Spy Games

Spy Games

Chapter 16

Miss Moorehead relaxed a bit once we got into my car and were pulling onto the road that led away from her grave.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"I'm renting a house on the outskirts of town. I thought you could stay with me for a while."

"I've always wondered where you slept. And there were times I wondered if you slept."

I laughed. "Did you think I was a vampire?"

"I didn't know who or what you were... and I still don't."

"I guess I've got some serious explaining to do."

"Yes, you do. Let's start with something simple, like your name. Are you really Mark Seiman?"

I took a circuitous route home, bypassing the center of Merryville so the wrong people -- those who thought my passenger was either buried alive or dead -- wouldn't see her riding shotgun in my rental car. I also drove much slower than normal because I wanted to tell her most of the facts about me before I had to explain my two roommates.

The blonde realtor listened carefully as I gave her an extremely condensed version of my life and why I was in Merryville. She asked a few questions along the way, but was mainly content to sit, listen and absorb. My monolog ended as we pulled onto the gravel driveway of our hideout and parked under a tree in the side yard.

"Before we go in," Miss Moorehead said, "let me make sure I understand what you've said so far.

"You're a spy. Your name isn't Mark Seiman and, because your parents were also spies, you don't have a permanent name. You work for some super-secret government agency called The Company and your current assignment is to lure a bunch of foreign terrorists to Merryville so this so-called Company can kill them all in one place. They chose Merryville for this bloodbath because some big wig in Washington thinks sacrificing a dying town in a fly-over state is the most efficient way to handle the situation. Apparently, residents of rural Tennessee aren't as valuable as those Americans who choose to live in big cities.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"No. I think you summed up the situation nicely. I obviously left out a few details, but we'll have plenty of time to cover those in the days and weeks to come."

"Days and weeks? How long do you expect me to stay here?"

"Hopefully no more than a month, but sometimes these things can drag on for a while."

"I can't go home for a month?"

"I wouldn't think you'd want to, after what the mayor and his cronies did to you."

"How about calling in the FBI or state police or some other law enforcement group that isn't under the influence of the crooked local city government?"

"Considering what we have planned for Merryville in the next few weeks, calling in the cavalry isn't in our best interests. Don't worry. The people that harmed you will get what's coming to them. But not before we use them to take out the terrorists."

"So, I'm just supposed to put my life on hold?"

"I'm afraid so. You're welcome to stay with me for as long as I feel it is safe. But if you'd rather not, I can arrange for you to stay in a safe house until this plays out. There's one in Montana that I'm sure you'll enjoy."

"But I can't go back to my condo."

"No. Not for a while, and maybe never."

"How about my stuff. My clothes and cosmetics and toiletries?"

"We'll buy you new stuff."

"And the pictures of my parents? How do you plan to replace them?"

"Tell me where they are and I'll have replacements made. But it is imperative that nothing leaves your condo. I want to make sure the mayor and council think they murdered you. Eventually, somebody will report you missing and the first place the authorities will look will be in your house. If your clothes, toothbrush and mascara are missing, that information will get back to the mayor and council. Any evidence that you aren't in the grave could hurt our plans to control the decisions of the local ruling class."

"So, I'm going to be your prisoner until you have a chance to blackmail the city council into letting a swarm of terrorists takeover Merryville."

"We prefer to call it protective custody."

"What happens if I get out of the car right now and walk away?"

"Considering you are nearly naked, barefoot and the closest house is over a mile from us... I would be forced to throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the house... all for your own protection of course."

"Most people would call that kidnapping."

"I'm not most people."

"I've noticed."

Resigned to her fate, Miss Moorehead let me carry her over the gravel driveway but, as soon as we got to the front porch, she insisted I let her down... depriving me of the pleasure of carrying her across the threshold. Both Flanagan and Sixty-nine were out running errands which gave me a short reprieve from explaining why I was sharing my living quarters with a girl nearly half my age and a man Miss Moorehead had screwed three times in the last ten days. Not that it mattered, but the first time Flanagan enjoyed her charms, she was blindfolded, tied to a bed and thought he was me.

