In the following months the team gathered together to get to know one another. There were 4 of us: Ted and Sam (the two conspicuous guys at the diner), Charles, and myself. Charles felt for a team to function without a hitch they needed to know what made each other tick. “In times of high pressure you’ll need to be able to read each other. So this way nothing will be a surprise or impossible to handle.” That’s when Charles and I became lovers.
For the next year the team was busy, planning, building and doing reconnaissance work. I began dreaming that I was sitting outside the target getting busted…by my Mother. We ate, slept and obviously dreamt the job. We even moved in together so as to make it safe, easier and more time efficient to pass information, make up schemes. This had become my family. It was about four months before the day of that I realized I was in love with Charles. Apparently so did Sam.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Am I sure what’s a good idea?” I said putting another round in the Waltham.
“You being with Charles.” I stopped assembling the .45. “I mean, emotions like that can cause a lot of problems for the group, don’t you think?”
“I think you should worry about the problems that maybe caused by your bum knee.” I walked away. Was he right? Was I in over my head mixing business with pleasure?
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Charles said, stroking my hair a few hours later.
“I just mean that may be we should stop what we’re doing until after the job is done.”
“Mmmmm.” He leaned against the head rest of the bed and looked at me, smirking. I tried to hold back a smile but he was so darn good looking. That’s when he leaned in and kissed me.
Sitting here under the stark lighting, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs against my skin I feel utterly calm, cool, collected even. It had been a long road and while the plan hadn’t played out exactly as it was supposed to it wasn’t that far off the mark. And he had trained us to expect the unexpected, hadn’t he?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 1
I wasn’t trying to evade the truth. Sitting in the cold steel chair with my hands cuffed behind me I smiled. This wasn’t exactly the plan but it was still going on track. It was only a matter of time.
He approached me two years ago. I was sitting at my normal seat in the diner, doing some recon work for a private contractor. Staring down at my pad of paper, trying to recall the layout of the building, I didn’t even notice he had sat down in front of me until I looked up. With Crystal clear blue eyes and a grin on his face I was immediately drawn to him. “Hello, Cynthia.”
“Hello,” He held out his hand and we shook, his grip firm; his hand engulfing mine.
“My name is Charles. Charles Swanton.” The illustrious Charles Swanton was known very well in my circles. No one was sure whose side he played on, ours or theirs, but it was known that he was very good at what he did. “Hello, Charles.” I couldn’t stop smirking. He was so…handsome. A little older with some salt sprinkled in his hair but just the right amount.
“Doing some re-con work I see. May I have a look?” I pushed my pad over to his side of the table, my eyes glued to his face. His eyes moved up and down my scribbles, notes and crude drawings. After a few moments he pushed the pad back to me. “And this is why I’m here.”
“You’re also on this job?”
“No but your work is further proof that you should be working with me, as I’ve long thought.”
“Oh yeah and what- wait, how long?”
“A while.” He lifted his hand and signaled for the waitress. “Two coffees, please.” As he watched her walk away I began to take more note of my surroundings. He wasn’t alone. There at the counter, failing to look inconspicuous was a man in slacks and a button down shirt. And over there at the table behind Charles was a man who was trying not to stare at us.
“I see you’ve noticed my friends.” I looked at him. “We’d like you to join us, Cynthia. You are the needed ingredient for our plan to be a success.” It was with those few words that my life would change.
He approached me two years ago. I was sitting at my normal seat in the diner, doing some recon work for a private contractor. Staring down at my pad of paper, trying to recall the layout of the building, I didn’t even notice he had sat down in front of me until I looked up. With Crystal clear blue eyes and a grin on his face I was immediately drawn to him. “Hello, Cynthia.”
“Hello,” He held out his hand and we shook, his grip firm; his hand engulfing mine.
“My name is Charles. Charles Swanton.” The illustrious Charles Swanton was known very well in my circles. No one was sure whose side he played on, ours or theirs, but it was known that he was very good at what he did. “Hello, Charles.” I couldn’t stop smirking. He was so…handsome. A little older with some salt sprinkled in his hair but just the right amount.
