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

A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary And His Cookies

*I created a teeny tiny play this time.

FADE IN.

INT. --Bonus Room

Tinkletoes sits in the bonus room. It is decorated for Christmas. Snow is falling outside.

Dramatic reading of Carp Fisher’s “Tinkletoes’ Christmas Mission.”

Narration by: Someone Really Cool.

Narration begins:

Tinkletoes looked at the list.

He saw the snow falling outside.

Tucking the list into his waist band...

...the self-proclaimed mercenary stood, rising to his full height.

A man on a mission.

He was present.

At the ready...

It was a mission like nothing that had come before.

This soldier was not in pursuit of the enemy, baked goods, lighted sabers...or other sci-fi toys.

(Tinkletoes looks at Narrator) : They’re not toys, they’re collectibles. Would you call a Bergara B-14 a toy?

(TP pops in dressed as Raggedy Ann): Rifles are party favors in Faerie. (giggling)

(Tinkletoes to TP): That doesn’t count.

TP: Does too!

Tinkletoes: Does not!

TP: Does Too!

Tinkletoes: Look, who’s wearin’ the boots here?

The faerie holds up one black booted foot.

Tinkletoes: You may be wearing some kind of boots but I’m the one wearin’ the combat boots and I say it doesn’t!

Narrator (To Tinkletoes): You do realize that you’re arguing with a faerie dressed up as a rag doll, don’t you?

Tinkletoes growls.

Narrator: I’d like to continue if that’s okay. I’m sorry if I upset you. It’s just well...I got excited. The cookies will be coming out of the oven soon.

Tinkletoes: Who’s baking?

Narrator: Aunt Purdy just whipped up some…

Tinkletoes: Without me?

Narrator: She was going to wait but Writer Lady pointed out that with it being December 21^st you might be gone for a while.

Tinkletoes: They’re making cookies? Without me?

Narrator (weakly): She mentioned making more.

Tinkletoes: When I get back?

Narrator: Yeah...um...sure.

Tinkletoes (raises brow): What kind?

Narrator: What?

Tinkletoes: What kind?

Narrator: Your favorite?

Tinkletoes: What’s my favorite?

Narrator: Choc…

Tinkletoes shakes head.

Narrator: Peanut b…

Tinkletoes shakes head.

Narrator: doodles?

Tinkletoes: Chocolate chip. I’m a chip man. But they wouldn’t be making my favorite cookies because it’s Christmas. They’d make those white cookies that get frosted and decorated with sprinkly things.

Narrator (nods): She’s making sugar cookies.

Tinkletoes (paces): They won’t be making more later. They never make more sugar cookies later. There is only one batch of sugar cookies at Christmas and it’s mine!

Narrator: But you’re Tinkletoes. The world famous self-proclaimed mercenary. A man on a mission and a soldier on a Christmas mission cannot give up. He cannot fail! In the name of Christmas the mission must prevail!

Tinkletoes (to Narrator): You’re right!

The self-proclaimed mercenary turns towards the kitchen.

Tinkletoes: It appears that my mission has changed.

FADE OUT.

Paths Down A Long Dark Road

 (Personal Essay)

 I see my old self in you. The sadness. The constant worry about the future. The unending need to prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. That you are going to be okay. Let me tell you this now. I am using all caps for emphasis. Not because I’m yelling.

YOU ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.

You will. It doesn’t feel like it but you will. I have learned a lot over the last decade. Let me share with you what I’ve learned so your journey is easier.

You are surrounded by people who love you. That voice inside your head telling you how alone you are is lying. If you can’t see it then every day I want you to find one person that you know loves you and has your back. Each day look for a new person to add to the list. Write the list down and put it in a drawer or a box. Something that is hidden but close at hand. On the bad days take it out and read the list. Out loud. Remember these are the people who are there for you. They are also the ones who would miss you if you were gone.

There are stages of grief but you don’t go through them in any set order. It’s not like checking things off of a list. You don’t wake up one morning feel acceptance and bam! you’re done. You are going to move through the stages. In and out. Over and over for a long time. You may feel several in one day. You will have emotional days. Days full of difficult things that drain your energy and make you wish for simpler times.

