V: Two of a Kind

A brand new convertible Mustang burst through the front of a casino on the Las Vegas strip in an explosion of shattered glass, with the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go at the wheel and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks in the passenger seat. Johnny was holding a tray of martinis in his right hand, and Dixie reached for a glass with her left. Both were wearing hotel robes and nothing else. 
The Mustang hit the ground in the middle of the sidewalk. Tourists scattered. Johnny managed a hard right turn, but they were already across the median and into the other lane before they completed it, riding up on the two left wheels. 
Johnny corrected course and headed back across the median toward the other lane, and they passed a large tour bus with a line of nuns climbing aboard. As the Mustang made it back to the correct side of the road, the nuns on the bus, as well as those standing outside waiting to get on, exploded. Dixie looked over her shoulder. 
“Was that a bus full of nuns?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah. But no way was that ten feet,” Dixie replied. 

Meanwhile

Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan stood in an opulent presidential office in a nondescript South American country that could be seen through the window. A general was sitting at the presidential desk pouring over papers (the desk has a plaque on it reading "El Presidente), a huge cigar in one hand. Chichay and Sweaty stood behind him, one to each side, wearing suits, dark glasses, and earpieces. An aide, wearing a rumpled set of fatigues, entered the room and handed a folded telegraph paper to Chichay. 
Chichay read the telegraph as Sweaty looked over at her, lowering his sunglasses and looking over the top. She looked up at Sweaty, nodding, and headed toward the door. Sweaty leaned down and whispered something into El Presidente's ear. 
They left the room and two new agents took their places. 

***

The Mustang raced down a long lane, dust clouds forming in its wake. Up ahead was a gated archway marking the entrance to a sprawling Texas ranch. The ranch house in the distance, and the sign over the gate, looked more or less identical to Southfork Ranch from the hit prime time soap opera Dallas. The Mustang approached the gate, which was chained closed with a giant padlock. 
While the Mustang continued its approach, Dixie stood in the front seat, raised a shotgun over the windshield, and fired. The shot blew the padlock off but the gate remained closed. Dixie sat down just as the Mustang rammed the gate. They then continued up the driveway toward the ranch house. 
The Mustang skidded to a stop in the driveway next to the ranch house, sending a spray of gravel across the lawn. 
“Home again, home again, eh Dix?” Johnny said. Dixie didn’t reply, and instead stepped from the car. She stood in the driveway, shotgun rested on her shoulder, staring thoughtfully up at the house. Together, they walked across the porch toward the door. Johnny was carrying a case of beer. They were both still wearing their casino robes. 
Inside, the ranch house was modest, yet spacious and clearly tastefully decorated even though everything was covered in sheets and dusty. 
“Not bad,” Johnny muttered. He flopped down on a sheet covered couch and sprawled, the open case of beer on the floor next to him, and a beer in his hand. He looked at Dixie, who was headed toward the steps. 
“Where you goin’?” She didn’t reply, but climbed the steps to the upper level of the house. 
Dixie ambled down the hallway and looked into numerous empty bedrooms. As with the living room, they were all draped in sheets, however one room didn’t seem as dusty as the others. Eventually she headed toward an attic door, and took the steps upstairs. 
In the low-ceilinged attic, Dixie knelt before an old black trunk. She popped the lid. Inside were items, including a set of worn, leather-bound books. She picked one up and clutched it to her chest. 
“Frankie!” She whispered. 

Brooklyn Heights Ranch, years ago…

A teenage Dixie Doublestacks was laying on the couch where Johnny Go had been laying at the present day ranch. She was reading a book called "Layover in Eye Patch City", which was part of the Arnold Frankenheimer series. She wore extremely tight, extremely short cutoff jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt that was tied in a knot above her belly, partially unbuttoned and showing entirely too much cleavage. Another girl came in through the open door and stood before Dixie. She looked identical to young Dixie, but her clothes covered more of her body. 
“You slut,” she said. Dixie didn’t look up. 
“I just had sex with Jared for the first time, and you know what he said afterward?” Dixie turned a page in her book, but still didn’t look up, so the other girl continued. “He said it was better last time.” 
“I’m talking to you, Cathy!” the girl shouted. Finally, Dixie peered over the top of her book. 
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said that I just had sex with Jared, and he told me that it was better last time. This was the first time I had sex with him, Cathy, which means he must have been referring to someone else. And the only person he could have confused me with is you!” 
“Well,” Dixie said as she returned to her book, “it probably was better. It usually is with me.” Patty’s face twisted with rage. She fell upon Dixie and the two began to fight. 
Just then, two ranch hands burst into the house and began to pry them apart. Patty was furious. 
“You piece of trash! I wish you'd go back to whatever European shit hole you came from and stop fucking my boyfriends!” 
“You’re just jealous because they all want me more than you, you psychotic bitch!” 
“Girls! That’s enough!” Johnson Troubadour, the elder but shorter of the two ranch hands, shouted as he pinned Patty’s arms behind her back. 
“Let go of me, Johnson! I’m gonna tear this cunt apart!” 
“Miss Patty! That's no way to talk to your cousin! Y'all are family.” Wang Chung Troubadour, the tall and skinny younger Troubadour bother, attempted to reason with her while he also attempted to control Dixie. 
“Family doesn't fuck each other’s boyfriends!” Patty screeched. 
“Family doesn't cut the breaks in each other's trucks, either. Payback’s a bitch!” 
“You’re the one who shot at me!”  

Present day

Dixie was still in the attic, clutching the book and smiling slightly. A loud shriek came from the house below. Out the attic window, far in the distance, two ranch hands were digging in a small patch of land next to a cabin out on the ranch grounds. Johnny Go was running toward them. 
A few moments later Dixie exited the ranch house, now dressed in clothes similar to her flashback attire. She stood next to Johnny at the fence surrounding the small cabin's yard. Johnny was still wearing a robe. They watched the two ranch hands frantically digging holes in the ground. 
"The fuck?" 
"The Troubadour brothers. They're the ranch hands here." Dixie leaned on the fence. "Johnson? Wang Chung?" 
The two men stopped digging and looked around for a moment before finally zeroing in on Dixie. They looked twitchy. 
"Miss Cathy?" Johnson asked. 
"It's Dixie now. You know that." 
"You moving back?" Wang Chung Troubadour leaned on his shovel. 
"For now. Our last coupla headquarters were blown up and - what the fuck are you assholes digging up the lawn for?" 
"Treasure," Johnson replied as he started frantically scratching his stomach. A second later both ranch hands looked at one another and began digging again. 
"These guys are total tweakers," Johnny Go said to Dixie. 
"Well, it is Texas," Dixie replied. "And who knows what it was like here with my nutjob cousin running the place. This is probably just self-medication. Think we should make them stop?"
"Eh. Probably best to just let 'em tweak." With that, Dixie and Johnny walked off toward the house. 
"How long have those guys worked here?" Johnny asked. 
"I'unno. They prolly came with the place." 
"They gonna be cool, or are we gonna have to clean house?" 
"They should be cool. We'll leverage the meth thing if we have to. And anyway, they handle the cattle in the upper field, which should bring in some money, and they know how to keep the CHUDs down." 
"CHUDs?" 
"Property is crawling with them. If you see one, shoot it or try to cave its head in. If they get in the house you're in for a world of hurt." Dixie sighed. "This place..." She trailed off. "Where's the beer?" 

