast for them to be any use. I guess when we got in and my colleague put his gun to the driver’s head, he believed us when we told him to leave as quickly as possible.

This would usually be the part where I revealed what we were doing, or what the little pills were. But the thing is, I had no idea. None of us did. It was one of those jobs that had you playing so far out of your normal playing field that it didn’t seem shocking when someone showed up with a bazooka made out of candy mints. That was just part of the job. The weirder thing was when that stuff worked. One of our group members was still in the hospital thanks to that bazooka. I’ll tell you this: getting a hole blown in your stomach is not more pleasant when it’s done with red-and-white striped sugary bits.

Tiberon, my colleague with the gun, turned and grinned at me as we hit yet another speed bump at 53 miles an hour. I glanced up and saw the driver’s face reflected in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t enjoying this as much as we were; yet again, who would? It’s not every day that you and your boss’s car get jacked in the middle of downtown and you have to drive your guests to the airport. I imagine I wouldn’t have been too ecstatic, either. It’s why I refuse to drive town cars.

I grinned at Tiberon and turned my attention back to the twelve little inanimate bodies in my hands. I assumed they were meant to be swallowed. I mean, what else would you do with capsules like this? Throw them? They couldn’t possibly manage to be airborne for longer than a couple of seconds, more if you threw them out a window. My instructions were to get them through security, then onto the plane. Easy cheesy. No one could see these things in their rectangular plastic bag and think, “Those are worth $6 billion. I’m going to confiscate them.” Nah. They were more of a “You’re one of those vegan thingies, aren’t you?” sort of pill. Thank goodness for that.

We hit the last bump at nearly 60 an hour and I narrowly missed getting my skull slammed into the ceiling. Glaring, I yelled, “Watch it! You don’t have to kill us!” Tiberon laughed and patted the driver on the top of his head.

I hated not knowing what I was doing, or why. But I wasn’t the brains this time. Maybe that was what really bothered me. I was supposed to be the brains. I always did the planning, the team gathering. Tiberon I knew ‘cause we’d worked together before. The other guys, who were following us in the Camry, they were complete strangers. But I trusted them because I trusted Avel. And Avel was the brains.

Debatedly, I thought to myself, smiling as Tiberon and I got out of the car, yanked our fake weighted baggage out of the trunk, and sprinted inside.

If Avel said that these twelve little pills would mean no more cons, and no more annoying police chases, then OK. I could do that.

The Cast

This is the basic cast list of characters from blogs in 2010 and on. Hopefully it serves you well.
-M

Ambreel Avel Tucker: Tall, dark, handsome. Goes by Avel. Con artist with a flair for the impossible. His past with Meli is full of assumptions and intrigue.

Ava Fontanelli: Leandra's kid sister. Not really afraid of things, which may or may not be a good thing.

Courtney Brown: Sara's almost-not-younger sister. Thoughtful and a mean hand with the nail polish.

Jeremiah Tucker: Avel's brother; Leandra's husband (fiance in some mentions). Had a nasty bout with werewolfishness, but is OK now. Mostly.

Kadey Wilson: A friend of Meli's from college; Somehow manages to store crazy amounts of information in her head. Some of it is useful. She works for Mr. Oulara under Meli's guidance.

Leandra Tucker: Ava's sister/best friend; Jeremiah's wife. Freaked out when he fiance became a werewolf, but was totally prepared to love him anyways, furry ears and all.

Meliora Renee Lyons: Goes by Meli. Has an extensive work history of cons and secrets. She can (usually) be trusted with expensive shiny things.

Mr. Oulara: The Boss. One of those people whose reputation precedes them, though no one really knows exactly what his reputation is.

Natalie Lyons: Meli and Teia's youngest sister. She stress bakes and likes yelling at stupid people.

Phoebe Vogel: Meli's childhood friend. Whoever said that blondes were dumb subsequently got their jaw broken by Pheobe, who is both blonde and brilliant.

Sara Brown: Courtney's older sister. Tries not to get mixed up with Meli's weird workness; but it's bound to happen someday.

Teia Lyons: Meli's younger sister, Natalie's older sister. Her attack hugs and flurry of cute fuzzy things serves as a fantastic cover for a mastermind of color magic.

Tiberon: A con colleague of Meli's from the "Avel days". His dashing white-toothed smile is somewhat unnerving, since his best friends are named Glock, Bowie, and Nunchuck.