Spies: 7 Short Stories

by Michael D. Britton

  Gavin smiled gently. “That’s all right. I know you hate these things. But the money goes to a good cause, and you know I love walking in with the most beautiful girl on my arm.”

  Jean wondered if he was always this cheesy.

  He continued, “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Yeah, your fiancée is a snake, and I may have to kill her. “No. Just work stuff.”

  “Troubled times at the music academy?”

  Music academy? That was her life alibi? Great. Better hope they don’t ask for a recital. “Yeah. You know, politics. I won’t bore you with the details.”

  They arrived and a valet took the car as they walked into the huge lobby. They found their way to the Grand Ballroom, where soft music came from a grand piano in the corner, and groups of tuxedo-clad and evening gown-wearing people milled around with drinks in their hands, murmuring softly under the chandeliers.

  “Gavin! Glad to see you,” said a tall man with dark hair, walking toward them. “And Jamie, you look wonderful tonight.”

  “Thanks,” said Jean, clueless as to the man’s name. “Gavin, I’m going to go get us something to drink, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks, honey.”

  Jean made her way to the bar and got herself a Perrier on ice, then wondered what it was that Gavin usually drank.

  “Jamie, long time no see,” came a quiet voice from her right.

  She turned to see a woman in her sixties, with snow white hair, diamonds around her neck, and a shimmering flame blue gown. Recognition kicked in and Jean’s face lit up. (Except it was Jamie’s face.)

  “Fran!”

  “How are you doing, sweetheart?” asked Frances Huntington, giving Jean a big squeeze. “Still in the business?”

  Jean knew exactly what Fran meant. She’d been her mentor for her first three years at the Association, and she’d also coached Jamie during that time. “Actually, yes,” she said. “Matter of fact, I’m working right now.”

  “Really?” she said, scooping a glass off the bar. “Mundane or something fun?”

  “Neither. What brings you here?”

  “You know Charles was a firefighter. I’ve been a big booster since before he passed.”

  “Of course.”

  Jean turned to face the room, which was filling in with a good sized crowd, and getting gradually noisier. Then she saw the last thing she expected to see – and the last thing she wanted to see.

  Herself.

  Coming toward her.

  “Oh look, it’s Jean!” said Fran.

  “Hello, Fran!” said Jamie, stepping close to their old mentor and offering up air kisses on each cheek. “What a nice surprise!”

  “And what brings you here, Jean?” asked Jean.

  “Actually, I heard you were here and I just wanted to speak with you. You have a minute?”

  “Uh, excuse us, Fran,” said Jean. “We’ll be right back.”

  “Certainly,” said Fran. “You two girls, always with your little secrets.” She smiled and wandered off.

  Under her breath, Jamie said, “Just checking up on you and Gavin. You know – a little jealous, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh,” said Jean. “No worries, there. I don’t really like him.” Not true – he was growing on her, but the less said the better.

  “Any leads on the case?” asked Jamie fingering a coaster on the bar.

  “Not yet,” she lied. “Couldn’t find the plastic surgeon today – he was too busy to see me.”

  Jean watched as Jamie exhaled, seemingly in relief. “Well, better luck tomorrow. See ya.”

  She moved away, and Jean watched her weave through the crowd. She was surprised at how good her butt looked. Maybe it was time to stop obsessing over it and just accept that it was fine the way it was.

  Fran returned. “May I speak with you, dear?”

  “Sure.”

  “Privately.”

  The two headed for the powder room, which was unoccupied. It was lavishly appointed with brass fixtures, wall-sized mirrors, and a gorgeous pale yellow couch.

  “Sit, dear.”

  Jean sat, and Fran joined her.

  “Jean,” Fran began.

  “Jamie,” Jean corrected her.

  “No. Jean,” said Fran, looking her square in the eye. “You’ve been switched. You don’t need to admit it. I just know.”

  “But, how -”

  “Simple little clues, a lifetime of undercover work – and having been switched myself a few times during my career.”