“Doing some re-con work I see. May I have a look?” I pushed my pad over to his side of the table, my eyes glued to his face. His eyes moved up and down my scribbles, notes and crude drawings. After a few moments he pushed the pad back to me. “And this is why I’m here.”
“You’re also on this job?”
“No but your work is further proof that you should be working with me, as I’ve long thought.”
“Oh yeah and what- wait, how long?”
“A while.” He lifted his hand and signaled for the waitress. “Two coffees, please.” As he watched her walk away I began to take more note of my surroundings. He wasn’t alone. There at the counter, failing to look inconspicuous was a man in slacks and a button down shirt. And over there at the table behind Charles was a man who was trying not to stare at us.
“I see you’ve noticed my friends.” I looked at him. “We’d like you to join us, Cynthia. You are the needed ingredient for our plan to be a success.” It was with those few words that my life would change.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Don't Do It
He couldn’t get his head around it. He just couldn’t understand. She had left him. Packed her bags and left. “I’m going on vacation, Lyle. I’ll be back in 10 days. Don’t burn the house down.”
What was he supposed to do for 10 days? She had been keeping house for the past 15 years. He made the money, she did the house work. It was a deal they had made before they got married. He always took her on his vacations. How could she go on a vacation without him? This is fine. I’m a grown man, he thought. He had lived without her once; he could certainly do it again.
The first few days were fine. He made it to work in his clothes, ate food and watched TV like normal. Granted the food he ate was all the leftovers she had told him to eat and the outfits he wore were the outfits she had hung for him in the closet but he was still managing on his own. He was able to wake up without her, get out the door. Maybe 10 days wasn’t that long after all.
It was on the 4th day that things began to go downhill. It began innocently enough. He no longer had any pre-prepared outfits to wear. Not disastrous. Though when he got to work his colleague pointed out the stain on his shirt, right there on his left peck. He had grabbed it from the hamper in a minor frenzy. Then when he got home there were only fruits and vegetables in the fridge. And they weren’t even cut up or mixed together! But he managed. Managed to eat everything in it. It was at this point that he turned to his old buddy Famous Grouse for support.
By day 6 he had called in sick to work and was living in a drunken stupor in his bathrobe. He had made an attempt to do laundry, stuffing all of his dirty clothes into the machine. He turned it on even though the machine wouldn’t fully close, full with so much dirty laundry. He left the room expecting it to do its magic of making his stuff clean again. He came back to find the room flooded and the machine inoperable. All of his clothes were soaking in dirty water.
On day 7 his neighbor dropped by having noticed that the newspapers had piled up outside and the mailbox was over flowing. When Lyle answered the door the neighbor took a step back. “What’s going on, Ralph,” he said biting into the celery stick in his left hand.
“Hey Neighbor,” Ralph said. “Just checking in. Seems you’ve been behind on your mail, huh?” Lyle looked over the lawn past Ralph at his engorged mailbox. “Look at that. Mail.” Ralph looked him up and down and said “Are you doing ok?”
“Oh, just fine. Sheila is out of town for a few days but I’m just fine.” He took a large gulp of the scotch in his right hand.
By day 9 the floor was covered in take out food boxes, dirty clothes and papers. At least he had brought in the mail and newspapers; discovered where the take out menus were. But he had been perpetually drunk for the past 4 days. He wasn’t sure what that rancid smell was or where it was coming from. He hadn’t eaten real food in two days and hadn’t slept in 3 because he was permanently glued to the home shopping network which he had pleasantly discovered.
He began having wild visions as his sleep and food deprivation took hold. He kept envisioning Sheila coming home, fire shooting out of her head with fury at the state of things. Other times he had thoughts of wild dogs coming in, wreaking havoc and eventually eating him. He couldn’t take much more mental strain.
At around 9pm on the 10th and final day he decided to get out of his doldrums. If Sheila could escape so could he. He got up, went into the kitchen and found his old cigarette lighter. Standing outside of his house he felt free at last. Like wiping away tears on your face he felt he was renewing himself, his independence, his manliness. As he took a deep breath in a taxi pulled up beside him. Breathing out he heard Sheila scream “Oh my God, Lyle! How did you burn the house down?!”