There will be days that almost feel normal except when you remember that he or she is gone.

Some days will be sweet, happy, and spread out before you like buttercream over cake. Then you will feel guilty that you had that day because you aren’t supposed to have good times without him. The truth is that you are. You are supposed to have the good times, the funny times, and the crazy times. He loved you. He wouldn’t want you to die with his passing.

I spent a long time convinced that crying was showing weakness. Crying is not weakness in grief it is a testament to how much you loved. Something so beautiful cannot possibly be weak.

I can hear Dad now. “Have appropriate sadness because I was fuckin’ great. Keep going.”

I hear you Dad. I’m listening.

Keep going. Keep resting. You will start healing. Slowly it will get better.

Try not to make the same mistakes that I made. I realized this morning that I grieved for my late husband like he grieved for his wife from a previous marriage. He never let go of his grief. She was always in the forefront long after we were together.

After I had accepted losing him, grieving had become such a big part of my life that I kept grieving. For other things. Failed attempts at change, mistakes, perceived losses. A decade came and went and I was still grieving. Don’t do that. It does not make for a happy life.

As things change, as you learn to live in this new life you are building let yourself become uncomfortable again as you move away from the hurting. Don’t let living in grief become the forefront of your life. Don’t let it stay forever. Live with it not for it.

Don’t be afraid to change. To build something new. Be happy. Find joy again. Laugh all you want.

The events that took him from you are just a blip of the time that you had together. Remember all of it. It was beautiful.

Changing everything right away does not make the grieving process go faster. Just more complicated.

Loss of a loved one is a difficult journey. You can get through this. You will get through this.

Love yourself, trust your own instincts about change, if something feels like it has to be done right now you may be rushing things, take a step back and proceed a bit more slowly. You’ve got this. You really do.

Nightcap In The Library

The screen on Scotch’s cell phone lit up just as Pen was replacing the last book on the shelf.

How are things going? Are our friends still watching?

Pen read the message. “How long have I been in here?” She muttered. Pen picked up the fake novel and the phone and returned to Scotch’s bedroom. The spy-in-training quickly shoved the book into her purse before she made another appearance at the bedroom window.

The black SUV was still parked on the street outside. She noticed that the doors were closed and the windows had been rolled all the way up against the chill of early morning. The vehicle shook here and there which was consistent with three men of their “friends” size attempting to make themselves comfortable within a limited space. It looked like they would be staying for the night. Or what was left of it.

Pen moved out of view and sent a quick response of “yes” to Scotch. She returned to the hidden room and looked at it to make sure she had not left any tell tale signs that she had been in it. There was a button with a sign next to the room’s entry that read, “Headmaster’s Coming.” Pen retrieved a clean, dry cloth from the bathroom and pressed the button, keeping her fingers covered with the cloth to avoid leaving fingerprints. The door closed, as the room tucked itself away the wall lowered itself to the floor, the bed sliding back into place in front of it.

Pen checked the time on the phone. One corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. She wondered where she wanted to be when Scotch returned. Her told her to wait for him in the bedroom. Pen sat down on the edge of the bed. “There’s no way he’s going to believe that I’ve spent the entire time he was gone on such an uncomfortable bed.” She grabbed the robe that matched her nightgown out of the closet, heading back into the library she prepared to wait.

The bookcase door slid open in front of him, although it was completely dark Scotch knew that he was not alone in the room. The spy stepped forward slowly looking, listening, even smelling for anything unusual or different in the apartment. There was no movement or sound, but there was the faint scent of...he knew that smell. Scotch entered the room pushing the door back into place. He did not utter a single word. The only move he made was to the drink cabinet. Scotch poured himself a nightcap, enjoying that first sip. “Were you scared or did you just miss me?” He asked.

“Neither.” Pen answered.

“I told you to wait for me in the bedroom.”

He heard Pen slide along the leather of his couch. The lamp next to her clicked on. A dim light revealed his partner sitting on it wearing… Scotch blinked for a moment to refocus. Pen filled out the sheer nightgown superbly.

“I am not a child. I’m perfectly capable of choosing a safe place to wait.”

Scotch looked at Pen without replying.

