“I won’t kill you, Payaso, but I will shoot your kneecap off,” Nick warned.
John passed the Giants baseball cap over his shoulder to Nick, enjoying the interaction, some of his celebratory feelings due to still being alive. “You were not joking about the cousin, right Muerto?”
“Nope. We may have to cull a few of your in-laws out of the herd, but other than that, we should have you married off in less than six months. You don’t want a long engagement, do you?”
“I trust your judgement in all things, El Muerto.”
“El Muerto is definitely promoting you from minion to sidekick, Kabong. Payaso has disrespected the compassionate matchmaker, El Muerto, once too often. He is as of this moment reduced in rank to minion of El Muerto.”
Gus made gagging noises as he steered onto the highway toward the Lodge. “Oh barf!”
“Don’t be hatin’, Payaso.”
*
Nick woke at 10 am, grateful Rachel had shielded any sleep intervention by either Jean or Deke. Five hours sleep felt like heaven, especially with everything of a violent nature taken care of, and days before his book signings. He got out of bed, and right into the shower. Although he had taken one earlier in the morning, Nick thought he could still smell cordite and death. He had sealed his outer clothing in a garbage bag, as had Gus and John before splitting apart for the morning. John was to get checked into a suite and meet with his Unholy Trio companions, and Dan in the bar at 11 am. After a shave and shower, Nick felt as if he could write all day, and into the night, but he knew that would never happen. His best chance would be a 10 pm night, and then a 4 am date with Diego’s ‘Dark Interlude’ adventure. Rachel stuck her head in the bathroom door.
“The gentleman and lady from the plane are here to see you. I banished them from the room three hours ago when they were set to invade. Shall I tell them to hit the road again?”
Nick walked to the door, and gripped his wife’s hand. “Thanks for that, babe. I’ll take the meeting with a bit of the Irish if that’s okay with you.”
“With as steamed as the guy is, I think that’s a great idea. I’ll make it for you.”
Nick kissed her – a long, lingering, meeting of lips and souls. “You are the best.”
“Don’t you forget it, Muerto,” Rachel replied, closing the door.
Moments later, Nick came out of the bedroom with his tennis shoes, jeans, and black t-shirt on. Robyn MacEachern and Clyde Bacall sat at the suite’s kitchen table, drinking coffee. Rachel put his doctored coffee in front of him as he sat down, placing his iPhone in front of him. Deke ran over to jump on his lap for a hug. Jean followed Deke with a heartfelt hug.
“I’m glad you’re back safe, Dad,” Jean whispered. “You won’t have to kill these two, will you?”
“Nope. Are you and your Mom taking Deke for a walk in the countryside?”
“Yeah, we figured to leave you some sorting out time. They really do have a great indoor waterpark. I want us all to go together this afternoon around one, okay?”
“It’s a date, Dagger. Can you talk Momma into putting on a bathing suit?”
Jean giggled as Rachel gasped. “Yep. She has a special tent for swimming.”
“We’d better walk Deke before I start smashing electronics gear,” Rachel said, grabbing Jean by the back of the neck, causing the Daughter of Darkness to hunch her shoulders comically for Nick’s appreciation. “We’ll be back to break up the meeting soon.”
“Okay, Hon.” Nick sipped his Irish coffee with relish, the at least two shots Rachel had doctored it with shooting right down to his toes. After a second long sip, Nick put down the cup, and smiled at his guests. “How we doin’ this morning, kids?”
Robyn smiled back. “You certainly took Clyde and I out of the picture, and considering what the team found there this morning, I’m glad you did. We are so screwed.”
“That was our take on it too, Robyn,” Nick replied. “We’re allowing this infiltration to reach the point of suicide. From what I’ve seen on the East Coast, we’re constantly playing a deadly game of catch up.”
“What would you suggest, McCarty, exterminate all Muslims?”
“I have a Muslim working with me, infiltrating these nests, idiot. He knows how dangerous it is allowing ‘No-Go’ Muslim zones like the Europeans do, where anything can be stockpiled without fear of discovery.”
“He’s right, Clyde. This is war. We have to fight it with our hands tied behind our backs,” MacEachern added. “The other side took heavy casualties. Boo hoo.”