Stand By Your Hitman Page 4

  Interestingly enough, none of the women complained. Maybe they were already plotting their demise on the show so they could spend the whole time at the resort.

  Julie looked to Alan for help and he raised his hands and whistled.

  “Look! You all signed the contract. This is our location. The Costa Rican government wasn’t interested in giving us locations in the parks, so we went with this stretch of beach owned by the Tigre. Just pretend they aren’t there!”

  On his last word, two Jet Skis raced by blasting loud music. Yeah. Authenticity was going to be tough here.

  “Now. We’re going to divide you into teams, give you your buffs, and let you get started. The first challenge is tomorrow at sunup.” He nodded at Julie who walked over to us.

  “One, two, one, two…,” I kid you not. Julie numbered us off into two groups of ones and twos. No unique challenge, no test to put us into our tribes. None of the fun, weird stuff they use on Survivor to divvy us up. They counted us off like we were in grade school. I thought it was funny. Lex raised his right eyebrow at me. Apparently he did too. There was some serious chemistry there and I hoped it wasn’t all part of my imagination.

  “So,” Lex leaned in and whispered, “can your mother with the Canadian broadcasting connections get us out of this? I think I’ve had enough already.”

  Not unless I take Isaac out now. And I couldn’t do that until I was sure. “Nope. Looks like we’re stuck here.” And for once, I didn’t really mind it.

  Julie interrupted us with instructions to sort ourselves out based on our number. I wanted to complain about this Sesame Street method of organization. Do they have Sesame Street in Canada? Maybe they have something else. I dunno, like Oregano Avenue, and instead of Cookie Monster, they have Flan Monster. No, wait, that would be Mexico.

  After we formed up (I was a “one”), I was very relieved to see that my team had both the Vic and Lex. I liked Lex. Maybe I could off Vic early and we could form some kind of reverse alliance to get ourselves kicked off and spend the rest of the month in the hot tub at the resort.

  “Now that you have formed two tribes”—I looked up to see Alan had been joined by two Ticans (Costa Ricans call themselves that, although I have no idea why) dressed in primitive attire—“we will give you your team names that represent the culture of Costa Rica.” He smiled at the two natives and reached into the bag, pulling out two bandanas, one white and one gray. Huh? Why no colors?

  “Team One—you shall be the Ottawa tribe.” Alan frowned, then looked down at the bandana again. “Ottawa? Inuit? What the fuck, Julie? Those are Canadian tribal names! Not Costa Rican!” Alan dangled the two bandanas, covered with images of salmon, grizzly bears and totem poles.

  Julie looked like she wanted to pass out. Grabbing the bandanas, she looked at them as if they were poisonous snakes. “This can’t be right! I told the interns we needed native stuff! Not this!”

  Apparently, she’d failed to specify which native stuff she needed. My guess was the interns thought she’d meant Canadian. I found the whole thing amusing.

  “Dammit! That ain’t right!” the guy who’d complained about authenticity spoke up. “I want this to be 100 percent accurate! Not this bullshit!”

  Oh yeah. That must be Silas. He was a hard-core Civil War reenactor. I’d heard of these guys. Everything had to be real, right down to the dysentery.

  Alan held his hands up and the Ticans stopped dancing. “All right. It’s a screw up. But since this is what we’ve got, we’re going to go with it.” He motioned toward the camera crew who’d gotten everything on tape. “This is the camera crew who will be following you around. There will be two cameras for every tribe and they will be on 24/7. Don’t try to bribe them. They get paid a lot of money for what they do and will be fired if it’s discovered that they became involved.”

  Julie whispered something in Alan’s ear, then turned to us. “Okay. You have until morning to set up your site. Team Two—I mean the Inuit tribe—come with me.”

  The Ottawa tribe watched as the Inuit disappeared over the next sand dune. We turned and looked at the two-camera crew of three who said nothing, but began taping anyway. There were six of us, just standing there doing nothing. I thought it might be funny if we just did that all day. But no, one of my team members began to speak.

  “Let’s all introduce ourselves! I know a great icebreaker!” said a superperky young woman. “Everyone get in a circle and hold hands!” she tittered.