“I couldn’t get comfortable. That bed is a torture device. How do you sleep?”

“A good spy can sleep anywhere.”

“I’m a chemist. Where do chemists sleep?”

Scotch raised a brow. He grinned for a moment and said, “Chemists sleep in the bedroom across the hall. It has a more comfortable mattress on it. As a spy you should have known that.” He took another sip of the amber liquid. “I’m sure that as a scientist you are used to following specific and dedicated instructions. There are probably good reasons for that. Spies can’t always follow instructions.”

Pen looked at Scotch. “Then why are you always quoting rules to me? And subheadings? Setting an example of following the instructions?”

“There are always exceptions to rules. There are always going to be unanticipated situations. There are going to be times that you are on a mission and the background information is out of date or one key bit of information is missing. You only discover it when you get out into the field. The only way you are going to be able to work through those problems if you are always looking around, taking in your surroundings, verifying the information you were given at the briefing, gathering new information. You are always on duty. You are always a spy.”

“Even with you?” Pen asked.

“When I leave you on your own yes.”

“That does not make any sense.” Pen pointed out.

“If you had done any searching on your own while I was gone you would have found the other bedroom and you wouldn’t still be awake in the wee hours of the morning. You are a terrible spy.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“You have to quit fumbling around. You have to focus Pen.”

Scotch was not planning on telling Pen anything. It would be much safer to keep her in the dark. McKinney's words haunted him. “Pen is a beginner, you are not. Everything is new to her; you know how everything is supposed to work. If you’re smart, you’ll use your differences to your advantage.”

It had been a long day and an even longer night, Pen had participated in all the fun that she could stand for one day. “If I’m such a terrible spy then maybe I should quit.”

“You can’t.” He said. "It's too dangerous."

*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.

Hidden In Plain Sight

“You’re losing people?” Scotch asked.

“At an alarming rate. So are the French, the Spanish, the Americans...”

“What about the Russians?”

One corner of Ursula’s mouth turned up revealing a rarely seen dimple, “Ask the Americans, if you can find a live one.”

Scotch thought back to his conversation with McKinney, it felt like it had taken place a lifetime ago, only a few hours had passed between that conversation and this one, “Who are the men in the SUV working for?”

“The one outside your apartment?”

Scotch nodded.

“I don’t recognize them. They must be independents.”

“You don’t know who they might be working for?”

“No. I don’t. The only thing that I can tell you is spies from agencies all over the world are dying and no one is taking responsibility.”

Ursula looked at Scotch waiting for a response.

He sat and waited for her to reveal her final piece of information.

“Have you noticed how none of the spies at your agency have died?”

Scotch remained quiet.

“Why is that? Perhaps it’s because your agency is responsible?”

“You chose to warn Pen.” Scotch pointed out.

“Because I knew that she would go to you and eventually you would come to me.”

“Isn’t that taking the long way around? What if Pen had been reassigned? What if I had been out of the country tonight? How many more employees might you have lost before we ran into each other?”

“I guess I got lucky.”

“You got lucky? There’s more to this Ursula. I’m going to find out. About everything.”

“I hope you do.” She responded, turning her attention to Fluffy. He was slumped in his chair, chewing on his cuticles looking bored. “Good help is getting more and more difficult to find.”

“Things just got very interesting.” Pen repeated to herself as she took in her surroundings.

The area housed a desk with several monitors displaying video surveillance of everything from the hallway outside of the apartment and the street below to Jeremy in 5J’s dog’s whereabouts. A comfortable looking wing back chair stood in the center of the room. A small table sat next to it. She settled herself into the chair and looked around the room.

“If I were Scotch where would I hide things?”

Pen continued studying the room, the dark walls and furniture. She looked down and admired the rug beneath her feet, ran her fingers along the black leather of the chair, took in the carved detail of the cherry table next to her. The furniture looked familiar. A bit too familiar. Pen turned and looked at the monitors. One displayed a view of Scotch’s library. The room she was sitting in was a smaller more simple version of the other room. It appeared that Scotch had intentionally put in the same room twice.

