by Nic Saint
“You said ‘my partner and I’ whereas the rules of grammar dictate it should be ‘me and my partner’.”
“Who cares about grammar!” screeched the overwrought CIA agent.
“Well,” said Izzy censoriously, “if we don’t care about grammar, we’re no better than the beasts in the field, are we?”
“Shut up!” yelled the man while he gave the prostrate body of his partner a prod with his foot.
A banana peel dangled from his right ear and a discarded sardine skeleton from his left, but he didn’t seem to mind. Yvonne wondered if the hairy growth under the man’s nose was a mustache or also a piece of trash.
“Matt!” he hissed, giving his partner another prod. “Are you all right?”
Yvonne, wanting to be helpful, knelt down beside the fallen government official. “Matt!” she yelled, giving the inert body a vigorous shake. “Matt! Wake up!”
“Stay away from him, you—you—you vixen!” screamed the man. “You’re the one who did this to him—to us!”
Yvonne shrugged. “Only trying to help.” She directed a look of censure at the man. “Now why were you hiding inside the garbage truck in the first place? What were you hoping to accomplish?”
The question seemed to galvanize the other man. He shook from stem to stern, appearing to do the Shimmy Shake. Then, suddenly, a twitching nose appeared from his collar.
“Aaaargh!” screamed the man as he stared into the beady eyes of his shirt-mate.
Izzy gazed on the scene with a pleased expression. “See! I told you it was a rat.”
The rat, which seemed as surprised as its host, bared its teeth to give a startled screech, then leapt to freedom by crawling onto the agent’s shoulder, and took the great leap into the abyss. Scurrying away in the direction of the recently emptied out dumpster, it quickly disappeared from view. Rats are notoriously shy, and this one didn’t seem eager to break the mold.
The upshot of all this shaking and twisting was that the man’s gun hand had lost its firm grip on the government issue pea shooter, which fell to the ground and skittered away until it came to a stop against Izzy’s well-clad foot. Even when working, Izzy liked to look her best, and today she had opted for a pair of black low heels complete with ankle strap.
Reaching down, she picked the gun from the floor and held it out between thumb and index finger.
“Um, Frank is it, right? You dropped your gun, honey.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, Frank took the gun from her, and then seemed uncertain how to proceed, staring at Izzy as if seeing her for the first time.
“Thanks,” he said automatically.
“You’re welcome.” She turned her smile up to full wattage, and the effect was immediate and devastating. Frank’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his jaw dropped, and his tie hitched up. Izzy, apart from being blonde and petite, was strikingly pretty.
“So you’re a spy, huh?” she said, starting to make easy conversation. “Is that a fun racket to be in?”
A soft groan saved Agent Frank from having to answer this question.
“What happened?” moaned Agent Matt as he opened his eyes.
Yvonne hovered over him. “Your friend called me a bad name so I punched his lights out!” She made sure to accentuate every syllable, for the two men struck her as particularly dumb. “Then you attacked me so I punched your lights out!”
Joe’s eyes went wide, and he sat up so quickly, his head almost collided with Yvonne’s. He eyed her like a crazed animal. “You stay away from me, you hear!” he yelled out. He then searched around for his partner. “Frank? Are you all right? Frank!”
Frank, who was still captivated by Izzy’s smile, blinked and snapped out of his temporary stupor. “Huh?”
“We have to call for backup! Call for backup now!”
“Sure.” Frank reached for his ear, but instead of the ear piece he was apparently trying to locate, all his fingers met was the banana peel. He shook his head sadly. “I seem to have lost my communicator, Matt. You call for back-up.”
“I lost mine when this—person!—knocked me out the first time.” He held up his hands as he slowly scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving Yvonne’s. She quite enjoyed the sensation of being the sole focus of this handsome man’s attention. “Look. We’re government agents. You can’t do this to us!”
Yvonne was surprised. “Do what? We’re just doing our job. Matt.” She liked the sound of his name. Matt. Probably short for Matthew. A good old-fashioned Catholic name. She nodded approvingly.