***

Dixie and Johnny were sitting in rocking chairs on the porch with shotguns in their laps. Johnny Go was now wearing a cowboy shirt, vest, and loose string tie, but had changed into his customary rumpled dress pants. He was also wearing a pair of fringed chaps over top. Beer bottles and fried chicken containers littered the porch around them. They were both very drunk. 
"I'unno, Dix," Johnny slured. "Mebbe you 'on't have a CHUD problem. I'on't see any." 
"You 'on't believe me?" She slurred back. Dixie took all the fried chicken containers, including some with chicken left in them, and threw them out onto the lawn. 
"There." They waited. 
“It wants to hunt, Dix," Johnny Go said after a few minutes. "This idn't gonna work." 
"Nah, that's T-Rex," Dixie replied. 
"Nuh-uh." 
"Yuh huh." 
"Nope." With that, Johnny drifted off to sleep, head back and mouth open. Dixie stared into the yard. Five minutes passed. Dixie gasped. 
"Johnny!" 
"Uuuuhhhh...." Dixie elbowed him and he woke with a start. 
"Gas up the chopper, we're under attack!" He screamed. 
"Shhh!" Dixie said. "It's a CHUD!" Johnny finally focused. 
"Oooh."
Out on the lawn, a disgusting humanoid creature crawled toward the chicken scraps. Dixie lifted the shotgun and aimed. She fired, and with a bang, the CHUD's head exploded. She turned to Johnny. 
"Told you so." 
"Oh, that's foul. Whadya do with 'em?" 
"Eh, leave 'em. His family'll come out and collect his body. They'll have like a lil funeral. If you're quick, you can shoot the rest of 'em when they come up to mourn." 

***

Dixie and Johnny turned and looked to the driveway as a red Corvette roared up, skidding to a stop next to the Mustang. Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan stepped out of the car. Both were dressed in what can only be described as "island professional", having just come from their military coup in Bolivia. Johnny Go attempted to stand. 
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Badger-licker!" Johnny said, stumbling back into his rocking chair. 
"Look at these drunk slobs," Sweaty replied, starting toward the porch. "Settling into redneck life, I see." 
"Better than your Banana Republic look." 
Chichay and Sweaty pulled up chairs next to Dixie and Johnny. Dixie took a long pull from a beer, then slumped back into the rocker. 
"How'd that thing you were doing go? What was it, again? Spreading syphilis in South America?" Dixie opened one eye as she said this, fixing it on Chichay. 
"Facilitating a military coup and installing a puppet regime - but you're close," she said, smiling slightly. Dixie offered her the beer she was just drinking from. Chichay declined. Assassins don’t drink. Dixie took another gulp. 
"It was a success," Chichay continued. "Thanks for asking." 
"So what's the plan," Sweaty asked. "This is a great place, is it really yours?" 
"Uh huh," Dixie muttered and nodded, then threw her beer can out onto the lawn. 
"Dix is an heiress," Johnny said. 
"So this is an inheritance?" Sweaty asked. 
"Yeah, the old psycho finally kicked it and I'm the only one left alive." 
"Who died?" Chichay asked. 
"My filthy skanky identical cousin," Dixie replied, a little more sober sounding and very matter-of-factly. 
"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss," Chichay said, then quickly continued, "wait, did you say identical cousin? That isn't even poss-" Dixie cut her off. 
"I know. It isn't. She's not. But she's a filthy, meddling, cunt-snot dripping-" The rest of Dixie's rant was cut off by a loud crash from above them, inside the house. Everyone looked up. 
"What was that?" Chichay asked. 
"Maybe a CHUD got in the house," said Johnny. Sweaty looked at him. 
"A what now?" he asked. Chichay, the sensible one, looked concerned. 
"Is it just the two of you here?" she asked. 
“Us and those two tweaker treasure hunters, but they're out there digging up the lawn," Johnny says. 
"And there's CHUDs," Dixie chimed in. 
"I'll go in and check it out," Chichay said. She reached into her small leopard print purse and pulled out a gun that seemed too big to fit in it, and headed toward the back door. Dixie called after her. 
"If it's a CHUD, make sure you get it with a head shot. Otherwise it'll crawl around and bleed all over the house. And CHUD blood is impossible to get out of the upholstery." Sweaty cracked a beer, a rare indulgence, and turned to Dixie. 
"So you lived here as a kid?" he asked. 
"I spent some time here." 

Brooklyn Heights Ranch, years ago…

An old station wagon stood in the driveway of the ranch house, the top loaded with old trunks and luggage. A young Dixie Doublestacks, then known as Cathy, was standing next to the car wearing sophisticated (vaguely 1950s) city clothes and staring distastefully at the surroundings. Her identical cousin was reaching for luggage from the top of the car while a younger boy raced across the porch. Two ranch hands, younger versions of the Troubadour brothers, were carrying luggage from the car to the house. 
"If I knew we were going to be spending the summer camping, I would have killed myself on the drive down," Cathy said, to no one in particular, but within earshot of her cousin. 
"What are you talking about? This is the nicest house in all of Dallas!" her cousin exclaimed. 
"And Dallas is a provincial backwater full of rednecks and CHUDs." 
"Everyone knows CHUDs only exist in New York City." Patty turned to Cathy, exasperated. "You should be thankful my mom and dad brought you here for the summer to keep you away from them." 
"If CHUDs are only in New York, why have I seen them in Glasgow, Chiang Mai, and Addis Ababa?" Patty rushed to Dixie and got right in her face. 
"Oh, here we go! Worldly Cathy! She's so much better than me! You better put that high and mighty attitude on ice. It won't play well here." Patty spun on her heel and walked off to the house. Cathy made her way to the backyard where she sat down on a lounge chair next to a shimmering swimming pool. She took a small silver flask out of her pocket, unscrewed the top, and took a sip. 

Present day

Dixie, Johnny, and Sweaty were still sitting on the porch when Rex Ponticello ambled around the corner of the house. 
"Woah!" Johnny Go shouted. "Get a load of this greasy bastard!" 
"Evenin', comrades," Rex said. 
"Where's the family?" Dixie asked. 
"Huh?" 
"Oh right. Last time we saw you, you had an army of Mormon women you were referring to as your wife slaves. Where are they?" Sweaty asked as Rex climbed the porch, took a seat, and cracked a beer. 
"Yeah..." Rex took a sip, then continued, "the straight life isn't for me." Johnny looked at him quizzically. 
"What, you have a problem with multiple sexual partners, being waited on hand and foot, and getting a big fat government check for your troubles?" 
"Sounds good to me," Dixie said. 
"No, it's not that," Rex replied, looking uncomfortable. "It's just... they were all pregnant. It was gross. I couldn't take it anymore, so I split." As he spoke, Chichay returned to the porch. 
"You left because pregnant women gross you out? Aren't you the same man who was dating that old lady in Miami because she had access to diabetic testing supplies?" she asked. 
“Look, there's nothing wrong with liking mature women!" Rex said, indignantly. "You'll never have to worry about knocking them up. And I loved Margaret!" 
"You're a sick man, Rex," said Johnny. "But that's why we love you." Chichay eagerly changed the subject. 
"Rex, when did you get here?" 
"Couple minutes ago. I thumbed a ride from O-K City and walked from a truck stop up the road." 
"Were you in the house before you came out to the porch?" 
"I poked around out front before I heard your voices and came around back. Hell of a spread! Beats the last few HQs." Chichay looked concerned, but no one else noticed. 
"So folks, what's the big announcement?" Rex asked after a pause. 
"Huh?" Johnny asked. 
"Yeah," said Sweaty, "Your telegram said to meet at the new headquarters because there was a company announcement." 
"Really?" Dixie asked, "That doesn't sound like something we'd say. Johnny, did you say that?" 
"Nah, announcing stuff sounds like too much work." Chichay threw her hands up in frustration. 
"What are we doing here, then? I have a small nation I should be running! If I would have known that-" Dixie interrupted her. 
"Hey! We should have a cookout!" 

