"You really think we can do this?" I asked after downing my scotch in one swallow.

" 'Cause I think we're setting ourselves up for failure."

Paris made a face. "And you used to be such an optimist."

"Well, I'm seriously considering pessimism."

I poured myself another glass of scotch. "Optimism is definitely overrated."

"We have everything we need here. The zip codes will narrow things down considerably.

Look here." He pointed at the zip code for somewhere in Ohio, then pointed to his laptop. I didn't even realize he'd brought the computer with us. What a geek.

"Tinker, Ohio, has only five thousand people." He pointed to the next one. "And this one's in our own backyard. We can do it."

"How's that? Do you know how long that will take? We don't even know if these are men or women!"

"Why does that matter?" Paris cocked his head at me. "We take them out no matter what."

"I don't know about you, my friend, but I've never taken out a woman before." It's true. And it has nothing to do with scruples.

I've just never been assigned a woman. In fact, I don't know if anyone in my family has. Why was that?

"Huh." Paris sat back in his chair. "I haven't either. I wonder why?"

I was getting drunk. "I dunno. Women make lousy terrorists?"

"No. I think they're smarter than that. The only thing women are guilty of is promoting peace." And I could see that he meant it too.

"You've gone soft on me." I scowled. "Women can be just as evil as men."

"Oh, yeah? Name the worst dictators, serial killers, and murderers. They're all men." Paris folded his arms.

I struggled to think. "What about Charlotte Corday? 'Squeaky' Fromme? Sara Jane Moore?"

Paris shook his head. "Those are assassins. They targeted men who they thought were screwing up the world. That doesn't count. I'm looking for women who, just because they were evil, did terrible things to their own."

My brain was getting a little fried. "Oh, screw it. I'm sure they're out there."

Paris looked at me in silence for a moment.

"You don't really think much of women, do you?"

Whoa! Where did that come from? "Dude. Where did that come from? "Dude.

You're way off. I respect Gin and Liv."

He shook his head. "I'm not talking about family. I'm talking about women in general."

"What the hell?"

"Well, for starters you date only empty-headed blondes. Second, you've never had a serious relationship in your life. And third, you have extreme commitment issues."

I think my draw jopped. I mean jaw dropped. Man, I was drunk. How many drinks did I have? I stared at four wavy highball glasses in front of me-all empty. "That's not true! What about Leonie?"

Paris folded his arms, the smug bastard.

"What about Leonie? Are you trying to tell me you respect her?"

"Of course I do!" I sputtered. Paris was now wiggling in front of me like Jell-O. Or at least, that was what I thought I was seeing.

If he'd just sit still I could strangle him.

Paris stood up, gathering his things. "Let's face it, Dak: You don't know what respecting a woman means." With that he stood up and walked away.

I was pissed off. But I was too drunk to do anything about it. So I headed up to my room. Mom was watching Louis sleep. When she saw my state of mind she decided to stay with us. I can't blame her. I shouldn't have gotten drunk with my son here. Too late for that. I watched her curl up next to him in his bed and felt an odd pang of regret before I passed out.

I woke up at three thirty a.m., hungover and mad about something without any idea what that was. Paris had something to do with it; I was pretty sure about that. I took off the clothes I'd been sleeping in and, after brushing my teeth and checking to see that Louis and Mom didn't need me for anything, crawled back into bed.

"You look like shit." Missi grinned into the monitor as she buzzed me into the workshop. I didn't know the password. In all honesty I'd never really visited my cousin there before. Paris pushed past me into the room and I followed. I wasn't talking to him. He just didn't know that yet.

"I've felt better." I ran my fingers through my hair. "Do you know about our assignment?"

"Yeah. What can I do to help?"

Paris and I looked at each other. "Well, we were hoping you had a few ideas," Paris said finally.

She cocked her head to the right and said nothing. She was like that sometimes-kind of kooky. Missi would just disappear inside her head for a little while, then emerge with something crazy but perfect.

something crazy but perfect.