What was he supposed to do for 10 days? She had been keeping house for the past 15 years. He made the money, she did the house work. It was a deal they had made before they got married. He always took her on his vacations. How could she go on a vacation without him? This is fine. I’m a grown man, he thought. He had lived without her once; he could certainly do it again.
The first few days were fine. He made it to work in his clothes, ate food and watched TV like normal. Granted the food he ate was all the leftovers she had told him to eat and the outfits he wore were the outfits she had hung for him in the closet but he was still managing on his own. He was able to wake up without her, get out the door. Maybe 10 days wasn’t that long after all.
It was on the 4th day that things began to go downhill. It began innocently enough. He no longer had any pre-prepared outfits to wear. Not disastrous. Though when he got to work his colleague pointed out the stain on his shirt, right there on his left peck. He had grabbed it from the hamper in a minor frenzy. Then when he got home there were only fruits and vegetables in the fridge. And they weren’t even cut up or mixed together! But he managed. Managed to eat everything in it. It was at this point that he turned to his old buddy Famous Grouse for support.
By day 6 he had called in sick to work and was living in a drunken stupor in his bathrobe. He had made an attempt to do laundry, stuffing all of his dirty clothes into the machine. He turned it on even though the machine wouldn’t fully close, full with so much dirty laundry. He left the room expecting it to do its magic of making his stuff clean again. He came back to find the room flooded and the machine inoperable. All of his clothes were soaking in dirty water.
On day 7 his neighbor dropped by having noticed that the newspapers had piled up outside and the mailbox was over flowing. When Lyle answered the door the neighbor took a step back. “What’s going on, Ralph,” he said biting into the celery stick in his left hand.
“Hey Neighbor,” Ralph said. “Just checking in. Seems you’ve been behind on your mail, huh?” Lyle looked over the lawn past Ralph at his engorged mailbox. “Look at that. Mail.” Ralph looked him up and down and said “Are you doing ok?”
“Oh, just fine. Sheila is out of town for a few days but I’m just fine.” He took a large gulp of the scotch in his right hand.
By day 9 the floor was covered in take out food boxes, dirty clothes and papers. At least he had brought in the mail and newspapers; discovered where the take out menus were. But he had been perpetually drunk for the past 4 days. He wasn’t sure what that rancid smell was or where it was coming from. He hadn’t eaten real food in two days and hadn’t slept in 3 because he was permanently glued to the home shopping network which he had pleasantly discovered.
He began having wild visions as his sleep and food deprivation took hold. He kept envisioning Sheila coming home, fire shooting out of her head with fury at the state of things. Other times he had thoughts of wild dogs coming in, wreaking havoc and eventually eating him. He couldn’t take much more mental strain.
At around 9pm on the 10th and final day he decided to get out of his doldrums. If Sheila could escape so could he. He got up, went into the kitchen and found his old cigarette lighter. Standing outside of his house he felt free at last. Like wiping away tears on your face he felt he was renewing himself, his independence, his manliness. As he took a deep breath in a taxi pulled up beside him. Breathing out he heard Sheila scream “Oh my God, Lyle! How did you burn the house down?!”
Monday, April 20, 2009
Job Without Rules
There’s no point in arguing something that is dead and drowned. When he pulled me into his office I knew something was wrong. I never really speak to him, let alone sit down and chat.
Luckily I wasn’t preparing to get comfortable because before my butt had even felt cushion he said “Right, you’re fired.”
“Wh-what? Why?”
“You were caught on camera stealing a box of pens from the supply closet. We do not tolerate that.” He picked up the remote on his desk and clicked a button. A screen magically rose out of what I thought was a table to my left and showed a security video of me shoving a few pens in my pocket, looking this way and that over my shoulder. Guilty as charged.
As I was carried out the door by security I realized that wasn’t the job for me. Being a second assistant to a junior accountant didn’t ring. It was toneless, boring, like the job itself. After being tossed out the door I stood up, brushed the poop I had landed in off my knees and took a deep breath. An opportunity to find my passion.
Over the next few months I tried my hand at a few things. Inter-galatic sex operator was entertaining until some Alien beings got so dirty I threw up. On my boss. Who was monitoring my progress. Not the best way to make a good impression.
