Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  “You need to relax, Wyatt Earp,” Lux said, slipping her arm through mine.

  “People keep staring at us.”

  “Maybe it’s the beautiful woman on your arm.”

  “Maybe it’s the handsome man on yours.”

  “Maybe it’s the conspicuous semi you’ve got brewing in your pants—obviously from the excitement of being this close to me.”

  I looked down and realized that she was joking.

  “I see you’ve got your sense of humor back,” I said.

  “Yeah, somehow I lost it while I was forced to watch you fawn all over my oldest, dearest friend.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Lux shrugged and turned her attention back to the street ahead, and we walked for about half a block before turning and heading into the small stone paved courtyard of a rather imposing looking six story building. It was modern and constructed of steel, concrete, and glass, the latter coated with a reflective film to restrict view of the inside. We reached the double doors of the main entrance, and I noticed there wasn’t any kind of sign or placard. Clearly, they liked to maintain a low profile. Lux rang the bell, and I looked up and noticed we were under video surveillance, so, on a childish whim, I stuck my tongue out at the camera. A second later, the door buzzed open, and we entered into a very expansive and austere lobby with marble floors and white walls—the only furniture being a black leather sofa, and the only artwork being a very exacting copy of the painting the Isle of the Dead by Swiss artist Arnold Böcklin. The famous painting was a dreamlike, though forbidding, depiction of a rock walled island, and I suspected its presence was intended to be a metaphor for this very building, which, by nature of its business, must surely be a kind of impenetrable fortress. Directly ahead of us was an elevator, while to the right of it was a brushed aluminum security kiosk occupied by a fit and stoic looking man wearing a dark grey business suit.

  “Hello, Mrs. Vonde, Mr Strohm is on his way down,” he said, in perfect, though German accented, English.

  “Thank you,” Lux responded.

  A moment later, a chime signaled that the elevator had arrived, and out stepped a tall imposing looking man. He was probably in his late fifties, fit, good-looking, and sported a reasonably full head of grey hair. He immediately stepped forward, smiled at Lux, then stuck his tongue out at me. And, they say the Swiss don’t have a sense of humor!

  “So nice to see you, Lux. How is your uncle?” he asked, as he hugged her.

  “He’s well, Dieter.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “Now, this is my friend Tag Finn—the one I told you about on the phone.”

  Dieter smiled and shook my hand, scrutinizing me with his watchful eyes, probably trying to gauge my potential as a new client. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stuck my tongue out at the camera.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Finn.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Strohm, and please call me Tag.”

  Tag it is, and call me Dieter. Now, please, come with me,” he said.

  We followed him into the elevator and rode it all the way to the top floor, where we exited into a large anteroom with a door in the center of each of the other three walls. We continued straight ahead through the door directly across from the elevator, and entered a spacious well-appointed office with large windows that allowed for a spectacular view of the city, lake, and surrounding mountains. Unlike the downstairs lobby, this room had the telltale signs of human occupancy. On one wall was a floor to ceiling shelving unit loaded with books, pictures, and a number of nicknacks, while the adjacent wall housed a leather couch and a steel door that probably accessed some kind of vault. In the center of the room, and residing in front of the windows, was a glass topped wooden desk, complete with a black velvet mat and a twenty-seven inch iMac.

  “Please, take a seat,” he said, as he moved behind his desk and took up residence in his black leather chair.

  Lux and I sat down, and Dieter turned to us and smiled.

  “All right then, before I begin looking at the stones, would either of you like coffee or tea, or perhaps a pastry?”

  “Coffee and a pastry would be lovely,” Lux said.

  “Most definitely,” I added.

  Dieter got on his phone, and, a minute later, a woman arrived at the doorway carrying a tray that contained a carafe of coffee, three cups, and a plate of almond croissants. The refreshments looked delicious, but the woman carrying them was the real treat. She was strikingly beautiful with her prominent cheekbones, long brown hair, and intensely light blue eyes that sparkled more than any diamond. As she walked closer I couldn’t help but admire the curvaceous figure that loomed beneath her tight, short grey skirt and white button-up shirt.

  “Good afternoon,” she said.

  “Ah, hello, Giselle. Lux is here, and she’s brought her friend Tag Finn to us as a new client.”

  Giselle leaned down and set the tray on the desk, and, as I breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume, I inadvertently caught a glimpse of her enticing cleavage—the combination of olfactory and visual stimulation more than enough to make me want to sprint to the nearest mountain top, pull out my boner, and yell Ricola as I emptied my balls.

  “It’s good to see you again, Lux, and it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Finn,” she said.

  “And you, as well, though please call me Tag,” I said, as I stood up to properly greet her, hopeful that she didn’t notice the happiness taking place in my pants.

  “Tag it is,” she said, as she took my hand.

  As we reached the usual length of an introductory handshake, I prepared to let go, but she held on tight as she spoke.

  “Will you two be in town for very long?” she asked.

  “Afraid not. We have pressing business matters,” Lux said.

