Three Needs And Two Rules

Lately, I have been pondering many things. These are one of those days that I find myself asking why must I go down this road? Why must I write about this particular subject? The only answer that I have to is because I can my dear hearts, because I can.

Today I’m walking that strange path called contemplating meeting new people. They say that when you are alone you should enjoy it and get to know yourself. Find out who you are, where you’re headed and what you want. My husband died nearly ten years ago, guess what? I’ve had a whole butt load of ‘me’ time. I have gotten to know myself pretty well.

When we’re young and we picture the person that we are going end up with we picture the absolute best that we can imagine. Let’s face it, just a few years earlier we were picturing our weddings and our first cars. They were Porsches and Lamborghinis. Did anyone not picture a sportscar waiting for them when they emerged victorious from the DMV with driver’s license in hand? That’s what kids do. When you’re young you picture the best. The best man or woman is usually brilliant, rich, drop dead gorgeous, and crazy about you. That’s the fantasy.

After you grow up, spend some time in the real world, get an idea of what works for you and what doesn’t...let’s just say your hopes change. It reminds me of a Rolling Stones song, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.” I’ve been around long enough to know that sometimes getting what you need can be damn near perfect.

Several months ago, I was able to look at myself, who I am in my life, and what has worked for me in the past relationship wise and what didn’t. I compiled my um...Wish List...for (coughs) a man. I should probably be embarrassed about that but I can’t help thinking if you don’t know what works for you, you aren’t going to recognize when it gets here.

I thought about the simplicity of my list, how clearly it arrives at some solid points, and how men in general might benefit from the information on it. There are jokes all over the Internet about how complicated women are. Boo-hoo. Pay attention gentlemen. Mama’s gonna make your life a whole lot simpler.

I’m taking the gloves off and telling you how it is. (Removes long, white, evening gloves like Cinderella wore to the ball.) Save the princely duds for your anniversary because shit’s about to get real. (Pulls on training gloves.)

I’ll use my list as an example. If anyone likes it they’re welcome to adapt the list to fit their own personal interests.

My list is short, to the point, with one quick jab. There’s always that one quick jab in life that tries to screw up your day. This is no exception.

I have three needs and two rules:

Needs:

1. Laughter (You don’t have to be funny, we have to be able to laugh together).

2. Hugs (There will be other things eventually, hugs have to be available regularly.)

3. To be held when I need to cry.

Rules:

1. SHOW the &*%k up. (Men have trouble with this rule. I’m not sure why.)

If you cannot show up then be available to talk for a minute or to send texts here and there, especially in a crisis. I’m not a big fan of crises; bearing that in mind, I’m not the type of woman who creates them to get attention. (There are lots of other women out there who feel the same way.)

Here’s the quick jab that I warned you about.

2. DON’T be a dick. (There are a large number of things that can fit under this umbrella. This is where it gets challenging. Here are a few pointers.)

If it’s illegal, don’t do it.

If hearing it would hurt your feelings, then don’t say it.

If you think it’s morally questionable, don’t do it.

If your woman is stressed and you have time to help with a chore...do it.

Note: I am not a traditionally religious woman. My spiritual journey is my own. I have no trouble respecting yours. Let’s keep it that way.

It’s the same thing with money. My financial journey is my own as is yours. Any changes to this can be made as needed provided both parties are agreeable.

That’s it! You made it through the list. This is common sense stuff. You can do this.

Bear in mind that just as you have your self-protection mechanisms and red flags that you look for, so do women. We all have them. Some of us more than others.

“Don’t listen to her.” Juju said. “Soulmates don’t exist.”

“Please ignore her.” Zelda said with one of her nicest smiles. “Soulmates do exist.”

“If soulmates do exist then where’s mine?”

“That’s easy.” I answered. “He’s waiting for you to dismiss the queen’s guard, disarm the castle, and lower the drawbridge.” I looked at Jujubee. “Remove the knives from your corset.”

--Excerpt “Not Another Christmas Romance” HR Apostos

*I may have a couple of snipers too. They help me feel safe.