I dabbled in the gangster business for a second but the moment I chipped a nail on the raid, balked about it and got some of our gang shot, I was out. Apparently none of the guys realized just how important a good manicure is. Lucky for me they merely told me if I ever told anyone what I had seen or heard they’d hunt me down and kill me. Phew! What a break.
The longest job I managed to hold down was an interstellar translator. It was going great for a while until my superior found out that I would make things up when I didn’t know what was being said. Apparently it’s not ethical. Who knew?
What is a girl to do? Sitting here, staring at a blank cellu-screen I have galaxies of jobs at my finger tips. When I’ve found a job I kind of enjoy it gets taken out from under me because of all these “rules”. I’m just about to type up “Job with no rules” when- Ring, dadaring, ring da-
“Yes?”
“Allo, darling.”
“Hey Babs,” my sister.
“Darling, tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Babs, now what’s up?” I really do need another manicure.
“I think I’ve found you the perfect job. Planet hopping, sunshine and moonshine in your face, meeting new people, taking your time.” Sounds good so far.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just call this constellation and ask for Roving Wishes.”
As I jot down the number I think things may work out after all.
_________________________ __________________________
Six months later and I’m the happiest girl in the galaxy. I have found my calling! My sister was right. This is the job, no scratch that, the life for me. My hours are great, I have all the time in that world to get my job done, I meet new people everyday. I see sunshine and moonshine (depending on which planet I’m on) and I love my clients. Looking down at them sniffing and wagging I feel no regrets but peace and joy. Oh, hang on, phone call.
“Roving wishes animal walking Company where your little rover is our biggest priority. How can I make their wish come true today?”
Luckily I wasn’t preparing to get comfortable because before my butt had even felt cushion he said “Right, you’re fired.”
“Wh-what? Why?”
“You were caught on camera stealing a box of pens from the supply closet. We do not tolerate that.” He picked up the remote on his desk and clicked a button. A screen magically rose out of what I thought was a table to my left and showed a security video of me shoving a few pens in my pocket, looking this way and that over my shoulder. Guilty as charged.
As I was carried out the door by security I realized that wasn’t the job for me. Being a second assistant to a junior accountant didn’t ring. It was toneless, boring, like the job itself. After being tossed out the door I stood up, brushed the poop I had landed in off my knees and took a deep breath. An opportunity to find my passion.
Over the next few months I tried my hand at a few things. Inter-galatic sex operator was entertaining until some Alien beings got so dirty I threw up. On my boss. Who was monitoring my progress. Not the best way to make a good impression.
I dabbled in the gangster business for a second but the moment I chipped a nail on the raid, balked about it and got some of our gang shot, I was out. Apparently none of the guys realized just how important a good manicure is. Lucky for me they merely told me if I ever told anyone what I had seen or heard they’d hunt me down and kill me. Phew! What a break.
The longest job I managed to hold down was an interstellar translator. It was going great for a while until my superior found out that I would make things up when I didn’t know what was being said. Apparently it’s not ethical. Who knew?
What is a girl to do? Sitting here, staring at a blank cellu-screen I have galaxies of jobs at my finger tips. When I’ve found a job I kind of enjoy it gets taken out from under me because of all these “rules”. I’m just about to type up “Job with no rules” when- Ring, dadaring, ring da-
“Yes?”
“Allo, darling.”
“Hey Babs,” my sister.
“Darling, tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Babs, now what’s up?” I really do need another manicure.
“I think I’ve found you the perfect job. Planet hopping, sunshine and moonshine in your face, meeting new people, taking your time.” Sounds good so far.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just call this constellation and ask for Roving Wishes.”
As I jot down the number I think things may work out after all.
_________________________ __________________________
Six months later and I’m the happiest girl in the galaxy. I have found my calling! My sister was right. This is the job, no scratch that, the life for me. My hours are great, I have all the time in that world to get my job done, I meet new people everyday. I see sunshine and moonshine (depending on which planet I’m on) and I love my clients. Looking down at them sniffing and wagging I feel no regrets but peace and joy. Oh, hang on, phone call.
“Roving wishes animal walking Company where your little rover is our biggest priority. How can I make their wish come true today?”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
