The story so far:K, an assassin-for-hire, and Lydia, his pre-teen protégé, have been hired by Lydia’s father Mr. Bohr to kill Rolf Klingman, a rival businessman. The deadly duo arrived in Las Vegas to undo Klingman during his vacation, but instead found out he had gained access to the data system of the Alphabet, an assassination agency K is connected with. K meets with Thomas, an Alphabet representative, who tells him the organization’s leadership wants K to deal with the situation the only way he knows how. The list of people who want Klingman dead keeps growing.
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Lydia was having the most wonderful time sailing on a pond in a tiny boat. The pond was surrounded by a lush, green meadow where birds and small deer played without a care in the world under a cloudless, deep blue sky. Lydia leaned back in her boat, and sighed with contentment. This was the life.
And then a massive storm hit and capsized her tiny boat. Through the thick clouds came a roaring voice, like a million claps of thunder at once:
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bacey!”
Lydia’s eyes flew open and she jumped up with a scream, almost knocking a brushed aluminum tray out of K’s hands.
“Help me, I’m drowning!”
K watched with bemused bewilderment as his protégé’s arms flailed about against imaginary waves, slowly coming to a halt. Lydia stared at nothing with glassed over eyes, blinked a couple of times, and turned her narrow face to K.
“Oh, I’m awake.”
K quivered with stifled laughter at the sight of the messy-haired, confused young girl, all the while attempting to keep from spilling the contents of his tray.
“Indeed you have, Miss Lydia, my star,” he said, having finally regained his ability to speak. “Welcome to the land of the living.”
A collapsible support frame snapped open from under the tray as K thrust it onto Lydia’s lap.
“Your breakfast was just delivered, m’lady. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, and OJ.”
Lydia quickly browsed through the contents of the tray with her eyes and realized just how hungry she was. But there was something missing, something essential.
“What was that?” K asked, as he emerged from the suite’s bathroom carrying an electric kettle only to hear Lydia mumble something to herself. Lydia looked up to K with the most heart-wrenchingly desperate expression on her face.
“I want raspberry jam.”
K froze just as he was about to plug the kettle into a power socket. Slowly, he turned around to face Lydia, looking as if he had just heard that his whole family had just been killed. He rushed over to Lydia and bent over the tray, half hanging over the railing at the bed’s foot. He lifted his face to look Lydia straight in the eye. Straightening his glasses, he ran his hand through his hair and whispered in a shaking voice, as if about to burst into tears:
“This lack of jam cannot stand.”
K jumped up. Lydia shrieked and grabbed the tray as it almost fell over. Some orange juice spilled on her pancakes. Outraged, Lydia prepared to yell at K. Her indignation died in her throat before it could find its way out, drowned by K loudly ordering a jar of raspberry jam from the room service. Lydia knit her brows, suddenly incredibly worried.
“Are you alright?” she asked as K put down the room phone. He pirouetted across the room and fell to his knees, his arms and face resting on the foot of the bed. K beamed at Lydia, who found the sight incredibly unsettling.
“Never been better,” he said in sing-song. “Why ever would you ask?” With a shaking hand, Lydia lifted the glass of juice to her lips and took a sip to clear her suddenly dry throat. “You’re acting weird,” she said, trying to avoid K’s stare. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose, and Lydia didn’t like the idea of there being nothing between her and K’s eyes. “Why are you so chipper?”
K jumped up again and went to finally plug the kettle in.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked, twirling around on his heels before leaning on the edge of the desk the kettle sat on. He ran his hand through his hair, crossed his arms and smiled. “It’s a beautiful morning, the birds are singing, the sun is shining…”
Lydia glanced out of the suite’s large windows on which rain was beating.
“…the room service is excellent, aaaaaaand….”
K scribbled something on a piece of paper, walked over to Lydia, and shoved it in her hand. “I’ll get paid twice for digging Klingman’s eyes out,” it read.
A dam in Lydia’s brain was broken and memories of last night came flooding in.
“The meeting! Thomas!” she screamed and groaned with annoyance. “I can’t believe I fell asleep!”
Lydia pouted, crossed her arms, and glared at K.
“You should’ve woken me up.”
K ruffled Lydia’s already messy hair as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You shouldn’t have fallen asleep, my dear. But not to worry, I’ll fill you in,” K said as he ran his eyes around the bed and sheets. Whispering, he continued: “But keep your voice down, I haven’t checked everywhere for bugs.”
Lydia clapped both her hands on her mouth and squeaked an apology. “But what happened last night?” she whispered.
K went through what had taken place after Lydia had fallen asleep at the car: the wait for Thomas, the insufferable DNA test, the stomped rats, the rogue Thomas, the Board’s outrageous suspicions, and the mission to kill Klingman, to which he ingeniously (or so he thought) referred to as “baking a pie”.
Unable to keep her hunger at bay anymore, Lydia chewed on a piece of bacon while she listened to K’s dramatization. When he stopped, she swallowed and, puzzled, said:
“Wait, I’m confused. You’re already kil…”
K quickly put his finger on Lydia’s lips and shook his head. Lydia rolled her eyes and continued.
“You’re already ‘baking a pie’ for my father. Why is the Al… ‘Bakery’ having you bake one too?”
K sighed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “I know I’ve never gone into the details with you, and I won’t do that now either.”
K set his glasses back on his nose and ran his hand through his hair.
“I will, I promise, in due time. But, for now… Well, whatever I bake for your father, I bake outside the bakery. I owe a lot to him, so that’s why he has me bake pies. It’s officially a secret, but everybody at the bakery knows about it anyway, I think. Your father’s a powerful man, Lydia, so they think it’s best if they have someone close to your father, even if it’s unofficial. And then your father wanted me to start looking after you, and the bakery thought that was a good idea, so that’s one more reason to not stop me from working for him. Anyway, that’s why I’m baking a pie for both of them, since the pie I’m making for your father doesn’t officially exist, as far the Board is concerned anyway, so they’re having me take care of this pie for them, and bake it again…”
K turned to Lydia with an apologetic smile.
“If that makes any sense.”
Lydia looked as if she was trying to work a difficult mathematical equation.
“I think it does,” she said slowly. “So you could say baking for my father is kind of like a hobby you do whenever you’re not baking for the bakery?”
K smiled and ruffled Lydia’s hair again.
“Never quite thought of it like, but that’s one way to put it, I guess.”
Lydia pushed her hair out of her face and looked up at K.
“There’s one thing I don’t get though,” she said. “What does you taking care of me have to do with it?”
K poked Lydia’s forehead with his finger.
“I told you. In due time,” he said. “But now…”
K put his hands together and lifted them to his face with a giggle just as a knock came from the door.
“It’s jam time!” he squealed as he bounced up and skipped across the room.
Lydia stared after him, wondering just what he had drunk on breakfast.