We All Make Mistakes

Okay, so let’s get a few ground rules down. I’m not allowed to tell you who I am, what I do, or who I do it for. I can only tell you that I am in the field of espionage. Normally, I wouldn’t even tell you that, but…

I need temporary assistance.

I would like to declassify myself. You see, I’ve made the biggest mistake of my career…

I may or may not have…(Deep breath.)…Hooked up with a nuclear arms dealer.

It was Beirut, and I had successfully completed a mission—namely assassinating the prime minister of Ghana. Did you know Ghana even had a prime minister? Cause I didn’t. And what the hell was he doing in Beirut? I don’t ask these questions. I just do my job.

Well, anyway, the mission went fine, so I was celebrating by taking in some spirits in a local tavern, and…there he was.

I immediately determined that he was a fellow agent, but obviously not working for the same people I was working for. That was fine. I run into agents from all sectors all the time, and usually we buy each other drinks and talk about domestic life until we get a message from home base saying we need to decapitate the guy who just bought us a gin and tonic and leave them in the nearest body of water.

From that point on, things aren’t so friendly.

So, this guy saddles over to me, and we start talking. And…he’s cute. I mean, he’s really cute. And my phone isn’t vibrating, so I’m assuming there’s no need to terminate him—at least not right away.

And he’s buying me drinks, and there isn’t any detectable poison slyly dropped in anything. So perhaps, I let my guard down…just a bit. I notice that he has the new corneal implants, and I remark that I like them. They turn his eyes a nice shade of azure.

He comments on my fiberoptic fingernails. I tell him they don’t work for shit during a thunderstorm and that they should have kept them in Vegas show acts. He laughs. I laugh. I turn my phone off.

Big mistake.

He brings me to a nearby abandoned missile silo. Says he’s loud during sex and that hotels throw him out whenever he hooks up in them. Not unusual. People in my field tend to like sex a little on the rough side. My hag, Amelia, once dislocated a man’s arm during foreplay and then smothered him to death while climaxing. All that just comes with the territory. The guy was marked for death anyway, and let’s face it, it isn’t the worst way to go.

But I digress…

We have mind-blowing—at the time I might even have said nuclear explosive type—sex in the missile silo. At one point, he used a move on me that’s been known to take out Israeli army men…and I enjoyed it immensely.

It was only after we were finished and he disappeared quote ‘To go get bagels and orange juice’ that I turned my phone back on.

TEXT MESSAGE: N.ARMS DEALER IN BEIRUT. TOP PRIORITY.

He was long gone. You have to understand, nobody stays in the same country after they’ve bedded the enemy. You plant your flag and you get the hell out. So there I am, sitting with a flag in me, and wondering what next.

So I’m declassifying. I have served my country well, and I expect my full pension.

As for my discretion, well…

After all, just because I once abducted the Italian Senate and replaced them with recon animatronics, I’m still a human being.