The workshop was bizarre. I didn't know if she collected this weird shit or was a regular at church bazaars frequented by the mentallyill. I mean, who has a collection of B-list bobble-head dolls? Erik Estrada, Charo, and Alan Alda bobbed and nodded in agreement.

Yeesh. In the corner was a blast shield. This chick really liked explosives. I remember this one time when she made a toothbrush that blew up when it came into contact with molars-not front teeth, or you may not get the whole head. That kind of work takes a creative thinker. Or a madwoman. In the corner was a blast shield. This chick really liked explosives. I remember this one time when she made a toothbrush that blew up when it came into contact with molars-not front teeth, or you may not get the whole head. That kind of work takes a creative thinker. Or a madwoman.

"Well." Missi finally emerged from her thought coma. "I do have a couple of things I can show you." She stood up and we followed her through rows of test tubes, headless Kewpie dolls, remote-controlled lizards, and a poster with a kitten dangling from a branch that said, Hang in There! Hang in There!

She stopped in front of a table with a small silver tube. "I did a little research and found out that one of your hits is a zookeeper."

Paris and I exchanged looks before I said, "How did you know that?"

Missi rolled her eyes at us, as if to say, Hello! Genius here! Hello! Genius here! "It's the guy in Tinker, Ohio." She tossed us a sheet of paper that did, indeed, have more info on the guy than Dela had given us. "It's the guy in Tinker, Ohio." She tossed us a sheet of paper that did, indeed, have more info on the guy than Dela had given us.

She continued: "The zoo the vic works at has a bear exhibit. I love bears. So unpredictable."

Paris and I looked at each other again. Missi tended to get sidetracked sometimes.

"Anyway"-she pulled herself out of a glazed, faraway look and continued-"like I said, bears are very unpredictable. Especially the smaller black bears. Most people take them for granted because they are little and cute. But use this puppy." She lifted the tube and depressed a button. Clear liquid shot about fifty feet, hitting a stuffed bear (the taxidermied kind) in the face. It didn't look like much, but I thought I detected the strong scent of barbecue sauce. Paris examined the glass-eyed creature. "What does it do?"

Missi rolled her eyes. "This is a highly concentrated mixture of meat essence and bear pheromones. Squirt this on the guy and the bears will charge and tear him limb from limb. Cool, huh?" She lifted the tube to her eye. "And I have it in beef, pork, and chicken flavors. The coroner will just think the zookeeper hit a rib house hard before climbing into the bear pen."

"And we don't have to lay a finger on him.

That is is cool," Paris said as he took the tube from her. cool," Paris said as he took the tube from her.

Missi warned, "Don't let it go off here. I got some on my clothes once and a jaguar stalked me for a week." She patted the head of a taxidermied panther. I wondered if she did the work herself.

"Great," I replied, wondering how she had fought and killed the animal. "What else do you have?"

She loaded one of those shopping baskets with two tubes and four vials of the clear liquid. "Okay, this is really cool." We followed her to another part of the room.

She stopped in front of what appeared to be a collection of little porcelain Santa figurines. Was this chick wacky or what?

Missi pulled a Glock .45 with silencer out of a drawer. "This is a gun," she said.

"Wow. Never seen one of those before," I teased. Maybe she was crazier than we all thought.

Missi shook her head. "It's not the gun that's special. It's the ammo." Paris and I watched as she ejected the magazine and slid one of the rounds out. "It's made of gelatin."

The bullet was clear, like plastic, with a clear shell casing. She handed us each a bullet.

The end was rubbery and the casing was glass. Huh? Huh?

"I got the idea when I made pineapple JellO for the boys. I thought there had to be a way to make a bullet that would cause enough shock trauma to kill a man, but that couldalso be absorbed by the body so that no bullet would be found."

"Jesus, Missi!" I shouted. "That would revolutionize our industry!"

Paris, more cautious than I was-as usual-agreed. "Yes, it would. But how does it work?"

"It works like a dream." Missi grinned.