"Make yourself at home," I told her as we walked through the front door. "Your bedroom is upstairs... first door on the right. The bathroom is a Jack-and-Jill arrangement which you'll be sharing with my assistant."

"You have an assistant?"

"Two, actually. A young lady and a man closer to our age."

"Do you think the young lady would mind if I borrowed her shampoo and conditioner? I need a shower almost as bad as you."

"Take whatever you want. And feel free to try on her clothes as well."

I took a quick shower, changed clothes, and had lunch almost ready by the time she came downstairs... wearing nothing but a towel.

"Your assistant seems to be a couple of sizes smaller than me. Nothing in her wardrobe fits. May I borrow one of your shirts," she asked. "Preferably one long enough to cover both my breasts and my bottom."

"My closet is your closet. Down the hall on the left." I pointed towards my bedroom and watched with an appreciative eye as she walked out of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Miss Moorehead returned to the kitchen wearing one of my long sleeve dress shirts.

"Any chance I can get some real clothes sometime in the near future?" she asked as I put a plate of chicken salad in front of her.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'll give Sixty-nine a call and see what we can arrange."

"Sixty-nine? Never heard of it. Is that some fancy clothing store in Nashville?"

"Actually, Sixty-nine is my assistant... the young lady who's clothes don't fit you."

"Surely her parents didn't name her Sixty-nine."

"It's more of a code name. The Company is very protective of our real identities. To protect our families, nobody knows the given name of anybody else in the company. Support personnel get numbers, like Agent Sixty-nine. Field agents get letter designations. I'm Agent Alpha. My partner is Agent Foxtrot. That's what we're called by other Company employees. When we go on a mission, we get temporary identities. I'm Mark Seiman for the duration of my time in Merryville. Once this job is done, the name Mark Seiman will never be used again."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense in a James Bondish sort of way. But why doesn't Sixty-nine have a temporary identity?"

"Great question. It never dawned on me to ask. But let's see if she can pick you up some clothes before we delve further into her personal life."

As part of her continued training, Sixty-nine was out placing GPS trackers on the Mayor's and City Council's cars when I called. I told her about Miss Moorehead's clothing emergency and passed off the phone so the two women could chat about fashion, toiletries, and cosmetics. Once Sixty-nine knew all Miss Moorehead's sizes and preferences, I regained control of my phone.

"I'm sorry," Sixty-nine led off. "I should have anticipated this and had an extra set of basic female supplies on hand before Miss Moorehead joined us. Feel free to punish me as soon as I return."

Which was just one more thing I would have to deal with. After what Miss Moorehead endured at the hands of the mayor and city council, how would she react to the near daily spankings I administered to my young assistant? And I still hadn't broken the news about the man she knew as Officer Flanagan being my partner.

Ordinarily, I would have bit the bullet and immediately told her the truth. But having a sadomasochistic assistant and a predatorily inclined fake cop for a partner were the least of my hidden sins. What I really worried about was how Miss Moorehead would react to my continued relationship with Miss Raven Hardwood... the woman who buried her alive hoping she'd starve to death. Our mission required me to work with Raven almost continuously for the foreseeable future and I wanted to make sure Miss Moorehead understood why.

"We need to have a little talk about what I'll be doing these next few weeks," I said as we continued our lunch.

"If it's anything like the past couple of weeks, you'll be screwing every halfway decent looking woman in Merryville while plotting to ruin their town."

"Well, there is that, but more specifically, I wanted to talk about one woman in particular. Miss Hardwood."

"Do we have to?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I'm meeting her for dinner tonight so we can discuss how we will continue where you and I left off, business wise."

"Just like that? She puts me in a coffin and leaves me for dead in the morning, and that very night you offer her my job?"

"Actually, I offered her your job a few days ago. Tonight is a strategy session."

"So, what's to talk about? I sit on my ass playing possum while Raven gets three percent commission on half the houses in Merryville."

"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss. I know it doesn't sound fair --"

"Doesn't sound fair? That's the understatement of the century."

"Fine. Let's call it a crappy deal. The biggest dog turd you'll ever be forced to swallow. Just remember that I pulled you out of this mess because I genuinely like you and don't want you to get hurt."

