The Dumpster

Spy Junk

    “What’ll it be, little lamb,” he leaned over the bar. “Martini on the rocks?”

    I flashed a smile, “White Russian. And be hasty. I’ve got a date. He’s a bit late, so to speak.”

    The bartender rolled his eyes, “Right away, ma’am.”

    I sat at an empty table and waited for my drink and my date. Luckily, they arrived at the same time. He set my drink down and fixed his cuffs, sitting down with a displeased look. I glanced around before concluding that I could talk freely. He pulled a bottle of vodka from his coat and two shot glasses.

    “You sure change quickly, ace,” I grinned. “Bartender to impeccably dressed international spy in mere minutes. You never cease to impress.”

    “Why are you here, Swan?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

    “I heard word of you working a pub and I had to check it out for myself. Sue me,” I stated, sipping from my glass.

    “Believing in just anything could get you killed. Especially in this line of work,” he sighed. “Normally, I don’t work the bar, but today was an exception. News of your arrival spurred my actions. Your reputation precedes you. In addition, I caught wind of an assassination plot on the princess of Maldive, as well as some other important visitors.”

    “More important than me?” I pouted and batted my lashes at him.

    He sighed and rubbed his face, “No darling. How could anyone be more important than you?”

    “Why did the princess come to you?” I smiled, satisfied of his answer. “Cheap secrets, or other reasons?”

    “Ah, well, she was hoping that I could find her a prince. You know. Play matchmaker,” he concluded.

    “Oh? So you do this too now? Playing matchmaker when you, yourself have no lover. I find this interesting. Did you find her a prince? Or did she die first?” I smiled.

    “I find your sarcasm endearing,” he groaned. “No, I did not find her a prince, but I did sent her to Marabeth. Whatever that Russian hag’s name is.”

    “You mean the matchmaker that we picked up in the Siberian wilderness?” I raised my eyebrows. “She’s a lovely lady, Kaye.”

    “That’s a highly opinionated response. Do you think she fakes her ‘trance state’ or…?” he asked, a chill going down his spine.

    “According to CIA research, there is no such thing as seeing into the future, as she claims to do. Therefore, I believe that it is completely fake,” I explained, taking another drink from my glass.

    He chuckled uneasily, “That’s comforting. She puzzled me, saying that we’re destined. And that can’t be true. That crazy woman.”

    “She told me the same thing too. I said that she was off her rocker. That it couldn’t possibly be,” I teased.

    “If it could happen, then I’d retire. And we could move to my castle in France,” he mused. ”A quaint, little place.”

    “You’re basically already retired. And who said we’d move to your castle? Why not mine in Wales?” I frowned slightly.

    “Mine has a brewery. Though, I wouldn’t mind yours,” he responded, pouring himself a glass.

    “A brewery? We both know that I’m not into the light stuff. Unless, of course....nevermind. France is the country of amour, non? Your place sounds lovely. Wales is much too drafty anyways,” I flipped my hair.

    “Are you suggesting that I steal you away?” he asked, brushing his hand over mine.

    “It depends,” I leaned over the table and stroked under his chin with a finger. “Will you?”

    He glanced down at my hand, “Eventually.”

    “Eventually, hm? I expected that from you,” I smirked wickedly as he tried to down the shot of vodka.

    He almost choked, “Seriously?”

    “Yes. You are deceptively simple to read, love. For me at least. Much to your disdain, I assume,” I curled a lock of hair around my finger and smiled at him. “But relax. I find it charming.”

    His blatant look of surprise was amusing. He shook his head to concentrate, “I forgot to ask. What has brought you here?”

    “Well, I need some cheap secrets. And I also wanted to see you. A good enough excuse, don’t you think?” I raised my eyebrows.

    “Who are you selling secrets to this time?” he looked annoyed. “Mr handsome and far too kind?”

    “Sadly,” I snickered. “He pays well.”

    “Might as well take all that you can from him. Without all his money and protection, he’s dead anyways,” he took another shot.

    “Someone sounds a tad jealous,” I smirked, finally draining my glass.

    “Jealousy is weakness, and we both know that I don’t have any weaknesses,” he frowned, offering me a glass.

    “You like to liken yourself that way. Personally, I think a little lapse in strength is much more interesting though, don’t you think?” I glanced into the clear alcohol.

    “Interesting, yes. Productive, no. Well, I’ll admit. I do have one small weakness, but she can handle herself,” he declared, glancing up at me.

    “Ha. I am very sure,” I rolled my eyes and smiled. “And I’m also sure that she appreciates the gesture.”

    He took my hands, “I promise I’ll take you on a real date someday Delana Swan. Someday real soon.”

    “Ah. A real date. I don’t know what to say Mac. It probably shouldn’t be in the States,” I sighed softly. “Thank you. I really, really appreciate the effort.”

    “Anything for you,” he pressed my hands to his cheeks. “What type of intelligence is Mr Fine looking for this time?”

“The next big market deal. He wants exclusive access to it. And to do that, he needs files to use for blackmail,” I explained.

“And there's the kicker,” he sighed. “He's a real character, you know that Swan?”

“So are you,” I shrugged and flashed a smile, “but you're prettier.”

He groaned, leaned back in his chair, and threw his head back in an embarrassed protest. He straightened himself up after about five seconds of this. “Fine, fine. But it'll cost.”

“You're such a money driver Kaye. How much do you want?” I leaned forward to challenge him. “Because I can pay.”

“Forty percent of Mr Fine’s pay off,” he stated coolly.

“See, that's unreasonable. This is why I started going to Lukas.” I pouted.

“But Lukas isn't as reliable. I'll bet he's gotten you in trouble for giving bad information.” He stared at the wooden table that we sat at and tried to conceal a smirk. “And I doubt your best customer would take anything less than credible.”

I sighed. He was completely right, of course. And he knew it. He always knew. That was the one thing about him that irked me. He was so confident in his knowledge. For someone who always scolded me for being careless, he sure was.

“I'll take thirty-five, on one condition,” he spoke suddenly.

“What do you want?” I glanced up. He looked concerned.

“I'll take the thirty-five if and only if you let me come along. I have a bad feeling about this.”