"Speaking of which, I had the weirdest dream last night. In it, I invented a see-through yarn and knitted a sweater out of it; then I flew to California and ate at the Brown Derby. Everyone thought I was half-naked, which, of course, I wasn't-"

"Um, Missi? The ammo?" I interrupted.

"Oh, yeah." She giggled as if she remembered some joke. "It operates on a similar principle as the icicle maker I did a few years back. Now, you can't really shoot bullets made of ice, because when the gunpowder ignites the gun gets hot and you'd just have a really expensive water gun." She took a deep breath. "And I didn't want to use real Jell-O and have it melt before it entered the body.

So I came up with my own mixture that will initially tear into human flesh. Once inside, when it heats up to ninety-eight-point-six degrees, the bullet dissolves-like Jell-O."

"And the casing?" Paris asked as he inspected it.

Missi took the shell from him, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. Before I had a moment to react she stuck out her tongue, showing what appeared to be shards of broken glass.

"Rock candy. Like they make fake glass out of for the movies." Missi grinned and swallowed.

I picked up the pistol. "And this doesn't produce a temperature as high as ninety-eight degrees?"

"Oh, I forgot that part." Missi laughed.

"The gelatin takes a couple of minutes to dissolve. It's not in the gun long enough. And I tricked out the silencer with a little cooling system. Kind of like an air conditioner."

I looked at Paris, then turned back to her.

"We'll take two and as much ammo as you have."

Missi laughed again and stuffed our basket full. It took her only a few moments to bag everything and send us on our way.

As we headed for the airstrip that night to return home, I couldn't help wondering about my cousin. She was brilliant, but her work would only ever get noticed by the Bombay family. As the plane lifted off the tarmac, I watched the island shrink below me. Now, there was one woman I really respected.

But maybe Paris was right. I had to thinkabout this Leonie thing. Was I infatuated with her because she was different from the other women I'd been with? Or was it just because she was the only one who could get a rise out of my dick? That was one problem I had to solve.

Mom and Louis enthusiastically regaled us with the story of how Louis met Grandma.

My kid went on and on about her collection of souvenirs from all over the world. But I was only half listening. I had a lot to deal with when we got back. But first and foremost on my mind was a smartassed mortician named Leonie Doubtfire.

Chapter Fourteen.

"I am the wild blue yonder. The front line in a never ending battle between good and not so good. Together with my stalwart sidekick, Arthur, and the magnanimous help of some other folks I know, we form the yin to villainy's malevolent yang. Destiny has chosen us. Wicked men, you face the Tick."

-the Tick, The Tick The Tick

I called Leonie the next day after dropping Louis off at school (where, I might add, he was delirious with delight about the homework he'd have to make up). She sounded happy to hear from me, and we made plans for dinner in two days.

That night Louis and I snuggled up together on the couch with a pizza and watched Survivor: Gobi Desert Survivor: Gobi Desert. I love this show. Louis seemed to like it too, as he filled me in on all the geographic information about the area. I just thought it was funny how the producers had run out of tropical locales and were now using a barren wasteland. At least the contestants were back to being scantily clad-unlike the previous season at the Arctic Circle. Bikinis trumped snowsuits any day, in my book.

"Did you know that the word Gobi Gobi means desert?" Louis asked me through a mouthful of pizza. He went on to regale me with other odd facts about Mongolia. means desert?" Louis asked me through a mouthful of pizza. He went on to regale me with other odd facts about Mongolia.

"No, I didn't know that." I gave him a squeeze. We were two men (okay, one midget genius and one guy with great hair), bonding over the great American pastime of good pizza and bad television.

Louis and I laughed as the contestants tried to start a fire with no kindling, wood, or matches. Although it did get interesting when some of the women volunteered their T-shirts for the task. That would come back to bite them in the ass when it got really cold that night. Oh, well. Oh, well. It's just good fun. It's just good fun.

"Dad?" Louis asked me once I tucked him into bed. "I just wanted to say that this has been really overwhelming lately."

Didn't I know it? I grinned. "I know, sport.