  “Too bad, I was hoping we might get together for dinner and a drink,” she said, looking from Lux to me.

  We locked eyes at that moment, and I might have been imagining it, but I thought I could feel the distinct spark of attraction. Of course, the longer she held my hand the more that spark was flaring up and becoming a raging inferno down in my loins.

  “Well then, if you’ll be needing or wanting anything else, I’ll be right next door,” she said, smiling as she finally released my hand and looked at me in an ever so subtly suggestive manner.

  “I’ll be wanting for sure.”

  She gave me a flirtatious smile then turned to leave, and I watched her go, keeping my gaze firmly affixed to her until she closed the door. Once she was gone, Dieter, being a conscientious host, proceeded to fill three cups of coffee before asking if we wanted cream and sugar. Lux and I both went with cream, and he added it then handed us each a cup of coffee. I held the cup below my nose and took a second to breath in the scent of fresh brewed heaven before addressing our host.

  “Might I say, Dieter, that you have a stunningly beautiful and charming assistant. Any chance that she’s single?” I asked.

  “Well, thank you, and, yes, she is single at the moment, though she’s not my assistant. She’s my daughter.”

  “Oh…”

  He smiled at my inadvertent social faux pas.

  “Yes, and she will be the person who will take over when I retire.”

  “Well, then I definitely look forward to a long and close relationship with your family business,” I said, tipping my cup to him.

  His gaze became particularly scrutinizing, which meant I was two for two in making an awkward first impression—first, by sticking out my tongue at the camera, and second by making a suggestive comment about his daughter. It would therefore be a miracle if he didn’t tell me the stones were worthless and sent me on my way.

  “This coffee is absolutely delicious,” I said, trying to change the subject.

  “Yes, yes indeed. Now, I suppose we should get started,” he said, returning to his previously jovial demeanor.

  I handed the bag of jewels over to Dieter, and he carefully emptied its contents onto the velvet
pad on his desk. There, he organized them by type, then put on a jeweler’s eyepiece and began meticulously going through the stones. I was getting the feeling this might take a while, but I had coffee and a croissant to keep me busy for the twenty or so minutes it took Dieter to finish assessing the stones.

  “You have quite a collection here, Mr. Finn. May I ask where you got them?” he asked, looking curious as he took off his eyepiece.

  Unsure what to say, I looked to Lux, and she answered for me.

  “Middle East. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. It’s just rare to find so many stones of this quality in one collection.”

  “So, what is the total value?” I asked.

  “With current market prices about a hundred and fifty million.”

  “No shit, Dieter?” I asked excitedly.

  “No shit, Tag.”

  “So, how should I handle liquidating some stones?”

  “I’ll happily purchase the entire collection, though you may want to consider that their value fluctuates, and it would be prudent to hold onto some of the more rare stones in case the prices increase. That would be my recommendation.”

  “OK, then! How about I sell an even hundred million, and place the rest in a safe deposit box?” I said.

  “Excellent. I’ll have the money wired to your account, and you can verify the funds by phone immediately,” Dieter, said.

  “He would like to open up a new account here in Switzerland,” Lux interjected.

  “We have many excellent banks to choose from and several which I can recommend personally.”

  I looked at Lux and shrugged, as this was all new to me. Fortunately, being from a very wealthy family meant that she was more accustomed to dealing with the world of high finance, and she was soon able to help me choose a good bank. I decided on one that offered the convenience of having offices all over the world and, with Dieter’s help, had most of the work done by phone. I left his offices a hundred million dollars richer, and we headed to the bank, where I would sign the paperwork and get a safe deposit box to store the remaining fifty million in jewels.

  The bank was just up the street and, parking being what it was, we decided to walk rather than drive. A block and a half later we reached a rather imposing facade of fine stonework, glass, and gold lettering then entered the lobby of the United Bank of Switzerland. Like Dieter’s place, its decor was purposely meant to instill confidence in its customers, and it had plenty of marble and expensive looking furniture that smelled of rich mahogany. The funny part, however, was that I had always thought Swiss bank accounts seemed so exotic, but, aside from all the glitzy facade and obvious geographical location, it wasn’t all that different from opening an account at my local bank back home. The only tangible differences were the amount of money in the account and the particularly beautiful account manager, Anna Booz, who had blue eyes, long silky brown hair, and curves that accentuated her otherwise plain business attire the way a few well-placed turns made a road a racecourse.

  She was as sharp as a tack, spoke perfect English, and handled my paperwork with quick Swiss efficiency. It turned out her excellent English skills came from having gone to graduate school at Santa Clara University, and we talked about some of our favorite haunts in the South Bay. Not surprisingly, Lux didn’t seem to like her as much as I did, probably because Anna asked if I was single. Somehow, Lux missed the part where it was related to whether or not I would have anyone else who would sign on the account. Lux thought the very amiable Miss Booz was flirting, but I just considered it good customer service.