There it is guys, something to help you get started. Follow these two rules and they should get you off to a solid start. The rest is up to you.

Difference Of Opinion

Pen led the way out of the house and into the surrounding woods. She did not say a word until clean up was successfully completed and Scotch was speeding the car into London.

“Someone else killed that man.”

“They did.” Scotch agreed.

“Don’t you think that we should have stayed? Tried to figure out who it was?”

“And risk being discovered?”

Scotch looked at Pen and grinned. “It’s all about the adventure Pen. The target had been neutralized. The adventure was over for the evening.”

“No one was expected back until tomorrow afternoon. That would have been plenty of time to investigate. Stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what?” Scotch asked.

“Pen.”

“It’s your identifier.”

“What do you mean identifier?”

“Your code name? You don’t think that my real name is Scotch, do you?”

Pen didn’t respond.

“You did?” He asked.

“Who would lie about having the name ‘Scotch’?”

Scotch grinned, “You do have a point. ‘Scotch’ is my identifier. Your identifier is ‘Pen.’”

“I don’t like it.” She announced.

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to use it.”

Pen released a sound of discontent, “Why ‘Pen’?”

“Every time I saw you during your first weeks with the agency you were scribbling or asking someone for a pen. So I decided to spend a few days trying the name out. I did an experiment, every time I asked where you were, if the person wasn’t sure, I would mention that you were usually looking for a pen. Did you know that you were already known as The Pen Lady by then?”

“No. I only spent so much time looking for pens because I was usually discussing a formula with someone. It’s easier modify a formula when you can see it. Scientists are visual. As in most offices, pens disappear from agency desks with frequent regularity.”

“I wonder if that’s why so many of them are men.” He said, ignoring her final remark and running the more interesting route. “Men are visual.”

“It could also be why it takes forever to get anything done., the fact that so many scientists are men.” Pen said, her expression solemn.

“Touche.”

“So why ‘Scotch’?” She asked.

Scotch shook his head. “If you want to know, you’re going to have to figure that out on your own.”

“Is everything a game to you?”

“Yes. If I didn’t like games of chance I wouldn’t have become a spy. This time it’s an exercise, what kind of spy are you if you can’t figure out how I got my name?” Scotch reached out and tapped a display screen in the car.

“Cock’s Comb.” A familiar voice answered.

“Hello Martin, it’s me. We’re coming in a bit early this evening. I was wondering if my favorite table is available.”

Pen listened to the sounds coming from the background. Things were louder than usual, even for a Friday night. Patrons at a variety of levels of inebriation were laughing, yelling, and chanting what sounded like team names.

“I’m afraid not Sir. I can keep the two best stools at the bar open.”

Scotch looked at Pen. “The bar’s okay.” He nodded, encouraging her to agree.

Pen nodded noncommittally.

“Seats at the bar will be great Martin. See you in five.”

Scotch turned his attention back to Pen. “What did you notice?”

“During the phone call?”

Scotch looked at Pen and waited.

“It was louder than usual even for this time on a Friday night. The pub is crowded and there was chanting going on...you know, cheering for teams.” Pen stopped for a moment and thought, “There aren’t any local sports teams playing this week. I would have to say that Trivia night has gone into overtime. It’s a championship match and Martin had a room full of people waiting for him to finish the call with you so they can break a tie.”

“Between...”

“The Full Mounties and The Moll Fannies.”

“Very good.”

“And?”

“One of the taps has broken and they are running out of chips.”

“And?”

“Martin didn’t address you by name. Why didn’t he?”

“Why didn’t he?” Scotch repeated her question.

Pen shook her head.

“Look at the area around us.”

Pen looked at the wet asphalt there were several deep puddles. She also noticed some debris on the road and a couple of branches laying across utility lines.

Scotch leaned closer to Pen and said, “A storm came through less than an hour ago. Mobile service may be out for some people. Whether it is or not with the storm damage Martin couldn’t be sure that the signal was secure.”

“So he didn’t call you by your name.”

“If anyone was listening, all they would know is that one of his regular customers was on his way in for a drink.”

