I Haven’t Gone By That Codename In Years
I don’t deserve her- has her gargle with salt water
- “He tips well, but…”
- Marrying from a sense of duty!
- freeing the painter
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“I haven’t gone by that codename in years,” I told the wig and its hidden microphone. “And I no longer take orders from you.”
“You wouldn’t want us to show this tape to your wife, would you?”
“My wife and I have an understanding. She knows I don’t deserve her anger for something like this.” While it was true that Fleur and I had at one time had such an arrangement, I wasn’t sure it still stood. I worked to keep that uncertainty out of my voice. “She has her flings, too, you know. There’s this one guy she likes a lot. He has her gargle with salt water, and then–”
“Enough!”
“He tips well, but…”
“Listen up Winifred, we need you to come in for a major debriefing. It’s been years! You’ve gone so far off script, we don’t know what’s gotten into you. Marrying from a sense of duty!”
“That wasn’t my choice,” I complained. “And I am not Winifred any longer.”
I finished splashing off at the sink and slicked my hair down, thinking about my last official mission for these clowns. It had involved freeing the painter who was being held captive by the infamous mime cartel the White Faces. I’d been successful, but the things I saw in their headquarters, and the things they did to me, still haunt my dreams.
As I buttoned my shirt I thought of the tattoo hidden under my prodigious chest hair. The tattoo given to me against my will by that captive painter before she would let me rescue her from her greasepaint-coated prison. That was how I first met Tessa, and I always remembered her with an improvised tattoo gun in her hand.
Was it time to shave my chest and read that tattoo’s message once more?
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