  That must be Cricket—a summer camp director. Oh yeah, she wasn’t driving me nuts already. If Monty and Jack were here, they’d have had her marinating in enough sugar to be carried off by the mosquitoes with her remains picked at by vultures. The Parent Trap twins had nothing on my boys. I missed them.

  “You’re out of your goddamned mind, bitch.” Sami shook her head.

  Silas piped up. “They didn’t do no icebreakers in the Civil War. And unless it’s something people would do when stranded in the wild, I won’t do it either.”

  Cricket bit her lip and frowned. Apparently, she was unable to deal with adults.

  Lex stepped forward. “I’m Lex.” He pointed at me. Ooh! He’s pointing at me!

  “Oh! My name is Missi.” I did a little wave and felt like an idiot.

  “I’m Isaac.” That was all my Vic said. Damn, he was cute. And he had one of those deep, gravelly voices. Too bad he might be evil and then would have to be destroyed.

  “Hell. My name’s Sami. And don’t any of you ass-holes even think of calling me Samantha.”

  I realized that from here on out, virtually everything Sami said would be bleeped.

  “Name’s Silas,” the skinny reenactor said grumpily.

  We stood there in silence, sizing each other up. This sure was a surly group—except for the überperky Cricket. I was pretty sure we weren’t going to get along very well. With the exception of me, Lex and Isaac, that is. A ménage à trois popped into my head and I struggled to stifle it.

  “I’m just trying to help,” pouted Cricket. What kind of name is Cricket, anyway? Seems her parents doomed her to become a camp counselor from the start by naming her that.

  “Look,” Isaac said, “I think we just got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.” It was kind of cute how he did that, making Cricket feel better. Stop it! He’s the bad guy and you will probably have to kill him!

  “As I mentioned earlier, I’m Isaac. I play poker.”

  Sure, if by that you mean you deal a generous deck to terrorists. Hey! That’s pretty good! Too bad I can’t really say that.

  Isaac pointed at me and grinned. I was in danger of liking the bastard.

  “Oh. Um, I’m Missi and I’m”—what was I? Oh yeah—“I’m a widowed mother of two and I live in Texas.” The Gloria Steinem within just wouldn’t allow me to claim homemaking as an occupation.

  “I’m Lex, and I’m a bartender originally from Iowa, now living in Windsor.” Lex also winked at me. I took that to mean two things: (1) we had already formed an alliance; and (2) he saw me as the goddess I truly was deep down, toga and all.

  “Well, hell,” Sami swore, “I’m Sami and I’m an electrician from Newfoundland.”

  I wondered how an electrician was going to do in a place with no electricity. Or maybe this was what she considered a vacation.

  Silas glowered. That’s exactly what I expected him to do. “I told ya my name. I’m a private in the Union Army—a professional Civil War reenactor. And I came on this show because I wanted to try living an austere life. I ’spect everyone will follow the rules.”

  Obviously Silas was going to be the biggest pain in the ass.

  “I’m Cricket, and I’m a camp counselor from upstate New York! I’m SO excited to be here! I know lots of fun games and songs to keep us busy!” She actually bubbled on the spot. In my imagination, Monty tied her to a tree while Jack let loose the fire ants. The thought made me smile.

  It appeared that Silas had come in a distant second to Cricke
t as “Most Likely to Irritate Me.” The woman actually ended all her sentences with exclamation marks.

  “How about you boys?” Cricket chirped to the camera crew.

  The three young men looked at each other nervously. Apparently, they couldn’t decide what to do.

  “Maybe they can’t talk to us,” I said. I knew they couldn’t interfere in anything that happened—which was not at all reassuring.

  “I’m Jimmy,” the tall, skinny kid answered. “That’s Bert and Ernie.”

  “Like the Muppets?” Cricket asked. She seemed so excited to have found something kid relatable, I was worried she would burst into flame.

  Bert and Ernie looked at each other. “Who?”

  At that moment I realized I was officially “old.” When twentysomethings don’t know about Sesame Street—my crack cocaine as a kid—it’s time to make funeral arrangements.