“You don’t have to do this!”
“But we have to. If we don’t, they’re gonna fire our ass.”
He looked a little crazed again. Roving eyes and all.
“Please! Why are you doing this? Who are you working for?”
Once again, Yvonne wondered if the blows this man had sustained might have caused permanent damage. Or perhaps he’d never been too bright to begin with. She gestured at the truck. “DSNY, Matt. It says it right there on the vehicle.”
Matt looked from Yvonne to Izzy, then to the decal indicated. He shook his head dazedly. “Oh, you’re good,” he finally said. “You’re very good.” He narrowed his eyes at Izzy. “At least give me your names. Before I go, I want to know who licked me.”
“Yvonne Assenheimer.”
“Izzy Superczyński.”
Joe’s eyes turned sad. “I knew it. Russian, huh? I thought we had an agreement. Never heard about detente? We’re supposed to be working together now!”
Yvonne had no idea what the man was going on about, but decided that what he needed now more than anything were a hot beverage and a donut. “Izzy? Do we still have some coffee?”
“Oh, plenty, hon.” She gave her a comical look. “Lemme pour you a cuppa.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Matt here. I think he needs it more than me.”
Confused, Matt watched as Izzy disappeared inside the truck and came out with a thermos of coffee and a cup. Then his eyes widened when he saw that his partner Frank was still holding his gun. While Izzy was pouring, he sidled over to Frank, and grabbed the gun from his hand.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
Izzy held out the cup. “Here, Matt. A cuppa joe.”
With a vicious snarl, he swung the cup from Izzy’s hand, the scalding hot beverage hitting Frank in the face.
“Owwww!” howled the unfortunate agent.
“Hands up, you bitches!” thundered Matt, leveling the gun at Yvonne.
Peeved, Yvonne hauled off and swung her fist at the offending agent. Moments later, Matt went down for the third time that morning.
Izzy, Yvonne, and Frank stared down at the fallen agent.
“I don’t think I like him, V. He keeps talking smack.”
“Matt does sometimes have a foul mouth,” agreed Frank.
“Nobody calls me a bitch. Not even Richard Gere’s younger brother,” was Yvonne’s stated opinion.
Just then, all hell broke loose. From every direction, very big black-clad men swinging very big guns sprang up like a sudden rash, while a voice boomed over an intercom, “Everybody hit the floor! Now!”
Before they had a chance to react, black hoods were placed over Yvonne and Izzy’s heads, their hands yanked behind their backs, and they were unceremoniously slung onto the floor of a van. The sliding door was slammed shut, and next thing they knew, they were propelled against the back of the van while it roared away from the alley with screeching tires.
“Iz?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re being kidnapped, V.”
“I think so too.”
“Shut up, bitches!”
With a grunt, Yvonne stomped her booted foot in the direction of the voice. With satisfaction, she felt her boot connect. There was a crunching sound and then a big body dropped to the floor with a dull thud.
Izzy giggled. “Well done, V.”
“Nobody messes wit
h a New York City sanitation worker,” grunted Yvonne.
Chapter 4
“There’s something about this I don’t understand.”
The voice was somehow very familiar, but Yvonne couldn’t place it immediately. She was still wearing the black hood. The thugs who had kidnapped both her and Izzy had dragged them from the van—seriously scraping Izzy’s nice new shoes in the process judging from her friend’s loud laments—and had strapped her to a chair.
“Um. Hello? Who’s going to pay for these shoes! Cause I’m pretty sure they’re totally ruined now! Hello? Hel-lo-oh!”
In spite of their predicament, Yvonne had to laugh. Whoever these thugs were, there was no way in hell Izzy would let them get away with this. Her friend was a mild-mannered girl, but when someone touched her shoes, she could turn into an avenging angel, raining down hellfire on the culprit.
“What?” Another voice sounded in the darkness.
“If they’re really Russian spies, why is it we’ve never heard of them?”