  “But what gave it away – I need to know so I don’t blow my cover.”

  “Nothing anyone but me would’ve caught on to,” said Fran. “Mostly the greetings. You were always a hugger, Jamie was always more standoffish. Always with the air kisses, or a hand shake, or a wave.”

  They sat for a moment in silence.

  “Fran, I know I can trust you. And since you know we’ve been switched, well, I just need to tell you.” Jean bit her lip. “I think Jamie’s working both sides.”

  Fran fiddled with her diamond necklace. “Hmmf. I always had a sneaking suspicion about her. Something wasn’t quite right.”

  “And now she’s in my body.”

  “That does present some challenges,” said Fran with the coolness of an experienced pro.

  “What can I do?”

  “Just play it like you would any other turncoat case. Don’t let on, don’t let them get away, and don’t get killed. You – or your body.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. And I’m not sure what she’s doing here – she’s supposed to be laying low while in my body. I mean, she says she’s jealous about Gavin – her fiancée - I’m here with him – but I think there’s more.”

  “Then do what you’re paid so handsomely to do – get your little butt out there and find out.”

  Jean closed her eyes and gave a little smile. “Thanks, Fran. Always there to tell me just what I need to hear – instead of what I want to hear.”

  Fran grinned, and they got up and left the powder room, heading back out into the now very crowded ballroom.

  The answer to Jean’s question soon became clear – she hadn’t been out of the restroom for five minutes when she spotted David Talley (sporting his new look, of course).

  Now that was handy.

  Too handy.

  Why would the man she’s chasing show up at this party?

  The only common denominator was Jamie.

  Jean kept Talley in the corner of her eye as she crossed the floor toward Jamie, who was back at the bar.

  “Hey, there, where you been?” asked Gavin, grabbing Jean’s arm and startling her.

  “Oh, I, um, ran into an old friend and we had a little chat in the powder room.” Jean found it was always easiest, undercover, to tell the truth as much as possible, providing it revealed nothing.

  “Oh good,” Gavin smiled, “I thought maybe you got so bored you went to take a nap in the car!”

  He chuckled naturally, and Jean saw a little twinkle in his eye. Gavin wasn’t such a bad guy after all, and she felt bad for him – he was being lied to by her, by Jamie, and by who knows who else. He deserved better.

  But that wasn’t her concern right now.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but I just saw someone else I know. Will you excuse me?”

  “I most certainly will not,” said Gavin, linking his arm through hers. “Introduce me.”

  Great.

  She led Gavin through the crowd to Jamie. “Jean! So good to see you!” she said, placing her hand gently on Jamie’s arm. Her own arm, really. Touching it, she felt strange – she kind of missed her own skin – probably because she so disliked this skin.

  “Jamie, imagine seeing you here!” said Jamie. “And who’s your delicious date?”

  “This is Gavin,” said Jean. “Remember – the guy I’m marrying?”

  “Ah yes,” said
Jamie, “I seem to recall you mentioning something about a wedding.” She took Gavin’s hand firmly in hers. “Congratulations, sir. This is one fine woman you’ve got here.”

  Jean rolled her eyes. “Gavin, could I have just a minute with Jean – you know, girl talk.”

  “Oh sure,” said Gavin. “I’ll be over talking to the Chief.”

  Gavin went his way, both women’s eyes following him until he was out of earshot.

  “What was that about?” asked Jamie.

  “He insisted on meeting you,” said Jean.

  “What? Why?”

  “Maybe he thinks you’re hot,” said Jean, just to get under her skin.

  “Right, whatever,” said Jamie.

  Jean noticed Jamie looking past her. She turned slightly and saw Talley coming over. He was about six-two, and wore a tux and the same face she’d seen on the laptop at Dr. Frehley’s. Dark eyes, straight nose, dimpled chin, slick black hair.

  “Gotta go,” said Jamie, pushing past her and moving quickly toward Talley.

