The Last Reflexive Ch 04

By: Col. Brunhilda 'Iceberg' Buriman, ret.

Sorority Sister of Pi Loda Cum

Chapter Four: Coffee, Tea, or Me

According to my reckoning it would take ten minutes to reach the church and since it was still early, I decided to find something to eat. One of the officers directed me to a diner where I could get a decent cup of coffee. It was nearby and I wouldn't need to drive around searching for a place to park. I thanked him, and once outside looked around to get my bearings.

I entered into the din of a diner that was crowded, warm, and friendly, a place where police officers, lawyers, laborers, and politicians stopped for meals. I found a stool at the counter near a fat French construction worker eating from a plate of spaghetti and eggs. I was surprised he got as much food in his mouth as he did, and that he didn't spill coffee on himself while slurping mouthfuls of the hot brew, considering he rarely took his eyes off the waitresses.

My waitress was a vivacious woman with skin black as coal and hair to match, which she wore in a bob. Her eyes of bright green and her sarcastic lip caught my eye and ear. Her uniform, and those of all the waitresses, consisted of a tiny white top and skirt with a hem seven inches above her knees. Over that they wore tiny pink aprons of lace and frills. My waitress did nothing to hide the fact she had small breasts, which she successfully made to bobble around behind the blouse in an exaggerated fashion. Seemed everyone liked the waitresses here, and it was obvious why. It was also why all the clientele were male. I felt very at ease as she juggled her customers while jiggling her boobies. She played us all for what we are, men.

I flipped the cup before me over onto its saucer, but didn't bother looking at the menu. I knew there would be little if anything I could eat. Soon, my waitress swung herself around to me, coffeepot in hand to pour the steaming brew.

"Cream, handsome? Bottled or made fresh," she asked. Her words came out in wet slurpy slurred sounds, sultry and warm, while popping her gum and smiling wickedly. I noticed her name tag. Her name was Cuddly.

"Thank you, Cuddly. Black," I responded, unable to decide where I should look. It was obvious she didn't care. She was both a subtle siren and blatant warning light I couldn't stay clear of.

"Ya, Cuddly," she repeated, giggling, with a pop of her gum. "See somethin' ya like, sugar" she oozed, looking me deep in the eyes while dropping her elbows to the countertop, allowing me to see down her blouse, her small breasts. Her question made me smile as she stood and swung around to place the pot behind her. She then swung back to me while slipping an order pad and pen from her apron.

"Have you any fresh fruit," I asked, enjoying the way she held herself. It must have been the four inch heels with the rubber soles. She purposely adjusted her white blouse, which had almost every button undone, while leaning forward to place an elbow on the counter, coming closer this time. Her lips were a pair of plush pillows, painted dark red, glistening in the light filtering through the restaurant window, out from between poked the tip of a soft sweet tongue so pink, calling me.

"Banana's ain't ripe, still too hard... for most," she began in a deeply toned bubblegum breath.

"But not for you," I said in a way that spoke of temptation. She was without make-up and had tiny ears with tiny lobes sporting large gold hoop earrings that jiggled to the rest of her body with every move. She brought her face closer to mine shaking her bangs to the sides. "Oranges nice an' firm, a real mouthful, and sooooo juicy. And da melons are, mmmmmmm, perfect," she continued, emphasizing her words, leaning closer still. I had little taste for melons and thought for a moment, pulling my eyes up to hers, and smiling.

"And the grapefruit," I asked, our lips now close, breaths melding.

Oh, so it's tart ya want, hmmmm," she said, licking her lips. "Mmmmm, their almost as pink, an' perfect, an' juicy, as... well. Almost as juicy as me," she assured me while pulling her lips back from mine, taking my breath with hers in one gulp. Couple guys down the counter shouted her name and she yelled for them to keep their dicks in their pants, without looking away.

"Since you're working I'll take the grapefruit, with a slice of rye toast, dry," I told her. She giggled, winked and stood to continue working. Seemed no matter what her male customers were doing they all kept one eye on her. And it was the same for the other waitresses as they shuffled about and around each other, looking at times like models in a Chicago nudie-nightie bar.

The Organization had begun instituting strict dietary restrictions for all personnel. It began after the discovery our nations chemical companies began altering the American food supply with genetically modified organisms secretly, with the blessings of Congress, and promises of enough organic farmland to protect them and their families. According to our information, these companies plan to soon begin splicing genetically designed psycho-pathological agents onto their genetically modified organisms. These designer chemicals are expected to accelerate disorientation and the growing despair among citizens, those who've witnessed taxation of their wages turning them slowly into servants indentured for life to members of the Democrat and Republican Parties, traitors who thrive on bribes and sweetheart deals, and who've long deprived the common people of representation in Congress and the Right to Redress of Grievances, and who are orchestrating the devaluation of our currency for the good of multi-national corporations. To this day some historians wonder what happened to all the Nazi's after the Second World War, while other people know.

