Yeah, spook.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I know you, and what you do. We both know so let’s not bullshit, ok? You think you can just follow along, take whatever you want. I’m ok, and it’s not gonna hurt the government to supply some revenue. They have the planes and the satellites; they have the doctors and the pills, but those are not coming outa my pocket. All I need is some cash, ok?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have any cash for you.”
“Look. Go back and report, that I haven’t got any cash. Isn’t that enough? I have the bugs right here in my pocket. I can decipher them. I can use the data. I need the cash for business. Nothing FBI related.”
He’s backing away, trying to get by. Spook.
“I don’t have any cash for you!” He hurries by.
Bart turns and yells, “I have the bugs! I know where you are!” He turns back to the alley and walks on, clutching his ragged coat against the cold. Meeting. I hope my stuff is still there. Bugged probably.
The alley is dark, and thin. Ahhhh. Safe. They can’t see down between the buildings unless they’re right above. It’s the blind spot effect. Satellites can’t see anyway but directly down. Except the infrared ones. They can see into your head through concrete. Bart hugs the wall, staying near the metal trashcans. Interference.
The shopping cart is at the end of the alley. Still there. No spooks. Bart looks at his watch again: Almost time; it’s 3:07. He takes the cart, and moves down the alley to the next street. Crosses. Keep to the alleys. I wish the meeting were in the subway. It’s safer. The planes can’t detect you there. It’s the FBI.
“Hey Bart!”
Don’t look. Just keep on walking. Bart moves to the opposite side of the alley and continues on with his head down. “I’m not listening. You can’t make me listen.” Just keep walking.
“Bart! It’s John. Want a drink?” John raises the bottle to Bart.
“I don’t need that. I have some in my coat right now. I just got them at the diner down the street. They all know about it.” Stay cool. He knows I have them. They can try to track me with them. But I’ve deciphered the code. I know the number of the beast. One!
“Ok Bart. Ok. Just asking. Maybe another time.”
Head down, still walking: “Ok. We’ll have a drink. Talk about the old days. They can hear some of that. The CIA knows all about it.” He was awful close. It may be hit or miss. Checking his watch: It’s 3:07! Hurry.
He comes to the end of the alley. A broad street. Check the sky. It looks clear. He removes the cell phone hidden in his duffel. The fools! To have dropped this!
Holding the phone to his ear he says the code word: “Failsafe!” Ahh, 15 minutes of un-monitored time. What one can do with a day free from the spooks.
Bart rolls his cart behind the dumpster. He places the duffel near the front. The bottles are in back. The cardboard goes on top. Still holding the phone to his ear, he walks out across the street. The car squeals to a stop inches from his legs. Bart strides on, head down, phone pressed hard to his ear. “FAILSAFE! FAILSAFE! FAILSAFE!” They cannot touch me now!
“Sonafa bitch! You asshole! What’s wrong with you!”
I can get it now. Then they can’t track me at all.
Bart enters the alley on the opposite side of the street. The man is leaning against the wall of the building in the shadows. His minion is out on the sidewalk. Spook. He can search, but he doesn’t know about the phone. Failsafe.
“What do you want, man?”
“We had a deal.” Bart holds out $50 dollars. The minion takes his hand and quickly lowers it, glancing up and down the street.
“What’s wrong with you shithead?! You wanna get busted?” He doesn’t know about the phone.
“I have the phone. They won’t know.” He again raises the money. The subordinate hauls him into the dark alley with the man. Then he says, “This asshole says he has some money. We got a deal with him?”
The man smiles.
CIA? FBI? No, he sees the phone. He knows it’s no use.
“Yeah, we have a deal.” He walks a ways down the alley and moves a bag of trash. He opens a trunk lying under it and pulls a .38 special out. “This is what he requested.” He saunters back with the gun. It’s a worthless piece of garbage.
Bart holds the $50 dollars up again. But he clutches it tightly. “I need the bullets too.”
“For fifty bucks?”—with a crafty grin. You gotta be kidding man. You’re getting a deal on this anyway.” The gun is old and dirty. It won’t fire.
“I know about the whole deal. I know you. You may be an operative, but you’re out of touch now!” He taps the phone at his ear.
The man looks at his minion. They smile at one another. The subordinate circles his finger around his temple, giggling. Probably a sign they know. Outa range now cowboy!
The man smiles again. “You gotta come up with more than that pal. I said $50, but this piece is worth at least $80. And shells will be $5 bucks more.”
“I know what you’re doing!! You can’t stall! I know they can’t find us! I have a failsafe!”
The little minion slips his hand into his jacket and sidles off to the side. Radio signal. They might have new technology.
“Listen you crazy bastard, $85 bucks or you can kiss my ass!” The man advances a little letting the gun point slightly at Bart.
“Good thing I’m protected!”
The bar slams down on Bart’s head from behind. He falls hard dropping the phone. The man and the little minion laugh and turn him on his back. They rifle through his clothes and take the money in his pockets. The man says, “One hundred and two dollars! You squirrely shit. You had enough. Well, this will do.” He picks up the phone where it has fallen and looks it over. “Nice—a completely useless broken phone. You’re an idiot.”
The little guy kicks Bart in the ribs. He rolls to his side groaning and mumbling, “Failsafe, I need that! I have no coverage.”
The little guy bends close and listens. “He’s saying something about failing!”
The man laughs and says, “I guess he did fail, huh? Why don’t ya take him and dump him at the lake? We don’t want this crazy shit hanging around.”
The little guy kicks Bart again and then drags him down the alley to the car. He dumps him in the trunk. At the lake he finds a dirty area under a series of piers. He looks around, sees nothing. He gets out, unlocks the trunk, bangs his hand in the process, and pulls Bart out. “Stupid asshole.” He lets Bart fall to the ground. Kicks him twice. Grabs the superman glasses with the tape in the middle out of the trunk and tosses them on the ground next to the body. “Here’s your specks you squirrely-brained bastard.” He pushes his boot down
