Greatest Hits - Book 6
What do the Minotaur, Rasputin, the first man hung for murder in America, and the Countess of Blood all have in common? No, they aren’t related. They all appeared on the Bombay Family’s Hit List! In this collection of Bombay Bedtime Stories, you’ll find out what Bombays did before Gin Bombay came along. From pet Dodo birds to Ancient Greece and 20th Century Russia, get the stories Bombay children have been told for thousands of years. Stories that have been shrouded in blood-sworn secrecy…until now
Once Upon A Time, there was a family of Assassins, called the Bombays…
My name is Gin Bombay, and I’m a retired assassin. Because I’ve retired early and am a bit bored, I decided it was time to write down all the stories that have been passed down in our family for the last few millennia…the Bombay Bedtime Stories, if you will.
First of all, I’d like to make it clear that these stories have been passed down orally. Second, I’m not a historian or writer. So I may get some things wrong here and there. I’ve decided to write in my own voice, as if I were there, which I was not. If you are some jerk, Ivy League professor bent on pointing out all my mistakes – I may just have to come out of retirement for one more job, if you get my drift.
I’d like to dedicate this book to my wonderful daughter, Romi, who was born (through no fault of her own) into this crazy family.
These stories entertained me when I was growing up. I hope you enjoy them.
-Virginia Bombay
Bombay, The Um, First Bombay – The Minotaur
Island of Crete, 1256 BCE
I had to move carefully, I reminded myself as I knocked over a clay pot. Who had clay pots anymore? It was the Bronze Age for the Gods’ sake! Clay pottery was useless and would never again be worth more than the dirt they were mixed from.
The pot tottered precariously. My reflexes are pretty quick though, and I caught it before it hit the stone road. After regaining my breath, I slipped into the shadows, away from the market, toward the outskirts of town.
My contact was nervous – an idiot – an Athenian. He did not like coming to Crete to meet me. But he had no choice. If he wanted me to get the job done, he’d have to come here. I wasn’t fond of sailing. Too many sea monsters and that overly sensitive Poseidon. I’ll keep my sandals on terra firma, thanks.
Let Codros take the risk. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do, but he promised me a LOT of money. A noise from my left gave me pause. I froze, willing my body to blend in with the wall behind me. Nothing. Probably a bird or something.
At long last I reached the crossroads. Codros was there, twitching nervously, naturally. Fucking Athenians.
“You came.” He said as he ran his hand through his thick curls. He’d been my contact for the last year. It took him that long to stop staring at my breasts. Apparently, Athenian girls covered theirs – unlike Cretan women. And also, he’d never seen a pair before. Aside from the fact he was a moron and had no clue as far as Cretan fashion was concerned, he was passable to work with.
“Of course I came.” I snapped. “What do you want?”
Codros looked left and right, as if he didn’t trust me not to be followed. I rolled my eyes skyward and asked the gods for strength.
“We want to pay you three thousand gold coins, to kill the Minotaur.”
“Three thousand?” I asked. Surely I misheard him. That was a lot of money. More money than I would ever see in my lifetime. Was this some sort of trap?
Codros nodded. He looked right and left again, which pissed me off, before reaching behind a rock and pulling out a bag loaded with something heavy. He tossed the bag at my feet.
“Here is half.” He said quietly. “Once you prove the Minotaur is dead, you will get the rest.”
I bent down to examine the bag in the fading light of dusk. My fingers slid past the rough material and closed on a pile of cold coins. I stood, leaving the bag on the ground.
“The Minotaur is a myth,” I said. King Minos was always messing with the Athenians. No such half man, half bull existed in real life. Did they really believe that? This had to be a trap.
Codros shook his head violently. “We have been told that we are to send seven Athenian girls and seven boys to be sacrificed in the labyrinth to this beast. If the beast is dead, there will be no sacrifices.” He stuck his chin out as if to make his point.
“Okay, say the Minotaur does exist, and I kill him. Why wouldn’t Minos just demand the kids anyway and kill them outright?” I mean, that’s what I would do. You didn’t need a man with a bull’s head to kill people.
“If the Minotaur is dead,” Codros slammed his right fist into his left palm, “Minos will not ask for tribute.”
On Crete, we had a lot of jokes about Athenians. Named ironically for the Goddess of Wisdom, Athenians were rubes who believed in stuff like flying horses and minotaurs. How many Athenians does it take to milk a goat? Five: one to hold each of the four legs with the fifth one running off to find someone from Crete. Believe me, that’s a howler in my village.
“I can’t be responsible for what Minos does. If I take your money, kill this Minotaur, and the demand for sacrifice continues – your people will come after me.”
“No. You won’t be held responsible. And we will pay you once we have proof the monster is dead. Minos won’t demand the tributes. If he does, then he’s a fool.” Codros spit on the ground.
“Alright then,” I lifted the very heavy bag from the ground. “I’ll do it. And I’ll get you your proof. And I won’t be responsible for what happens after. We meet back here in four days. I’ll have your proof and you’ll have the rest of my money.”
He nodded, and slipped away into the shadows.