Scotch's Mission

Pen looked at the man laying on the ground in front of her. He was older, heavy set, slightly disheveled looking, and he was familiar. But the mustache there was something about the mustache. She reached out with one gloved hand, took the outer edge of the mustache between two fingers, and pulled. The mustache began to come away from his face. She recognized him.

“Scotch, could you come here for a moment.” She whispered into her microphone. “Please? We have a problem.”

“Was the job done by another agency again? Relax Pen, it’s another freebee.”

“It’s not that he’s already dead. It’s the victim. You need to come over here.” Pen responded.

“We are working out in the open this time. Need I remind you that you are on a timer.”

Scotch looked up and found Pen glaring at him.

“Stop acting like such a...supervisor and get over here.” She said as she took him by the arm and led him to the body.

Scotch’s smile disappeared when he saw their target. McKinney was lying face down his head turned to one side. His eyes stared in the direction of the sunset, one arm extended. “No...no...no...not McKinney.” The spy squatted next to his mentor’s body in disbelief taking in the sight before him. He bowed his head. After several minutes he looked at Pen.

“Let me.” She said.

Scotch cooperated when Pen led him to a nearby tree stump. He watched as she studied the gunshot wound to the back of McKinney’s head, took notes that she carefully tucked into a pocket, then retrieved something from his open hand. Pen gently closed McKinney’s eyes and returned to Scotch.

“I found this. It’s a clue and I think we should keep it.” She said as she handed Scotch a cell phone.

He didn’t argue or rattle off a single directive.

“There’s no GPS on the phone. I’ve already checked it.”

Scotch looked at the stop watch in his other hand. They did not make good time on this mission. It occurred to him that he really didn’t care about records and lost accolades as he turned off the watch and put it in his pocket. He wasn’t sure if he would ever care again. 

After clean up, Pen drove them back into London slowly. It was still early. The paperwork would take little time. She wanted to study Scotch and try to gauge what he might need after losing someone that he was close to. The spy was quiet. Eerily quiet. It was so unlike the confident demeanor he usually radiated. Pen found it unsettling.

Headquarters was noticeably empty when they arrived. It was the height of the late dinner break. The pair finished with the paperwork just as people were returning to their desks. They did not speak until they were outside the Cock’s Comb preparing to part ways.

“Are you going home? Would you like to go into the pub? I’ll buy dinner.” She offered.

Scotch looked around for a moment, then he glanced into the crowd of merrymakers inside. “No.”

“Somewhere else?”

“It’s okay to leave me alone Pen. I’m going to be alright.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s barely eight. What are you going to do all night.”

He thought for a moment and said,“I’m going to pretend I’m you. I’m going to go home, take a shower, pour myself a drink and take a rest. Toast the friend that I just lost.”

“And then?”

“I might putter around with this.” Scotch said as he gestured to phone in his pocket. “Trust me by tomorrow morning I will be the same man you know and love.”

Pen sighed.

“The same man you have grown to admire and respect.”

Pen raised an eyebrow.

“The same man that you no longer want to kill every day?”

Scotch looked into Pen’s eyes. “I’m going to be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“First thing?” She asked.

“First thing.”

Pen left Scotch in front of the Cock’s Comb wondering if it would be the last time they spoke.

Pen’s phone beeped at her at the ungodly hour of five-thirty a.m.

Hello. I’m looking for my pen. Have you seen her?--S.

Pen looked at the phone and frowned. She looked at her alarm clock. “Five-thirty in the morning? Really?”

Are you drunk?-- P

Pen answered, falling back into her cocoon of blankets and pillows.

Get out of bed sleepy head your shift started ten minutes ago. -– S.

“Damn Englishman.” Pen grumbled as she climbed out of bed. She made it to Scotch’s apartment in twenty minutes flat.

He opened the door before she had the chance to knock. “It’s about time you showed up. I’ve been working for hours.” Scotch lifted a cup to his lips, his eyes bright with untold secrets of adventures yet to be taken like a boy on the first day of summer vacation.

“What’s in the cup?”

“Espresso. A fine Turkish blend I stumbled across about five years ago. In a whorehouse.”

Pen looked at him unhappy at the sudden change in her day, the rushed morning, the lack of coffee in her own possession. The fact that he was so cheerful. “Of course. Everyone knows that the only place to find the good coffee is in a whorehouse.”

Scotch held up a large mug. “I made you the regular stuff. Go ahead, drink.”

Pen nodded, he had made a good cup of coffee.

He reached out and took her by the arm. “Good now that you’ve had some coffee, let’s get to work.” Scotch led her straight into the secret room.

“I get the impression that you’ve found something.”

“I did. McKinney had an app open on his phone when he died. A social media app.”

“Wouldn’t having any kind of digital footprint be dangerous to anyone doing intelligence work?” Pen asked.

“Suicide. It would be suicide.”

Double Gold Star

“Too dangerous? Why? What’s going on? Does it have something to do with our new friends?”

Pen’s questions were met with silence.

“That’s a great big ‘yes.’” She said.

“What?”

Pen rose from her seat. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘No answer is an answer?’”