As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to reach out and snatch them back. I don't know what it was about Janis Moorehead that made me do and say stupid things. A man who was supposedly an expert on women should know better than saying "I don't want you to get hurt," hours after she is brutally raped. Especially when the attack was entirely his fault.

She slowly rose from her chair, trying hard to fight back tears, and went to her bedroom... where she stayed until I left for my date with Miss Hardwood.

***

Dinner with Raven

I had my doubts that the dark haired murderous (but beautiful) realtor would even show. According to Flanagan, she planned to explain Miss Moorehead's sudden disappearance with a story about the blonde's great aunt taking ill and Janis rushing to her bedside. A text to me, from Miss Moorehead's phone, would apologize for leaving me in a lurch and recommend Miss Hardwood as her replacement. Our wire foiled that plan since she knew that I knew at least a portion of what went on inside the courthouse that morning.

But she was there.... and on time. She was waiting for me at the entrance of the Sharper Knife, her hands fingering her necklace as she tried to hide her anxiety over how I would react. I was tempted to ask about it --

"Hello Miss Hardwood. What's the word on Miss Moorehead? I heard she had a tough time with the city council this morning."

-- just to see what kind of story she'd fabricate. But I wasn't in the mood to hear any more of her lies so, for the next month, neither of us mentioned Miss Moorehead in the other's presence... the epitome of the elephant in the room.

The purpose of our dinner was to explain the rules of the game to Miss Hardwood. Since I didn't plan to seduce the woman... didn't give a damn if she liked me or not... I got right to it.

"I need to buy at least six houses every day for the next three weeks. Your job is to select the most desperate sellers and schedule the showings. I expect you to be a willing participant in the negotiation process, but I will warn you in advance, everything is negotiable... nothing is off the table.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. We will be buying millions of dollars' worth of property every day. And once we're done buying, we will turn around and sell each newly acquired property for a hefty profit. You will receive a three percent commission on every property we buy and another three percent when we sell it."

That bit of news made her eyes sparkle. She licked her lips like a kitten looking at a plate of catnip enhanced tuna. If I was so inclined, she most assuredly would have taken me home and entertained me until the wee hours of the morning. Little did she know that, after what she had done to Miss Moorehead, she was the absolute last woman I wanted to bump bellies with. Even though I didn't describe my plans for her in detail, I made sure she understood the penalty for disobedience.

"You'll find that some of our sellers will not like my methods. I don't care. They do things my way or they don't sell their house. The same goes for you. If you don't like the way I do business, you are free to quit at any time. But remember, this is an all or nothing deal. If you quit before we're done, you don't get a penny of commission.

***

Having set the ground rules for Miss Hardwood's and my future business dealings, it was time to return home and see what I could do to repair my relationship with Miss Moorehead.

Both Flanagan's truck and Sixty-nine's miniature car were parked out front when I drove up the driveway. I envisioned several scenarios of what happened earlier that evening. Since the Merryville police department took an active role in her betrayal, did Miss Moorehead run and hide when Flanagan walked through the door with his police uniform on? Or, due to their already close relationship, did she run to him with open arms, begging him to save her from my evil clutches?

What I didn't expect when I finally built up the nerve to step onto our front porch, was to hear raucous laughter coming from the living room.

"You put a snake in his bed?" I heard Miss Moorehead say in a gleeful voice.

"While he was in it?" Sixty-nine added, also laughing.

"It was for his own good," Flanagan said. "It was time for breakfast and Mom didn't cotton to people who slept late."

"So, what did he do?" Miss Moorehead asked.

"Nothing, at first... cause he was sound asleep. But when the snake decided to cuddle up with him, he says 'come on Mom, let me sleep just a little longer'. That's when the snake licked him."

"The snake licked him?"

"Yep. Stuck out its forked tongue and tickled him on the nose. When he opened his eyes and saw a four-foot orange and black striped snake staring back at him, he screamed like a little girl and peed his tighty-whities."

"Did he mention that I was seven at the time?" I asked as I walked into the room. "That was the first and last time I ever touched a snake."

Sixty-nine and Miss Moorehead were sitting on the couch. Two wine bottles were on the coffee table, one empty and the other half full. Flanagan sat in an easy chair with a beer in one hand and a bottle of Jack on a side table.