The traitors inside the Democrat and Republican Parties are looking for reasons to suspend our Country's Constitution entirely, because it's the only set of laws constraining their individual and collective passions to reign without reserve. These traitors have been chipping away for years at our Constitution's persnickety requirement that adequate balances stay woven into the fabric of a Government by and for the People, not the few. The Organization is awaiting a sign from the Communist Party in Russia that their success in infiltrating the Democrat Party is complete, possibly by taking down the Berlin wall. Others believe these traitors are planning to go so far as to allow an attack on our homeland by foreign invaders, as an excuse to implement the precepts of Adolph Hitler.

It's been confirmed families of executives working for these chemical companies are eating only organically farmed foods, and are forbidden to consume conventional produce unless it's GMO free. The important members of the FDA and USDA are doing the same, while ridiculing any mention of this conspiracy. Since then, all agents of the Organization have been ordered to consume certified organic foods whenever possible, and I sensed things would become stricter. I never was one for 'conspiracy theories' until I served in the military, and before I discovered almost all of the poor citizens serving jail time for so-called 'drugs' are doing so on conspiracy charges, not criminal charges. Another indication of how far from the People the Democrat and Republican Parties have stepped in their hidden war on American citizen.

After enjoying the grapefruit, toast, coffee, and entertainment, I asked for my check. She finished up with the guy next to me, sending him on his way. As Cuddly came to me with my check, a short thin fellow took the Frenchman's place, and this kid was all eyes and mouth.

"We get a lot of regulars here," she said holding the check for me to take. I went to pluck it from her fingers and she wouldn't let go. I pulled some and she pulled some. It was only after the guy next to me spoke that Cuddly released the check.

"Cuddly," he murmured almost inaudibly.

"Hey big guy, whatch ya gonna have today," she said turning to him as I left her a tip and went with my check to pay. I left the diner and went to my car, a 1965 Ford Mustang convertible, fitted with a five-speed manual transmission. It's matte black both inside and out, and devoid of all chrome. Holey Pi was waiting in the back seat, almost invisibly. The first thing I did was communicate with Grandmother of my progress.

Even after three years with the Organization, I still found it strange to communicate through a computer imbedded deep in my body. I knew of no other agent who carried such a device. I was long accustomed to the bio-fiber-optic network connecting my wrist and hand to my brain, and I'd become adept at controlling all computer functions.

From Grandmother I downloaded 'safe' locations and code names of agents in the area that I could trust in case of an emergency, and the location of where I'd be staying, the Organization's east coast facility. Otherwise, I was to remain independent and inform her when my task was completed. After the communiqué, Pi slipped into the front seat to suck on my cock while I drove around Philadelphia taking in the sights like a typical visitor. Though I'd been around the world this was my first assignment on the east coast. While taking time to survey the area around the church so I wouldn't be surprised, I had the sensation of being watched. Feelings are part of my nature, and they'd proven life saving more than a couple times, and had only failed me once.

The Chief said Philadelphia wasn't difficult to navigate, provided one remembers that 'Broad Street' is actually 14th Street. It was curious finding one street named 13th, and one named 15th, and the street between them named 'Broad'. I drove around to acclimate myself until I finally found a place to park one block from Saint Nickademo's Church. It was only eleven, so I waited in my car until a black sedan with dark tinted windows drove by, confirming my suspicions. It was then I emptied my load into Pi, who swallowed it completely. She never loses so much as a drop, not one single drop. Pi climbed back into the back leather seat when I exited.

I felt it wise to walk the distance to the church, taking a roundabout stroll. It was a pleasant day for February, and the streets were crowded with people from every walk of life. While walking I saw businessmen in suits, women with children in their arms and in strollers, shoppers, hawkers, and prostitutes. There were street punks, maybe gang members, drunks and even thugs with shifty eyes. There were plenty of kids screaming and running about, adding to the general din and flavor of the neighborhood.

The streets were jammed with cars, those that had seen better days and shiny new luxury models, many double and triple-parked or fighting for parking spots. Busses chugged by, cabs swerved about looking for fares, and trolleys were stopped on their tracks by trucks unloading produce. Seemed like the typical Italian neighborhood I grew up in, replete with markets, delis and taverns. I still had thirty minutes, so I made for the nearest tavern.