Brooklyn Heights Ranch, years ago…

Well-to-do Texans mingled around the yard of the ranch house, sipping cocktails brought on silver trays by tuxedo-clad waiters. The men wore upscale cowboy attire: light colored summer suits, string ties, embellished cowboy boots, gigantic belt buckles, and ten gallon hats. The women wore elegant summer dresses and sandals and lots of jewelry. Patty's parents, Martin and Natalie Lane, can be seen mingling with guests, Martin making business deals and Natalie securing support for some charity or other. 
The manicured lawn looked like a soft blanket in the dimming evening light. The water in the pool was still, and small tea lights twinkled on the various groupings of tables and chairs, which were set up on the patio, lawn, and pool deck. A distance from the gathering sat a large, black barbecue barrel, thick smoke rising into the air, a man in a crisp white chef's coat manning the coals. 
Young Dixie stood with a group of businessmen, chatting and smiling, sipping on a Coke through a straw from a slender glass bottle. She was both child-like and seductively grown up. The men were hanging on most of her words. They were also hanging on her low cut sundress, which exposed most of her sternum. 
"No, that's entirely accurate.” Dixie was saying as her cousin walked up, dressed in a much more conservative sundress and carrying a glass of red fruit punch. “The Zambezi use the giant ants for anal stimulation." The group of men all nodded, fascinated. 
"Cathy!" Patty exclaimed, horrified. Dixie gave her a cool smirk and turned back to the group. 
"You'll have to excuse my cousin, gentlemen. Such matters are frightening and unfamiliar to her. She's only seen the sights a girl can see from Brooklyn Heights, after all." The men laughed loudly. Patty took a step toward Dixie, pretended to stumble, and tossed her glass of fruit punch at her. Dixie stepped aside quickly, turned, and stuck her foot into Patty's path. Her forward momentum sent her into the pool. 
Everyone stared and gasped. Patty furiously swam to the side of the pool, where a tall, good looking man in a large cowboy hat and light tan suit leaned down to pull her out. She was shaking, from anger, not from cold, but he didn't know that. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. He escorted her to the house. Dixie turned back to her admirers with a shrug and a gleam of jealousy in her eye. 

***

Later, Patty sat on a glider on the porch with the man who pulled her out of the pool. They were chatting softly. Patty's feet were tucked up underneath her, a new, dry sundress pulled down over her knees, and a floral cardigan over her shoulders. Dixie was still keeping up her sophisticated chatting with her admirers when she noticed Patty and the man. 
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I should go check on my cousin." Dixie broke away from the group, crossed the yard, and approached her cousin. 
"Patty!" she gushed, "You're all dried off. I'm so sorry for your little plunge. I hope you're all right." Before Patty could answer, Dixie turned to the man. "And you! Right there to help our poor, water-logged Patty out of the pool. You're a hero! Can I get you a drink, Mr..." The man smiled up at her. 
"Call me J.R." he said, taking her hand. "And no need to thank me, I was just doing what any man would have done. Though, in chatting with Patty here, I understand that she probably didn't need my help. She's an excellent swimmer." 
"Oh yes, of course. You should see her crawl!" Dixie replied, laughing. Unsure how to take that, J.R. laughed as well. Patty's face turned red as she prepared to bite back at her cousin. 
"Actually, my cousin is an impressive swimmer herself," Patty said. J.R. looked from Patty to Dixie then back to Patty. 
"Is that right?" 
"Oh yes. But she seems to prefer the doggy paddle." J.R. laughed again, but Dixie was ready. 
"Oh Patty, you're just such a joker. You know that my favorite stroke," she paused and locked eyes with J.R. "is the breast." Everyone was silent for a moment before Dixie continued. 
"Now about that drink Mr. - I'm sorry, J.R.? What does that stand for? Your initials, or just another way of saying junior?" 
"Well," J.R., still recovering from Dixie's forwardness, stammered, "it's my initials, but I guess I'm also a junior." 
"Well, Junior. What's your drink?" 
"Bourbon and branch." With that, Dixie sauntered off to the bar, leaving her cousin sitting silently next to J.R. 

Present day

In the yard of the ranch house, a more raucous and much less classy barbecue was under way. Something resembling a split open submarine was resting on the lawn, filled with glowing charcoal and covered in grates fashioned out of chicken wire. Huge slabs of meat rested on top, and were periodically turned using a shovel by one or the other of the Troubadour brothers. Nearby, large oil drums were set over fires, filled with boiling oil. Sweaty Mulligan was dropping various types of meat into those, then fishing them out with a pitchfork. Kegs and wheelbarrows full of beer cans dotted the yard. Anyone not cooking was splayed out on lawn chairs and tearing into plates of meat. 
Chichay tore into a short rib, grease and barbecue sauce running down onto the plate. She moaned and leaned back on her lawn chair. 
"Sweet Jesus in the morning, Sweaty. I don't know how you do it." Sweaty smiled and poured a bottle of something into the oil drum. He lifted an animal resembling a skinned capybara into the oil before making his way over to Chichay's chair to sit with her. 
"Secret Mulligan family deep fry recipe," he said, picking a rib up off of Chichay's plate. 
"Family recipe, huh?" Rex said, through a mouthful of steak. "You mean group home, right?" 
"Actually, it's a method I picked up at Sing Sing before I, you know." 
"Time traveled the fuck outta there!" Johnny shouted. The rest of the group cheered, toasting their drinks and tossing bones across the lawn. 
Johnny, who had been eating off of a metal cafeteria tray, staggered over to the grill. 
"Troubadour, shovel that fucker over here," he demanded, holding out his tray. "And Rex, what'd you do with the butter?" Rex tossed a bulk stick of butter across the yard to Johnny, who somehow managed to catch it. As Johnson dropped the steak onto Johnny's tray, he began to butter it as if it was toast. 
"What's with the butter?" Chichay asked, somewhat disgusted. 
"E’rryt’ing's better with butter," Dixie replied, slurring her words. 
"Yeah, Chich. Don't knock it til ya try it," Rex said. "Johnny, cut me off a slab, will ya?" 
Johnny Go staggered back to his chair and placed the tray on the chair. 
"Sure thing," he said. "Dix. Knife." Dixie handed over her pearl-handled machete and Johnny set about - somewhat expertly - hacking the gigantic steak into pieces. He speared a piece and handed it to Rex. Butter dripped everywhere, along with blood from the center of the meat. Johnny handed a piece to Dixie, and then presented another to Chichay. 
"Chichay, you want in on this?" Chichay shook her head. 
"Your loss," Johnny said as he stuffed a significant amount of steak into his mouth. "Holding out for Sweaty's butter stuffed steak, huh?" Chichay turned to Sweaty. 
"Your what?" 
"Well, it's more of a roast, actually. Deep fried with a molten butter center."
"I think my arteries blocked up just hearing that," Chichay said. 
"I'll take two!" shouted Dixie through a mouthful of steak. Sweaty got up and headed back to the deep fry drum. 
"Sweaty, despite how completely disgusting I find that, I can't help but think that a lot of people in this country would line up and pay good money to eat grease fried in grease." Sweaty laughed as he heaved a huge roast into the drum. 
"I should start a restaurant," he said. 
"Well, the soft opening is in two weeks," Johnny said, nonchalantly. Everyone except Dixie turned to look at him. 
"Soft opening? Of what?" Chichay asked, suspiciously. 
"Uh, of the restaurant? Dixie said. "You two call yourselves professionals." 
"What are you guys talking about? We're opening a restaurant?" Sweaty, while annoyed, was also intrigued and pretty excited. 
"Didn't you get the telegram? It said to come here for a big announcement," Johnny Go said. 
"But it didn't say what the announcement was," Rex pointed out, still eating steak, and with a pool of grease on his shirt in the shape of Pol Pot in a mini skirt. 
"Big announcements are always about new restaurants," Dixie said. 
"Yeah," Johnny said, "what'd you think we were gonna do here? Just cook meat and shoot CHUDs? We're going legit, and we're taking as many Texans as we can with us." 
"Holy shit," Sweaty said, sitting down. "So we're really gonna do a deep fry restaurant?" 
"Sure, whatever. As long as the slobs will pay to eat it." Sweaty plunged the pitchfork into the other oil drum and pulled out the cooked capybara. He raised it in the air above his head. 
“To the restaurant!” he screamed. The rest of the group raised drinks and chunks of meat. Johnson fired a gun into the air. 
“To the restaurant!” 

Brooklyn Heights Ranch, years ago…

It was late, and the garden party was winding down. About half as many guests remained, now mostly seated around the lawn. The barbecue pit had grown cold, and the waiters were gone. Martin and Natalie themselves were refilling the drinks of the remaining guests, who helped themselves to the leftover food, which had been moved to a table on the patio. 
Patty sat with her father and a few business associates, listening to their discussion on ethics in the newspaper industry. Although she showed little aptitude in the area, Martin wanted Patty to follow in his journalistic footsteps. Patty enjoyed the time she spent with her father, as it was something she had that her cousin did not. She listened intently, even though she understood little of the discussion. She was able to sneak a few sips of her father’s beer, which made it worth it. 
Suddenly a light caught her eye from across the lawn, beyond the house, near  the old red barn. The wide gravel area in front of the barn was usually used to park guest’s cars during the Lane’s summer soirees, and just now, a set of headlights flashed brightly, before abruptly turning off. No one had recently come by to say goodnight to her father, Patty thought. Was someone trying to sneak away from the party without saying goodbye? Or worse, was the vehicle of one of her parents important and wealthy guests being tampered with? Those shady ranch hands, maybe? She’d have to check it out right away. It wouldn’t do to have her family’s parties getting a reputation. 
“Hey Poppo,” she whispered to her father. He glanced at her, then held up a hand to a larger than life banker with whom he’d been debating the merits of child labor. 
“Hold that thought, Mike,” he said. “Yes, dear?” 
“I’m getting a little sleepy, so I think I’m going to turn in.” 
“Ok, sweetheart. Say goodnight to our guests.” Patty stood obediently and looked at the gathering. 
“Goodnight, everyone. It really was wonderful seeing all of you. Thank you so much for coming to our little get together, and for letting me join in your conversation. I just can’t wait to take my place alongside my father at the paper!” The others in the group smiled politely and wished her a good night. Patty walked straight into the house. 
Once inside, she headed toward her father’s study, where she took a small snub nose revolver from his desk drawer and tucked it into the pocket of her cardigan sweater. She then left the house through the side door and walked the long way around toward the barn, so that none of the guests on the patio would see her. 
When she arrived at the gravel courtyard in front of the barn, she made her way quietly between the various parked cars toward where she thought she’d seen the headlights. She stopped and thought hard, trying to decide which car it might have been, when a sudden movement caught her eye. There, parked at the far edge of the gravel, was a small, light colored Mercedes convertible. The top was down, and in the darkness she could just make out two people seated in the front. They seemed to be talking, but the man’s deep voice was too soft and low for her to make out. She threaded her way through the other cars and was almost there when a peal of girlish laughter rang out. Patty stopped, stunned. She knew exactly what was going on, and she was filled with a sudden, violent rage. She raced toward the car. 
“You ugly, Paul Anka loving RAT!” Patty screamed as she approached the car head on. Dixie, who was straddling JR on the front passenger seat, turned calmly and looked through the windshield. JR looked nervous and started to try to move her off of his lap. 
“Well, if it isn’t the green-eyed lunatic, here to ruin Christmas,” Dixie said. Patty stopped, staring through the windshield at them. 
“You slut! You cheap, disgusting WHORE!” She shrieked. 
“Uh, ladies-” JR started, but was interrupted. 
“Don’t worry, Junior, I’ll handle her,” Dixie said to him, before turning back to her cousin. “Oh get over yourself, Patty. You’re just jealous.” 
“Girls-”
“Jealous?! You’re trash, Cathy! You know that? Dirty-snatch-smelling trash! This man is old enough to be our father. And he’s married!” 
“Oh right, bitch, like I’m the one with daddy issues. You spent half the night trying to climb into Junior’s lap!” 
“I did not!” 
“Girls-” 
“Shut up, Junior!” Patty screamed. 
“Yeah, Junior. This doesn’t concern you!” Dixie said, allowing her voice to rise only a little. 
“Ladies,” he tried again, “I agree, so I think I’ll just be on my way.” But Dixie refused to move. She turned her head once more to look at her cousin. 
“Patty, just because we look alike doesn’t mean that men find us both equally attractive. I think it’s clear that men find me to be the closest thing they can get to a goddess here on earth, while you tend to remind them of their nondescriptly-disabled little sisters. So if you’ll just head back to the house, Junior and I will finish what we started, and I’m sure you’ll be sound asleep by the time I get back.” Turning back to face JR, she said over her shoulder, “Now if Martin and Natalie notice I’m not in my room, just let them know that I went down to the stable to pet the horses.” 
As she said this, JR opened the passenger side door and roughly began lifting her away from him. He had just about gotten Dixie out of the car when Patty, who had been standing in the driveway with the gun raised and pointed at the windshield, fired. 
The shot blasted through the glass, making a tiny bullet hole while the glass around it cracked outward in a spiderweb. Dixie fell to the ground, and JR grabbed at his ribcage as the bullet entered his spleen. Blood seeped out slowly, and he passed out from the pain. As he started leaning toward the open door, Dixie quickly stood and closed the door, before he fell to the ground.  

