MY PEN IS HUGE Page 17

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. I ordered some tea online,” my mom says.

  She goes to the door, opens it, and bends down. “Yep. A box from Amazon.” She grabs it and shuts the door.

  Kristoff eyes her suspiciously. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Sure. Okay.” My mom does. There’s a smaller box inside. “I didn’t order this. Must be a mistake.”

  I look, and she’s holding a pen. A big shiny white pen.

  “Oh, I did,” I lie. “It’s a gift for your birthday. A Montblanc Meisterstück 149. The first ever made. Thought you might like it.” I look at Kristoff. “We love collecting things.”

  He takes the pen, inspects it, and bobs his head. “Very nice.” He slides it into his pocket. “Think I’ll use it to stab Weeno in the eye.”

  I really want to comment about how he just said he doesn’t steal, but then I remember that he’s crazy. Also, Merrick is here—that’s his pen. I’d breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s way too early for that. I don’t know what the game plan is. Did he come alone like I hoped, or is there an army outside?

  “Welp, guess I should get packing,” I say.

  “No. Change of plans. I’m going to go see Norton Weeno.”

  I swallow hard. “But didn’t you…want to…yanno…throw everyone off your trail first? The flight leaves for Berlin in four hours, and I think it’s a great plan.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Good plan. Solid,” my parents agree.

  “I just need a few facts before I go,” I add, “so I can write those articles to convince them we’re together.”

  Kristoff eyes me cautiously. I can see he wants to storm out of here, but I’m afraid if he does, he’s not going to let us live. He’s got to know that Weeno story is a trap. Hell, even I know it is. So if he’s going after Weeno, it’s because he doesn’t care what’s waiting for him at the jail where they’re holding Norton Weeno. Kristoff intends to kill him or die trying.

  Ergo, we’re of no use to him any longer. I have to think fast.

  “I have a suggestion,” I say. “Obviously, you’re a serious professional. I mean, you work hard, support your family. What if, and this is just a suggestion, but what if you turn yourself in and my parents represent you?”

  He gives me a look like I’m definitely going to the top of his kill list.

  “Okay. It sounds crazy,” I continue, “but think about it. Your wife and kids probably miss you. Just think how they’d feel if something happened to you.”

  “They don’t care. They just think I’m a paycheck, yanno? They don’t get how hard killing people is.” His dark eyes tear up. He’s been publicly insulted and now his fragile ego is in control.

  “No, maybe they don’t understand,” I say. “But that’s never stopped you from doing your best, has it? I mean, one day, when your kids are older, like me, they’ll realize how lucky they are to have a dad who loves them so much. Don’t you want to be around to hear them say it?”

  He sighs at the beige carpeted floor. “I just don’t know if that’s going to happen. My work,” he sniffles, “is so dangerous. And not every contract pays well. Sometimes I have to kill two or three people a month just to make ends meet.”

  Oh, poor baby.

  He continues, “And I’m not getting any younger. I mean, look at me, I’ve never been caught until now. I’m losing my touch, and I know some younger, smarter hit man is out there just waiting to make a name. Yanno?” He drags a fist over his eyes to wipe away the tears.

  “Okay. Okay. I have another solution,” I say. “If you give me a few hours, I could interview you. I’ll…I’ll write a book! Your story. And I can sell it and give the money to your family. Who knows, maybe it’ll be optioned for a movie.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” my mom says, “that is a very smart idea. He could find a quiet place to retire and be with his family.”

  “Yes. And the world will know how hard you worked for them,” I say.

  Kristoff sniffles and then smiles. “I really am a good guy, yanno?”

  “Oh yes. Yes, we see that.” We all nod and agree.

  “So, do we have a deal?” I ask.

  His eyes flash to the story on my screen, and his rage reignites. He doesn’t look convinced all of a sudden. I have to do something to get him to agree that my plan is a no-brainer.

  I have one more idea. I hope to hell this works.

