Episode #4
The Turn About
I couldn't believe what had happened to my mundane-ite football life in such a short time. My country somehow needed me to stop an insidious plot that threatened it's very safe bux foundations. People were out of work and expected Funky Unky Sam to put food on their table, and hand out free tix to the Superbowl . It was insane. It was hideous. It was welfare.
I'd decided it was time to regroup, before plunging headlong underground. I holed up in a New Mexico Motel Six and took stock. Pretty soon my room was full of cows, so I gave the stock back and called Aqueduct.
But how could I? He'd never given me his phone number. Aqueduct was the code name of the CIA operative who had taken me in from the cold of flunking out down at the Post Office. At least he said he was. CIA. I mean, he had a sharp suit and smoked menthol cigs so I had no reason to doubt him. I decided to call Washington.
"Washington D.C. Can I help you?"
"Yes, could I have the Central Intelligence Agency, please?"
"Which department, sir?"
"Which department?" I was stumped. "Do you have anything under `Aqueduct'?"
"I have aqueduct, demolition of; aqueduct, poisoning water from; aqueduct, throwing bodies from domestic; and aqueduct, throwing bodies from foreign. Which would you like, sir?"
"Just let me have the main number," I wasn't going to play her game.
"I have a main number overt and a main number clandestine, sir."
"Better give me clandestine. I'm not at liberty to tell you why this call is not overt. Op-stay elfare-way, et-gay e-may?"
The line went dead. I got the motel manager on the line.
"Look, I know we're out here in the Trenton-to-Reno Zone, but I can't have my calls interrupted like that. I was reasonable but urgent. I had a tone that worked with deadbeats.
"Don't use that tone with me, fruitcake. I've got a degree. I just run this place because it's free rent and a talent like mine can't fit into a straight job. Besides, they cut you off when you shifted into Pig-Latin. You must be one of those welfare busters they keep sending out."
I couldn't believe my ears. How in the name of Jesus bleeding palms did every cab driver, every store clerk, every sleazy motel operator in the world know my top secret cypto assignment?
"Never mind! Just put me through again. And stay off the line this time, or you'll be breaking rocks in Leavenworth with those teeny hammers inside your ear."
That scared him plenty and in no time I was talking untapped to a girl I just knew was pretty back in the Washington CIA office. I could tell if they were knockouts by something in there voice. I had a knack.
"I'll bet you're kind of gorgeous."
"I was until I got my face ripped off by a letter bomb last Pearl Harbor Day. That was when I was in the Department of the Navy."
I suddenly noticed that her voice sounded a little bit weird, so I got back to business.
"Do you have a number for an Agent Aqueduct?"
"Is that his real name or his code name?" She might be maimed but she was a good sec.
"I think it was his code name, but you better double check for me, okay cutie-p.uhh Q.uhh A-Q-U."
Just then there was a knock at the door. I put frag-face on hold and walked over to open it. Before I got there it flew off it's hinges and there in a cloud of green smoke stood Aqueduct.
"Sorry, Smith. I never pass up an opportunity to test portal propellants. How's tricks?"
"Aqueduct! I've been trying to call you."
"Never do that. It could be dangerous for both of us. Particularly you. But both really. But mainly you."
"How did you find me here?" The whole thing just blew me out... or away... or my mind!
"I'll always be nearby, Smith. We don't send operatives out unsupervised. We don't have the right kind of insurance." He broke open a fresh pack of Benson & Hedges.
"Then I guess you know about the trouble I've been having."
He puffed, squinted, and nodded.
"...that screwup in San Francisco."
He puffed, squinted, and nodded.
"...that welfare ski mob in Colorado."
He puffed, squinted, and dropped dead. Right there in front of me.
"Then I realized what had killed him. It was that Benson and Hedges Menthol 100. No, no, I don't mean he had cancer. The fag had been doctored. No, I don't mean he'd had a sex change operation. The cigarette was filled with cyanide.
For the first time I was scared. I had thought the opposition was a bunch of paraplegic grandmas bilking Meals-On-Wheels and broken-hearted mothers with three kids on AFDC. But that was no paraplegic grandma who loaded up old Aqueduct's smokes. This thing was big. And I was right in the middle of it. I'd have to quit immediately, American Express Moneycard or no American Express Moneycard.
I remembered that the phone was still off the hook, the CIA in Washington still on the line. There would be no time like the present to tender my resignation.
"Hello, are you still there?"
"Yes, sir. I'm still here." The voice of a disfigured woman never sounded so sweet.
"Thank god! This is Agent Dolan Smith. I quit. And my boss, code name Aqueduct, has been bumped off. Better not count on him for the football pool this year."
"That's just it, Agent Smith. We don't have any Aqueduct. Whoever he is, he's not a CIA agent. Are you there, Agent Smith?"
I wasn't. I was running down the road.
Back