Scotch shook his head. “It must be something that circulates through the colonies.” He responded without looking at her.

“The colonies? First I’m a rotten spy and now I’m, what, an errant child?”

No answer.

“Scotch. Scotch are you with me?” She asks, snapping her fingers.

Scotch does not respond.

It had been a very long night and Pen was losing her patience. “Do this. Don’t do that. Go here, don’t go there. You’re a spy, figure it out. No, nothing is wrong. You can’t leave because you’re in danger. Your inconsistencies are infuriating.” She said. As she turned on her heel the fabric of the robe flowed around her legs.

“It’s classified.” He muttered.

She turned to face him. “What?” Pen asked quietly.

“It’s classified.” Scotch repeated.

“It’s classified? I’m supposed to be a spy, I’m the one in danger and it’s classified?”

Her comments are once again met with silence. Pen turned around and left the room.

“Where are you going?”

“I would tell you but it’s classified!” She called out. She changed into her clothes, locked herself in the bedroom with the comfortable bed, and left at first light.

Pen did not realize that she had the wrong phone until a text message popped up from Corporate the next afternoon. She put down the book she had filched from Scotch’s apartment and proceeded to text herself.

You have my phone.

Hello. It’s nice to hear from you too. Yes, I did sleep well thank you for asking. --S

I still have your phone.

That’s what happens when she sneaks out of a gentleman’s apartment in the wee hours. A lady forgets things. - S.

Women who behave like errant children are hardly ladies. Pen finished typing and hit send.

The phone rang.

“Shit.” Pen muttered before picking up. “Yeah.”

“Is that any way to greet a man after you’ve spent the night at his place?”

Pen did not respond.

“Is this the, no response is a response, thing that you were talking about?” He asked.

More silence.

“It seems that it is.” Scotch continued. “I have a couple of friends that were wondering if you might be interested in bowling a game or two.”

“Bowling?”

“They are anxious to know how our venues compare to yours in America.”

Pen thought for a moment. “Sure. That could be fun.”

“I’ll meet you at the school yard tomorrow at four pm. Oh and bring your day planner. We’ll compare calendars.”

“O-Kay. See you then.” Pen put down the phone, getting as far away from it as possible as quickly as she could. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. Six pm. Twenty- two hours. She had twenty-two hours to figure out what what was in that novel. She’d better get to it.

Scotch was not happy when four pm came and he found himself standing alone in the park. Pen’s phone vibrated in his hand.

Change of plans. Walk to the far side of the park, make a left, and duck into the tea house on the corner. Delete this message now.

Scotch deleted the message and wondered what was going on. He moved quickly, carefully matching his step to that of the power walkers around him. He made sure to allow a jogger or two to pass him in an effort to avoid standing out.

He entered the tea house and assessed the situation. The establishment was nearly full. Pen had chosen a small table at the back. A wall was behind her and she was facing the door. The kitchen was located on the opposite side of the building. The spy was able to claim the table next to her within seconds of it being abandoned by other patrons.

“You found me.” She said without looking at him.

Scotch leaned back in his chair allowing the waitress to clear things away, wipe down the table, and put it to rights. He gave her a quick nod and a “Thank you.” Scotch looked around while pretending to peruse his menu. “What happened to you?”

“Didn’t you wonder how you got out of your apartment building the other night without being detected?”

“It did seem a bit easier than it should have been.” He admitted.

Pen received her tea and scone from their waitress. The waitress then turned to Scotch and took his order.

“The men in the SUV weren’t following either of us. They were following this.” She said.

Scotch’s phone landed on the table in front of him.

“My phone? The agency has these phones specially made and programmed. Each is run through IT for screening and to verify that the phone has not been corrupted at any point during the manufacturing and shipping process.”

“The programming wasn’t corrupted. A very small chip was attached to the agency’s GPS chip. A professional would have had a difficult time finding it.”

“How did you find it?” Scotch asked accepting the pot of tea placed on the table in front of him.

“It was askew.”

“Askew?”

“It was not perfectly placed on top of the other chip. When placed correctly, the chip blends in. I was looking for something that did not look right and there was a slant to it. Someone was in a hurry when they placed it there.”

Scotch turned over the phone and began to pull off its back cover.

“Too late.” Pen said as she began slicing her scone in half.

“Where is it? Did you check for prints?”

“I looked for prints but there were none. The chip is in a Koi pond in a rest home on the other side of London. Hopefully it has been eaten by one of the fish that is going to be transported to Vienna. The owner of the rest home is a bit of hobbyist. The Koi bred very well this year.” She paused to enjoy a bite of her afternoon treat.

“How did you know about the chip?”

“I noticed our new friends outside my apartment building late last night. I did a bit of research, took a peek in the back of the phone and voila!”

Scotch looked at Pen as he returned her phone to her. “You are full of surprises today.”

“One of my college roommates dated a guy that had a scientific mind and an obsessive love of technology. He lived to talk about it. I was the only one in the apartment who could keep up with him. We stayed in touch, so I knew where to look.”

“You have officially earned your first double gold star.” Scotch proclaimed.

“You have a message from Corporate. It was why I texted you yesterday.”

