Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

“You’re crazy.”

“Let’s talk to Jody.”

“Let’s not.”

“You’re making some good money on this gig, compadre. Invest a little in some equipment, and it makes the job easier. We’re working for the owner’s daughter. She’d probably think this stuff was a good idea.” There was a little hint of pleading in his voice. I’ve heard it since we were both ten years old. “Come on Skip. It takes money to make money.”

“But we’re not going to tell her about this stuff.” I took a pull on the new bottle of beer. Never make important decisions when drinking. How many people have learned that lesson over time?

“She’d love it.” He took a swallow.

“James, she’s also the president’s wife. And the conversation I had with her led me to believe that she’s not too fond of her husband. And with the Sarah situation-Sarah pretending to be my girlfriend, and being Sandler Conroy’s lover or whore or whatever-”

“Okay. I know it’s a little messed up.”

“A little?”

“All I’m asking is that you consider it, Skip.”

“James-” I was intrigued. I wasn’t going to okay it, but I was intrigued. Ever since I was a little kid and used to read the Hardy Boys mysteries, I’d had a real fascination with detectives and spy stuff. And I loved to watch the old James Bond movies with Sean Connery and watch Q and all the gadgets he used to invent.

“We don’t need all of this stuff just to keep an eye out.”

“Think big, Skip. It’s not just this job. We could do this, dude. We could get our P.I. licenses and do this spy thing on the side. Maybe turn it into a full-time business.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself? You’re a lunatic. We know nothing about being P.I. s.” I loved the idea.

“We’ll work with Jody. Skip, pardner, you just got offered fifteen thousand dollars to do a job that will last two or three days. If you could get, maybe twenty of those jobs a year, we’d make-”

James had studied to be a chef. His ability to do math in his head, or anywhere else for that matter, left a lot to be desired. Three hundred thousand dollars, James.”

“No kidding.”

“No kidding.”

“Spy stuff, Skip. And we can use the truck. People will think it’s a service truck, but we can stock it with the spy stuff.”

“You’re crazy. Do you remember the Bond movie where Q was showing Bond some missiles that shot from the headlights on his car?”

“Come on, man. You’re talking to the king of movie quotes. Q looks at Bond and says, ‘Need I remind you, 007, you’re licensed to kill, not to break traffic laws.’ ” His British accent was almost perfect.

“I’m telling you, James, this is not a good idea.”

“Skip, can we talk to Jody? It’s your gig, I know. But I think you’re missing the boat if you don’t at least-”

“We’ll talk to him.” It was a mistake. I knew it. I always know it. I figured if I lived long enough, I’d eventually learn not to listen to James Lessor. As it happened, as I pointed out at the beginning of this story, I didn’t. I didn’t live long enough.

E m was amazed. Not good amazed

“You constantly surprise me, Skip.” Her eyes shifted to the water, where South Beach lay past Star Island and Palm Island. Twenty-three stories up, sitting on her balcony, we watched the sun bouncing off the green saltwater, glinting off of the boats in the marina below.

“I don’t want to be predictable.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t like surprises?” I’d read in Men’s Health or some guy magazine that girls like surprises. And, they like men who are full of surprises. Men’s Health seemed to know what they were talking about. I mentioned this to her.

“There are girls who like bad boys too. I don’t happen to be one of them.” I guess this was a good thing to know.

I changed the subject. “Do you think James has a bad-boy image?” I’d always wondered what attraction James had to women. They always seemed very intrigued by him.

She rolled her eyes. “James is an idiot. He has an idiot image. Wanting to be a spy?”

“Em, I can’t let James take the rap for that.” The causeway traffic that went to South Beach was slowed down. Half the vehicles going over and coming back were white box trucks, servicing the wealthy residents of the islands, and the fancy hotels and restaurants that catered to the flocks of tourists who visited for the sun, the sand, and the crazy nightlife. Em could watch it anytime she wanted. And, she could visit South Beach anytime she saw fit. She had the location. She had the means.

“It’s always James. When you get in trouble and-”

“Hey. I explained it to you. Carol Conroy is willing to pay a minimum of ten thousand dollars if I just keep my eyes open.”

“Skip, have you considered why people, and especially attractive women, are suddenly throwing money at you?” Her eyes were wide and she had this surreal smile on her face.

Considered it? I was consumed with it. Selling my services for cash. Now it was more than just Sarah doing it. I cleared my throat. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”

“Bull. You expect me to believe that?” Em took a sip of her mojito, never making eye contact. Wearing shorts and a halter top, her feet were up on a wicker footstool, and I admired her smooth, tan legs. We’d spent the last hour inside with nothing on, but she looked great, clothes or no clothes.

Inside I could hear her printer chattering away. She worked at home most of the time, helping daddy run his construction business. The slip in the housing market hadn’t affected the old man much. He worked for the upper-upper end of the rich and famous, and those people never seem to suffer an economic downturn.

Finally she spoke. “And this thing with Sarah? She’s not coming on to you at all?”

I finished my bottle of Heineken, Em’s treat. “Are you kidding? Like I told James, she’s out of my-” I’d already said most of it.

“Oh?” She spun around and looked at me with a frown. I wasn’t scoring points here at all. Em got up and walked to the railing. “But I m not?”

“What I meant was-”

“I heard you, Skip. She’s out of your league. Which must mean you think she’s really hot, and,” she paused, “I’m not.”

“If it makes you feel any better-”

She looked away. “It probably won’t.”

“James says you’re out of my league as well. I tend to agree with him.”

I could see the corners of her mouth start to turn up. I hadn’t told Em about the hooker connection. The escort. The prostitute angle. I was afraid she’d go ballistic.

“Skip, why are you even telling me about all of this?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah? But you’re taking money to be someone else’s boyfriend.”

“Pretend, Em. Pretend.”

“But what do you want? From me?”

“Your advice.”

“Oh. Well then, let me give it to you. Don’t do any of this. Stop. Right now. Get out while you can. And blow off your loony roommate.”

“Your support?” I certainly didn’t want that advice.

“Do you want to do this?”

“I want the money, Em.”

She didn’t look at me, just stood by the railing gazing into the distance. “Then you’ve got my support.”

“Really?”

She kept looking out at the cruise ships that anchor just beyond the causeway. I’d thought about the faraway places they go. The Caribbean, Alaska, Europe, places I could only dream of. And now, it seemed extremely important to be able to afford to take Em on one of these ships. First-class accommodations. Could you do that for $10,000?