19 Headed for Trouble by Suzanne Brockmann

world, on dangerous ops, with both of them; they worked together in perfect harmony, no hint of any animosity, cogs in a well-oiled machine. But during R&R … Look out.
    “Now you’re saying
Wendy
was a cross-dresser?” Gillman challenged Izzy.
    Iz laughed his frustration and disbelief. “I’m saying you’re a fucking idiot, and that yes, there are female cross-dressers here where
I
live, outside of Never-never-land.”
    “What, do you know this because you’re one of them?” Gillman asked, and Jenk cringed because Izzy unfolded, rising to his feet.
    But he just stood there, all six plus feet of him, towering over the table. “Yeah, Dan,” he deadpanned. “I’m awoman. And this girl needs to whiz, wicked bad.” He disappeared into the bathroom.
    Jenk exchanged a look with Lopez.
Well, that happened
. Or, more accurately,
didn’t
happen. He raised his voice slightly so that Izzy could hear him through the bathroom door. “You know, my three drag queens were at least as tall as you.”
    Gillman, the fucking idiot indeed, actually looked disappointed that the conversation, so to speak, hadn’t been taken outside. He also looked as if he’d completely forgotten about their card game. That was good, and Jenk wanted to continue keeping him distracted. “So I was around eleven years old, it was Christmas Eve. New York was getting hit with the worst snowstorm in something like a hundred years. It was really coming down—like somebody-better-go-find-Rudolph bad. And my dad, as usual, had waited until the last minute to get a gift for my mother—that was his MO. He swore to me, every year, that she would like her present better if he could find it on sale. I was pretty sure she would like it better if it didn’t
suck
because he’d gotten it five minutes before the stores closed on Christmas Eve, but he was convinced he was right.”
    Across the table, Gillman was engaged. “My dad used to do that, too. Mom had this scary
I can’t believe you spent our money on this piece of shit
smile that she gave him almost every Christmas morning.”
    “So it’s four in the afternoon on Christmas Eve,” Jenk continued, “and there’s already a foot of snow, and my dad and I are in the Honda—Mom’s always been into high gas mileage vehicles, so no SUV or truck for us. We’re spinning in circles down Route 35, which is okay, because no one else is crazy enough to be out on the road. We finally reach the Jefferson Valley Mall, and to my dad’s complete horror, it’s dark. The whole mall closed early because of the weather. On ChristmasEve. So we head into Yorktown Heights, but the only store open is this convenience store, over by the motel. But Dad’s desperate, so in we go. And let me tell you, the gift selection was grim. On top of that, the clerk says,
Computers are down, no credit card sales
. But my dad has cash, and he’s trying to choose between these tacky votive candles, a Yankees mouse pad, and this disposable toilet bowl brush, and I know he’s in serious trouble. I mean, I’m only eleven, but even back then I understand that you don’t buy your wife a disposable toilet brush for Christmas. Unless you don’t want to get any until Memorial Day.”
    “Unless, she’s got, like, a toilet bowl fetish,” Izzy suggested, emerging from the bathroom.
    “Have you met Jenk’s mom?” Lopez asked him.
    “No,” Izzy said. “Have you?” He turned to Jenk. “I’m jealous. You bring Lopez home to meet the ’rents, but you don’t bring me? What am I to you? Just some cheap, easy plaything that you use and discard?”
    “So I’m trying to talk my father into the certificate-for-a-romantic-weekend idea,” Jenk spoke over him, because sometimes it was best just to ignore Izzy. “I’m telling him there’s a program on our new home computer that he can use to make it look like he spent hours designing it. Plus Mom will love the idea. My ulterior motive, of course, is to be allowed to stay home alone