Mi Casa

by Leslie Bessant

Her parents really deserved all the credit. The day she was born, they'd given her exactly what she needed to commit the perfect crime. And they hadn't even known it.

Of course, neither had she, not until she got to college. She'd been sitting in Spanish class when it hit her -- the whole plan, all laid out, step-by-step.

Step one: Be yourself. She was a blonde, so she lived up to the stereotype. She batted her blue eyes a lot, used plastic surgery to achieve a Barbie-like figure, changed her boyfriend every three days, and wore only designer clothes.

Step two: Get the right job. In this case, a position with a New York diamond merchant. Landing the job was easy. What middle-aged man doesn't want a cute, bubble-headed blonde hanging on his every word?

Step three: See the world. She travelled widely, but she liked Mexico City best.

Step four: Invest wisely. Months of flirting finally paid off when the boss patted her on the bottom and asked if she'd stay late on Saturday. She was so excited, she blushed. She hoped he got the wrong idea.

Step five: Plan for retirement. The day she turned twenty-five, she got her hair done, bought herself a sexy little red dress -- and then renewed her driver's license.

Step six: Make your own opportunities. She wore the oo-la-la dress to work the next day. Before long, she felt a familiar hand on her tush. Would she like some help finishing the accounts this weekend? She gave the boss a shy smile and nodded.

Step seven: Details matter. Once he was gone, she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, smashed a window, and ransacked the office. Then she put ten million dollars in uncut diamonds in her bag and went home.

Step eight: Be honest. Everybody was in a hubbub when she got to work on Monday. She asked the boss what had happened, listened to his story, and burst into tears. She was just too scared to work there anymore.

Step nine: Treat yourself every now and then. She drove south, stopping only for ice cream and gas. By the time she got to Mexico City , she'd gained ten pounds. She dyed her hair black, used contacts to make her eyes brown, and disappeared down a back alley.

She kept her real name, though. Her name was her ticket to anonymity.

She could just hear the Pinkerton agents asking around for her. They'd probably even use the wrong verb.

"¿Por favor, donde es Sue Cossa?"

Sue Cossa. Su casa.

In English, "Please, where is your house?"

As those dumb Pinkertons would soon find out, "Mi casa no es Sue Cossa."

She smiled and reached for a tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream.