Men: In The Wild

Two women are outside, laying behind a fallen tree. They have binoculars.

Woman One:

I can't believe you dragged me out here.

Especially on a Sunday.

Woman Two:

You have to go outside some time.

Woman One:

It's Sunday. My day of rest.

Woman Two:

What did I find you doing on your day of rest?

Woman One:

Resting?

(Woman Two glares at Woman One)

Woman Two:

When I got to your house there was

laundry in the dryer.

The crock pot was going.

You were vacuuming and there was

no dust anywhere.

Woman One:

Housecleaning can be done on Sunday.

It's very...um...restful.

Besides those were just a few simple

chores I

wanted to get out of the way before I started resting.

Woman Two:

You weren't resting.

Woman One:

I was.

Woman Two:

Was that your only load of laundry in the dryer?

Woman One:

My second.

Okay, my resting skills need refining.

Do we have to do this?

It's so boring.

Woman Two:

What? The staying in one place and not moving?

Woman One nods.

Woman Two:

It's called resting. Sooner or later you'll learn to recognize it.

Woman One:

What are we doing here? Hiding behind a tree in the park on a Sunday.

Woman Two:

Kelly called.

There are new men in town.

(Woman One shakes her head and sighs)

Woman One:

You always do this.

Smell a new man and get weird.

Woman Two:

Yeah. Fresh meat.

Woman One:

You see them. You stalk them.

You get us into trouble.

Woman Two:

I don't get us into trouble.

I don't stalk them. I'm friendly.

Woman One:

I have copies of three restraining orders in my

desk drawer because of you.

Woman Two:

I don't get you into trouble.

Woman One:

I promise I'll act normal again if I could just have a lock of his hair.

I promise I'll be okay if I can look at the tracking app and know where he is.

I promise to leave him alone if I can have a copy of his house key.

I'm the one who gets in trouble. It's never you. It's always me.

Woman Two:

(adjusting binoculars)

Shhh! Here they come.

Woman One:

(pans to the right, back to the left)

Where? I don't see any men.

Woman Two:

They're practically in front of us.

Woman One:

I don't see anything.

No camo, no plaid, no facial hair.

Woman Two:

Exactly. They've showered.

Woman One:

Oh...the view is improving around here, isn't it?

Woman Two:

I bet they smell good.

Woman One:

Here we go...

Woman Two:

Wait...they're turning around. We'll see their faces.

(The men turn around.)

Woman One:

They are gorgeous.

What a shame.

Imports.

Woman Two:

Sexy too.

They're not staying.

Damn.

Woman One:

(lowers binoculars)

Coffee?

Woman Two:

Are there cookies?

Woman One:

There will be. I have fresh cookie dough in the refrigerator.

I mixed it up this morning.

Meet Me In Morocco

Meet Me In Morocco

Meet me in Morocco.

Greet me with a kiss.

Tell me that you love me.

And how much I’ve been missed.

I remember it all so clearly.

Those times together in the city by the sea.

The way that it felt to hold you.

The long hours that we spent living in our dreams.

Meet me in Morocco.

We’ll sit together and pretend.

That the romance of our lifetime.

Never had to end.

***********************************

                                              

Hold Me

Hold Me.

I want to feel the outside world melt away.

I need to feel your arms around me.

Your body against mine.

Hold Me.

I want to feel my heart soar.

My worries disappear.

My temperature as it rises.

Hold me.

I need to feel your breath on my neck.

Your heartbeat against mine.

The touch of your masculinity as it makes my heart race and my mind hazy.

All becomes

quiet,

calm,

and

deliciously sexy

when

you

hold

me.

***************************************

Contentment Sat By My Bedside

Contentment sat by my bedside.

She kept me company last night.

She brought Happiness and Hope with her.

I have to admit that the two are a beautiful sight.

Twins that she proudly fawns over.

We chatted as we watched them play.

We listened closely to their stories.

Until exhaustion coaxed them into slumber.

Excited about events from the day.

Contentment sat by my bedside.

As I slept quietly throughout the night.

They left not too long after breakfast.

My heart felt heavier at the loss.

I was grateful for our time.

Contentment sat by my bedside.

Gently reminding me.

Dark days might not be completely over.

There must always be a beginning to each and every new thing.

Three Days Later...

Scotch was still sitting at the computer. He blinked. He blinked again. The spy scratched his chin. He needed a shave. A shave? He wondered how long he had been there. With these...pervs. Pen was right all he had succeeded in doing was finding a large population of men all looking for a date.

“Pictures of naughty bits. So many pictures of naughty bits.” Scotch looked at his monitor. “It’s Richard Nixon for you lad.” The spy copied and pasted his response into the private message box. vgtamer96 received a picture of the former president of the United States sitting in the Oval Office waving his index finger at the recipient. The message “Naughty Naughty” showed along the bottom of the picture in large white print. Scotch sent the message then blocked vgtamer96. He would not be speaking to Brittany “The Pen” Abercrombie again.

He closed his eyes for a moment only to be startled to attention by a text on...his phone.

So Mr. Super Sleuth are we coming to work today? -P

Scotch muttered an expletive and rubbed his temple. His phone beeped with another message.

Are we?

You are the cruelest woman on the planet. - S

Is that a ‘yes?’

I’ll see you in twenty. - S

Scotch arrived at the agency as promised. Showered, shaved and in all appearances ready to work. Or so he thought. People seemed to be clearing a path as he walked through the main work area. When Pen wasn’t at her desk, he made his way to the lab. He stood at the window and waited. When Pen looked up from her work and saw him she stopped short. The chemist/spy in training called her assistant to her and gave some instructions. He watched as she removed her gloves, lab coat, and thoroughly scrubbed up before approaching him.

“Hi.” Pen said. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

Scotch found her gentle approach and expression of concern unsettling. “Fine.” He answered as he fought back a yawn. “Fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“Right as rain.”

“You look tired. Like you haven’t slept for days.”

Scotch took a moment before responding. He was on duty, to be on duty in house, meant to be an example for her at all times. “When a spy is on a mission that is, time sensitive, he must be willing to give over a bit of rest to accomplish his mission.”

Pen whispered. “First of all, we both know that this is not an official mission.” She brought her voice back to its usual volume. “It’s bad for your health not to get enough sleep.”

“It’s worse for the spy to sleep at the wrong time and allow someone to take an opportunity to kill them.”

“You said this wasn’t dangerous.”

“People are dead. When people are dead it’s always dangerous.”

“You’re cranky. How much have you slept since I saw you last?”

“Three...four hours.”

“Three or four hours per night is not very good but a couple of days of rest should get you back on track.”

“I have had three or four hours of sleep since you left my apartment.” Scotch confessed.

“You’ve only slept three hours over the course of three days?”

“It might have been four.”

“Why so little sleep?”

Scotch looked around, confirming that the hallway was clear. “Twelve hundred followers, 90% percent of them men, nearly all of them looking for a date and a happy ending to their evening. “I’ve never seen so many tallywackers. It was an endless sea of tallywackers. Perhaps travel writer is code for something else.”

Pen shook her head. “It was the picture. You should have used a different picture.”

“I tried but nothing looked right. Are you aware when you are in front of a camera that you appear quite unapproachable?”

“No.”

“You do. You either look like you’re angry, constipated, or in a lot of pain.”

“Who’s in pain?” McLeod's assistant, Bryan asked, stopping to join the pair.

“I was just talking about a friend from school who never adapted to having her picture taken.” Pen explained.

“If you pretend that you are smiling at your favorite person the camera will always be your friend. Mum used to say that.” Bryan offered.

“Thank you. I’ll have to pass that on to her.”

A silence passed between the threesome.

“Can we help you with something?” Scotch asked.

Bryan consulted his clipboard before responding. “As you both know Andrew McKinney was neutralized earlier this week.”

Scotch tensed at the description of his mentor’s unexpected passing.

“No one seems to know how he ended up on the mission list or even why. He has not been a working member of The Agency for several years. Since no one is taking the credit for this Corporate has decided to do a full investigation.”

Penn watched as Scotch’s demeanor relaxed.

“As a result,” Bryan continued, “all missions have been put on hold until further notice. Non-essential personnel will not be allowed inside. You and Scotch are not to be included in the investigation. You both have thirty minutes to leave the building.”

“What should we do?” Pen asked.

“Go home. Relax. Wait. Someone will contact you some time during the next 3-5 business days.”

“What about the lab?”

“The lab will be closed to all personnel.” Bryan responded.

“When?”

“I’m going to notify your assistant that she has one hour to close up the lab after I am finished here.” Bryan handed Pen the clipboard. “Please sign here indicating that this conversation has taken place and you understand what is to be expected of you during the course of this investigation.”

Pen signed next to her name on the printed list.

“And initial here.” Bryan indicated to an area at the top of the form. “And here.” He pointed to the bottom. “Thank you.” Bryan turned to Scotch.

“It’s okay. I know the drill.” Scotch signed and initialed all of the required places on Bryan’s checklist.

With a quick “Thank you,” and a nod Bryan was on his way and in the lab with Pen’s assistant within a matter of seconds.

“Is this typical protocol?” Pen asked.

“I don’t know. This has never happened before.”

“Never?”

“No.” Scotch responded. “But whatever is going on just bought us some much needed time. Let’s not waste it.” Scotch took Pen by the arm and quickly escorted her from the building.

 *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 Interrupted

For Mom and Dad (We Miss You Dad)

Writer Lady turns off the water to the shower and pushes the curtain aside. Grabbing her towel she dries herself off quickly. The bathroom is foggy with steam. She barely misses Spots as she steps on to the rug.

“I’m sorry kitty. I didn’t see you.”

“Yeow.”

“I have got to stop cranking the hot water. My skin is getting so dried out.”

She finishes toweling off and heads to the kitchen.

“What do you think, veggie soup or potato soup?”

Writer Lady looks at Spots.

“The veggies would be healthier...” She reads the labels. “Pearl onions. No, I need something to coat my stomach. Cream soup it is.”

She enters High Command with dinner in tow, sitting down, she proceeds to continue writing her story.

“Her story?”

Writer Lady shifts her gaze to find a handsome spy reading over her shoulder, espresso in hand. “I am the creator, you are the character. I'm telling the story, hence, the word, her.”

“My dear sweet creator, if I was not here nothing interesting would happen.”

“If I had not created you then you wouldn’t exist therefore you would not being doing all the way cool things.” She stops typing and grasps her hands in front of her waiting for Scotch to finish reading her response.

“You don’t have to wait for me to read. I am an Oxford man.”

She adds his response, pauses again, and waits.

“No really. You don’t have to do that.”

A smile crosses her lips which she contains quickly hoping the spy will not notice her enjoyment at his discomfort.

Scotch leans closer and catches her smiling.

Writer Lady grins. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist Luv.” She rises from her seat in the Big Writing Chair and collects her dirty dishes, taking them into the kitchen. When she returns Scotch has taken her seat and taken over custody of the computer. She coughs to get his attention. Nothing happens. She coughs again a bit more loudly this time.

Scotch turns to address her. “I’m sorry were you needing something?”

Writer Lady points to the chair. “I would like my seat back.”

“For what purpose?” He asks.

“To continue my story.”

Scotch’s finger hovers over the back facing arrow.

“To continue writing the story.” She corrects.

Scotch begins deleting letters. (correc)

“To continue writing your story?”

Scotch stops deleting and repairs the damage. The spy relinquishes his seat with great ceremony. “By all means, take my seat, please.”

Writer Lady sits down. “Thank you Scotch.”

Three Days Later

Scotch was still sitting at the computer. He blinked. He blinked again. The spy scratched his chin. He needed a shave. A shave? He wondered how long he had been here. With these...pervs. Pen was right all he had succeeded in doing was finding a large population of men all looking for dates. How was he ever going to face her?

“What?” Scotch’s voice invaded Writer Lady’s peaceful moment. “I would never let a case get the best of me. I’m a professional.”

"Professional what?” Tinkletoes’ voice asks from Writer Lady’s other side. “Whiner?”

Writer Lady pretends to ignore all of the um...whatever these ya-hoos are up to and continue writing the story.

“That’s supposed to be my story.” Scotch points out.

“Who you calling a yahoo?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes and raises an eyebrow.

“She caught you with that one.” Scotch points out grinning.

“That’s okay.” Tinkletoes says. “I’m a giving guy. It’s important to let a girl think she’s winning every now and then. It looks good.”

Writer Lady stops typing and drums her nails on the table.

“What happens to the stuffed shirt next?” Tinkletoes asks.

“He’s not a stuffed shirt.” Writer Lady corrects. “Scotch is a spy. A very good one.”

“I’m a spy. A very good one.” Scotch looks at Tinkletoes. “And you are?”

Tinkletoes looks down at Scotch. “Bigger than you are.”

“Clearly.” Scotch responds enjoying the moment. “What are your talents, Sir?”

“I’m big and mean. I can kill any ninja zombie or space alien in existence. I train assassins and keep the creatures of Faerie from wandering beyond the confines of Writer Lady’s house...her yard. Except for that one time.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“A couple of years ago, Writer Lady’s sister went through a thing and the door between Earth and Faerie was opened allowing all kinds of suitors to pursue her. Human, animal, magical creatures... They were everywhere.”

Scotch rocked back on his heels, barely able to contain his laughter. “One man couldn’t handle all of that on his own, could he? We all can’t be legendary, can we?”

Writer Lady stiffens. Unhappy with where this is going she is determined to prove that all of her characters have their own gifts and qualities and should be appreciated as such.

Tinkletoes fiddles with the mouse and brings up the monitor that Writer Lady is not using. “What is so challenging about being a spy? Let’s see...it looks like you’ve been hanging out online and you’re hacking into some lady’s account. She’s hot but still...”

“That is not some lady. That is my partner, Pen. We are solving a murder. Several and possibly thwarting an attempt to take over the world.”

“Thwarting, really?” Tinkletoes nods. He looks at Writer Lady. “How does a guy get a looker like that on his team?”

Writer Lady stops typing long enough to shoot a glare at the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Characters are created based on need and necessity. Pen is integral to this story. A looker like Pen is not integral to your stories. Besides you get to work with me, Aunt Purdy, and don’t forget House.”

“Yeah, but what do I gotta do to meet her?” Tinkletoes asks pointing to Pen’s profile picture.

“Not Be You.” Writer Lady says. She mutters. “The man is just one big walking, talking hormone.” She shakes her head.

Tinkletoes looks at Scotch. “She says that like it’s a bad thing.” The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head. “Women.”

The Spy Who Whistled

“Suicide. Committing suicide is your answer?”

“Not for me. For him. Why would McKinney put himself in such a position?”

Scotch turned away from the monitor and looked at Pen.

“Why would he put himself in such a position...” Pen repeated in an effort to cue Scotch into finishing his thought.

“McKinney was on to something. Something big.”

“Clearly.” Pen sipped her coffee. “Did he usually take such risks?”

“In his early days, but by the time I was brought in he was a firm believer in calculated risks. Thoroughly planned out, calculated risks. If he was on social media he had a plan, a good one, and he knew all of the players.”

“All but one.” Pen responded.

“You’re reading my mind now. And you said we weren’t partners.” Scotch said with a grin.

Pen bit back a growl. “Could you just get to the point?”

“You have no sense of spontaneity do you?” Scotch turned back to his computer, hiding one tab and pulling up another. “Here is our first bread crumb.”

Pen stepped forward to read over Scotch’s shoulder. “Whistle.”

“It’s a social media app where users post things they found, restaurants, movies they liked, comments on trending events etc… Posts tend to be short, 250 characters or less.”

“Long whistle, short whistle, Wolf whistle?” Pen asked.

“A long whistle is 101-250 characters, a short whistle is 100 characters or less.” Scotch explained.

“The Wolf whistle?”

“Is the equivalent of an internet stonker.”

“What?”

“Something large, impressive, or...” Scotch looked at his lap, turned to Pen, and raised an eyebrow.

“An erection? Really?” A brief smile crossed Pen’s lips. “You Brits pretend to be so proper and then create this.” She commented continuing to study the screen.

Scotch shook his head. “This app originated and is currently operating out of the Bronx. Sorry darling but this one is all American.” The spy countered using his American accent.

“Why was McKinney using it?”

Scotch sipped at his espresso, his eyes shone with secrets to be shared, “To talk to other spies.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Which is probably why they were doing it. It was crazy; more importantly no one is expecting it. If no one is expecting it then no one is looking for it.”

Pen shook her head.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“Look at this.” Scotch pulled up another tab. “These are the discussions that McKinney had been having on Whistle during the last two weeks.”

“I am looking for what?”

“You’re a smart woman. I think you’ll find it.” Pen perused McKinney’s Whistles. “These people are talking about dog parks.”

“What are they discussing specifically?”

Pen looked at Scotch. “I have to say it? Out loud?”

Scotch nodded. The spy had a twinkle in his eyes.

“The best poop spots.”

“Go through it again. What else do you see?”

“Play dates for their pets, where to dispose of dog waste bags, the fees for not following the rules, who to call if you find a dog that is without an owner in the park.”

“No my dear Pen that is not what they were discussing.” Scotch announced as he rose from his seat. “Look at the accounts of the users that he’s talking to. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pen took his chair, studied the accounts briefly, and waited. When Scotch returned she said. “We have an @IF20 and an @JB7.”

“And…?”

“@IF20 is an international property dealer and @JB7 is an ambassador of a country that I’ve never heard of.”

“Take a look at the activity on their accounts.”

“There’s just a bunch of information about dog parks.”

“Exactly. You have an international property dealer and an ambassador and all they talk about is dog parks? No restaurants, no vacations they enjoyed, no properties for sale, no announcements of any new treaties...” Scotch pointed out.

“No pictures of their dogs. Did McKinney have a dog?” Pen asked.

“He was allergic. There you have two people who if their accounts are accurate would travel a lot and not have much time to take their dogs for walks.”

“They would hire someone else to do it.”

“Now you’re catching on.” He sipped on a fresh cup of espresso. “Would you like me to tell you about the numbers?”

Pen rested her chin on her hand as she moved back and forth between various accounts studying the numbers. “Um...no.”

Scotch moved to the leather chair and waited.

“These are fake accounts. The number of accounts the users are following is much higher than the number of followers the accounts have. If these were the accounts of a international property dealer and an ambassador they should have thousands if not hundreds of thousands of followers.”

“Some high profile users have over a million followers.” Scotch pointed out.

“Really?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“How much time do people really have to spend using these apps?”

“When was the last time you didn’t see everyone looking down at their phones?”

Pen blushed a little.

“You’ve never noticed?”

“I”m a chemist. I’m always working and it’s usually in the lab. When would I notice something like that?”

Scotch shook his head. “These were posts listing meeting dates, times, and places. They also showed amounts due for the exchange of items or information.”

“Twenty dollars?”

“Look at it again. Two zero decimal point zero zero. A. Two thousand dollars American. The reader moves the decimal down two spaces and adds two zeroes behind it. The initial is not the first letter of a name.”

“It’s the country the currency originates from.”

“Very good Pen, very good.”

“What’s the plan?”

“It’s only been a few hours, we have no idea which of these followers knows that McKinney is dead or if any of them do. I’m going to leave his account open and see if anyone comes looking for him. In the

mean time, we have another account. This user is following all of McKinney’s contacts both the followers and those he was following.”

“How do you know any of his contacts are going to be interested in following the new account?”

“I studied them. Sex of the user, country of origin, occupation, outside interests and I think that I have come up with something that is irresistible.” Scotch clicked and revealed their new endeavor.

Pen studied the account. “Brittany ‘The Pen’ Abercrombie—Travel Writer!” An American In Paris. Looking for fun, adventure, and romance. Where did you get this picture? This is a negligee picture from the other night.” Pen rose from her chair. “I knew there were cameras in here but I hoped it was something that you turned off when you entered the apartment and found the perimeter secure.”

“It is a lovely picture.”

“I am practically naked.”

“You are wearing the robe. You can’t see anything. Not really.”

Pen raised an eyebrow.

“Look at it closer. It’s not revealing, it just accentuates your curves.”

Pen does not respond.

Scotch looked into Pen’s eyes. “Trust me, I tried everything and all I saw was fabric.”

“You tried everything?”

“The more I explain things the worse I’m doing.”

“I can’t believe you put me out there like this. All of that talk about digital footprints being suicide for a spy.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Use a generic picture of some random woman.”

“And put her in danger? Pen I am surprised. Aren’t you the one who keeps insisting that you aren’t a spy? If Pen, you are, in fact, not a spy, you shouldn’t be in danger.”

“This is dangerous.”

“Yes but you’re with me. You can count on me to be lazy enough to never let anything happen to my Pen.” Scotch looked at Pen. “I hate looking for things. It’s important to always have a good pen at the ready. Look at your first Whistle.”

Hi. I’m Brittany! I’m a sexy, fun, single woman interested in experiencing all that Europe has to offer an adventurous cousin from across the pond.

“You forgot something.” Pen said. “You forgot ‘call me for a good time.’ The only thing that you’re going to attract with this Whistle is slimy oversexed men with overinflated ideas about...about...how well they’re endowed.”

“I don’t think so. Brittany looks like a sweet woman that I would like to get to know better.”

“Perverts. You’re going to attract nothing but perverts then you’re going to have set up a new account.”

“I’m a spy. I have experience using many levels of communication. This is going to be easier than sorting through my winter wardrobe.”

Pen looked at Scotch.

“Mum insisted.”

Pen turned to watch the screen as the number of responses to her Whistle steadily climbed. “Twenty-four hours. After twenty-fours of dealing with these perverts you are going to be begging me to help you set up a new account.”

“The rush will be over in forty-eight hours. McKinney’s killer will be found by the end of the week.” Scotch countered.

Pen rose from her seat. “The responses are climbing rapidly. You have 1200 new followers. I suggest you sit down. You’re going to be here a while.”

 *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.

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