  Jean turned and watched as she walked up to Talley and engaged him in a conversation. After a few minutes, they moved off together and exited the ballroom.

  Jean quickly followed. As she rounded the doorway, she saw the two disappear around the next corner to the right, which led to the hotel rooms. She hiked up her dress and ran after them, and rounded the next corner just in time to see them enter a room down the corridor and close the door.

  Jean slowed to a walk and approached the door they’d entered. By the time she got there, the discussion on the other side had already become heated. She stood beside the pale blue door and listened.

  “You’re not listening to me, David! I’m telling you, you can’t trust her!”

  “I am listening, and what I’m hearing is that you’re crazy! I don’t know how you know some of the things you know, but that doesn’t make you Jamie. What it makes you is a threat.”

  “It’s not me who’s the threat, you idiot! It’s Jean Mitchell!”

  “According to your ID, you’re Jean Mitchell. Which proves my point. This conversation is over, lady.”

  “But, but David! You have to -”

  Jean heard the unmistakable sound of a silenced pistol.

  Without much thought, she stepped in front of the door and kicked it open, breaking the heel off her shoe.

  “What’s going on here, David?” she barked.

  “Maybe you could tell me,” said David, holstering his weapon in the vest of his tux. “Who’s this woman? She claims to know you – actually, she claims to be you.”

  Jean closed the door, and slowly walked over to the body on the floor.

  She looked down at her own dead body.

  It felt surreal – she almost felt a twinge of pain in her chest as she looked at the bloody wound. “I came here to warn you about her. She’s been following me, and I think she may have been to Dr. Frehley’s. I’ve never seen her before in my life, David – until this morning, that is. She must be working for them.”

  David kicked the body with little enthusiasm. “Whatever. By tomorrow night I’ll be out of the country – they’ll never find me. Hey – I’ve got Graham and Mikey out on the floor. Go get them to get rid of this, will you?”

  “No – I’ll take care of it,” Jean said quickly. “My car is parked just outside your window. I’ll just drag her off the balcony into my trunk. Don’t bother the boys – I can handle it.”

  “Fine. I gotta get back out there – I’m a big donor, you know.”

  He left, and Jean quickly got to work. She whipped open the drapes, slid open the glass door to the balcony, placed a towel over her shoulder to keep herself clean from the blood, and hoisted her own body over her shoulder.

  She carefully climbed down to the parking lot – only a two foot drop, but rough with a body over her shoulder and a broken heel.

  She’d lied about the car. She had no idea where it was parked. She hid the body in the bushes, then walked to the front of the hotel and found the valet’s hut.

  “Hi, I need my car, please,” she said, faking tears. “I have to go – go home.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” said the valet. “Do you have your receipt?”

  She started to cry harder. “N-no. I just want to leave.”

  “Uh, okay, which car is it?”

  “The white Challenger.”

  “I’ll have it right out.”

  He brought the car round in quick order, and she got in, drove to where she’d left her body, and cautiously loaded it into the trunk. Then she drove around to the service entrance. She got out and ran to the back door of the main restaurant’s kitchen. A man in a chef’s outfit stood outside smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’ve got a major party going on. You got any ice? I mean, lots of it.”

  “What do I look like, lady?”

  Jean pulled out three crisp hundred dollar bills. “Looks like it’s your lucky day. Ice.”

  His eyes widened, he dropped his cigarette and stomped it, then took the money. “How much do you need?”

  “Get me twenty bags.”

  He came back out with a cartload of ice bags. “There ya go.”

  As she rolled the cart toward the car, she heard the chef mutter, “Rich people.”

  She popped the trunk, packed the ice all around her body, and parked the car near the front of the hotel. Then she went in to find Fran. She needed her help.

  As she reentered the ballroom, she looked around for Fran, having completely forgotten about Gavin.

  But he hadn’t forgotten about her.

  “Jamie! Where have you been? You’re supposed to be on my arm, making me look good.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I – I broke a heel. See?”