“Duh. Cause they’re good at what they do? If they weren’t aces, we’d have heard of them by now.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Spies? Did these people really think they were spies? Where did they get that idea?
“They think we’re spies,” loud-whispered Izzy, who’d come to the same conclusion. She now noticed Izzy’s voice was coming from right behind her. She wiggled a bit and stretched out her fingers against her constraints. To her relief, she found herself touching Izzy’s fingers. They were strapped back to back. She gave her friend’s digits a tight squeeze.
“Yeah. Hilarious, right? Can you imagine? Us? Russian spies?”
“Actually, I can. Like Angelina Jolie? In Salt? Hot to trot and lethal as hell? And the pay. Oh, man. I bet they’re being paid a packet.”
“Better than garbage disposal?”
“Sure. A lot better. You know? When this is all over, I think we should consider changing jobs.”
“Shut up!”
That familiar voice again. Oh, hell. She just wished she could see who it was. And then, suddenly, she did. The hood was yanked away, and she found herself blinking against a sudden harsh light shining into her eyes. When finally her eyes had adjusted, she saw that Matt himself stood facing her. She gasped in shock when she saw him. Apart from his damaged nose, the agent was sporting a black eye and a big bruise on his left cheek.
“Matt! What happened to your face!”
The face in question darkened. “You happened, you…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but merely rubbed his damaged cheekbone. Yvonne’s hands were tied behind her, and a table divided them, but he still eyed her warily.
“Did I do that?” Yvonne shook her head commiseratively. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”
A chuckle sounded next to her, and when she glanced over, she saw that another man stood staring down at her. He was older than Matt, his leathery face a maze of wrinkles and his shock of hair completely white. His eyes were the clearest electric blue she’d ever seen.
“It’s not funny, Brian,” hissed Matt.
“Oh, I think it is. Being taken down by a woman. Three times no less!”
Yvonne stared at the man. “Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
This made him laugh even harder, and Joe’s scowl deepened. He planted his hands on the table, lowering his face to hers.
“You’re going to tell us all you know about the operation and you’re going to do it now.”
Yvonne, finding herself at such close proximity with this man, quickly agreed. “Aye aye, sir.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Garbage disposal.”
She jumped when he thumped the table hard. “Nonsense! You two are Grant’s handlers, aren’t you?”
“Grant? Who’s Grant?”
“Hugh Grant,” Izzy piped up behind her. “British actor? Famous for his comedic parts in such masterpieces as Nine Months, Mickey Blue Eyes and Did You Hear About the Morgans?”
“NOT Hugh Grant!” thundered Matt, annoyed.
The grinning man called Brian was still laughing. “Just give them the juice, Matt. They’re hardened pros, can’t you tell? They won’t tell you a thing.”
Yvonne licked her lips. She was a little thirsty. “I would love some juice, Matt.”
“Me, too,” chimed in Izzy. “And if you have apple juice? My stomach doesn’t react well to orange juice. Gives me cramps.”
“Or mango, if you have any. I love me some mango juice.”
The juice theme seemed to upset Matt for some reason. His handsome yet damaged face twisted into a grimace. “There will be no juice! No juice, you hear me! No juice!”
Izzy, always easy to please, said, “Oh, all right. Perhaps a glass of water, then?”
There was another ripple of laughter emanating from the elderly man, which only exacerbated Joe’s annoyance. His jaw set, he stalked off in the direction of a small office, shaking his head. He reminded Yvonne of a bull charging a matador. The man might be handsome, but he had quite a temper.
Then she thought of something. “You know? You should probably warn Jack DeLantern that we won’t be able to finish our shift.”
Brian immediately appeared interested. “Jack DeLantern. Is that your contact?”
“Yep. He’s the big cheese. You better tell him we’ve been unavoidably detained.”
“Good thinking, V. I hadn’t even thought of DeLantern. He’ll be royally pissed when we don’t finish our shift.”
“You girls are really good,” murmured Brian.
“We have to be. There’s a lot of competition for the position of sanitation worker.”
“Is that what they call you in Moscow nowadays?”