“If I were Scotch and I hid an entire room. I would hide sensitive information, anywhere I wanted.” Pen looked at the room from another perspective. “Knowing Scotch, I would hide it...in plain sight.” Her eyes stopped at the surface of the cherry table next to her and the paperback book. She picked it up greedily like a child who had successfully filched a cookie while Dad napped on the couch. “I would have had it whether I had found this room or not.” Pen quickly looked at the monitors, nothing had changed. She looked at the cover of the book, the chemist remembered looking at the synopsis of this movie when she was exploring Scotch’s references to James Bond and discounting the film as being too far from his references to be of any use in understanding him. Obviously, she had been wrong. It would be useful to do an Internet search to get more details but all she had was Scotch’s phone and she was sure that he would be able to quickly see everything she had done with the phone in his absence. It would be the same story with any equipment within the apartment. There was always the possibility of introducing herself to Jeremy in 5J and requesting use of his computer but explaining how looking up the details of a movie that’s nearly twenty years old in the wee hours of the morning is an emergency requiring he get out of bed and let a complete stranger into his home, suffice it to say Scotch would definitely find out about that one. Pen would have to rely on her own memory and hope that she remembered enough about the movie to help her navigate through her partner’s mind.

She started with the cover. Spy Game By Nathan Muir. The author name was not right. Nathan Muir. Nathan Muir. He was Redford’s character. It sounded like a Redford character. Pen flipped through the book. There was dialogue, narration, the names Bishop and Muir were both mentioned many times. The passages that she read did not stand out. Maybe a novelization of the film was released at some time. Without access to the Internet, Pen would have to confirm that later. Pen turned her attention to the back cover of the book. A website was listed above the ISBN number. Isleofskyepublishing.com. A website was of no use to Pen for the moment. She looked at the ISBN number. Something looked off.

Finally, something she could work with. The spy-in-training stepped out of the room and walked quickly into Scotch’s library. She turned on the light closest to Scotch’s bookshelves, pulled down a paperback book, and compared ISBN numbers.

“This book’s ISBN has ten digits on it. Spy Game’s ISBN has nine digits.”

She located another book and compared.

“Ten.”

Another book.

“Ten.”

Another.

Pen checked twenty books and compared them to Spy Game before concluding that her hypothesis was correct. The paperback in her hand held something Scotch had been hiding. The chemist was determined to find out what it was and what it had to do with the events that had been taking place.

*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.

Negligees, Hidden Rooms, and Private Conversations

The man that Scotch had thought was Duff turned his stool to face him. The new guy had dark hair and eyes similar to Duff’s. The man also had heavy jowls along with a weak chin as opposed Duff’s more defined facial features. The new guy was also pointing a gun at him.

Scotch listened for movement but didn’t hear anything coming from Fluffy’s direction. Either this was a delicate matter or Fluffy was such a newbie that he couldn’t be trusted with his own weapon. Scotch turned his head briefly. Fluffy’s already bloodless complexion had not paled nor did he appear jittery or anxious. Scotch looked for perspiration on the man’s forehead, another sign that he was in over his head. There was nothing.

Scotch rose from his seat slowly. He crossed to Ursula’s booth and sat down. “There are four of you here. Only two of you have weapons. Your newbie is on the job but not nervous so you must only be here to talk. From the imitate size of your group I am going to surmise that this a delicate matter.”

Ursula’s eyes brightened and one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. “There are only three of us here Scotch. You must be losing your touch.”

Scotch leaned across the table and whispered, “There are four of you. Duff is hiding behind the counter. I can smell him from here.” He leaned back against the seat and continued. “Which also explains your new recruit being weaponless. You didn’t want to take the chance that gun fire would be exchanged, he would miss me and hit Duff instead. He must pull to the left when he shoots. Ergo, no gun for Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” Ursula asked.

“When I first spotted him he was standing in a dog park.” Scotch turned around and called out to the man. “Have you checked your shoes lately? You probably stepped in something.”

“You’re the only one who’s stepped in something. Cheeky blighter.” Fluffy’s long legs allowed him to cross the diner quickly. Duff Look Alike a.k.a. Ursula’s Thug at the Counter had to hustle in order to block Fluffy’s path.

