It had not been a good day, I noticed as I did a 10K through the internet. All the UCLA teams had lost, and my two tennis buddies had gone down as well. One of them liked to be soothed when she lost, but she was half a world away, so she’d have to find someone else. . . which shouldn’t be that hard, I grinned. I’d yet to find out what she did when she won a tournament, but I could just imagine.
Hmmm, I could play the despondent card, just to see how Helle would try to alleviate it. Not that I was so tired of her that I needed to make up games, but it had been a punishing week in Copenhagen.
She did indeed make me forget all about it. . . for a few minutes, anyway, looking moderately miffed at my short attention span, but because she knew she also suffered from it–and I loved to point it out–she figured she’d better not mention it, and maybe I’d give her amnesty next time.
The Danish redhead had been mentioned in these literary works (yeah, right again) before, but never in detail, which wasn’t a huge surprise, because beauty like this wasn’t easy to describe: “redhead, slim, curvy, stunningly gorgeous, and a sex drive that wouldn’t quit” hardly scratched the surface. Some people had called her a nymphomaniac, but she protested that she could stop whenever she wanted to, she just didn’t want to. . . stop, that is.
We’d met back when I’d done a stint with United Nations Peacekeeping. She’d been a translator, a job she would have gotten even if she was ugly, considering she was conversant in a number of languages that was well into double-digits, one of those people who just had a natural knack for it. Now she basically did the same job freelance, though with her home base in Copenhagen, her government frequently asked her to pitch in on important international meetings. I found it pretty amazing no one had ever asked her to sleep with a world leader in order to get something out of him, or her. Had she been any kind of actress, she would have made an incredible spy, but truth was she’d never had sex other than to have sex.
Until tonight, likely.
She’d never been on a mission before either, and it showed. Ten minutes later she was still so excited she was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring, looking particularly lovely, and since there was still plenty of time before the assignment began, she fluttered outside to see what mischief she could get into. Apparently it didn’t take too long, to either find a playmate or to use them, for it was about half an hour later she was back and falling asleep for her typical post-coital, as well as early afternoon, nap.
I let her sleep longer than I should have, on the premise that the less time she had to think about the mission the better. When it was finally time for her to wakey-wakey, I found that licking her ear was the quickest, as well as the safest way, to get her awake and purring. “Time to save the world, or at least a smart part of it, Slumbering Beauty.”
She sighed happily as she stretched, her nipple almost taking my eye out. “Finally I’ll be able to use my body to benefit the world.” Then she giggled. “Of course, every time I bring joy to a man, or woman, it benefits the world, but–”
“Don’t finish that. This will be the first time you might have to fuck a guy that you didn’t choose. You gonna be okay with that?”
She waved away that concern. “I don’t mind being used for a good cause.”
“Or a free dinner?”
“Okay. Time to get into your traveling gear, Yawning Beauty.”
She looked dismayed. “No time for a shower?” She added the come-hither to make it clear we could always shower together, if pressed for time.
I gave her my own particular smile, the one she’d come to hate when aimed it at her, though loved when it shot at other people. “No shower, silly. We’re supposedly coming off a long train ride, remember?”
“I do now,” she affirmed, checking her armpits and, while not liking what she found, managed to be satisfied with it.
An hour later we were standing on a railway platform in a medium-sized city. The drive had been pretty boring, but I’d used the time to psych myself up for what might be coming, whereas she bitched about being hungry. I told her we’d have dinner on the train, and would use the expense account to buy her whatever she wanted, and that seemed to satisfy her enough to take another nap, which was really the best thing for her. But now we were waiting for the train, which according to the schedule should be arriving in the next five minutes.
Had this been summer, there would still be plenty of daylight for hours to come; in winter it would have already been dark and most likely snowing, but for now we enjoyed the last of the twilight. I doubted anyone would be watching for us, unless there was a leak somewhere in the local police and intelligence ranks, but that seemed unlikely for what was really petty crimes. Still, I’d always believed in preparing for a mission like it was the most dire life-or-death situation I’d ever find myself in, so I enjoyed the thought of the coming gloom keeping us hidden as we heard the train a-comin’.
At this time of year the tourists started migrating south, with most of the attractions, at least the outdoor ones like Tivoli, getting ready to close down for the winter. But there were still some tourists, easy to tell from the shivering as the weather dropped and the wind kicked up. Some locals were dressed just as casually, but not shivering, while others were taking their winter gear out of mothballs.