  Leland

  I honestly don’t know if I made the right decision coming alone, but the last time the authorities tried to catch Kristoff, someone made “the call” to let him murder Albert Hofer. It still haunts me. Now it’s the woman I love—Yes, I said it. I love her—inside that house, and if I tip off the powers that be, I’m not entirely convinced they won’t burn the place to the ground in order to get rid of Kristoff once and for all. Everyone now knows there isn’t a jail that can hold him.

  So I paid some guy to drop off that box so Gisselle knows I’m here. Also, there’s a bug inside the pen. I figure I can listen in, find out Kristoff’s plan, and then come up with one of my own.

  Or not? This has to be the strangest conversation ever. It sounds like Gisselle’s parents are trying to convince Kristoff to turn over a new leaf. Why in the world would he do that? He’s a narcissistic psycho who believes he’s invincible. Though, they’re doing a pretty good job of tearing him down and using the guilt card to build him back up.

  And now…wait… Is Gisselle interviewing him?

  “Yeah, this is good stuff,” she says, clacking away on her keyboard.

  “I’m going to make some spaghetti while you two work, okay?” says her mom.

  “Okay, but, Bob, you stay put,” says Kristoff. “No funny business. This is my story we’re doing, and we don’t need distractions.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Bones. But at least let me get us a beer.”

  What the bloody hell? They’re cracking open beers, making pasta, and Kristoff is going on and on and on about every little detail of his miserable life. Gisselle is playing the part of journalist, asking probing questions and staying calm.

  Jesus, she’s good. I never should have doubted her or said she can’t keep her emotions in check, because she’s all business right now, and I know there’s a gun pointed at her.

  As for me, I’m a fucking mess. I have no idea what to do. This is a quiet residential neighborhood—maintained lawns, nice cars sitting in the driveways, and lots of unlocked doors. If anyone tried to storm Gisselle’s house, Kristoff would likely kill everyone and take off. They’d never catch him. Too many easy places to hide and cars to steal.

  So while Gisselle has this under control for now, I know I have to do something to help them. But what?

  Almost two hours go by, and I’m at my wit’s end. Maybe if I call Mr. Green and he knows that Kristoff is calm and sounds like he’s going to throw in the towel on the whole revenge thing, they won’t nuke the house. But can I really roll the dice with Gisselle’s life? Sonofabitch. I don’t know what to do.

  My phone rings, and it’s Gisselle.

  Crap. I nearly drop my cell trying to answer it. “H-hello?”

  “Hey, Merrick. Can you come inside?”

  She told him I’m here? Seriously? “You want me to come in there?”

  “Yes. We need you for a minute.”

  “But—”

  “Do you trust me or not, Leland?” she asks.

  It’s a good question. Do I? Because I know I love her and need her in my life. But without trust, it doesn’t mean a thing. “Yes. I trust you.”

  “Good. Just come through the front door,” she instructs.

  I get out of my car, which is parked across the street, and enter the two-story white house with wicker furniture and potted flowers on the porch.

  Slowly, I open the creaking door and peek my head inside. Everyone’s sitting in the dining room to the left, around a large mahogany table with empty plates of spaghetti. Kristoff is standing behind Gisselle, reading over her shoulder.

/>   “Here he is.” She smiles up at me, and my heart breathes a small sigh of relief. She’s okay. “Could you take off your clothes, please?”

  “Sorry?” I shut the door behind me.

  “Your clothes, remove them,” she repeats. “Oh, and Kristoff here is going to need your wallet and car keys.”

  What the bloody hell is going on? I calmly approach the table and look around at the faces. There’s Gisselle’s mum in pink, who has the same slender build and dark hair, and her dad—a balding man in a white dress shirt, with an olive complexion. Gisselle is in a plain T-shirt, looking more beautiful than ever with her brown hair up in a ponytail. Everyone seems perfectly calm, like “just another dinner at our house.” I can only assume I need to play along.

  Which means I’m getting naked? This might be a good time to mention that I’m commando. Then again, they’re all about to find out. Why spoil the surprise?

  I set my keys, mobile, and wallet on the table. I loosen my tie and slide off my jacket. Next comes the shirt. I have no fucking clue what’s going on, but I’m all in with Gisselle. I trust her. I kick off my shoes and then slide down my black trousers, fold them neatly, and set them on the table.