“Down boy.” Duff Look Alike said.

Ursula looked at Fluffy, “Lock the front door, sit back down, and be quiet if you want to get paid.”

“You said that you wired my bank with the money an hour ago.” Fluffy argued, looking stricken.

One corner of Ursula’s mouth turned up in a smile, “Lesson Number Three. If a client says that they are sending you the money before the job is done then they’re lying. Always check your bank account before leaving for work.”

“Lesson Three.” Scotch repeated. “How long ago did you bring him on?”

“Yesterday.” Ursula answered.

Scotch looked at Fluffy. “Three lessons in twenty-four hours? You are new at this.”

Fluffy glared at Scotch then at Ursula. He walked over to the front door, locked it, and sat down quietly looking uncomfortable.

“You and Duff cover the other doors.” She said to Duff Look Alike. “This is a private conversation.”

Scotch watched Ursula’s team as they made themselves scarce. He turned his attention back to her. “You used to be more discerning about who you hired.”

“I also used to be off the radar.” She countered. “Fewer people want to work with you when your long term employees keep turning up dead.”

Before Pen began her search she needed to see to it that the men in the black SUV downstairs stayed put and did not wander off. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and hoped she could pull this off. She had chosen something long, white, and silky with lace over the parts that benefit from being accentuated. At first she was concerned that choosing the most conservative looking item in the closet would not be sufficient. There were nighties of all kind in there. Everything from leather ensembles with matching whips to ruffled white and pink numbers with tiny aprons. After sifting through outfit number sixteen she wondered if Scotch had that many encounters or if it was just wishful thinking. “If I find a case of condoms somewhere it’s all in his head. Just like Aunt Serendipity and her collection of wedding veils.”

Pen took a deep breath and slowly eased her way into their visitors’ line of sight. Her calculated risk that leaving something to the imagination could be every bit as effective as showing everything was confirmed when one man hit his head on the outside of the vehicle. Another one had to have his hand stilled by the others before he could honk his approval. She mentally counted for sixty seconds and slowly backed out of the window to return to the task at hand.

Pen looked at the clock. Scotch had been gone for approximately thirty minutes. She anticipated that she had thirty to forty-five minutes to herself before chances increased that the men in the SUV outside would either call it a night or wonder if Scotch had taken another route outside the building and go looking for him. It was not much time to find what she was looking for.

She started with his drink cabinet finding nothing but alcohol and cut glass tumblers. The closets yielded little information as well. Much of Scotch’s money seemed to go into clothes and furnishings. Pen did appreciate his home library and wondered what it would be like to spend several days just exploring it.

There was nothing in the bathroom except a wide range of grooming products. “This is all impressive Scotch but where are you in all of this?” She commented. Pen checked the nightstands and found little more than the usual items including half read copies of both Chaucer and another book called Spy Game. She recognized the men on the cover. “That was a movie not a book.” Pen flipped through the paperback but did not know what she was looking for she eventually abandoned her search tossing it on to the bed.

“Now for the bed.” The first thing she noticed was the texture of the blankets. They were rough. The bed sheets weren’t much better. If the bed had been any harder it would have been made of nails. “This is out of character.” She whispered. Pen took a small flashlight from her handbag and began looking around the base of the bed. She laid down on the floor to take a look underneath but there was solid wood hiding behind its skirt. She began running her fingers along the wood anywhere they would fit.

“There you are.” She pushed a button, not knowing what was coming next, Pen stood up and got out of the way. The bed slid to the left and a section of the wall that had been concealed by the bed lifted. Lights came on revealing a well lit room.

“It looks like things just got interesting.” She said. She looked at the book she had abandoned minutes earlier, picking it up, Pen entered the hidden room.

*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.

Spy On The Town

Scotch stepped out of the alley two buildings to the south of his own apartment  and began walking down the street in the direction of central Soho and some of Duff’s favorite after hours hang-outs. Many places were closing up for the night, there were a few 24 hour diners, that would allow trusted customers to have a drink in a back room provided they brought their own bottle. Duff was a gentle soul who usually needed time alone with a bottle after completing one of Ursula’s errands.

