Spies Part 1 (any ideas for a better title would be appreciated)
Hey guys, I got this prompt from Ciel, and I thought it would be really fun to write this, so here you go. I wrote note before I wrote the piece, so I don’t know how long it will be, but I have the feeling that it will be pretty long. I might use mature language, but I’m not sure. Thanks for reading it! ~zeus
EDIT: I think I’ll be putting this up in parts, so I’ll give you the first part now, and then go to sleep. Probably get you guys the next couple of parts tomorrow. I think its gonna be pretty different from what Ciel had originally, but I got the original idea off the prompt she posted. ~zeus
(any idea for better titles?)
The First Monday
I was sitting at my desk, with my feet up on a pile of papers, the obligatory cigarette in my hand, when he knocked at my door. I sat for a moment longer, still absorbing the headline of the Daily News, before I responded.
The door swung open, and it revealed my clouded window with the classic black font on it that read: ‘Giovanni Derrino: Private Investigator’. Before I swiveled to face the man standing in the door, I checked the clock (11:25). He was dressed in a black overcoat, and wore a black hat that covered most of his face. He looked at my messy desk, and the way I held the Daily News, and something about his posture changed, became more relaxed. He didn’t, however, move from the doorway.
“Well? Aren’t you going to take a seat so we can get started?”
He walked over, so he was standing in front of my desk, across from me. He still hadn’t said anything yet.
“Look, I can’t find whatever it is you’ve lost, or had stolen until you talk to me.”
He looked at me, and said with all seriousness, “Drop the act, Terry.”
My first thought was ‘What? How does he know?’
“Okay, fine. Just one question: How did you know?” I sat up regularly in my chair and smothered the cigarette (which I never actually smoke), pulled my chair in and cleared a small space on my desk.
“I have my contacts, and secrets. That’s not what matters. What matters is that I have job that only some with your particular talents should be able to handle.”
“Which ones, the PI ones, or the – other – ones?”
“The spy talents.”
“I – I wasn’t going to put it out there just straight like that. What do you need me to do?”
He pulled a manila envelope out of his coat, and placed it on my desk. I sat up in my chair, interested. On the envelope it said, ‘James Carroll’.
“The envelope contains information on James Carroll, a former spy from the Canadian government. You are to follow him, and keep tabs at him throughout all hours of the day. Every Friday, at 3:00pm, you are to mail a report to the address written on the inside of this envelope, containing everything you have seen him do in the past week. After mailing it, you are to go the nearest Starbucks, and wait for an hour. If I do not come and sit down at your table, you may leave. If I come during the hour, that means that I have further instructions. We will carry out a normal conversation, and I will leave an envelope containing the instructions under my chair. You will not open those instructions until you are alone. I will pay you very well for this job.”
“Is that it?” I had picked up the envelope, and was examining the outside of it. When he nodded, I said, “Well, this should be more interesting than just finding somebody’s dog who ran away. I’ll take the job.”
“I never said refusing it was an option.”
“Oh. Well, anyhow, when do I start?”
“Tomorrow, at dawn.” He cut off my question with his hand, and continued, “The envelope will contain where he will be then. I will be leaving now. Do not attempt to find me, for any reason.”
With that, he left the room, and the door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone with a manila envelope, and a frown on my face. The clock still read 11:25.
The First Monday
I was in the grocery store buying a bag of apples, when he arrived. I had my entire day planned out to the minute, so I knew exactly what time it was: 11:25 am. He was wearing a black overcoat and a black hat that covered his face. He glanced at me, and he relaxed slightly. I was alone in the aisle, as per my schedule, but he was the unexpected screw in my day. I stared at him for a moment, then continued my shopping. That’s when he spoke.
“I prefer Granny Smiths, personally.”
The code? How does he know it? I spun on him, and he didn’t react. Maybe it just was an innocent com--
“But each to his own.”
There’s no way he could know that, I thought to myself. Though, maybe… I decided it was worth a shot to try the final phrase of the code.
“Well, I can’t stand the taste of a Granny Smith with my cereal.”
If he is truly who he implied he was, then he’ll speak freely now. I had used the code that my agency had used before we had to disband, and if he truly had a job for me, I would have to listen to him.
“You know who I am, James.”
“Are you really who you said you are?”
“Well then, what’s my job this time?”
He pulled a manila envelope out of his overcoat and handed it to me. The words: ‘Terry Crocker’ were written on it.
“You are to follow this person. Further instructions will be located within the envelope. You are to break from your schedule and go home immediately, and open it up. Follow the instructions inside the envelope to the letter.”
“When will I be starting?”
“Tomorrow, at dawn. The envelope will contain info on where Terry will be then. I will be leaving now.”
With that, he walked out of the supermarket, leaving me alone in the produce aisle with a manila envelope, a bag of apples, and a frown on my face. My watch still read 11:25.