“Which is not unusual at all.”

“Exactly.” Scotch watched as a car pulled out of a spot close to the front door of the pub. He smoothly glided his car into the empty space and put it into park. “Congratulations Miss Pen, you have just taken your first field test.”

“What?” Pen asked as she followed Scotch into the Cock’s Comb. The pub was filled to capacity. She had been right. The Full Mounties and The Moll Fannies were at it in full force. The championship was at a tie and the teams were evenly matched. The crowd seemed equally divided as well. Regardless of who won, things could get interesting with this bunch. Pen was anxious to enter headquarters for several reasons including the size of the crowd. She wanted to complete her report and argue her case to their superior. Mr. McLeod would be on her side with this argument. She was sure of it. Actually she wasn’t, but Pen was sure that she could convince Mr. McLeod to take her side, eventually. Pen sat down on the stool next to Scotch. Martin presented her with a freshly poured pint. Pen watched as Scotch quietly sipped his...whiskey? She leaned in closer to Scotch. “I thought you wanted a pint.”

“I do. It was time to call up.”

Pen watched as one corner of Scotch’s mouth turned up in a grin. “If you want to finish your pint then I suggest you bring it with you.” He said as stood up and walked to the back of the pub with Pen following closely alternately dodging the other patrons and taking small sips at her stout.

* This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

"Finding Earl" --Excerpt "Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal"

With a nap and a good breakfast, Detective Farina is looking better. The search plans are mapped out, dishes are done. We leave Ian, Uncle Will, and Stump to set up and oversee the helpers. Farina and I head back down the old tractor trail to take another look at what’s left of Earl’s pick-up.

“I was able to take a better look at the sample that we took yesterday and found rust. I think that Will and Ian are right. The floorboards of vehicles rust out. They don’t burn. The hole in the passenger side floorboard had to have already been there. If the floorboards were rusting out then odds are good that the vehicle was in poor shape to begin with.”

“So in other words, the rust had done most of the damage the fire just finished it off.” I say.

“Yes.”

We reach our destination and stop there.

“I’m out in the middle of the country and my truck is on fire. Where would I go?” Detective Farina asks. “More importantly, why would my truck be on fire?”

“There are several reasons that a truck would catch fire. Something is wrong with the truck.”

The detective nods and says, “Mechanical error.”

I continue. “You’ve had an accident. You’ve pissed someone off. Knowing Earl, that wouldn’t be hard for him to do at all.”

“Foul play.” He says.

“Or you set the *^%&er on fire all by yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Insurance fraud or did he decide to leave Beth again?”

“If he did, this time it was for good.”

“He left Beth.” Detective Farina says. He tries the theory on and decides that it works. “For Good.”

After a few moments of contemplation, I shake my head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too good to be true.”

“You have my attention.” The detective says.

“Say on the one hand, you have a good job and you travel a bit, you have girlfriends, several girlfriends. You pick a new one up all the time. On the other hand, you have a wife at home. A woman that you met in high school, she makes half the money, pays all of the bills, keeps the home fires burning, takes you back whenever things get rough, and puts up with all of your shit. Would you break that tie off completely?”

“I would have to say, ‘No’.”

“Earl has it way too good with Beth. Beth is right. Something has happened to him.”

Staring Contest

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong?” Pen asked.

Seeing an opportunity to annoy her, Scotch countered. “What if I’m right?”

“You’re not.”

“There’s a chance that I am.”

Their eyes locked. Neither one backing down. One corner of Scotch’s mouth turned up, sparking a response from Pen. Color rose to her cheeks and her hazel eyes brightened.

“The organization is supposed to be a place that gathers intelligence. I was told that...” Pen hesitated and took a more direct route. “I don’t know who you people think you are or what kind of game you’re playing but I stated up front what I would and wouldn’t do. Killing is not on my resume. Violence is supposed to be used only when all other potential solutions have been exhausted.”