"It's about time you graced us with your royal presence," Flanagan said while raising his beer in a mock toast. "I was just giving the ladies some deep background information on your misspent youth... so they'll understand why you're a couple of rounds short of a full clip."

"Well don't let me interrupt," I said. "If the bullshit must flow, there is no better pipe than Officer Brian Flanagan."

I fetched a beer from the kitchen, tossed my sports coat on the table and then returned to the living room. Ignoring the temptation to sit on the couch between the two ladies, I settled into the remaining recliner and joined the party.

We kept the conversation light. Flanagan and I describing some of the dumber things we did together as kids while the ladies volunteered a few embarrassing episodes from their teenaged years. The events of the last two weeks were never mentioned.

Miss Moorehead was the first to claim exhaustion and headed up to her bedroom. Sixty-nine followed close behind.

With the women out of the room, I gave Flanagan a questioning look.

"No drama," he whispered to me, knowing I was asking about Miss Moorehead's reaction to his real identity. "I think you're in the clear."

"Thanks," I said. "I don't know how you did it... how you got her relaxed and laughing... but thanks."

It had been a busy day. I climbed into my bed a few minutes after 11:00 and was almost asleep at 11:12 (I looked at the clock) when Miss Moorehead joined me.

"I hope you don't mind," she said as she slid between the sheets wearing a conservative night gown. "I couldn't get to sleep in my bed."

"I'm sorry. Is it too soft for you?"

"No, the bed is fine. It's just that whenever I started to dose off, I thought about the coffin and immediately woke up again."

"You think sleeping with me will be any different?"

"Maybe. I thought if I felt somebody next to me, I'll subconsciously know I'm in a bed and not six feet under."

"So, all you want to do is sleep?"

"Yes... for now. I hope you don't mind but it might be quite a while before I'm ready for anything more intimate than a protective cuddle."

"Not a problem. I'm glad you chose me for the job."

"I actually thought about asking Sixty-nine, but I was afraid she'd get the wrong idea."

"How about Flanagan?" I asked. "I'm sure he'd volunteer if you asked him."

"I'm sure he would, but your partner and boyhood friend doesn't seem the cuddling type."

"True. Nobody will ever accuse him of being a Teddy Bear."

"More of a Grizzly from what I've experienced." She yawned and turned over, so her back was towards me.

Not knowing exactly what was expected of me... not wanting to cross the threshold between an appropriate snuggle and an unwelcome advance towards intimacy, I just lay on my side of the bed and did nothing.

True to form, Miss Moorehead let her desires be known by slowly moving towards me until only an inch or two separated her backside from my front. She then reached behind her, grasped my arm and lay it across her side with my hand resting on her belly.

"I forgive you," she said.

"For what?"

"For telling Flanagan to tie me up and have his way with me that night on Surrender Court."

"That's not exactly how it happened. I didn't tell him --"

"Do you really want to argue about it, now that I've already forgiven you?"

"Good point. I'm sorry and promise I'll never let it happen again."

"You better not," she mumbled and soon was lightly snoring.

She forgives me! She is in my bed, and she forgives me.

Is my pardon just for letting Flanagan take advantage of her? Or does her absolution also include every other sin I committed against her in the fortnight we have spent together? If so, I am definitely sleeping with an angel.

***

I woke the next morning with a blonde in my arms, a woody in my boxer shorts and a smile on my face. It took all my skill and willpower to climb out of bed without waking Miss Moorehead and using her exquisite body to satisfy my lower extremity affliction.

A text from the Ball Busting Bitch quickly removed my smile and brought me back to reality.

* Only one house acquisition in the last two days! Why? Three weeks left until the first group of foreign buyers arrive. You are behind schedule. Get your ass in gear. *

Yeah, she was right. The BBB usually was. I would have to step up the pace, starting immediately, and buy at least six houses a day. But that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun in the process.

My modus operandi with Miss Moorehead was to take our time at each house; play a few games with the sellers (especially if a good-looking woman was involved) and then give them a fair price for their house. My goal was to satisfy the financial, physical and emotional needs of both the homeowner and my realtor each time we bought a house.