I looked down at myself and grinned. I’d made an extra effort to look touristy, but basically it was the same gear I’d wear at home for a photo shoot: shorts, T-shirt, boots, overshirt for extra pockets. What I found amazing was my seeming imperviousness to the weather. Just a couple of weeks ago I’d been at the UCLA softball stadium, built on top of a hill where wind and other inclement weather wreaked havoc with fly balls. That day had featured a freak storm, bad enough to make me go home and grab a heavy jacket and put sweats on underneath my pants, but even with all that gear I’d been chilled throughout. Today I seemed immune. Mission mode, I figured, then focused.
Ten minutes later we’d stored our gear above their seats, got our special passes checked, then made our way to the dining car.
“I get to choose anything I want, right?” she grinned. “I’m in the mood for two lobsters!”
“You really have become Americanized. . .”
Unfortunately for her there was only one choice that night: smoked salmon, followed by grilled steak with French fries and a small green salad. I waited. . . then, when I saw how much she was enjoying the fish, I traded my swimmer for her mooer, then traded her fries for my salad, so we came out even, as well as happy, diet- and appetite-wise. This showed why we were such great partners and friends.
“So,” she murmured around some flaky stuff, “How’d the last case go? Was it murder after all?”
“Kinda hard not to be when the official police report says they were killed by ‘simultaneous hunting accidents’ where they shot each other in the back of the head.”
She almost choked on a forkful of salad; I didn’t blame her. “Really? They expected people to buy that?”
“You know those kind of people. They really don’t care.” I made a face.
“That bad? Or a sour memory? Perhaps a not so pleasant story girl?”
“No such thing. I bit my tongue AND my cheek!”
“Wow, you are gifted. Try mine.”
“When it stops hurting.”
“But that could take days!”
“Keep a good thought!”
She laughed, claiming she’d never understood that saying. Not that she heard it that often in Noo Yawk, but she had traveled extensively and spent time in the Midwest.
“Your linguistic skills are so amazing you know what it means anyway, right?”
“Indeed, but it’s okay. There’s a guy across the way making googly eyes at me. I could use a quickie in the washroom.”
“Just don’t get too tired or sore for the job.”
“When has that ever happened?” she mock-furied, then giggled. “Nah, he’s not that cute.”
“So you don’t need me to go to the washroom so you can get his number so that you can do him tomorrow?”
“He wishes. I don’t think he deserves me. I always manage to find someone better.”
“Or someones, right?”
“Ummm, don’t start getting me horny before my time, or I really will go do him.” Feeling naughty, she winked at the guy, then did the tongue and lips thing. I did my part by looking out the window, pretending I wasn’t watching her, then told her, “Let’s not make complications. I don’t want this guy following us and getting in the way.”
“Good point, and it didn’t sound jealous at all. Let’s go back to our seats.”
A minute later I was settling back into the seat and closing my eyes. She’d seen me like this before a mission, knew I wasn’t sleeping, just getting centered so I could concentrate on just one thing for the next few hours. Knowing to leave me alone, she tried looking out the window, but by now it was pretty dark, so she took out the notes I’d given her to study. She was supposed to destroy them before we got there, but figured it wouldn’t hurt going over them one last time.
Inter-Rail, which was basically a Eurail pass for Europeans, had a special lounge in the basement of Copenhagen’s main train center, a place where a weary traveler could make phone calls, access the internet, get info, cook a meal, and probably most importantly take showers. You couldn’t stay overnight, because they closed at midnight, but it gave you some moments of peace before you had to wait for your late-night connection with the rest of the riff-raff in the main waiting area.
A group of thieves was working the place, especially stealing while folks were in the shower. To the Danish sense of mind this was extra not-nice, but so far the people there hadn’t been very cooperative; afraid of lawsuits, no doubt. So the police felt there was no other way than to set up a sting.
The game plan was very simple. The cop in charge was sure there was someone working on the inside, but everyone also knew there wasn’t a man in the world who could resist the redhead. . . ideally she would go off and. . . “distract” the guy they suspected while I kept an eye on her gear, while pretending not to. But since there had to be others in on the plot, and one other suspect was a woman, I had to be ready to sleep with the enemy too.
“Are you sure you can handle that?” she’d asked in mock concern. “What if she’s. . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Ugly?”
to be continued. . .