Izzy giggled at this. “I don’t know about Moscow, but you should see the jealous looks we get when we drive by in our truck.”
“Enough of this garbage,” said Matt, who had returned. Yvonne watched with interest as he laid a small pouch onto the table in front of her. Opening it, he took out two syringes and two vials. Her eyes widened. Now it was dawning on her. “Oh, jeez. Now I get it. I’m so sorry! I should have told you this right from the start.”
Matt smiled, and looked over at his elderly colleague. “Not so tough now, huh?”
Yvonne wriggled in her seat, and tapped Izzy’s fingers with her. “Remember what I told you about the flu thing, Iz? How I told them we’d come in and we never did? They’re going to do the thing now. The flu shot thing.”
“Oh, my God! Is that what this is about? Oh, we’re so sorry, Matt, sir. We meant to drop by, didn’t we, V? But it just completely slipped our minds, right?”
“That’s exactly how it went, Matt. You have to believe us. We were going to drop by the clinic, but then we forgot.”
“If I’d known DeLantern was so strict about these shots, we’d have come in sooner, right, hon?”
“Of course. We know how important it is to be protected against the flu.”
Matt, whose jaw had dropped more and more throughout this exchange, burst out, “What the hell are you talking about?”
With her head, Yvonne gestured at the needles. “The shots. The flu vaccination campaign?” She gazed into Joe’s eyes, happy she’d finally solved the mystery.
Shaking his head disgustedly, Matt expertly filled the needles with the fluid, and walked over to Yvonne.
“Thank you, Matt. I know we should have—ouch!”
Matt grinned. “This hurts me more than it does you, honey.”
Yvonne scowled at him. “I wouldn’t be too sure.”
She could feel Izzy wriggling against her back. “Ouch! Hey, that hurts!”
A third man had joined them, and Yvonne recognized him as Frank. The moment Izzy yelled out in pain, he hurried over to her. “Are you all right, Izzy?”
Annoyed, Matt waved him away. “Disappear, Rottmeyer. Out of my sight.”
“I’m fine, Frank. Thanks for ask
ing,” Izzy purred.
Yvonne sighed with relief. The company had a strange way of delivering their vaccinations, but she couldn’t really blame them. These shots were important. She wriggled in her seat again. “Well. Now that that’s over, I think it’s time you released us, don’t you—”
Suddenly, she felt faint, and next thing she knew, the room started to spin and the bottom dropped out from beneath her.
Chapter 5
When the wooziness wore off, she shook her head, dazed. Weird. She’d never had this kind of reaction before to a flu shot. Perhaps she’d suddenly developed an allergy or something?
Then she noticed Matt sat eyeing her intently.
She gave him a friendly smile. “You’re quite the looker, aren’t you?”
His smile faltered.
Brian’s lips twitched. “Could you… elucidate, Yvonne?”
“Well, I mean, look at the man. He’s probably the hottest thing that ever walked this earth. With that rock-hard body, those chocolate eyes, that patrician nose, that lock of hair nonchalantly sweeping across his noble brow…”
“This is neither here nor there,” murmured Matt, pursing his lips. “Now tell me about Grant.”
“I like him. He’s not everyone’s taste, but when Iz and I organize one of our girls’ nights, we always watch one of his movies, don’t we, Iz?”
“Damn right we do, V! Notting Hill forever!”
Matt closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not Hugh Grant. Oswin Grant. The man who’s been selling you state secrets for the past 18 months.”
“Oswin Grant? Is he related to Hugh? Cause if he is, I wouldn’t mind watching one of his movies either. Iz and I are down for anything the Grant boys have to offer.”
“Damn skippy!” echoed Izzy.
Matt blinked a couple times, then slowly lifted his gaze to Brian.
“They’re good,” murmured the latter. “They’re damn good.”
Matt gritted his teeth. “Not good enough. Tell me about the Russians. When did you start working for them?”
“The Russians? Oh, you mean DeLantern. I didn’t know Jack was Russian.”