  And brilliant. I’m now standing naked with my cock hanging out in front of a murderer, the woman I love, and her mum and dad.

  “Impressive.” Her mum gives me a wink and then smiles at Gisselle.

  “You don’t wear underwear?” Kristoff grimaces. “How am I supposed to use those pants knowing they’re covered in your ball sweat.”

  “Oh. But it’s clean ball sweat,” Gisselle says cheerily.

  She’s the expert. That woman was fearless when she gave the old meat and two veg a tongue bath.

  “And how would you know, young lady?” her mum asks, one dark eyebrow precariously arched.

  Gisselle blushes. “We…well, look at him.” She waves a hand in my general direction. “He just strikes me as a man who gives his downstairs a lot of attention.”

  I give Gisselle a look. Did she just tell her mum I’m a frequent wanker? For the record, I’m too busy to be constantly basting the old ham, flogging the weasel, tugging the trouser tiger.

  Her mother darts her head from side to side, trying to inspect the goods now covered by my hands.

  Thank God I have big hands. “You all understand how incredibly uncomfortable it is to be standing here naked while you’re discussing my genitals.”

  “I love that accent. He’s so cute, Gisselle,” her mum coos. “Have you considered asking him out?”

  “Mom!” Gisselle protests.

  I try not to smile.

  “What? He’s a cutie, that’s all.” Her mother shrugs.

  This family is bloody weird. I like them.

  “Well,” Kristoff crosses his arms over his chest, “I don’t care how clean he is. I’m not putting on those pants.”

  “Wait. Hold on,” her dad pipes up. “I’ve got a pair of freshly pressed slacks right there in the hall closet. They might fit, and they’ll definitely go with the jacket.”

  “Fine. Hand them over.” Kristoff motions impatiently.

  Her mum fetches the trousers and presents them.

  “These are too short!” Kristoff yells, holding them against his legs.

  Hell, he looks upset. I have to think of something. “Just take mine, mate. I only put them on ten minutes ago. Came straight from the gym after a nice hot shower,” I lie. “My undercarriage is as clean as a whistle.”

  “Fine. But don’t think this makes us friends.” With a huff, Kristoff snatches them from the table.

  Don’t worry about that. Never going to happen.

  Kristoff starts stripping off what appears to be an ice cream uniform. “And you’ll notice I’m wearing underwear, like a civilized man.”

  “Oh, I love the little unicorns. Very cute,” says Gisselle.

  Eesh. What? How’s that civilized?

  “Thank you. My daughter got me these for Christmas.” He starts putting on my clothes while I grab a dinner napkin from the table and hold it over my Johnson. Gisselle’s mother actually gives me a sour look.

  “I’ll buy you new ones. Oh, and lovely to see you again, Mrs. Walters.” I give a nod to Gisselle’s dad. “And nice to meet you, Mr. Walters.”

  “Are you hungry?” Gisselle asks. “There’s some leftover spaghetti.”

  “Thank you.” I would rather not put my bare bum on the dining room chairs, lest I be murdered by your mum. “Already ate.”

  “How ’bout a beer?” her dad offers.

  “Thank you. Sounds lovely,” I say. Why is everyone acting so calm? It’s making this that much weirder.

  Gisselle’s father returns with a cold beer, pops the top, and hands it over.

  “Cheers,” I say and take a very big gulp.

  “All right. How do I look?” Kristoff holds his arms out to his sides.

  Everyone nods. “Very nice. Very sharp,” says Gisselle’s mother.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.” Kristoff takes his gun and pops the safety off, and I’m wishing I had worn underpants for very obvious reasons.

  “Look. Do whatever you like to me, but let them go,” I say.

  Kristoff narrows his dark eyes at me. “I’m not an animal, you idiot. I only kill if I get paid or to cover my tracks. Yes, Gisselle is a witness, but she’s going to tell my story to the world.” He swipes his hands through the air, imagining a billboard or some rubbish. “Tales of an International Assassin.”

  “So you’re not going to kill anyone?” I ask.