Present day

Dixie, Johnny, Sweaty, Chichay, Rex, and the Troubadour brothers were all sprawled out on deck chairs on the porch of the ranch house. The submarine grill was cooling, and the oil in the drums was down to the occasional bubble. Chunks of fat, bones, butter wrappers, and various beer and liquor bottles littered the lawn. A small hang glider was bobbing up and down gently in the pool. Everyone was full of food and pleased at where they were in life at that moment. Everyone except Chichay was drunk. Most of them had shotguns on their laps, waiting for the CHUDs to show up. 
“So what are we gonna call this restaurant?” Sweaty asked. 
“Whatever,” Johnny replied. 
“Do you mean whatever, as in you don’t care? Or Whatever as the name?” Chichay asked. 
“Eh, whatever,” Johnny said again. 
“In that case, I had an idea,” Chichay said. Sweaty turned to her. Dixie snored audibly, even though she still seemed to be awake. 
“How about ‘Certain Doom’?” Chichay asked. 
“Certain Doom,” Sweaty repeated. “I like it.” 
“It’s like a challenge,” Rex said. 
“Yeah,” Johnson Troubadour chimed in, “Like, you tell folks it’ll be certain doom for ‘em to eat there and they’re like, oh yeah, motherfuckers? I’ll show you!” 
“Least, Texans’ll say that,” Wang Chung said. “Don’t know how the coastal elites’ll feel.” 
“Prolly offended,” Rex said. 
“All the more reason!” Johnny exclaimed. “Certain Doom it is!” With that, he raised his shotgun and took aim at a particularly disgusting CHUD that was creeping across the lawn as they spoke, heading toward a pile of uneaten meat next to the grill. 
Johnny pulled the trigger and the CHUD’s head exploded. A big piece of its skull landed in the oil drum. 
“Nailed it!” Johnny yelled. “That’s five hundred bonus points for getting it in the drum.” 
“Damn,” Rex muttered. “I’m never gonna regain my lead after that.” 
“The promlem ish,” Dixie slurred, “Iss family idn’t gonna smell ‘em in the oil. Y’aren’t gonna get any family bonus points ‘at way Johnny.” Dixie loaded her gun and looked out over the lawn and waited. 
Out beyond the barn where they stored farm equipment, and past the ranch hands cabin, was another barn, much more dilapidated than the other buildings on the property. It was a tall building, sagging slightly to one side. The red paint was no more than a memory, and while the doors were closed tightly in their frames, the windows in the upper reaches contained no more than a few intact panes of glass. 
A movement in the center window caught Dixie’s eye. She put down her shotgun and stood up. 

Brooklyn Heights Ranch, years ago…

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god…” Patty repeated over and over again. “Oh my god I killed him oh my god oh my god oh my-” She stopped suddenly as Dixie’s hand connected with her face so hard that one of Patty’s tiny pearl earrings flew out of her ear. 
“Shut the living fuck up, Patty, my god,” Dixie said. “I appreciate the severity of the situation here, but being a spaz isn’t going to help." Patty looked stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered by focusing all of her emotions into anger toward her cousin. 
“You fucking bitch,” she said. 
“Excuse me?” Dixie replied. 
“You heard me. You’re a fucking lunatic bitch and this is all your fault!” Patty whisper-screamed, while holding her hand over her cheek, which was growing red with a small handprint pattern.  
“You came out here with a gun and shot Junior through the windshield of his car, and that’s somehow my fault? You’re the psychopath here, Patty.”
“I wouldn’t have shot him if it wasn’t for you! You were slutting it up with a married man! Out here in the dark, grinding on his lap! This is a close business associate of my dad, it could have seriously damaged our family!” She paused and looked at Dixie. “In a way, it’s actually good that I shot him. It protects the family and your reputation.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the teenage daughter of a well-known newspaper editor going to jail for murder is much perferable to said newspaper editor’s niece allegedly fucking a family friend in his Mercedes one night. You stupid cunt.” At that, Patty looked chastened and stared at the pistol in her hand. Dixie sighed. 
“Look, I don’t want to have to answer any questions about this, either. Maybe if we were in New York, but I’m not talking to any Dallas cops. Come on, let’s get him out of here.” 
“How?” Patty asked, suddenly looking very young and terrified. 
“Well lucky for you he didn’t fall out of the car, so we’ll just drive him someplace and leave him there.” Dixie walked toward the driver’s side of the car. “Junior’s stupid car is a two seater, so you’re gonna have to sit on his lap, Patty.” 

***

Moments later they were cruising down the darkened back roads in JR’s convertible, headed toward the city. The top was up, and Dixie drove, while Patty sat sideways in the passenger seat on JR’s lap. She held his cowboy hat in her hand. 
“Listen, once we get into the city there are going to be streetlights, so even though it’s dark in the car, you’re going to need to put that hat on. Wrap your arms around Junior’s neck, and either act like you’re sucking some serious face, or that you’re both passed out. That stupid hat is big enough that it should hide his face.” 
“Cathy, this is gross, I don’t want to do it,” Patty replied, shakily.
“Well then you should have learned to drive, huh?” Dixie replied. 
“Why are you so calm about this? I’m freaking out and you’re acting like we’re just working on a school project.” Patty looked at her cousin. Dixie sighed. 
“Patsy, you really have no idea what the world is like, do you?” Dixie asked. Patty looked indignant. 
“Oh, and you do? Why, because you lived in Europe?” 
“Well, I mean, the fact that I’ve lived on almost every continent and you’ve only ever lived in New York and Texas might have something to do with it. But you’re so sheltered, you don’t even know the truth about our family. Of course, after seeing you freak out over shooting Junior, I get why no one would tell you anything. You’re obviously too delicate to handle it.” 
“Fuck you, Cathy! You think just because your mom ran away and your dad couldn’t handle raising you, you’re suddenly some kind of hard luck story? I mean, that obviously made you a total skank, but it doesn’t make you tough.” 
“So they’re still sticking to that story, huh? That mom couldn’t handle me and ran off? That she abandoned me with my dad?” 
“Well… yeah? Everyone in our family knows that’s what happened. Mom and Gramma said it’d be too painful for you, so we don’t talk about it. But I still don’t see how that makes you some kind of hardened street criminal.” 
“Patty. My mother killed herself when I was five years old. I was there. My father was away on an assignment and I was alone in the apartment with her body until someone from my preschool came by to find out why I hadn’t been to class.” Patty looked genuinely shaken. 
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that?” She asked. 
“Two reasons, probably,” Dixie replied. “For one thing, you don’t handle upsetting situations well and everyone knew it even then. And for another, my mother’s suicide was a direct result of something your mother did.” 
“LIAR!” Patty screamed. Dixie calmly stuck her finger in her ear, as if trying to get her eardrum functioning again. 
“Sure girl, whatever. Ask your mom about it when we get back. She might not admit it, but see how she reacts.” Patty sat quietly and considered this as they drove on. 
Soon they arrived on the well-lit streets of Dallas and started making their way toward a large steel and glass office tower, the home of JR’s company. 
“Cathy,” Patty asked quietly. 
“Yeah,” Dixie replied. 
“How’d you know where his office was?” 
“Well, his name for one thing. I mean, pretty much everyone knows Junior, his family, and their company. Also while we were in the car, I got him talking about work and he told me a ton of stuff. Stuff he shouldn’t have, actually.” Dixie stopped the car at an intersection, looked both ways, and continued. It was late enough that the traffic lights were blinking. 
“Wait, why did you make him talk about work?” Patty asked. 
“Because he was kinda weirded out about our age difference. I didn’t want him to get cold feet and leave, so I played to his power. Most men’s desires for sex and power are so intertwined that they can’t tell the difference. So if your powerful fella ever struggles to get it up, you just start talking about his latest business conquest and next thing you know you’re on the train to Bonetown.” 
“EW Cathy!” Patty exclaimed, scandalized. “You don’t have to be so crass. Sex is supposed to be about the love between two people.” Dixie burst out laughing. 
“Sure it is, Pats. Sure it is.” 
“What? You don’t think it’s important to be in love with the person you’re.. You know…?” 
“Absolutely not,” Dixie replied. “Are you telling me you’ve been ‘in love’ with all the guys you’ve slept with?” 
“First of all, there have only been three,” Patty said. “Secondly, yes! I loved all of them. And they loved me! Especially Jared. I’m still really mad at you for that, by the way.” 
“Which is exactly why love shouldn’t have anything to do with it,” Dixie said. “If you didn’t think you loved him, you wouldn’t have cared that I rode him like a cowgirl in his parent’s bed when he was supposed to be chaperoning the Sunday School field trip.” Patty gasped at this, but remained silent. She pressed her head against JR’s shoulder as the streetlights flashed through the cracked windshield. 
“Anyway,” Dixie continued, “Jared is SUCH a boy. Really Patty, unless you want to spend fully half your time teaching these guys what to do and how to do it, you’re really better off with older men.” She glanced over at JR and sighed. 
“Honestly, I’m a little disappointed you interrupted us. I bet Junior knew exactly how to please a girl.” With that, Dixie piloted the car into the underground parking garage of the office tower. 