  “We can’t really talk to you,” Jimmy said as he shouldered his camera, “so go and do something we can film.”

  Huh. I guess we were boring them. It occurred to me that if we ever wanted to interrupt the filming, we could just talk to the cameraman. I’ll stash that nugget in my brain files under X. It doesn’t mean anything. I just like the letter X. X marks the spot. X stands for danger! Two straight lines crossing over in the middle… Oh damn. I’m channeling Sesame Street again. Thank God no one said “Mahna Mahna” or I’ d really be in trouble. Great. Now that song is stuck in my head….

  It was then when I realized that Isaac had been talking.

  “So we’ll just get started on our shelter, then. Anyone have an idea just how we can cut down those bamboo trees without an axe?”

  Chapter Eight

  If we run out of food and anyone has to be eaten, you will be first.

  —Ernest Shackleton

  I slowly raised my hand, and it made me feel like I was back in school, half-afraid of what my teacher would say should I get the answer wrong.

  “Um, I know how. It’s pretty easy. You see, bamboo trees have air pockets in their joints and in the wood itself. You just set a fire at the base of the tree, piercing the chambers first—or, as I’m sure you know, it would just explode.” The only problem was, how could I start a fire using my bracelet with the camera crew there? I’d have to find some way to distract them.

  “We’ll need some stuff,” I started slowly, because I was pulling this out of my ass as I went. I pointed at Cricket and Silas. “You two go get big leaves and fronds for the roof.” I turned to Isaac, Lex and Sami. “And you three get me some tinder, kindling, any kind of dead stuff.” I pointed in two different directions so the cameramen would have to split up and follow them.

  Once everyone left, I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It only took a few moments to size up the right tree and get what I needed together. A few strikes against the flint in my bracelet and I had a small spark. After blowing on it for a few moments, I had a fire. And no one saw me cheat. Excellent.

  “How did you do that?” Lex’s voice breathed in my ear, causing lots of quivering in lots of places.

  I decided to trust him, mainly because I wanted to sleep with him. I’m sure that’s not a good enough reason, but oh well.

  “And you had no problem smuggling that in?” He looked impressed. At least, I wanted him to be impressed as he checked out my bracelet. “I thought it was an artifact from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.” His smile gave me goose bumps in spite of the heat.

  I giggled like an idiot and made some stupid “aw, shucks” motion with my hand. Ugh. Okay Missi! You don’t know anything about this guy and you’re already proving your mother right. Snap out of it!

  “And,” Cricket’s voice squeaked a few yards away, “I can build a fire like nobody’s business.” She emerged from the jungle with a really pissed-off Silas in tow.

  Cricket and Silas stopped short, gaping at my fire.

  “How on earth did you do that?” she cried.

  The cameramen, Jimmy and Bert, looked at me with their mouths hanging open. Obviously, I’d tripped the monkey. On Survivor, the players had to do challenges to earn flint for fire. They wanted to know how I managed it and likely knew they’d be in trouble since they hadn’t been there to get it on tape.

  “Damn,” was all Jimmy said.

  I shrugged. “I just rubbed two sticks together and poof.” Lex stifled a grin as he turned to feed the fire.

  “Can you do it again—so I can at least capture it on film?” Bert pleaded. Aha, I knew it. But now I was in trouble. I’d need their compliance throughout the taping, but in all honesty, I cannot rub two sticks together to make a fire. I swear, the whole idea of it is a hoax dreamed up by some sadistic Boy Scout.

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t guarantee it. I just got lucky, that’s all. Besides, we need to keep this fire going so we can topple the tree.”

  The cameramen didn’t even try to hide their disappointment as the other two joined them. Isaac and Sami made it back with an armload of dead plant matter in time for my physics explanation. I was pretty impressed with myself—but I could tell the others were suspicious. That is, until the tree fell on Silas.

  In hindsight, I guess we should’ve been watching for that, but Silas wasn’t hurt, and actually, the minor injury seemed to make him happy. Okay, so he looked more constipated than blissed out, but I’ll take what I can get.