The spy ignored the first odd sound that he heard as he cut across the night traffic closer to late night merry making. The street that he was headed for was still brightly lit and anyone who was following would have to slow their pace to avoid being seen. Scotch stopped and sat down in a bus stop enclosure to send a quick message on Pen’s phone asking if their friends were still outside. She confirmed that they were.

“It seems that I have another new friend.” Scotch muttered under his breath as he put the phone away. “What shall I do with you?” Scotch took a pack out of his pocket and removed a cigarette. He pretended to fiddle with it like someone who was trying to quit smoking and contemplated a quick drag just to take the edge off. It gave the agent a chance to look around and find out where his new friend was hiding.

It took two perusals but Scotch found the tail standing in the shadows underneath a broken streetlamp in what appeared to be a dog park approximately seventy-five feet to the northeast.

“Hello.” Scotch’s eyes brightened for a moment. “How about a walk, Fluffy.” The spy located the most populated, well lit street that he could find and proceeded to stop and talk to...everyone.

Scotch could hear Pen now, admonishing him for taking a dangerous route. But he needed to take stock of who he was up against and what better way is there to do that than to pull the stranger out into the open and watch what he does?

Pen paced the bedroom, looked at the clock sitting on nightstand and paced some more. “He’s doing something stupid.” She muttered. “He’s doing something stupid.”

The display screen on Scotch’s phone lit up as the phone vibrated from its spot on the bed. She picked it up. Scotch wanted to know if their visitors were still sitting outside. Pen walked to the window and looked down on to the street. The black SUV was still there, one of its passengers enjoying a cigarette as he stood on the other side of the street. Pen pulled back out of sight seconds before the man’s eyes found hers.

“Yes still here.” She typed. Good was the only response she received. I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing. There is no way I’m just going to sit here. “I could poke around a bit. I am supposed to be a spy after all. How would a spy get information from another spy? If I’m going to act like a spy I have to be aware of the other spies around me." She thought about the James Bond movies that she had been watching. 007 was never completely safe for more than a few hours at a time. The closer that he got to his answers the more dangerous things became. She looked around the room. He is so full of himself. He wouldn’t be afraid to leave something in here that was classified. Scotch is also not stupid. He would have a booby trap, an alarm, or another kind of fail safe in place. “The way things have been going lately, it would be something that he was keeping separate from the agency. Just in case. I need an explanation if someone comes in while I’m looking.” Pen crosses the bedroom to the closet and opens the door. Her eyes stop on something translucent hanging inside. “Or a distraction.” A corner of the chemist quickly turning into a spy-in-training’s lip curves up into a smile.

Scotch worked the crowd like a host at a party, making it a point to greet the men in a couple first to avoid any unexpected confrontations. On the other hand, starting a fight was always an excellent way to lose a tail as long as you chose your opponent carefully which might be useful later.

As anticipated Fluffy used this unexpected change as an opportunity to close the distance between them. When Scotch used the closed proximity to get a good look at him, Fluffy created a loud scuffle while trying to retreat into the shadows. After a few minutes, Scotch found him lurking in the shadow of a closed lingerie storefront looking a bit pale.

Fluffy is an unseasoned contractor or a newbie. Good.

Fluffy was also tall. Standing a good three inches above most of the men in the crowd. Now that Scotch knew his height and had a basic idea of how much experience his new friend had, the spy had an idea of how to manipulate the situation to his own end. If Scotch played this right he could allow Fluffy to feel a false sense of security and lead him down the primrose path that would end right where he wanted him.

The pair continued up the street and through the crowd, Scotch led him down a darker less populated side street. He wanted to find out what Fluffy’s instructions were. If he caught up with Scotch and attempted to corner him, Fluffy wasn’t just a tail he was something more. An unskilled something more but still something that could be dangerous later. Fluffy stayed back. Scotch smiled to himself as he continued on his mission to locate Duff.

Scotch found Duff at the second place he looked. Ginger’s was a restaurant that boasted authentic American cuisine. An insult to Scotch. The spy felt that the only thing that Americans seemed to know how to do with their food was to drowned it it salt, sugar, and grease. He listened for Fluffy’s entrance as he sat down at the table behind Duff and pretended to study the menu posted on the wall in front of him.