  “Not in this room. Why, should I?” Kristoff leans closer.

  “Nope. Nope. We’re all good,” everyone mumbles.

  “And you’re all sure I look like pretty boy?” Kristoff jerks his head in my direction. “Don’t want anyone following me in case your house is being watched.”

  So that’s the plan? Let him leave dressed as me?

  “You look perfect,” Gisselle says. “No one will suspect you’re not my idiot boss leaving my house.”

  Idiot boss?

  “All right then.” Kristoff walks over to Gisselle’s mum, who gets up from her seat and gives him a big hug.

  I can’t bloody believe what I’m watching right now.

  “Travel safely now, Mr. Bones. And give your family our best,” she says.

  “I will, Madeline.” He turns and shakes Gisselle’s father’s hand. “Bob, it really was nice talking to you.”

  Bob claps him on the shoulder. “Same here. Now, just remember, if you get caught, give us a ring. We’re always here for you. But no more murder, okay? Let this book be a new chapter in your life.”

  “I will.”

  What in the…?

  Kristoff gives me a stern look. “You be nice to our Gisselle. Understand? Don’t make me come for you.”

  “Uh…yeah. Best behavior.” I hold up my palm to swear on it.

  “Goodbye, all.” Kristoff sails out the front door, and moments later, I hear the engine of my beautiful red sports car purring, followed by the tires skidding off.

  Gisselle rushes to the front door and locks it.

  “What just happened?” I ask Gisselle, my voice stern.

  She looks at me, positively giddy. “I just got the story of a lifetime, that’s what happened.”

  “Hold on. You’re not actually going to write a book for him, are you?” I say.

  “Why the hell not? I’ve always wanted to tell the world stories about people.”

  I can’t believe this. “We have to call the authorities. He has to be stopped.”

  “Son,” Bob pumps his hands in the air, “you need to take a seat and calm down. But first, please put on a towel or something.”

  “With pleasure,” I growl.

  “Oh. Sorry. Be right back.” Gisselle scrambles from the room; meanwhile her mum keeps staring at my hand. At first, I think she’s trying to peek again, but then it dawns on me. “I promise I’ll buy you new napkins.”


  “My mother gave me those as wedding gifts,” she says, distressed.

  “Fine. Here.” I hand it over, and she grins.

  Crafty little vixen. Just like her daughter.

  “Merrick. Ohmygod. Why are you showing my mom your penis?” Gisselle shoves a towel at me.

  Yep. One hell of a strange family. Oddly, I feel like I might’ve finally found my tribe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Gisselle

  While Merrick might be the master of handling dangerous situations, dealing with weird is clearly my God-given talent. And I’ve never met a weirder person than Kristoff Bones. He literally lives in a world of his own, where he believes he’s the hero. Or, at the very least, he lives by a code that makes his murder-for-hire ways seem acceptable to him. In any case, he said a few things to tip me off that he might be looking for some acknowledgment and appreciation for all of the hard work he’s done. Yanno, slaving away over those hot bullets and putting people in the ground. Psycho!

  Still, I’m glad I was paying attention instead of freaking the hell out. Calm like a Merrick. Calm like a Merrick, I kept telling myself. That’s how I noticed Kristoff’s dark eyes lighting up when I suggested we write a book and tell his story to the world.

  Am I actually going to write it? I don’t have a clue, and that’s not the point. Survival was. Though, I’m enjoying messing with Merrick just a little. I’m coping. Okay? And there aren’t any petting zoos around at the moment, so…

  “You don’t expect me to let him go, do you?” Merrick wraps the large white towel around his waist and takes a seat at the table.

  “Leland—can I call you Leland?” my dad asks.

  “You’ve all been staring at my willy, so I guess that makes us all friends.”

  “Personally, I’ve been staring at your abs,” my father says. “How many sit-ups a day do those take?”

  “Dad!” I snap. “Cool it with the man-crushing.”

  “Right. Sorry,” my dad says.

  “Merrick.” I sit next to him and squeeze his arm. “Just listen to what my dad has to say, all right?”

  “But Kristoff took my car,” Merrick pouts.