October 21. 2018 by Patrick Starks
Drawings all over the walls, twelve screens for a desktop, three empty cans of full throttle, along with the horrid smell of two-day-old body odor. Just what the hell was he doing, what was he plotting, I wondered. It been at least six years since I lost the bastard, but there he was perched up in his black vinyl gaming chair like a pig that could fly or is it the other way around? Whatever. A pig was a pig.
I could’ve taken him right then and there. “Don’t,” said the voice in my head. “There’s too much at state. You should call for back up.”
Back up?? Ha. Forget about it. The son of a bitch was mine. Plus, I’d already get enough shit at work about me, a woman, being a part of the FBI. I was gonna shut them all up one way or another.
Jim Bean burned down my throat. I’d forgotten how many shots I had, nevertheless, the bottle was in my hand now, so, I guess it really didn’t matter. Drinking on the job? No. Liquid courage to take down the man that disgusted me, to prove to rest of the slobs what a woman could do, yes.
“My god he’s moving,” said the man in the headset.
No doubt about it, it was the captain. He had a deep voice. Sexy. Like Barry White or was it Manalo, ugh, I should really stop drinking.
“Pay attention agent,” said the Captain, I got the chills. “He’s in the kitchen now.”
Of course, the kitchen, where else would he be. The man then looked back. Beady eyes and all, glasses that sparkled like the finest of ciders. He walked to the window and took a gander. Flashing billboards, hookers, drug deals, five o’clock traffic, and in the reflection a five o’clock shadow. New Tari was a sinful place, but you can blame the man that gazed at them for that.
He had a smile like the Grinch on top of a snowy mountain, plotting his revenge on all the Whos. And who would’ve known that he’d been watching. The man then walked back to the refrigerator, and little did we know, his workstation wouldn’t be the only place that had a combination.
Eight, nine, four, seven, he punched slowly. Was he doing it intentionally or was he really struggling to remember? The frig then open, and clouds spewed out from it like a steam room. Bulks of everything—meat, bread, ice cream, pizza, anything you could think of. It was easy to say that Costco was his favorite place to be.
Half his body was in the refrigerator now, deep enough to be declared a walk-in frig. But more so, I wondered how deep I could put my stilettoes between where the sun didn’t shine. I hated criminals, especially him, the Golden Pig, he was named.
But the Golden pig didn’t always look like he does now. In fact, he wasn’t a criminal at all. His real name is actual Jonatan Pike, and he was one of the best dam agents I’d ever seen. Sexier than any Bond, taking on gun fight’s that made you think he was on the path of Neo. It was mind-blowing. But for whatever reason he’d turn on the agency, stealing files that not even the captain knew about—files that the captains boss didn’t want to be seen. In his own words, it was confidential. But we all know how that story goes. For the betterment of the people my ass.
“What the hell is he doing now?” said the Captain.
I didn’t know.
Jonathan Pike then walked over to the door of his apartment. He was expecting company. Two women dressed in black. Prostitutes? Who knows. All of their heads swayed from left to right like bobblehead dolls. Out of nowhere, Jonathan crossed both of his arms by his crotch, giving the two women a rude gesture. And man was that a mistake.
Bang, bang, and then, bang. Blood now saturated the carpet floor of a one-bedroom apartment. The two women were turned on by it, they kissed. I never really swung that way, however, I couldn’t deny that it was somewhat hot—their bodies shaped like hour-glass, dominance instilled in them both, such an artistic combination. But thank god this bottle is finally empty.
“We got a code red!” yelled the Captain. “The Golden Pig is down, I repeat, the Golden Pig is down!”
ONE HOUR LATER (5:22 pm)
Yellow tape was around the whole room. The smell of iron was in the air. I’d only been in the room for ten minutes and could already hear the captain ripping someone a new one.
“What the hell do you mean the files are gone?” he yelled.
The tech-guy sweated profusely. It was his first day on the job.
“Well spit it out man!” yelled the Captain.
“Well sir, you see, it seems that the Golden Pig’s rig was completely booby-trapped, and I ain’t talking about the ones at strip clubs. Ayoooo!” said the Tech-guy, going up for a high five.
But the captain didn’t smile, nor was he planning on touching hands with a twenty-year-old that knew not of what he’d sign up for.
“Shit!” he said.
“Yeah, I know right. Two password fail’s and it was game over,” said the tech.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fu… No, we can figure this out. Come on cap remember what you learned in Yoga. Just breathe.”
Chuckles throughout the whole room began to build up. The Captain in yoga pants, that would’ve been quite the sight to see. He and I then locked eyes, a sight I didn’t want. I looked away as fast as I could.
“San Diego!” he yelled. “Get your ass over here.”
I walked over. The smell of iron disappeared. Old spice and menthol now lingered. I hated the combination, I mean, I’m sure most women would agree with me on this. Although, handsomeness always wins at the end.
One ear and out the other. I’d forgotten that the captain had been talking. I was still stuck on how the hell Jonathan could be taken down so easily. Just who the hell were those women?
“Quick everyone!” yelled a man, doughnut powder still around his handlebar mustache.
We all ran to the living room. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was the two women. A few of the men drooled to their beauty but not me or the now deceased Jonathan Pike were going for it. I would’ve said my peace with him, but unzipping a body bag was something I’ll admit for a woman I could not handle.
“In our hands, we have files from all of the dirtiest secrets you could ever know about your country,” said the woman with the mole on her face.
“Yes. And we think its time the people should know these secrets, unless, you give us what we want,” said the other, she had no mole.
Everyone in the room stood in awe. I looked to the captain on what to do next, but he was gone. If anything, we at least knew where the missing files went. Jonathan was a cautious man, but I knew he wasn’t that cautious for he always enjoyed a good thrill.
“We’ll give you till next Sunday to make your decision. We are patient women, but still, do not test it,” said the women. “Adieu.”
The sixty-inch plasma went black. We had a week left. But I had a lead. The captain didn’t know it, but when I walked in, I found something, a receipt, a payment from Costco, but on the back it had written, Lové Patricié—the most popular club in downtown. Only there was one problem, we’d bust enough nut heads in that building to get stabbed on our way in like Cesar himself. I needed to blend, I needed a new look. Nevertheless, Case one would get closed.
“If it was a mystery for me to solve, then I have no regrets for Case One; I’m no maverick, but still, I was the top gun. It taken me years to find the golden pig but sadly his fate was ended by two others, we weren’t in New York, which was all the more reason for me to stay undercover. Next stop was Lové Patricié, the home of the mysterious turtle dover’s.”
— V. San Diego