(You can listen to this piece on S2E10)
If there wasn’t already enough stress making punching bags out of my gut, my phone is also ringing. I’m wobbling, bent over a toilet commode where I puke up foodless bile because all I ate last night were soda crackers. I’ve feared this call since I woke up this morning. I pleaded to the gods that last night was just a dream. That nothing out of the ordinary happened. But it wasn’t, and it didn’t, and what a wretched place I’m in. My boss, George, is no doubt calling to request information that I don’t have. And after last night, I’ll never have that report on his desk.
I need a plan. Some kind of James Bond, Jason Borne, Wonder Woman secret agent getaway next level escape plan. Some kind of abort mission try a new way into the lair of international money launderers kind of plan. ‘Cause I’m not good at fighting bad guys. Not the sexy kind anyway. I knew the private penthouse meeting with Johann was risky, but I met him anyway. And instead of extracting secrets, it was a little Whiskey here and little Vodka there plus a little kiss and a little touch until I was sprawled out on his bearskin rug spilling state secrets juicy enough for a tabloid’s first page.
Now here I am above a toilet in some abandoned house in some forsaken town in some foreign country trying to figure out how I’m going to get home. I don’t know even know if I still have a home. But I do know that I have cell phone service. And George is calling my line once again.
Comments