Present day

The group was still sitting on the porch. Everyone had nodded off except Sweaty and Chichay, who were talking quietly and excitedly about plans for the restaurant. Dixie was also awake, and still starting out at the old barn. Without a word, she stood up, crossed the porch, and walked out onto the lawn. 
She made her way across the lawn, through the remains of the barbecue and the rapidly decomposing CHUD bodies, and kept walking toward the old barn. Back on the porch, Chichay and Sweaty noticed Dixie’s departure, but honestly had seen so much strange behavior from their counterparts that they didn’t question it. Eventually they retired to the second floor of the ranch house to claim and christen their future bedroom. 

***

Dixie stopped in front of the barn and pulled the door open. Despite the rundown appearance of the building, the door swung open easily, as if on brand new hinges. She stepped inside and looked around. It was dim and quiet inside. The setting sun was casting weak light through the windows on the west side of the building, and dust motes floated thickly throughout. 
Discarded farm equipment was scattered about, along with some items that were originally in the ranch house, including an old dining room table and a filthy couch. A rusting car was also there, parked along the back wall. The hay loft took up about half the overall space of the barn, and it overlooked the doorway where Dixie stood. The ladder to the loft was propped up against the upper level, but several of the rungs were missing. Dixie walked deeper into the barn, looking around at a collection of rusty tools hanging on the walls. 
Suddenly the door Dixie had come through slammed shut. She whirled around and there, facing her, was her cousin Patty. 
“Hello Cathy,” Patty said. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Dallas, years ago…

“I don’t understand why we’re going to his office,” Patty said. She and Dixie were standing in the elevator, heading up to the fiftieth floor. 
“Because we need something to get him up there in. We can’t carry him, so we need, like, an office chair or something. Something with wheels.” Dixie replied, matter of factly. 
“But why are we bringing him to his office? Why don’t we just leave him in his car in the parking garage?” Patty asked. 
“Because no one’s going to believe that he was shot while sitting in the passenger seat of his car in the garage of his office. He told me that he works late a lot. And also that he has a ton of enemies, so it makes the most sense that one of them shot him in his office.” 
“You think that makes more sense than someone shooting him in the parking garage while he fucks some slut in his car? I mean, that’s basically what happened anyway.” 
“Patty, you just don’t understand crime,” Dixie said. The elevator stopped at the top floor and the doors opened to an opulent suite of executive offices. It was dark, but the company’s sign on the wall above the reception desk was still lighted. They opened the door with JR’s name on it and flicked on the lights. It was definitely the office of an oil executive. Behind the desk was a plush leather chair that spun and rolled. They grabbed the chair and rolled it back to the elevator. A few moments later they were back in the garage. 
“Ok, open the door and roll the chair right up to it,” Dixie directed. “Then we’ll each grab a side of him and drag him out. As long as we brace the chair on something, we should be able to get him in there.” 
This didn’t work, and after much straining and whispered shouting at one another, Patty finally ended up behind JR, with her arms wrapped around his chest, underneath his armpits. She took two staggering steps under his weight and fell down into the chair with him on top, sitting in her lap. 
“That works, great job, Patty.” Dixie said, quickly closing the car door. “Sit tight, I’ll have you up there in a flash.” 
“Cathy, no!” Patty cried, muffled by the weight of the man’s body on top of her. “I don’t want to sit here with a dead body on me!” 
“Oh relax, it’ll only take a second. And besides, he hasn’t even been dead for an hour. It’s not like he’s started to stink yet.” 
When the elevator opened on the fiftieth floor again, Dixie pushed the chair out and across the reception area. 
“I think we should put him back in his office,” she said. Patty mumbled something inaudible under the weight of JR. His light sports jacket was filling her mouth. When Dixie got the chair through the door to his office, she heaved with all her strength until it tipped forward with a crash. Patty landed face first on the floor with JR’s full weight on top of her. Dixie calmly rolled the chair back behind his desk while her cousin struggled and cried, then returned and rolled JR off of her. The man was laying on his back just inside the office door. She helped Patty to her feet and they started to leave. 
“Wait a minute,” Dixie said. She reached up under her dress and put her hand to the small of her back, where she pulled the little gun from the waistband of her underwear. 
“You brought the gun?” Patty asked. 
“Yeah, if the gun's left at the scene, it helps the police figure out who did it,” she replied. “And this is now the scene of the crime.” With that, she tossed the gun into the middle of the reception area and the two girls called the elevator and left. Moments later they were peeling out of the parking garage in JR’s car, on their way to dump it over a cliff outside of town. 

***

An hour later, JR’s wife crept from the elevator on the fiftieth floor and made her way quietly through the darkened reception area, intending to empty the safe in JR’s office. She spotted the gun on the floor and picked it up, placing it in her handbag. 
She entered office, flicked the lights on, and gasped. Then she smiled. 

