Hunting For Pheasant

Scotch looked at Pen. “You’re dressed.”

“Dressing is one what one typically does when one’s had an intruder.”

“So much for Plan A.” He looked around the kitchen. Scotch reached out and lifted the bag from Pen’s kitchen can. “We’ll go with Plan B. Do you have your keys?”

Pen tapped at her left leg pocket and felt her keys. “Yes.”

“Lock the door behind you. It’s time to rustle a few bushes and see how many pheasant come flying out. How do we get out?”

The pair step out into the empty hallway. Pen pointed to a darkened stairwell at the far end.

“The agency cleared this?” Scotch asked as they made their way down the stairs.

“The light bulbs need replacing.” She said as they exited the building. “It’s going to be fixed on Monday.”

“How long has it been that way?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Scotch repeated and shook his head. “Why didn’t the agency move your approval to move in date back until after the repair had been made? It’s standard protocol. Anyone could have been hiding in here, monitoring your comings and goings this entire time. If he or she timed it right no one would have known that they were here.”

“They could exit the building undetected.” Pen added.

Scotch nodded.

“Like we just did.” She pointed out. “Sometimes dark stairwells are a good thing. Considering my reputation as a scientist, perhaps the agency trusts me to show enough common sense to stay out of darkened stairwells.”

Scotch pointed to a row of garbage bins lined up like palace guards. Pen nodded. Scotch quickly disposed of his prop. A dark blue car rolled by and parked at the opposite end of the block. He watched as the door did not open, there was no movement indicating that the driver would be exiting the vehicle during the next few minutes.

“Have you seen that car before?” He asked.

“Yes or one like it. Nearly every day.”

“At this time of night?”

“It varies. There are several people in this neighborhood with similar cars. It seemed highly plausible that whomever it is reside somewhere nearby. I’ve had no reason to question...”

“The hallmark of a good spy is that they blend in to the point that no one has a reason to question their presence. No one has reason to suspect that they do not belong in their surroundings. No one would ever suspect that they are, in fact, a spy. This is what I believe your law enforcement people like to call ‘something that does not look right’. That car parking at the far end of the block in the middle of the night, making no indication that they are exiting the car right after there has been a household trespass a few doors down does not look right.” Scotch’s teeth gleam pearly white in the darkness. “We have located Pheasant Number One my dear Pen.”

“What do you want to do?” Pen asked.

“I’m thinking.” Scotch took Pen by the hand as they crossed the street in front of the parked car. “When I say ‘Now’ look at the license plate.” Scotch instructed. “Now.”

Pen quickly looked at the plate on the car then raised her eyes to smile at the person sitting behind the wheel. She looked at Scotch, they smiled at each other.

Scotch guided Pen into an alley down the next block. “Using the note app on the phone type in the plate number for the car.” He said as he typed something into Pen’s phone.

“That’s strange.” She said. “The phone is asking if I want to ‘send.’”

“Choose ‘Save for later’ and then ‘Send in ten minutes’ under the drop down menu.” He said as he finished his own note. Scotch guided Pen back out of the alley.

“Do we continue walking?”

“Yes. For about twenty minutes.”

“Then what?”

“I’m taking you home with me.”

Pen stopped walking. “What? Why?”

“I have a plan. It will all go smoothly if you come back to my place with me.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard this line before?”

“You probably have but not in this context.” He attempted to continue Pen on their way.

She refused to budge.

“Still not moving, eh?”

“Do you have a problem with the word ‘No’?”

“Not usually. Although I do have to admit that it is not a word I hear often. When was the last time that a woman said ‘No’ to me, 2005? 2001? 1997?”

“This isn’t a game Scotch.”

“1994? Yes. It was 1994. I was new to the agency and still learning my way about.”

Pen shook her head. “Where are you going with this?” She demanded.

“Not to the bedroom, obviously.” He said. “Keep walking with me. If we stop moving anyone who’s watching will notice that something is wrong and we’ll lose any chance that we have at gaining an edge.”

“You’re trying to sell a hook-up story right?”

“That is the idea darling.” He answered with a grin.

Pen reached up and slapped Scotch. “We stopped walking because we are having a lover’s quarrel. Problem solved.” She looked around the empty street and she continued on her own.

“What did you do that for?” Scotch asked catching up with her.

“You said that you were worried about the fact that we were standing still driving off potential followers, slapping you indicates that we are probably arguing, which we are, thereby quickly alleviating any concerns your fellow spies might have.”

Both Scotch and Pen watched as a black SUV passed them traveling in the opposite direction and heard tires screech as it made a u-turn. The pair quickened their pace. Scotch walked ahead of Pen, turned to face her, then stopped, blocking her path.

“This is me.” He said. Scotch gestured to the building they stood in front of with a nod of his head. “The fake fight was a good idea, you forgot one thing. Now that we’ve had a fight we need to make up.”

Pen raised a brow.

“It’s the only way to justify you entering the building with me.” He grinned.