  It took the rest of the day to fell enough trees and gather enough leaves to make a pretty decent lean-to. Sami and Cricket managed to weave some thick mats for the floor, and once we were all done, I had to admit we had a really nice place. Dinner consisted of coconuts. Tomorrow would be our first challenge and we needed to get some sleep.

  “Well I, for one, am glad Missi’s on our team.” Isaac startled me by talking. We don’t really talk to our Vics…ever, really.

  Lex nodded. “I think, overall, we have a pretty good group.”

  “We’re supposed to call it a tribe!” Silas barked.

  “Does anyone want to do any team-building exercises or sing?” Cricket offered, in a way that implied she meant to be helpful.

  “Fuck off, bitch,” Sami said, and the rest of us hid our grins.

  “I’m still amazed at what you did today, Missi,” Isaac continued.

  “Well, I just hope it was the right thing to do,” Silas grumbled. “Everything needs to be authentic or I’ll get acid reflux.”

  For some odd reason, I got the feeling Silas enjoyed heartburn, but I left that unsaid and turned to Isaac.

  “No big. I was lucky enough to know what to do. I’m sure everyone will have a moment like that.” Okay, so I was lying. I didn’t really think some of us were capable of doing much, to tell the truth. Cricket could be counted on to drive us to murder with her inane camp psychobabble, and Silas would only be of use if we had to take on Robert E. Lee.

  Nobody really had a response, so I stood up and headed down the beach.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sami asked. I was getting used to her language—at least enough to realize she meant nothing by it.

  “Mashing up coconut to get the oil. It protects against the salt in the water and as a bonus it works as a mild sunscreen.” Once I had the paste, I smeared it on my arms and legs before plunging into the ocean’s surf. I was sweaty, hot and tired and knew I couldn’t sleep without at least a little dip.

  My tribe had a harder time adapting. Maybe it’s because I’m from a tropical area and more acclimated to the weather. But this bunch was having a hard time with it.

  Silas’s skin turned a bright pink after only half an hour in the sun. Weirdly enough, he seemed to like it. Apparently misery and suffering were part of the authentic experience.

  Cricket wasn’t having too much trouble with sunburn. My guess was that years working outside helped her. But the mosquitoes thought she was a virtual blood buffet and proceeded to feed on her like mad. By sundown, she was covered in red welts. For just a minute I wondered if the
boys really were here.

  Sami had so much melanin stored up in her skin it didn’t seem to affect her. And the bugs apparently thought she was toxic and avoided her. Isaac and Lex had a little sunburn and a few bites, but neither one complained.

  Sleeping that first night was pretty awkward. There were three men and three women in a pretty small shelter. Somehow we managed to segregate, with the girls on one mat and the boys on the other. But it was still weird. After tomorrow, I thought we’d be so exhausted it wouldn’t even matter.

  Actually, this was a strange Survivor-esque show. There were only a few people in their twenties—the rest were older. I squeezed my eyes tightly as if that would help me remember my files so I’d know who we were up against in the Inuit tribe.

  I’d already kind of met Liliana, the artist. Let’s see, there was Kit—a model who was the first to go home on two different seasons of The Bachelor. My guess was she was a little reality show nuts.

  Kit and Liliana were the only girls on the team. They bunked with Bob, the career politician; Brick Phoenix—I’m giving you his full name because (1) it was completely ridiculous, and (2) his real name was Norman Finkelstein—an actor, of course; Moe, an unemployed and overweight thirty-year-old who still lived at home (well, at least not that month); and Dr. Andy, a therapist.

  Yeesh. The Inuit tribe was younger than we were, so I figured that might be a problem the next day.

  “I’ll git you, Johnny Reb!” Silas cried out in his sleep.

  This was going to be a loooooong four weeks.

  Chapter Nine

  THE SPHINX: We are number one. All others are number two, or lower.

  —Mystery Men

  I tried to sleep. Really, I did. But it was impossible. It appeared that some of the members of our team talked, shouted and sang in their sleep—except for me, Lex and Isaac. I’d have to figure out a way to deal with that. Otherwise, I’d drop dead from lack of sleep.

  It was so early the sun wasn’t up yet. I had no idea what time it was, so I climbed to my feet and slipped out of our lean-to.