Present day

“I should have known it was too good to be true,” Dixie said, looking at her cousin with disdain. Patty took a step forward. Dixie didn’t move. 
“What’s the matter, Cath? Not happy to see me?” Patty was holding a long, rusty machete in one hand. She held it up and inspected it as she continued. “I’m sure you were excited to finally get your hands on this place. Sorry to disappoint you.” 
“You haven’t gotten any smarter over the years, have you Patty?” Dixie asked. Patty raised her eyebrows, so Dixie continued. “You faked your death. I assume to lure me here? But you’ve been officially declared dead, you stupid cunt. The place legally belongs to me.” 
“Whatever. Once we’re done here, I’ll just explain to the authorities that it was all a mistake.” 
“Which is fraud. My god you’re dumb. Why wouldn’t you just kill me and pretend to be me?” 
“Oh, you’re right. That’s a much better idea.” With that, Patty lunged at Dixie. Despite having spent the day drinking and eating grease, Dixie easily sidestepped her. Patty turned and faced her again. Dixie’s back was against the wall and she groped for a weapon, finding only a broom with a wooden handle. It would have to do. 
“What’s this about, anyway?” Dixie asked. “We haven’t talked in years. I basically forgot you existed. We could each have lived out our days without ever seeing each other.” Patty lunged at her, holding the machete high over her head and bringing it down toward Dixie. 
“Revenge, you stupid slut,” she said. Dixie blocked the machete with the broom handle, which broke in half. “For killing my mom.” She wound up to take another swing and Dixie readied the remaining broom handle. 
“Oh will you get over it already?” Dixie replied, dodging another swing from the machete, which landed in the wooden support beam of the hay loft. She reached for another weapon, landing on another wooden handled tool. “That was revenge, and it was for what she did to our mother, so you should thank me.” Patty lunged, but Dixie was ready. She stepped to the side as Patty’s momentum carried her forward. She brought the wooden handle down on her shoulder. Patty grunted. 
“What are you talking about? My mother was Natalie Lane, and you murdered her in her home in New York.” Patty turned and raised the machete again. She prepared to attack, but was thrown off guard by Dixie’s laughter. 
“I know I called you stupid for the faking your death thing, but it was really more that I just think you’re fucking crazy and you don’t think things through.” Dixie was backing away toward an old harrow propped against the wall. “But this. This is really fucking stupid.” She started laughing again. 
“What are you talking about!?” Patty screamed, gripping the machete angrily. Dixie composed herself. 
“You seriously think we’re cousins, Patty?” she asked. “Identical cousins? You actually believe, still, to this day, that that’s a fucking thing?” 
“But it’s…” Patty looked shocked, but still angry. Finally she swung the machete wildly, in a swiping motion. “Explain yourself, you bitch!” 
Dixie reached back and ripped a large metal tine off of the old harrow, blocking the machete with a metallic clang. It was fucking on, now. She started talking. 

***

When my mother, Alice, was a high school junior, she met a boy named Martin Lane. He was handsome and smart, and he treated her like a princess. They spent every minute that they could together, much to the irritation of Martin’s twin brother, Kenneth. Kenneth had had his eye on Alice, although he tried to woo her, it was Martin who captured her heart. 
Not long after that, Kenneth started seeing Natalie, and for a while it seemed like the perfect arrangement. Alice and Natalie became fast friends, and the earlier frostiness between Martin and Kenneth began to thaw. All was well until the night of the big dance. 
The dance was an absolute gas, as all dances were in those days, with a live band, and a table loaded with punch and chips. Even the chaperones seemed to be having a great time, when suddenly an altercation erupted in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone turned to see newly crowned King and Queen of the dance, Eldridge Warner and Francine Havernic, arguing fiercely. Other dancers stopped and stared, and finally Eldridge stormed off, leaving Francine sobbing helplessly in the middle of the gymnasium. 
“Oh, Martin!” Alice exclaimed. “I can’t imagine what could have happened between them, but poor Frannie looks distraught. I’m going to go see if she needs anything. I’ll be right back!” She kissed Martin quickly on the cheek and dashed off. She, along with two other girls, whisked Francine into the ladies room. 
Martin made his way to the snack table where he saw Natalie, standing awkwardly by herself. 
“What’s wrong, Nat? Where’s Kenny?” Natalie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She said nothing, but her lower lip began to quiver. Martin put his arm over her shoulder gently. 
“Aw, don’t worry about him. He probably just ran into someone from the team on the way back from the restroom. I’m sure he’ll be right back.” 
“I’ve hardly seen him at all tonight,” Natalie said quietly, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve barely gotten to dance at all!” 
“Well gee, Nat, Alice just went off to help out Frannie Havernic, who was crying something awful after having a fight with El. Why don’t we keep each other company out there on the dance floor until our dates get back?” Natalie managed a weak smile, and allowed Martin to lead her onto the dance floor. Predictably, the band began a slow song as soon as they got out there. Martin held Natalie at a chaste and respectable distance, and they swayed in time to the music. 
Even more predictably, it was at that exact moment that Kenneth came back from the men’s room, where he had been sipping bourbon from a small flask that Louis Frederick had brought along. He saw his brother holding Natalie in his arms and was filled with an intense jealousy, fueled by hormones and cheap liquor. He was about to storm onto the dance floor when he spotted Alice leaving the ladies room with a group of girls, including a tear stained Frannie. 
As Alice headed back to the dance floor, Kenneth grabbed her gently by the shoulder and turned her around. She looked confused, then surprised. 
“Oh, Kenneth! You startled me!” 
“Oh, Alice,” Kenneth said, “Can you really not tell us apart after all this time?” He smiled a charming, crooked smile which was often the only way to tell him and his twin brother apart. Alice looked embarrassed. She apologized and quickly suggested that they return to the dance floor, but Kenneth instead took her hand and led her down the darkened hallway of the high school. When they reached the science classrooms, he drew her inside. 
The couple began a makeout session that quickly turned hot and heavy. Alice was confused by this turn of events because Martin was usually so shy and reserved. He never wanted things to go too far, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He wanted to wait until they were married, he told Alice repeatedly, after many a night where they had to leave the movies early. Alice didn’t think waiting for marriage was that important, but she loved Martin and admired his strong morals. But no man can fight these urges all the time, she reasoned. And what difference did it make, anyway? They would be married eventually, she was sure of it. 
And so it was, there in that science lab, that after only the slightest cajoling on the part of Kenneth-posing-as-Martin, and only a bit of questioning on Alice’s part, the proverbial camera panned to the proverbial moon. 

***

Later, of course, the truth came out and the contented world of the two couples was shattered. It was then that Natalie started trying to seduce both men, succeeding only with Kenneth. Shortly after that, Alice discovered that she was pregnant. Before she started to show, her family bundled her off to a convent in Scotland. As far as everyone else knew, she had been selected for a study abroad program. 
Still consumed with jealousy, Natalie eventually tracked Alice down at the “Our Lady of Everyone Convent and Home for Troubled Girls”. Using money that she’d saved from her after school job as a candy striper, and the cover story about a debate team event that would keep her away for the better part of a week, Natalie traveled alone to Scotland to track down what she felt was rightfully hers. 

***

It was a dark and stormy night when Natalie tricked the sister at the front door and made her way into the convent. She easily located Alice’s room, and found her sitting up in bed, her U.S. Civics textbook resting on her enormous belly. It was just like Alice to keep up with her school work, Natalie thought bitterly. 
Alice was startled to see Natalie, but not surprised. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Natalie got right to the point, demanding that Alice hand over the baby as soon as was born. The baby rightfully belonged to her, she reasoned, because Kenneth was her boyfriend. Alice is horrified, and genuinely scared by her former friend’s behavior. 
Naturally an argument ensues, which turns into an altercation, which results in Alice going into labor. Her screams of pain alert the nuns, who flock to the room just after Natalie escapes down the darkened corridor. Hours later, Alice has given birth to two healthy baby girls. Twins. She is elated, but exhausted, and soon falls asleep. 