Scotch scrolls through his messages. “It looks like we have a new mission. In thirty minutes.”

*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.

When You're At Work But Your Characters Think It's Play Time

(Late Afternoon –Office Setting)
Scotch leans over and whispers to a woman at a desk who is typing.

Scotch: You know what I think you should put in the story? The bad guys following me around is cool and everything but I think that it’s time for another dead body. Maybe I could hear something and chase someone into the darkness, a gun could go off and then Pen…

Pen: What are you doing? (looks around) This is work. We aren’t supposed to be here.

Scotch (looks at Pen and smiles): She’s typing, where else should we be?

Pen: Waiting...at home. She’s work-ING.

Scotch: Exactly she’s working. We need to be here to help. (Scotch leans in closer) What we really need is some action. Big action. You know what I’d really like to do? Bungee jump off of Big Ben. It’s dangerous, it’s exciting...readers will flock to us.

Pen (To Scotch): She’s working. Let’s go home.

Scotch ignores Pen and watches the woman type. He stops smiling.
Scotch: My name is not on the screen anywhere. Is she cheating on us with another story? (Looks at Pen and points to the screen) She’s cheating on us with another story.

Enter Toni Johnson, Window Weather woman. Toni stops to stand on the other side of Pen.
Toni: Excuse me. Does he know what the phrase “at work” means?

Scotch looks away from the computer screen and turns to look at Toni.

Toni: Yes I’m talkin’ about you. Hey there baby. What your petite lady friend, excuse me but where do you find clothes that small? Does Barbie have a consignment shop full of her old clothes or something? You are a tiny little thing. 

Pen makes a face.

Toni: Sorry I ran off the road there for a minute. Let Toni pick up where she left off. (Back to Scotch). What our friend here is doing is called Working. She has a job.

Scotch: Yes writing about us.

Toni: No don’t nobody pay her for that. This is her other job. The one that pays for things. So if you want to go killing yourself jumping off that big ole clock thang you need to take your happy butt home and wait for her there.

Scotch: But what about?

Toni: (Patiently repeats) No baby take the butt home.

Scotch (setting tumbler of scotch on desk): I’m just going to leave this for her. In case she gets thirsty.

Regarding The New Year

Let’s try something new this year. A holiday message. A reflection on 2019. My hopes for 2020.

It was cold last night but much of this winter has been warm so far, in my neck of the woods, anyway. Rain instead of snow. There have been only a couple of mornings of frosty roofs and windows. Regardless my bed is still piled high with blankets, old houses can be drafty at times. We still have wind. If we have nothing else these days. We have wind. Plenty of wind. 

Christmas came early this year. Did you notice? People put up their trees and lights when I was still saying good-bye to Halloween and as a result Christmas decorations have come down early too. I’m the only one I know who has not already packed up Christmas. I remember when people didn’t put anything away until after New Year’s had come and gone. I miss that. 

With my father passing in November, once I found the energy to decorate for Christmas, I have held fast to the changes around the house. I don’t want to give my Christmas decorations up, for the simple fact that the inside of my house does not look exactly like it did during his final days. My plan is to have one piece of everyday décor changed in each room by the time Christmas has been put away. A plan that has yet to be implemented. 

New Year’s Eve was not the long, boring night that it has been in previous years. Once I gave up on television and pulled out a book it was quite cozy. As the evening wore on, I stopped to empty out the Happy Moments jar. 

The Happy Moments jar. It’s something that has been circulating our Cyber world for a while. A person writes down on a scrap of paper something good when it happens. A happy moment. Then it is placed in the jar and saved for New Year’s Eve. At the end of the night each moment is taken out and read out loud as a reminder of all of the good things that have happened in life. I adopted it about three years ago. I find that it does two things: it teaches a person to recognize the little joys in everyday life and it is also a reminder that there was good in your year regardless of how a person may be feeling on New Year’s Eve. 

I opened the jar and read. Yes, I did not have a lot of happy moments. More than one or two were tied to Dad and his illness. I had challenging days and false starts in some areas. It was a difficult year.

I was thinking about those moments this morning. Thinking about what I could take away from the exercise. I was reminded that even though we have happy moments some things don’t always have a happy ending. I also recognized that most of the happy moments had to do with me coming out of my comfort zone, taking on bigger challenges, and getting through difficult things. I questioned, I challenged. I went down unfamiliar roads. Sometimes I got hurt. Sometimes I had to step back and rebuild. 

Those kinds of years are good too. It reminds us that somewhere inside there is resilience, there is strength. It might not be fun pulling them out and using them. We might yell, scream, cry, or fight against what’s coming. We can also face it and deal with it. Rebuild, become stronger. Whatever is next might be easier to deal with than it would have been last year or the year before that. 

My hopes for 2020? There is hope. It’s growing slowly. I’m not going share any specifics because I am still identifying them all. I am hoping it gains momentum in the coming weeks and snowballs. I hope that we all have an amazing 2020. I hope that 2020 is a year of positive change for our world and all who live on it. 

Happy New Year Everyone!

May all of your wishes come true.

HR Apostos