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Secret Agent No More

(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.


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