***

To this day, no one knows how Natalie made it back into the convent without anyone noticing, but she did, and for the second time in as many days, the nuns were drawn to Alice’s room by her screams. This time it was because one of the babies was missing. 
Alice refused to allow her remaining daughter to be adopted. The nuns tried to convince her, but eventually they reluctantly let her go. She struggled for the first six months, drifting from shelter to shelter. Eventually, a kindly shop owner took pity on her, giving her not only a job, but a room in his own home. Alice and her daughter lived there for the next year. 

***

Natalie returned home with one of the babies, claiming that the little girl belonged to her, and using Alice’s cover story. To Alice’s family, she explained that tragically, Alice had lost her baby. She was distraught, she said, and had decided to remain in Europe rather than face the humiliation she would feel at home. 
Kenneth refused to marry Natalie. He had been trying to do the right thing since finding out about Alice’s pregnancy, and didn’t intend to give up searching for her. Plus, he knew that Natalie had been sleeping with both himself and Martin. Obviously, Natalie had to marry someone after her return home, and Martin objected the least. Martin had no idea who the baby belonged to, but was a decent man who believed in doing the right thing, even if it was for the wrong reasons. He buckled down to provide for his family. Over the next fifteen years, he climbed his way up the ladder at the newspaper and had a successful career. He and Natalie had one more child, a boy named Ross. 
Kenneth never forgave himself for what he did to Alice. How could he let his jealousy and immaturity destroy so many lives? He decided to go and find Alice. 

***

When Kenneth finally found Alice, the reunion was bittersweet. He was overjoyed to find that he had a daughter, but angry to learn the incidents that led to the “birth” of Natalie’s daughter. He was also furious to see the devastation this had caused Alice. They decided to be a family and were married in a small civil ceremony, attended only by the shopkeeper and his family. 
Alice refused Kenneth’s request to move back to the United States, and so Kenneth, also a journalist, requested a transfer to the European bureau. Still in Scotland, they settled down to raise little Catherine Margaret Rowan Lane and lived a peaceful existence in this way for the next five years. 
But Alice never got over the trauma, and the loss of her other daughter. Kenneth’s career was picking up, and he was occasionally away on assignments. While he was, Alice began to slide deeper into depression. Then one week, while Kenneth was away reporting on a terrorist attack in Algeria, Alice Lane took her own life. Little Catherine would remain alone in the house all day until the preschool teacher, concerned by her absence, came by to check on her. 

***

Kenneth Lane raised Cathy on his own for the next ten years. As his career took off, she accompanied him around the globe, completing her schooling through a correspondence program, and learning more through her experiences than most children. She was remarkably well adjusted. 
Then, when Cathy was fifteen, Kenneth Lane ran afoul of the IRA in the course of his reporting. The threats to his life were instant and severe. While he did not want to be apart from his daughter, he felt the best thing would be to send her back to the United States to live with his brother. 

***

I arrived in Brooklyn the year I turned sixteen, to live with a family that I had never met. I was told that they had a daughter who was my age. We looked exactly alike because our fathers were twins. Identical cousins, they told us. We would have so much fun together. 

Present Day

A tremendous crash filled the barn as Dixie wrenched free the bumper of the old car and hurled it as Patty. It caught Patty in the shoulder and she fell to the ground. She grabbed a piece of metal fencing and pulled herself to her feet as quickly as she could, but not before Dixie was on top of her with the tine from the harrow. The two had been fighting the entire time Dixie told her story. They were bruised and bloody, their clothes were town, and the barn was in shambles. 
“And that’s how the woman you call your mother ruined the life of pretty much everyone around her.” SLAM! Dixie brought the tine down on Patty’s back. Patty rolled over, swinging with the metal spike and catching Dixie in the knee. She, too, fell to the floor. They both grappled for the metal spike. 
“Fuck you, Cathy! How do I know you aren’t making this up? Alice Lane was fucking crazy, according to my mom. She was obsessed with my Dad because he liked my mom more than her.” 
“You stupid asshole,” Dixie replied. “I’ve known my mother killed herself because Natalie stole her other baby since I was ten years old. I found the note in my dad’s study.” 
“Then how do you know all the rest of it?” Patty had gotten hold of a rock and brought it sideways into Dixie’s head. “Did she leave a fucking novel as a suicide note? Or are you just as crazy as she is?” Patty was now on top of Dixie, attempting to smash a rake into her head. Dixie got her hand on a long nail and plunged it into Patty’s leg. She shrieked and rolled to one side. 
“Oh yeah, bitch. I’m the fucking crazy one. When I finally ran away from you psychos when I was seventeen, I went back to Scotland to the apartment we used to live in. The owners still had a box of our things in storage, and I took all of Alice’s diaries. It’s all in there. After I read them, I decided to come back and get even with Natalie. I went back to the brownstone, staged the break-in, and you know the rest.” 
The two were both back on their feet, swinging any implement they could get their hands on at one another. 
“It doesn’t matter!” Patty screamed. “She was still my mother! She raised me! And you fucking killed her!” Patty hit Dixie, sending her backward into the wall where he landed on her back and slid to the floor. Patty stood over Dixie with the machete. 
“Now it’s my turn,” she whispered as she raised her arm. 

***

“Hey, did you guys hear something?” Chichay asked. The group had just woken up from their post-barbecue nap. Johnson was lighting the grill again and Rex and Sweaty were in the process of shaping tons of ground beef into hamburgers. Johnny was oiling his battle moose antlers. He looked around, his gaze stopping on the old barn in the distance.
“Hm,” he said. 
“Johnny, where’s Dixie?” Chichay asked. Johnny didn’t answer. He was already crossing the lawn toward the barn. Chichay watched him for a few moments, marveling that she’d never see him move that quickly. Marvel soon turned to alarm, and she got up to follow him. 
Seeing her leave, Sweaty called after her. She waved her arm in a follow me motion, and he did. Rex was right behind him, and finally the Troubadour brothers who carried shovels, just in case they found treasure. They formed a line stretching across the backyard of the ranch. 
Johnny reached the barn door well before anyone else. He heard muffled voices, followed by a loud crash coupled with an almost inhuman scream. He pulled the door open to find Dixie, battered and bloody, standing over the body of an equally battered and bloody woman who looked exactly like her. Dixie had just plunged a metal pitchfork into the woman’s throat with such force that the pitchfork was embedded into the floor of the barn. She was leaning on it, gasping. 
Quietly, Johnny walked up to Dixie and took her hand. He glanced down at the dead twin, then silently led Dixie to the barn door just as the others arrived. Johnny pushed Dixie through the door, and closed it behind them, blocking the view of the inside. The others looked shocked at Dixie’s current state. Chichay was about to speak when Johnny cut her off. 
“Hey guys! I think Dix could use a burger and a couple of shots of bourbon. Let’s get her back to the house and fire up the grills. We have a menu to plan!” Without further questions, the group took Dixie and walked slowly back toward the ranch house.
Once they were a little ways away, Johnny returned to the barn. He opened the door, took a huge book of matches out of his pocket and lit the whole thing. He then tossed it into a pile of old hay, closed the door, and made his way back to the house.