  Once I received my debit-credit card and put the jewels in a safe deposit box, we were ready to leave. At that point, Miss Booz shook my hand then wrote her personal cell number on the back of her business card and told me that I could call her anytime if I had questions or concerns. I could certainly think of quite a few questions to ask her—the first one being what she was doing for dinner. Of course, that was nothing more than a fantasy, for Lux would never let me within a hundred miles of the beautiful and sexy Miss Booz. We said our final goodbyes, and I slipped her card in my pocket as we exited the bank.

  “Nice girl,” I said.

  “Yeah, but there’s really no need to keep her card. She’s probably just interested in your money.”

  “Of course she’s interested in my money. She’s a banker.”

  “You’ll see. It’s going to be a different world for you now, Finn.”

  “Good thing I have a billion dollar heiress to help me through this awkward transitional stage.”

  “It is,” Lux said, as she steered me down the street towards a fairly large upscale looking clothing store.

  “This place looks a little expensive,” I said.

  “I think you can afford it.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’ve read a lot of stories about people winning the lottery and ending up destitute.”

  “Live a little, you cheap asshole. You’re a multi-millionaire now.”

  “Only for as long as the CIA allows me to be.”

  “Don’t be paranoid. The money is officially in your personal account.”

  “I’m still going to use my Agency expense card.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And, I’m not buying yellow pants.”

  “Who said anything about yellow pants?”

  “Everyone knows that Europeans wear yellow pants.”

  Lux pointed at the display window of the boutique, and I was relieved to see that it didn’t look much scarier than a typical mall store. It might be expensive, but most of the clothing on the mannequins were muted shades of grey, green, and black. Perfect, I could continue with my whole Johnny Cash theme.

  “Now, our goal is to make sure you don’t buy anything that makes you look like a jackass. Davos is very upscale, and you’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “I think I can manage.”

  “Every man does.”

  “I’m not every man.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We walked in and were instantly greeted by a salesperson. She was probably in her thirties and had a lovely full figure, carrying most of her weight in her ample chest and backside. She smiled and welcomed us in English, and I wondered if it was really that obvious that we were Americans. Did we look or dress a certain way, or was it, perhaps, the simple fact that English was the default language of fancy pants clothing shops? Lux and I continued on towards the men’s section, and I suddenly froze in horror, as directly in front of me, blocking my path, was an entire rack of yellow pants.

  “See,” I said, pointing at the rack.

  “Just take a deep breath and walk around it.”

  I followed her advice and made my way around the rack and to the back corner, where I discovered a number of potentially good items. I picked out some pants, shirts, and an extremely lightweight micro-puff down jacket then headed for the dressing rooms. Lux, annoyingly, followed me inside and treated me like a six-year-old by making sure that everything fit properly. The last item was a pair of black stretchy skinny jeans, and, after going so far as to reach her fingers into the waistband to check the fit, made me turn in a circle so she could check out the ass.

  “You know, Tag, if you’re going to put pudding on a shelf, then someone is going to eat it,” she said, giving my ass a healthy smack.

  I had made up that silly phrase back on Soft Taco Island after watching Lux struggle to squeeze her large boobs into a wetsuit, and now I was facing a minor conundrum, as I was unsure if I should be proud that she had used my saying or annoyed she had used against me. Even more troubling was that she had added injury to insult by smacking my ass, but revenge would soon be mine. As we left the dressing room and headed towards the front of the store, I slowed just enough to slip back and give Lux’s ass a friendly smack. Unfortunately, her thin yoga style stretch pants made for a much louder and more effective strike than I had anticipated, and Lux was startled. As I cringed and prepared for her retribution, she merely
smiled.

  “It’s OK, Finn, I’m going to let you have that one, because you did a decent job picking out your clothes.”

  “I told you I could manage.”

  “Yeah, but only under my direct supervision.”

  Women—they could be brutal when it came to fashion, so it was, therefore, probably a good thing she didn’t know about the three pairs of Crocs I had in my closet back home. So what if they looked like gardening clogs? They were comfortable and made my feet feel as though I were walking on marshmallows. Still, I wasn’t so bold as to wear them more than a few feet beyond my front door.

  “Supervision? I picked them out while all you did was approve them,” I said.

  “Yeah, and if I hadn’t been there you might have picked out something as tacky as a pair of Crocs.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, turning away before she could look into my eyes and see the guilt in my soul.

  We moseyed up to the front counter, and the sales woman proceeded to fold up and bag all of my items, pausing to smile when she came across the black knit pullover with the single blue vertical stripe on the front left side.

  “Excellent choice! The blue stripe will really bring out your eyes,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I said, as I handed over the Agency credit card, which, of course, elicited a disapproving head shake from Lux.

  Why did she care so much about Uncle Sam’s finances? She was a billionaire’s daughter for fuck’s sake. The saleswoman handed me my bags, and we exited the store and set off on the short walk back to the car. Upon arriving I put my bags of new clothes in the trunk then fired up the ten-cylinder engine and pumped the gas pedal a few times, all the while listening as the beast roared mightily and sent man-shivers throughout my entire body. Lux entered our next coordinates into the GPS then looked over and smiled.