“What is Tex-Mex?” Scotch wondered out loud.

Duff lowered his glass, “A combination of Mexican and American food.”

He doesn’t recognize my voice. Good. “Is it spicy?” Scotch asked.

“Some of it.”

“Spicy food does terrible things to my insides, I don’t want that.”

“It’s pretty good.” Duff countered. “You should try it.”

“At this time of night? I’ll not get a wink of sleep.”

“What’s a wild man like you doing out this late?” Duff asked without turning around.

“Looking for adventure. My girl broke up with me last week. She said that I’m dull as dishwater.” Scotch confessed.

The clicking of a hammer being pulled back came from a darkened booth to Scotch’s left. When Fluffy entered the diner Scotch had heard him sit down to the far right. There were only one or two people that could have anticipated Scotch’s moves so well and gained the upper hand.

“Hello Ursula.”

  *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.

Chapter 4 Section II Subheading Three

“What are you doing?” Pen asked.

Scotch walked around the room pulling dark colored clothes out of the closet and a pair of cheap, dark sneakers out of a shoe box sitting inside.

Pen immediately recognized the ensemble. “Mission clothes?”

Scotch ignored the question and disappeared into the bathroom returning a few minutes later. “Our friends outside are looking for a man in gray dress pants and a matching coat, a white dress shirt and dark oxfords. My features are not remarkable. I look like at least five other men who live in this building. I’ll be using a different exit and wearing different clothes in case I run into one of them while they’re taking a smoke break. If you get a text on the phone from me that looks like a green light I need you to pull up Jeremy 5J out of Contacts and send him a text. Tell him that his dog has gotten out of the building again. It went out the front door.”

Pen looked at Scotch. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“The text means that one or all of our friends are following me and I need a distraction. Jeremy looks just like me and his sudden appearance should redirect them. I’ve done this before.”

“What about Jeremy?” Pen asked.

“What about Jeremy.”

“Does he know that you do this? That you’re putting him in danger?”

“I checked in with him on previous occasions, he has never been aware of anything more than a strange feeling that he’s being watched. He has a black belt in Judo. Jeremy can get out of almost any scrape without much trouble."

 "He's a civilian." Pen countered.

 "So are you as you are so fond of reminding me. Our new friends are professionals. If you text him and Jeremy goes out, I can tell you what will happen. They will follow Jeremy, watch, realize that he’s looking for his lost dog, check their intel, verify that neither one of us owns a dog and return to their original spot outside this building.”

Pen began to argue and Scotch raised his index finger indicating that he was not done talking. “The only time that they might attempt to pick Jeremy up would be if someone had an interest in garnering a quick promotion or if they were instructed to pick him, I mean, me up.”

Scotch sat down on the edge of the bed to put on dark socks and shoes. He looked up to find Pen standing over him.

“I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like?”

“Any of it. Me here tucked away like a child. Jeremy playing your stunt double.You going out alone when you’ve clearly been targeted.”

Scotch stood up giving Pen no choice but to take a step back.

“You’re worried about me.” He grinned. “I knew that somewhere underneath all that...you liked me.”

Pen glared at Scotch. “Even if I did like you, using Jeremy as a decoy stinks. You’re losing points with me with each passing minute.

“Agent Training Chapter 4 Section II Subheading Three: When things go wrong—Improvise. I’ve been doing this for a long time Pen and I’ve never lost a single decoy. Relax.” Scotch turns and walks towards the door with Pen on his heels. “Stay here. Make your appearance at the window and try to get some sleep. I’m locking everything up behind me. When I enter this room again it will be through the bookcase to the left of the fireplace. Upon entering, I plan on making a stop at my beloved drink cart for a quick belt.”

“That was detailed.”

“It is all the details you’ll be getting from me tonight Pen.” Scotch stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her. “Would you like to kiss me before I go?”

Pen reached up and closed the bedroom door leaving Scotch standing in his own darkened hallway.

“The lady says, ‘No’.” He whispered.

“It was a strong ‘No’!” Comes from the other side of the door.

Scotch grinned as he walked through the darkened hallway and into his mission.

 *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.