  “Oh. Huh. You know what? I think you left a pair of shoes in my trunk. We can- ”

  “No! No, it’s okay. Um, those shoes don’t match.”

  “Well, you can hardly walk around like that,” he said. “Look – we can leave pretty soon. I’ve put in my appearance. Maybe you could have a seat – and I’ll make one more round of glad handing then we can split, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  Gavin walked her to one of the plush couches that lined two of the walls of the ballroom, then went off to mingle some more.

  Jean sat and scanned the room for Fran. The crowd had already started to thin some, and as she looked across to the opposite side, she saw two men she assumed were Graham and Mikey “escorting” Fran out through a back door.

  She stood and headed her way, but was waylaid by Gavin.

  “I thought you were just going to sit out the rest of this?” he said.

  “I, I – uh, I’m not feeling so well. I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air. Mind if I sit in your car?”

  “Oh sure, no problem, honey. Here’s the valet receipt for the keys. I promise I won’t be much longer in here, really.”

  He placed the receipt in her hand, gave it a squeeze, and she quickly headed for the main doors. Once outside, she took off her shoes, lifted her dress and ran to where she’d left the car, with her own body on ice in the trunk.

  She saw Talley’s henchmen shove Fran into a black panel van parked in the rear and take off out a back exit of the parking lot. She fired up the Challenger and followed.

  They drove a long, circuitous route – either trying not to be followed, or simply utilizing their time on the road. Jean feared they were roughing Fran up in the back of the van, trying to get her to talk about why she was speaking with Jamie.

  Jean followed for nearly a half hour, then the van pulled down an alley. She parked across the street that looked down the narrow road between two buildings, and watched as they dumped Fran, slammed the doors, and took off.

  Her first instinct was to go check on Fran, determine if she was alive, dead, or just injured.

  But she couldn’t let
the van escape – it could lead her back to Talley’s location.

  Reluctantly, she followed the van, leaving her old friend suffering in an alley. She pulled Jamie’s cell phone out and dialed 911, tipping them off that a woman had been mugged in that alley and was still lying there.

  Then she carefully tailed the van all the way to the top of Alameda de las Pulgas in Belmont, where it turned down a side road and pulled up a steep driveway.

  Jean killed her lights and pulled over, then watched them get out and go into a house.

  She slid her dress up to her thighs, slid her hand between her legs, and pulled out her Glock that was holstered high up on her inner thigh. She turned off the dome light before opening the door and creeping out into the night.

  The street was not lit in this part of the block, so she had no trouble approaching the house undetected. She was about to hop the fence into the back yard to come in through the back door, but heard a dog on the other side, and decided a frontal assault may be best.

  She climbed the rock steps past the Italian cypresses that stood like sentinels in front of the house, and reached the second story front door.

  She verified the silencer was screwed on tight, and flicked off the safety. Here goes nothing.

  She kicked in the front door.

  To her right, Graham and Mikey sat in the living room, having already broken out the cards and started a game.

  She picked them off with a single quick shot to each of their heads. They didn’t even have time to reach for their guns.

  Then she headed through the house until she found Talley, who was in a bedroom with a woman.

  She leveled the gun at Talley, who looked mildly surprised.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy, here?” he said.

  Jean flicked the end of the Glock, gesturing to the girl to leave. “Take off,” she said to her. “You don’t want any part of this.”

  “Davey, is she your wife?” asked the girl, gathering a sheet around her and standing, then shuffling toward her pile of clothes on the vanity in the master bath. She didn’t take her eyes off the gun the whole time.

  “Just a coworker,” said Talley. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The girl grabbed her clothes and made a hasty exit.

  Jean approached Talley and noticed a pair of handcuffs hanging from the bed post.

  Convenient.

  Kinky, but convenient.

  “Put these on,” she said, tossing them at Talley. “Behind your back.”

  “Mind if I put on my shorts, first?”

  “Actually, yes, I do mind.”