Scotch looked at the fire. “First, don’t quote Corporate directives to me. I know them.” He said turning to Pen. “All of them. Second, what gets put into the mission statement and what actually takes place can be two completely different animals. Thirdly, you just killed a man so as of tonight, killing is officially on your resume. It’s time you set aside that ‘I’m too squeaky clean to be a professional killer’ attitude.”

Pen looked at Scotch. “One botched death does not a professional killer make. Besides, an intelligence agency gathers information. How many people can they possibly need to kill?”

Scotch walked around the fire that separates them, he reached out to embrace her. “You poor misguided woman. You’re in over your head, aren’t you? Have you not looked up the death rate among spies?” He laughed for a moment. “Have you never watched a James Bond movie and counted the bodies?”

“People do that?”

“Spy Training Day One: The Realities Of Working As A Spy. People who return from lunch break and manage to keep everything down until the end of the day...let’s just say it’s reflected well in their files.”

“I’m fine.” Pen said as she stepped away from Scotch’s embrace.

“Doc said you had issues with people touching you.” Scotch released her, took a step back, and held both hands up so Pen could see them.

“Psych evaluation. I remember telling him. What else did he say?”

“It can be a double edged sword.” Scotch admitted. “A person who has a certain level of detachment makes a better killer.”

“I take it from the agency’s stand point that’s a good thing?” She asked.

He nodded.

“What’s the other side of the observation?”

“I’m going to keep that to myself.”

“For how long?” Pen asked.

“Until we’ve proven the doc wrong.”

Pen looked at Scotch closely and studied his face. The light danced across his features alternately illuminating some while hiding others, although he seemed relaxed as they witnessed the burning of evidence, he had to have been through countless of these clean up rituals, Scotch revealed nothing. It was a talent that was imperative to the survival of any successful spy, of that Pen was certain. Scotch had it and then some. He was also confident. Almost too confident. A blessing and a curse when it came to his line of work. It had to be useful when caught in unexpected situations. If a person can appear confident regardless of what was befalling them, they had a much higher chance of successfully navigating through the problem. The other side of that observation? A man who was too confident might be easily convinced that he had the upper hand when he did not. Pen wondered how easily Scotch could be convinced that he knew everything about their current situation and she did not. Pen knew what her plan was. Scotch did not need to know the details.

Scotch looked at the sky and his watch. “This will be through burning in another twenty minutes. I’ll text the clean up crew and we’ll pull out when they drive in. You can rest in the car if you’d like.”

Pen nodded and turned towards the car.

“Oh and Pen?”

Pen turned back to Scotch.

“You have the best escort at the agency. Relax. The missions will get easier.”

She nodded and turned back towards the drive and their car. “You're damn right it’s going to get easier. This was my one and only mission.” Pen whispered to herself as she walked away.

Three Weeks Later

Paris

The knocks coming from the other side of the false wall behind Pen startled her back to the task at hand.

“It was easier this time wasn’t it?”

She could hear Scotch’s voice through the narrow opening.

“It was.” She admitted. Pen looked at her target. He lay completely still. His eyes were open, as was his mouth. The poison had worked quickly. “He’s dead.” Pen announced.

“Already? Use the cyanide this time?”

“Actually...” Pen muttered to herself more than answered Scotch’s question.

“Huh?”

“He was dead when I got here.” Pen said.

“What?”

“The target was lying on the floor when I entered the room.”

“Why?”

Pen closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, pulled open the false wall further and let her escort in. “When I entered the room the target was laying on the floor like this.” She said, gesturing towards the newly deceased.

“He was already dead?”

“For a seasoned agent you are really slow on the uptake tonight. Isn’t that what I just said?”

“A little stressed?” Scotch asked.

“This was my target that I just discovered already dead.”

“Now you don’t have to kill him. It looks like you’re getting paid this time for work that you didn’t even have to do. Nice going.” Scotch raised a hand near the crown of Pen’s head.

“Do not pat me on the head.”

“You have to admit that it was a job well done.” Scotch pointed out.

“For someone.” Pen looked away from the target and focused on Scotch. “What should we do?” She asked.

He took her by the arm, guided her into the darkened back passage and pointed to the stairs. “The job is done. Let’s go.”





* This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.